Earlier this week, I got an e-mail from one of our friends, Chani Schwartz, asking me if I thought it would be a good idea to tackle a sensitive area of aliyah: the difficulties and tensions that arise in families when the children (even those who are grown and have families of their own) decide to make aliyah. She, as a new olah having just gone through the process, had been getting calls from some of her friends who are coming this year. One of the major issues that kept coming up in conversation was the lack of support from their families.
I actually checked the archives and saw that I had written an article a few weeks before we left about how tough it was going to be for Goldie’s family (two of my three siblings were in Israel at that time; we are all here now, so the transition on my side was not as difficult). At that time, we knew that it would mean missing s’machot and other family get-togethers, yet we also hoped that it meant something positive for our family’s growth. We were right on both counts.
I cannot say that our extended family has been universally supportive 100 percent of the time. Yet I know that they also believe in what we have done and that they even have some measure of jealousy for the fact that we can and do live here (some more than others, none more than David). So, for our part, we have not faced the situation where our family was opposed to our coming to Israel.
I invited Chani to be a “guest columnist” and not only give me a semi-vacation (as I got last week as well), but also to provide a different voice from the one you have been hearing these past few years. I still have things to say, but for this week, the floor is Chani’s…
Are Your Children Making Aliyah?
An Aliyah Letter To Grandparents
By Chani Schwartz
The summer is upon us, and aside from thoughts of finishing school, summer camps, and family vacations, there is something else that permeates the air and peppers each conversation: “Did you hear who is making aliyah?” Most everyone in the greater New York–New Jersey area will know of someone taking the giant leap and moving to Israel.
Just under a year ago, my family was the topic of that conversation. On August 12, 2008, my husband Jason and I uprooted our family of then seven children from our comfortable home, stable jobs, and loving community in Teaneck, N.J., to move across the world to Israel.
This summer will welcome a number of new olim from the United States, many of whom will be coming after an arduous and soul-searching process culminating in the decision that aliyah is indeed for them. Many of these olim will be coming with their parents’ blessing, but unfortunately many without. It is those families that have prompted me to write to you today. I have seen far too many families and heard far too many stories of families making aliyah without their parents’ consent.
My husband and I both grew up in Woodmere. We are products of Woodmere of the ’80s and ’90s. I want to direct this article to the parents and grandparents of the children choosing or contemplating aliyah. How will you react when confronted with that fateful call of “Mom, I’m making aliyah”?
Unfortunately, all too often, the parental response is that of dismay. Parents become belligerent and angry, and sometimes even refuse to speak to their children. In response, many exclaim, “How did this happen?” Moms and dads, let me explain it to you: You helped us.
It was you who saved to take us on the ultimate family vacation to Israel, taking pictures by the Kotel, which in turn made it into every bar/bat mitzvah video. It was you who sent us to pro-Israel schools. You were the ones who picked out our clothes when we had to wear blue and white on Yom HaAtzma’ut, and it was you who helped us sing the proper words of HaTikvah when we came home in first grade garbling the stanzas.
Certainly you cannot forget when you took us, rain or shine (often rain), as far back as each of us can remember, to the Israel Day Parade. It was on Fifth Avenue that you pointed out all the schools, the floats, Mayor Koch (if we got there early enough), telling us, “Look, he’s the Mayor of the whole New York City, and he’s Jewish!” and explained why it is so important that we show our support each and every year. Finally, it was you who allowed us our rite of passage to spend a year, sometimes two, studying in Israel, post-high-school. How can we not develop a love for Israel—a sense of entitlement that this is where we belong?
It’s hard to let go at any point in life. Not everyone has the luxury of having his or her children living right next door, but many do. But the question is, are you prepared to stay in the Five Towns the rest of your lives? What happens when you decide to retire and move to Florida? Do we have the right to ask you not to move and enjoy your retirement because we want you to stay nearby? When we do ask, what will you do?
Mom and Dad, you’ve raised us to be independent. You sought for us to be accomplished professionals. You hoped for us to grow up, get married, and have lives of our own. Part of that maturity is making grown-up decisions about what is right for our nuclear family.
Please do not think that we did this to hurt you. We understand what our decision means for you. We are taking away your grandchildren and not allowing you to see them grow on a daily basis. We will no longer have the fluidity to pop over as you or we please, and we are limiting your involvement in the practical raising of our children. Just know that it is a major loss for us as well.
Please consider that we are the ones leaving our family and friends behind. We realize that our children will be some of the few not to have their grandparents front and center for every siddur play and presentation. We are the ones that will not be able to join every family simcha. Yes, these are the choices we made; and yes, these are the consequences we will endure. But know that we make aliyah in the hopes of a better, albeit possibly harder, life for our family.
I am blessed that our decision to make aliyah was met only with support by my parents, who are still living in the Five Towns. That’s not to say there weren’t any tears (on both sides), wisps of regret in voices, and conversations brought to abrupt ends due to lumps in the throat. But to our faces, my parents were the picture of strength, admiration, and support.
They helped in every way possible, and they were there at JFK airport waving the entire time as we passed through the gates to board our plane until they could see us no longer. Having their support meant the world to us. It allowed the stressful process to be just a little easier, knowing we had our parental love and support. For that, I thank G-d…and my parents.
So, if the time comes and you are placed in this position, please be careful with your response. Think what you want behind closed doors, and even voice your concerns once to ensure your children have thought of all the angles. But to your children be supportive and be happy, and you will see how much it is appreciated in return. It makes all the difference.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Shmu the Activist (Article# 120)
Last November, Goldie and I signed a contract to buy a house that (at least on paper) was supposed to be built in the second stage of construction in the new Nofei HaShemesh neighborhood of Bet Shemesh. (Some of you may recognize this as the neighborhood to which Rabbi Rosner and his family made aliyah.) Having been involved in the building of the neighborhood’s new shul since week one, we were very excited to make this commitment and finalize our choice of Bet Shemesh as our family home.
Throughout this process, as you have read, we have had some concerns about the future of the city and our interactions with some of our neighbors. Yet we felt so good about the neighborhood and our children’s adjustment to being in Bet Shemesh that we decided to take the plunge despite our concerns. We were excited about this opportunity and were looking forward, along with several other families, to be a part of a new beginning.
As time went by, we became more and more concerned about the changing of Bet Shemesh as a city. We came to a city that had a large, although minority, chareidi population, but was still known as a welcoming home to both the non-religious and religious Zionist populations. In the interim, we have seen increased tensions across the “fence line” (where we live), the election of a chareidi mayor, and an announcement by the Minister of Housing a few weeks ago that Bet Shemesh is going to be the flagship city for the development of new chareidi housing, with 100,000 new units to be built over the next several years.
As I am sure you can figure out for yourselves, adding 100,000 chareidi families to a city of less than 100,000 residents will significantly alter the city and its face. Should this plan come to fruition, I fear that the Bet Shemesh we came to will no longer exist—and it will become a Bet Shemesh that we are not sure we would want to be a part of.
Once again I feel compelled to comment that, in general, I do not have problems with the chareidi public at large. It is a fringe group of fanatics that cause the trouble. However, this fringe has yet to be reined in by their peers and, quite frankly, in my opinion the fringe sweeps up the general public in their hysteria (as evidenced by the recent rioting in Yerushalayim). It is the fringe who are trying to make our lives miserable, and if the city becomes a chareidi city we fear that it will only increase.
I am sure that this column will once again result in letters to the editor proclaiming outrage at my “chareidi bashing” and decrying the decision to run it in the paper. Many of you identify with the chareidi public and feel that I am being hypercritical of their actions. I disagree.
I do not think that you identify with any of the things these people stand for, not in the least bit. We have gotten letters in our mailbox threatening harm to us and our families because some of us have televisions. We have gotten letters (I will gladly e-mail you a copy if you don’t believe me) telling us that we do not dress properly in the privacy of our own homes and that such immodest dress is offending them when they look into the windows of our houses to which their eyes are “naturally drawn.” The Israeli flags in front of our homes and on our cars disappear overnight and are regularly burned by their children in Lag B’Omer bonfires. The list goes on.
This fringe stands for intolerance of others, for intimidation and bullying of people who have every right to act in the manner of their choice. Yes, we do tend to generalize when we lump all chareidim together—but the good guys need to take action to distinguish themselves from the bad guys, instead of being intimidated by them.
For example, the photo shown here was taken three weeks ago on a Thursday morning. In their never-ending harassment of us, some of the fringe guys decided to take up artwork. A week after spray-painting their “modest dress only” message in two places on the sidewalk next to our home (messages that I painted over the very same day they appeared), these fine neighbors came back and spray-painted 14 different messages of their hatred of our community overnight. On the sidewalks and on the retaining walls it was impossible to not see their message.
What would you say if this had happened on your street?
We know who the spray-painters are. Their entire community knows who they are. Yet nothing is done about it. Why? If this was something done in your neighborhood and you knew the guy doing it, and his kids were in your child’s school, and he davened in your shul—what would you do? Nothing? I doubt it.
As we cleaned up the graffiti, Goldie and I were accosted by various members of their community. They had complaints about dress, television, and many other issues. We agreed that they had a right to be concerned, but asked what justification they had for the spray-painting behavior. On the whole (with one exception) they agreed that such behavior was inappropriate. I asked them why they don’t do anything to stop such people. No answer.
There was one fellow who answered differently from all the rest. This man came over to me as I was painting over the sidewalk and asked me why I was making such a mess of the sidewalk. Incredulously, I responded that it was not I who had made the mess, it was his friends who had made it and I was just cleaning it up. He responded to me, “Oh no—this message is supposed to be here” and then walked away. Goldie commented to me that she would not have believed that such a thing could be said to my face if she had not personally heard it.
Would you stand idly by under these circumstances?
The latest set of graffiti prompted some attention from City Hall. Some of our city councilmen came to see the graffiti, and in our discussions with them they told us that MK Ariel Atias (Shas), the Minister of Housing and Construction—who had announced the plan to add 100,000 chareidi housing units—would be coming to Bet Shemesh the following week to discuss the plans with the mayor and representatives of the City Council. We decided to protest.
I filed a permit with the police and organized a protest for the morning of the meeting. The plaza in front of City Hall has room for only about 50 people, and we showed up with about 100. Before the protest, the security agent for the minister approached me and told me that the minister is interested in speaking with us before the meeting.
When he arrived, he did indeed come over to the barricades to speak with us. I showed him some pictures of the graffiti and asked him if he had considered what impact his plan would have on the current residents of Bet Shemesh. He responded that we obviously would not solve our problems while standing in the streets and that it was also obvious that there were many groups who have concerns. He then invited me to organize a meeting in his office to discuss the issues—which I did.
He was extremely gracious and open with us. I have to give him credit for that—and for his willingness to meet with us at all after he had publicly announced his intention to do the opposite of what we wanted.
We came with eleven people from various walks of life, and he gave us all as much time as we needed to present our concerns with his building plans, of which there were many. He then engaged in a discussion with us, explaining that he indeed shared many of our concerns, but that as the Minister of Housing and Construction he is responsible for solving the chareidi housing problem and that if we had concrete plans to solve our concerns as well, he would be happy to review them.
In effect, he said, “I feel your pain, but cannot help you.”
While this was happening, we were notified that building permits would not be issued for our own construction project to which we had committed, and that our purchase contracts were going to be revoked. Apparently, the Land Registry Office would not approve the plot subdivision of the project (or so we were told) and there is no clue as to when, if ever, the project will get off the ground.
So, we are again at decision-making time. We love Bet Shemesh. We really do. Our kids are happy here and we have built great friendships and bonds. Yet we are concerned for the future of Bet Shemesh and what will happen if the city indeed becomes a chareidi city—which is not what we signed up for when we moved here. So we have to consider what we will do.
Unlike many of our neighbors, we still have a choice. We do not have any encumbrances here, other than the emotional ones. We may stay and decide that we will deal with whatever comes our way. Or we may move to a city or town that does not face these issues. Wherever we go, we will face some kind of issue. There is no such thing as Utopia. When we lived in the USA we had issues as well, and choosing where to live was a conscious choice about which issues mattered and which didn’t. This is what we are facing here as well; it is no different.
My neighbors have harangued me for “airing our laundry” in public, in fear of my turning people away from Bet Shemesh as a place to live. Yet in my opinion it is not fair for me to continue touting the city as if there are no issues here and duping people into something they are not prepared for. Come to Bet Shemesh—but come fully prepared and with an understanding of the issues we face. I wish I had known some of them before I came here; ultimately we might have made the same decision, but at least it would have been an informed one.
Throughout this process, as you have read, we have had some concerns about the future of the city and our interactions with some of our neighbors. Yet we felt so good about the neighborhood and our children’s adjustment to being in Bet Shemesh that we decided to take the plunge despite our concerns. We were excited about this opportunity and were looking forward, along with several other families, to be a part of a new beginning.
As time went by, we became more and more concerned about the changing of Bet Shemesh as a city. We came to a city that had a large, although minority, chareidi population, but was still known as a welcoming home to both the non-religious and religious Zionist populations. In the interim, we have seen increased tensions across the “fence line” (where we live), the election of a chareidi mayor, and an announcement by the Minister of Housing a few weeks ago that Bet Shemesh is going to be the flagship city for the development of new chareidi housing, with 100,000 new units to be built over the next several years.
As I am sure you can figure out for yourselves, adding 100,000 chareidi families to a city of less than 100,000 residents will significantly alter the city and its face. Should this plan come to fruition, I fear that the Bet Shemesh we came to will no longer exist—and it will become a Bet Shemesh that we are not sure we would want to be a part of.
Once again I feel compelled to comment that, in general, I do not have problems with the chareidi public at large. It is a fringe group of fanatics that cause the trouble. However, this fringe has yet to be reined in by their peers and, quite frankly, in my opinion the fringe sweeps up the general public in their hysteria (as evidenced by the recent rioting in Yerushalayim). It is the fringe who are trying to make our lives miserable, and if the city becomes a chareidi city we fear that it will only increase.
I am sure that this column will once again result in letters to the editor proclaiming outrage at my “chareidi bashing” and decrying the decision to run it in the paper. Many of you identify with the chareidi public and feel that I am being hypercritical of their actions. I disagree.
I do not think that you identify with any of the things these people stand for, not in the least bit. We have gotten letters in our mailbox threatening harm to us and our families because some of us have televisions. We have gotten letters (I will gladly e-mail you a copy if you don’t believe me) telling us that we do not dress properly in the privacy of our own homes and that such immodest dress is offending them when they look into the windows of our houses to which their eyes are “naturally drawn.” The Israeli flags in front of our homes and on our cars disappear overnight and are regularly burned by their children in Lag B’Omer bonfires. The list goes on.
This fringe stands for intolerance of others, for intimidation and bullying of people who have every right to act in the manner of their choice. Yes, we do tend to generalize when we lump all chareidim together—but the good guys need to take action to distinguish themselves from the bad guys, instead of being intimidated by them.
For example, the photo shown here was taken three weeks ago on a Thursday morning. In their never-ending harassment of us, some of the fringe guys decided to take up artwork. A week after spray-painting their “modest dress only” message in two places on the sidewalk next to our home (messages that I painted over the very same day they appeared), these fine neighbors came back and spray-painted 14 different messages of their hatred of our community overnight. On the sidewalks and on the retaining walls it was impossible to not see their message.
What would you say if this had happened on your street?
We know who the spray-painters are. Their entire community knows who they are. Yet nothing is done about it. Why? If this was something done in your neighborhood and you knew the guy doing it, and his kids were in your child’s school, and he davened in your shul—what would you do? Nothing? I doubt it.
As we cleaned up the graffiti, Goldie and I were accosted by various members of their community. They had complaints about dress, television, and many other issues. We agreed that they had a right to be concerned, but asked what justification they had for the spray-painting behavior. On the whole (with one exception) they agreed that such behavior was inappropriate. I asked them why they don’t do anything to stop such people. No answer.
There was one fellow who answered differently from all the rest. This man came over to me as I was painting over the sidewalk and asked me why I was making such a mess of the sidewalk. Incredulously, I responded that it was not I who had made the mess, it was his friends who had made it and I was just cleaning it up. He responded to me, “Oh no—this message is supposed to be here” and then walked away. Goldie commented to me that she would not have believed that such a thing could be said to my face if she had not personally heard it.
Would you stand idly by under these circumstances?
The latest set of graffiti prompted some attention from City Hall. Some of our city councilmen came to see the graffiti, and in our discussions with them they told us that MK Ariel Atias (Shas), the Minister of Housing and Construction—who had announced the plan to add 100,000 chareidi housing units—would be coming to Bet Shemesh the following week to discuss the plans with the mayor and representatives of the City Council. We decided to protest.
I filed a permit with the police and organized a protest for the morning of the meeting. The plaza in front of City Hall has room for only about 50 people, and we showed up with about 100. Before the protest, the security agent for the minister approached me and told me that the minister is interested in speaking with us before the meeting.
When he arrived, he did indeed come over to the barricades to speak with us. I showed him some pictures of the graffiti and asked him if he had considered what impact his plan would have on the current residents of Bet Shemesh. He responded that we obviously would not solve our problems while standing in the streets and that it was also obvious that there were many groups who have concerns. He then invited me to organize a meeting in his office to discuss the issues—which I did.
He was extremely gracious and open with us. I have to give him credit for that—and for his willingness to meet with us at all after he had publicly announced his intention to do the opposite of what we wanted.
We came with eleven people from various walks of life, and he gave us all as much time as we needed to present our concerns with his building plans, of which there were many. He then engaged in a discussion with us, explaining that he indeed shared many of our concerns, but that as the Minister of Housing and Construction he is responsible for solving the chareidi housing problem and that if we had concrete plans to solve our concerns as well, he would be happy to review them.
In effect, he said, “I feel your pain, but cannot help you.”
While this was happening, we were notified that building permits would not be issued for our own construction project to which we had committed, and that our purchase contracts were going to be revoked. Apparently, the Land Registry Office would not approve the plot subdivision of the project (or so we were told) and there is no clue as to when, if ever, the project will get off the ground.
So, we are again at decision-making time. We love Bet Shemesh. We really do. Our kids are happy here and we have built great friendships and bonds. Yet we are concerned for the future of Bet Shemesh and what will happen if the city indeed becomes a chareidi city—which is not what we signed up for when we moved here. So we have to consider what we will do.
Unlike many of our neighbors, we still have a choice. We do not have any encumbrances here, other than the emotional ones. We may stay and decide that we will deal with whatever comes our way. Or we may move to a city or town that does not face these issues. Wherever we go, we will face some kind of issue. There is no such thing as Utopia. When we lived in the USA we had issues as well, and choosing where to live was a conscious choice about which issues mattered and which didn’t. This is what we are facing here as well; it is no different.
My neighbors have harangued me for “airing our laundry” in public, in fear of my turning people away from Bet Shemesh as a place to live. Yet in my opinion it is not fair for me to continue touting the city as if there are no issues here and duping people into something they are not prepared for. Come to Bet Shemesh—but come fully prepared and with an understanding of the issues we face. I wish I had known some of them before I came here; ultimately we might have made the same decision, but at least it would have been an informed one.
The Next Step (Article# 119) 6/25/2009
I am very excited to share some of our latest news. On July 1, I will be taking on the position of international director of development of Machon Puah: The Puah Institute for Medicine and Fertility in Accordance with Halacha, in Yerushalayim. For those who do not know of Puah, it is an 18-year-old global organization focused on helping Jewish couples become Jewish families. It is a terrific opportunity for me to grow, and as a new oleh (yes, I still consider myself that—more on this topic later), it brings a new stage of growth as an Israeli as well.
As part of the “shidduch process” with Puah, I met several times with different people in the organization. Of their 100+ employees, only a handful speak English, so most of the meetings were held in Hebrew. I am comfortable with Hebrew on a conversational basis, but this was an entirely new level of conversation for me. Furthermore, most of my daily interactions there (as well as written communications in the form of memos, e-mail, etc.) will be conducted in Hebrew. I am a bit intimidated by the challenge of going from a 10–15 percent Hebrew day to a 65+ percent Hebrew day, but I will have no choice.
I am sure that as time goes by, I will look back and wonder what I was so concerned about, but for the time being it is quite an overwhelming challenge. Yet I am sure that it will make my long-term adjustment as an Israeli much easier.
When we came on aliyah, I went to work almost immediately following our arrival (three days later). While it was certainly a great benefit to have a job to go to (many new olim spend months if not a year or more looking for a job), we also missed out on the many things that new olim do in exploring the country and familiarizing themselves with the language and “the Israeli experience.”
I didn’t take ulpan. I didn’t do any touring. I didn’t explore the city I am living in nor get a chance to participate in many of the special events that are geared toward newcomers and helping their acclimation to the country. Some of these opportunities are gone; others can still be seized.
Knowing that my Hebrew language skills are about to undergo an involuntary ulpan experience, I decided to see how I might do some of the other things that I had missed. I therefore decided to take a couple of weeks off before starting at Puah and use that time for myself.
Taking a break is not always the easiest thing to do. With everyone’s school schedules to coordinate and the various family events we have (and are thrilled to be a part of), our calendar becomes full quite easily. Although I have definitely enjoyed a few days here and there with my family (and a three-day holiday with Goldie in London, since I was there on business anyway), this would really be the first extended period of time that I had to do with as I pleased.
So far, my efforts have met with mixed results. Those days for which I have been able to coordinate full-day schedules for myself have been very productive.
I spent a terrific day in Yerushalayim, visiting the Begin Center, a Holocaust museum in the Old City, as well as a couple of archaeological museums in the Old City. At the end of the day, I went to the Kotel for a few minutes (as I get to do whenever I want to, ’cause I live here). I arrived at the Begin Center without a reservation (I had no idea I needed one). An English tour was not scheduled for several hours, so I joined the next Hebrew tour with a special headset to simulcast movie presentations in English for me. Although I definitely needed the headphones for the movies, it was gratifying that I understood the general tour without a problem.
I took Aliza for a special day in Tel Aviv, as well. We started the day in Bet HaTefutzot. In my research about the museum, I found that there was a special discount for new olim. I perked up at the thought of a discount, and when we got to the museum I asked if we still qualified for the discount after being here for three years. The ticket seller asked if I feel like I am new or not. I wasn’t sure and I said, “You know what, just charge me the regular price.” For 10 shekels, the guilt wasn’t worth it.
I then noticed that they had special headphones with an English language option as a tour aid. I turned to Aliza and asked her in English if she wanted to get the headset. The ticket agent looked up and said, “You are still speaking English to each other? You get the discount!”
The museum was very informative, but about two-thirds away from the end, Aliza began to lose patience and we rushed our way through. After enjoying a lunch in the museum coffeehouse (another Israeli treat—kosher food in the shopping malls and other convenient places) we then went to (Aliza’s favorite part) the Diamond Museum.
Although it was not necessarily something I needed to do, I knew that Aliza would get a big treat out of learning how diamonds are mined and made into gemstones. I wasn’t wrong. It isn’t every day that we get to spend time one-on-one with our kids, and this was a great treat.
Yet this isn’t a vacation, and the aforementioned kids and their needs sometimes dictate that I am around the house on certain days (especially at the end of the year with its various parties and graduations), and those days were mind-numbingly horrid.
I spend the better part of most days with Goldie. We work ten feet from each other (although that is now coming to an end), and with all the different things that we are involved with in our family, we are together quite a bit. Which has been pretty good so far.
However, being home alone is clearly not for us. We rearranged bedrooms (letting Batya take Chaim’s empty room) and did other at-home projects, and that kept me busy for a bit, but I learned quite quickly that I will not be retiring when the time comes. It would drive me crazy.
One of the days I stayed home was spent with Moshe, in advance of his “graduation” from preschool for 4-year-olds. Moshe has had a terrific adjustment here. Having brought him at age 1, Goldie made a decision (contrary to what many new olim do) to place him in a Hebrew-speaking gan in order to facilitate his Hebrew skills. It worked.
He is a terrific little kid. He speaks both Hebrew and English equally comfortably. He loves to have books of either language read to him, and as the youngest of six is a spoiled brat with a sunny disposition and a patient approach to the world.
His graduation, unlike the ones I attended for my other kids in the U.S., was filled with both mothers and fathers. In America, there was always another father or two in the room. In Israel, it is normal for the majority of fathers to come. Events are run in evenings specifically to encourage the participation of both parents throughout the year.
We really enjoyed this graduation and are excited to see Moshe move up to the next level of preschool. We had a choice of what to do with him for the upcoming year. Preschool has two levels for three years of schooling (ages 4–6). Most kids do two years of the lower level (t’rom chovah), moving up for a single year of the higher level (gan chovah) prior to first grade.
However, both the preschool administration and we feel that Moshe, being one of the oldest kids of his year, is too mature to repeat another year of t’rom preschool, and have decided to move him up a level and have him stay in the gan chovah for two years. We feel that he needs the challenge of moving to the higher level and (giving credit where credit is due) it was really Goldie’s decision to encourage his Hebrew language development that made this a possibility. She made the right call.
I have a meeting scheduled with the Minister of Housing for later this week. It is partly in response to some of the activism I am involved with here in Bet Shemesh and I hope that I can report positive results next week.
As part of the “shidduch process” with Puah, I met several times with different people in the organization. Of their 100+ employees, only a handful speak English, so most of the meetings were held in Hebrew. I am comfortable with Hebrew on a conversational basis, but this was an entirely new level of conversation for me. Furthermore, most of my daily interactions there (as well as written communications in the form of memos, e-mail, etc.) will be conducted in Hebrew. I am a bit intimidated by the challenge of going from a 10–15 percent Hebrew day to a 65+ percent Hebrew day, but I will have no choice.
I am sure that as time goes by, I will look back and wonder what I was so concerned about, but for the time being it is quite an overwhelming challenge. Yet I am sure that it will make my long-term adjustment as an Israeli much easier.
When we came on aliyah, I went to work almost immediately following our arrival (three days later). While it was certainly a great benefit to have a job to go to (many new olim spend months if not a year or more looking for a job), we also missed out on the many things that new olim do in exploring the country and familiarizing themselves with the language and “the Israeli experience.”
I didn’t take ulpan. I didn’t do any touring. I didn’t explore the city I am living in nor get a chance to participate in many of the special events that are geared toward newcomers and helping their acclimation to the country. Some of these opportunities are gone; others can still be seized.
Knowing that my Hebrew language skills are about to undergo an involuntary ulpan experience, I decided to see how I might do some of the other things that I had missed. I therefore decided to take a couple of weeks off before starting at Puah and use that time for myself.
Taking a break is not always the easiest thing to do. With everyone’s school schedules to coordinate and the various family events we have (and are thrilled to be a part of), our calendar becomes full quite easily. Although I have definitely enjoyed a few days here and there with my family (and a three-day holiday with Goldie in London, since I was there on business anyway), this would really be the first extended period of time that I had to do with as I pleased.
So far, my efforts have met with mixed results. Those days for which I have been able to coordinate full-day schedules for myself have been very productive.
I spent a terrific day in Yerushalayim, visiting the Begin Center, a Holocaust museum in the Old City, as well as a couple of archaeological museums in the Old City. At the end of the day, I went to the Kotel for a few minutes (as I get to do whenever I want to, ’cause I live here). I arrived at the Begin Center without a reservation (I had no idea I needed one). An English tour was not scheduled for several hours, so I joined the next Hebrew tour with a special headset to simulcast movie presentations in English for me. Although I definitely needed the headphones for the movies, it was gratifying that I understood the general tour without a problem.
I took Aliza for a special day in Tel Aviv, as well. We started the day in Bet HaTefutzot. In my research about the museum, I found that there was a special discount for new olim. I perked up at the thought of a discount, and when we got to the museum I asked if we still qualified for the discount after being here for three years. The ticket seller asked if I feel like I am new or not. I wasn’t sure and I said, “You know what, just charge me the regular price.” For 10 shekels, the guilt wasn’t worth it.
I then noticed that they had special headphones with an English language option as a tour aid. I turned to Aliza and asked her in English if she wanted to get the headset. The ticket agent looked up and said, “You are still speaking English to each other? You get the discount!”
The museum was very informative, but about two-thirds away from the end, Aliza began to lose patience and we rushed our way through. After enjoying a lunch in the museum coffeehouse (another Israeli treat—kosher food in the shopping malls and other convenient places) we then went to (Aliza’s favorite part) the Diamond Museum.
Although it was not necessarily something I needed to do, I knew that Aliza would get a big treat out of learning how diamonds are mined and made into gemstones. I wasn’t wrong. It isn’t every day that we get to spend time one-on-one with our kids, and this was a great treat.
Yet this isn’t a vacation, and the aforementioned kids and their needs sometimes dictate that I am around the house on certain days (especially at the end of the year with its various parties and graduations), and those days were mind-numbingly horrid.
I spend the better part of most days with Goldie. We work ten feet from each other (although that is now coming to an end), and with all the different things that we are involved with in our family, we are together quite a bit. Which has been pretty good so far.
However, being home alone is clearly not for us. We rearranged bedrooms (letting Batya take Chaim’s empty room) and did other at-home projects, and that kept me busy for a bit, but I learned quite quickly that I will not be retiring when the time comes. It would drive me crazy.
One of the days I stayed home was spent with Moshe, in advance of his “graduation” from preschool for 4-year-olds. Moshe has had a terrific adjustment here. Having brought him at age 1, Goldie made a decision (contrary to what many new olim do) to place him in a Hebrew-speaking gan in order to facilitate his Hebrew skills. It worked.
He is a terrific little kid. He speaks both Hebrew and English equally comfortably. He loves to have books of either language read to him, and as the youngest of six is a spoiled brat with a sunny disposition and a patient approach to the world.
His graduation, unlike the ones I attended for my other kids in the U.S., was filled with both mothers and fathers. In America, there was always another father or two in the room. In Israel, it is normal for the majority of fathers to come. Events are run in evenings specifically to encourage the participation of both parents throughout the year.
We really enjoyed this graduation and are excited to see Moshe move up to the next level of preschool. We had a choice of what to do with him for the upcoming year. Preschool has two levels for three years of schooling (ages 4–6). Most kids do two years of the lower level (t’rom chovah), moving up for a single year of the higher level (gan chovah) prior to first grade.
However, both the preschool administration and we feel that Moshe, being one of the oldest kids of his year, is too mature to repeat another year of t’rom preschool, and have decided to move him up a level and have him stay in the gan chovah for two years. We feel that he needs the challenge of moving to the higher level and (giving credit where credit is due) it was really Goldie’s decision to encourage his Hebrew language development that made this a possibility. She made the right call.
I have a meeting scheduled with the Minister of Housing for later this week. It is partly in response to some of the activism I am involved with here in Bet Shemesh and I hope that I can report positive results next week.
Children Move On (Article# 118) 6/18/2009
This is going to be a tough week to write. I had originally intended to discuss changes in my life, both personal and professional. However, my denial of events couldn’t stop time, and our oldest son has left the nest—a change that was expected yet still traumatic.
Chaim boarded a plane on Monday night and headed back to America, this time quite possibly for good. We’ll still see him for vacations and on our trips to the USA, but he is entering college in the fall and has expressed his desire to live his life there. No matter where he ends up, this was our last full-time experience with him being home.
Had we stayed in America, he would of course be coming to Israel this fall with the rest of his American peers. After a year or perhaps two, he would have returned to the USA, and gone to university. Had he chosen a dormitory university, we would have seen him only on Shabbatot and vacations, yet he would still have been based at home until he either took his own apartment or got married.
Here in Israel, his peers are heading to either a year of preparatory college (in advance of university) or straight to the army. They too will come home for furloughs and weekend breaks. They will certainly set up their own lives once they finish their military service, yet the country is so small that it is much easier to maintain that parent/child connection that is so vital to us as parents.
Of course, it is possible that Chaim would have decided to stay in Israel for the long term (as did my sister, who only came back for brief visits after her year in Israel). This is not unheard of, and in a family of six children there is a good chance that this would have happened to us with one of our kids anyway—although perhaps not at 18, and not in this direction (moving from Israel to the USA).
We are actually a bit lucky that he was here for this year at all. His original plan was to go to college following a single year of post-high-school learning. Having earned his high-school degree quite early, he had intended to go to YU at 17, and he only decided to stay for a second year of learning late in the year. He was convinced to stay an additional year partially by his friends but also by the university itself, whose representatives expressed their concern about a 17-year-old’s maturity and ability to handle a rigorous schedule.
I am sure that many of you have already experienced this feeling of pride and sadness and can probably tell me that this is the way things go. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.
He goes with our hopes and dreams, all our wishes and plans for who he will become, the life he will lead and the family he will grow. He leaves having been a superstar in dealing at age 15 with a life-altering move of 6,000 miles to a land he never wanted to live in. He lost his friends and everything that was comfortable in his life, yet he somehow found a new life and a new existence here in Bet Shemesh. An emerging love for Israel was just the icing on the cake.
He has his own dreams and, for the time being, they do not intersect with ours. Despite all the hardship and struggles he went through in coming here, I think he is a much stronger person. He has devoted the past two years to his Torah learning and has become much more of a mentsch than we deserved for him to be. He will follow his own path, and we look forward to continued pride in him wherever he goes and whatever he does.
The departure was traumatic for some and not much of a big deal for others. Moshe, the baby, thinks that Chaim went to “Damerica” for a couple of days and will wonder where he is at the end of the week when he hasn’t come home. Mordechai was much more upset, saying, “I don’t want him to go!” and “If he goes, I go!” Batya was also quite upset. Aliza and Chaya were a little sad, but the tears only began to flow in earnest when Chaim went to say goodbye to Goldie, who did not take things well at all. She refused to go to the airport, because she didn’t think she could handle it, so she said goodbye at the door. With all the crying going on, I myself was able to remain pretty calm about the whole thing. But I definitely felt the passing of time and the realization that we are entering yet another stage in our growth.
My sister Bluma’s son had his own transition this past week, as well. Her third son, my nephew Idan, became a bar mitzvah last Monday and, for the first time ever, my entire family was able to participate in the simcha. In fact, my brother Ozer noted later that it was the first time since my wedding that all the Katzes were in the same room at the same time. There was someone missing for all subsequent s’machot, be it my brother-in-law or Goldie or our kids.
My brother-in-law Arieh is of Tunisian descent, so we had a really Sephardi celebration. Having been through this a couple of times, I am prepared for the constant barrage of candy from the women, the “Kooooolooloolooloolooloolooloo” yodels that serenade each person’s ascent for his aliyah, and even the different cantillations and nigunim. The only thing that makes me crazy is the amount of TIME they spend on davening. Everything is said out loud by the chazzan. Each word. One thing I remind myself at each simcha is that I simply do not have the patience to be a Sephardi.
My brother-in-law has a terrific family. Twelve brothers and sisters, and they really represent all walks of Israeli society, yet they are accepting and loving of one another in a way that is truly inspirational. I have come to know some of them, and their encouragement and support to us, both in making aliyah and in all the trials we have had since coming here, has made us feel so loved.
On Shabbat, my sister’s sisters-in-law all said to her, “You cannot serve or help in any way”; they wanted her to enjoy the simcha without having to worry about the details. It is apparently an unwritten rule in their family that you might need to work like a dog in preparing for the simcha, but once the day arrives everyone else pitches in so you can enjoy.
Goldie had such a terrific time with them that she asked Bluma if it might be possible for her (Goldie) to be adopted into the Uzan family (especially the ones with Temani spouses who were really the most fun of all the siblings) so that she could enjoy them all the more.
Of course, as generally happens, “when it rains it pours.” So, we missed the bar mitzvah of Yehoshua Rosner (Rabbi and Mrs. Rosner’s son), the first bar mitzvah in our shul—although we did get to the Sunday-night party in Yeshivat Reishit Yerushalayim and got to visit with former Five Towners Gary and Kiki Schickman, Martin and Debbie Rothman, Gary Wallin, and Bonnie Polansky, who we don’t usually see, as well as shul members Mutty and Penina Eichler, Josh and Daniella Rudof, and Jon and Sarah Paley.
We also missed the bar mitzvah of Chaim Jacobs (son of Zvi and Amy) in the USA. I remember Chaim as a teeny tiny kid posing with me as the extra-small and xxx-large models for a Yeshiva of South Shore sweatshirt (he was standing on a table and still only came to my shoulder). We apparently missed my cousin Shua and Devorah Ray’s daughter Kayla’s bat mitzvah in Chicago last month (our invite got sent back in the mail, taking over two months to make the round trip from Chicago to Israel and back; mail service here is spotty at best) as well as the birth of her newest younger sister Libby last week.
Mazal tov to them all. For those who we were able to share in their simcha, we were glad to be there and celebrate together. For the others: Why are you still in America?
Chaim boarded a plane on Monday night and headed back to America, this time quite possibly for good. We’ll still see him for vacations and on our trips to the USA, but he is entering college in the fall and has expressed his desire to live his life there. No matter where he ends up, this was our last full-time experience with him being home.
Had we stayed in America, he would of course be coming to Israel this fall with the rest of his American peers. After a year or perhaps two, he would have returned to the USA, and gone to university. Had he chosen a dormitory university, we would have seen him only on Shabbatot and vacations, yet he would still have been based at home until he either took his own apartment or got married.
Here in Israel, his peers are heading to either a year of preparatory college (in advance of university) or straight to the army. They too will come home for furloughs and weekend breaks. They will certainly set up their own lives once they finish their military service, yet the country is so small that it is much easier to maintain that parent/child connection that is so vital to us as parents.
Of course, it is possible that Chaim would have decided to stay in Israel for the long term (as did my sister, who only came back for brief visits after her year in Israel). This is not unheard of, and in a family of six children there is a good chance that this would have happened to us with one of our kids anyway—although perhaps not at 18, and not in this direction (moving from Israel to the USA).
We are actually a bit lucky that he was here for this year at all. His original plan was to go to college following a single year of post-high-school learning. Having earned his high-school degree quite early, he had intended to go to YU at 17, and he only decided to stay for a second year of learning late in the year. He was convinced to stay an additional year partially by his friends but also by the university itself, whose representatives expressed their concern about a 17-year-old’s maturity and ability to handle a rigorous schedule.
I am sure that many of you have already experienced this feeling of pride and sadness and can probably tell me that this is the way things go. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.
He goes with our hopes and dreams, all our wishes and plans for who he will become, the life he will lead and the family he will grow. He leaves having been a superstar in dealing at age 15 with a life-altering move of 6,000 miles to a land he never wanted to live in. He lost his friends and everything that was comfortable in his life, yet he somehow found a new life and a new existence here in Bet Shemesh. An emerging love for Israel was just the icing on the cake.
He has his own dreams and, for the time being, they do not intersect with ours. Despite all the hardship and struggles he went through in coming here, I think he is a much stronger person. He has devoted the past two years to his Torah learning and has become much more of a mentsch than we deserved for him to be. He will follow his own path, and we look forward to continued pride in him wherever he goes and whatever he does.
The departure was traumatic for some and not much of a big deal for others. Moshe, the baby, thinks that Chaim went to “Damerica” for a couple of days and will wonder where he is at the end of the week when he hasn’t come home. Mordechai was much more upset, saying, “I don’t want him to go!” and “If he goes, I go!” Batya was also quite upset. Aliza and Chaya were a little sad, but the tears only began to flow in earnest when Chaim went to say goodbye to Goldie, who did not take things well at all. She refused to go to the airport, because she didn’t think she could handle it, so she said goodbye at the door. With all the crying going on, I myself was able to remain pretty calm about the whole thing. But I definitely felt the passing of time and the realization that we are entering yet another stage in our growth.
My sister Bluma’s son had his own transition this past week, as well. Her third son, my nephew Idan, became a bar mitzvah last Monday and, for the first time ever, my entire family was able to participate in the simcha. In fact, my brother Ozer noted later that it was the first time since my wedding that all the Katzes were in the same room at the same time. There was someone missing for all subsequent s’machot, be it my brother-in-law or Goldie or our kids.
My brother-in-law Arieh is of Tunisian descent, so we had a really Sephardi celebration. Having been through this a couple of times, I am prepared for the constant barrage of candy from the women, the “Kooooolooloolooloolooloolooloo” yodels that serenade each person’s ascent for his aliyah, and even the different cantillations and nigunim. The only thing that makes me crazy is the amount of TIME they spend on davening. Everything is said out loud by the chazzan. Each word. One thing I remind myself at each simcha is that I simply do not have the patience to be a Sephardi.
My brother-in-law has a terrific family. Twelve brothers and sisters, and they really represent all walks of Israeli society, yet they are accepting and loving of one another in a way that is truly inspirational. I have come to know some of them, and their encouragement and support to us, both in making aliyah and in all the trials we have had since coming here, has made us feel so loved.
On Shabbat, my sister’s sisters-in-law all said to her, “You cannot serve or help in any way”; they wanted her to enjoy the simcha without having to worry about the details. It is apparently an unwritten rule in their family that you might need to work like a dog in preparing for the simcha, but once the day arrives everyone else pitches in so you can enjoy.
Goldie had such a terrific time with them that she asked Bluma if it might be possible for her (Goldie) to be adopted into the Uzan family (especially the ones with Temani spouses who were really the most fun of all the siblings) so that she could enjoy them all the more.
Of course, as generally happens, “when it rains it pours.” So, we missed the bar mitzvah of Yehoshua Rosner (Rabbi and Mrs. Rosner’s son), the first bar mitzvah in our shul—although we did get to the Sunday-night party in Yeshivat Reishit Yerushalayim and got to visit with former Five Towners Gary and Kiki Schickman, Martin and Debbie Rothman, Gary Wallin, and Bonnie Polansky, who we don’t usually see, as well as shul members Mutty and Penina Eichler, Josh and Daniella Rudof, and Jon and Sarah Paley.
We also missed the bar mitzvah of Chaim Jacobs (son of Zvi and Amy) in the USA. I remember Chaim as a teeny tiny kid posing with me as the extra-small and xxx-large models for a Yeshiva of South Shore sweatshirt (he was standing on a table and still only came to my shoulder). We apparently missed my cousin Shua and Devorah Ray’s daughter Kayla’s bat mitzvah in Chicago last month (our invite got sent back in the mail, taking over two months to make the round trip from Chicago to Israel and back; mail service here is spotty at best) as well as the birth of her newest younger sister Libby last week.
Mazal tov to them all. For those who we were able to share in their simcha, we were glad to be there and celebrate together. For the others: Why are you still in America?
Spying out the Land, Again (Article# 117) 6/11/2009
It has been a few weeks, hasn’t it? For reasons that will be clearer next week, I took a mini vacation from writing. However, knowing that this week is Parashas Shelach (in Israel; you chutz la’aretz guys messed things up by having two days of Shavuot and missing the right week to hear Nasso, but it is OK—you will catch up in a couple of weeks), I couldn’t resist the lure of the keyboard.
Last year, in response to Nefesh B’Nefesh’s request that olim send a list of reasons (à la the original meraglim) to come live in Israel, I wrote a column entitled “Spying out the Land” giving the top 10 reasonsto come live in Israel (in correlation to the 10 meraglim who recommended against entering Israel) which I urge you all to reread by visiting http://tinyurl.com/lo6vwj. However, if those reasons weren’t enough, here are another 10 reasons you should embark on an aliyah adventure of your own.
10. It’s the economy, stupid. Although Israel has struggled along with the rest of the world, most indicators tell us that (gasp) Binyamin Netanyahu’s financial reforms (enacted when he was Minister of Finance in the previous Likud government) put Israel in a strong position to withstand the worst of the crisis. The shekel has proven to be a strong and resilient currency and inflation looks to be as stable as can be expected in these recessionary times. Make no mistake: we are suffering here too with layoffs, pay cuts, and a loss in income and assets, but it isn’t as bad here as it is there (although that is hard to prove to someone who is out of work).
9. Vacationing in Israel is much cheaper. There is a connection to this land that keeps so many of you coming back on a regular basis and/or sending your children here for a visit or even a year. Even with the recently lowered cost of airfare, it still costs several thousand dollars for a family to make the trip here before they even embark on a single day trip.
Europe is much closer too. When you are looking for that additional treat, the flights are incredibly cheap at times. Some of the deals require very little notice, but if you are flexible you can take advantage of great pricing. For instance, airfare for a weeklong trip to Italy was priced at $188 this week with similar deals for Hungary, Spain, and a host of other European destinations.
8. Gentile neighbors are a thing of the past. Unless you live in a major urban area or are specifically looking to be in a mixed-religion community, your family will not have that much to do with people not like you. Yes, I may rail on about some of the chareidim in Bet Shemesh (not all of them; only an acknowledged minority) but they are still Jews and they are still more like me than most of my former neighbors from Woodmere. I may not like/approve of their actions, but we are all one nation.
There is very little chilul Shabbat in our neighborhood—maybe 12-20 cars each week and even the most irreligious people have a basic “Jewish education” including Tanach and Jewish history. Bet Shemesh is a hamlet of sorts, as is Chashmonaim, Efrat, Neve Daniel, etc., but a main attraction of all these small communities, which seem to be Anglo magnets (aside from the English), is their existential Jewishness.
7. The food. I have always been a fan of Israeli food, enjoying falafel and shwarma as much as the next guy. Or at least I thought I did. When I began to eat “Israeli food” in Israel, I realized what a poor imitation I had in the U.S. No insult to the “Israeli” places in the U.S., but I rarely eat in them when I am on a trip to the U.S. Once you go authentic, you can’t go back to the imitation.
Even non “Israeli” foods are great here. There are a host of wonderful kosher restaurants overseas (that means over there), but you cannot experience the great range of options we do unless you live in a major metropolitan area. Even then, the sheer population advantage of kosher consumers we enjoy here allows for a much broader spectrum of choices and opportunities for a great meal.
Theme restaurants are kosher. Where else in the world can you enjoy the experience of eating a delicious kosher meal in total darkness, served by blind waiters? How about enjoying a meal from one of our several all-you-can-eat Brazilian steakhouse chains? Pizza Hut? Sbarro’s? We even have a (mehadrin) kosher KFC (I think their coating is way too salty)!
6. Fitting in. This is both a positive and a negative. Here in Israel, there are so many communities that there is somewhere for everyone, no matter what their religious practices and/or political leanings are. There are like-minded people for almost everyone, which makes for a comfortable existence and life.
However, this also provides a natural breeding ground for disagreements and antagonism. Since we Israelis share a common bond as Jews, we have to look harder than you do to find the things that make us different. Our distaste for those who do not share the same beliefs/values is much stronger than we experienced in the U.S. (I am guilty as well) and emboldens people to do things they never would consider doing outside of Israel. This is reflected in the fact that in some (social) ways, you in galut enjoy more achdut than we do (a fact I have lamented often).
On the whole, being part of a united community vastly outweighs the negatives but I have to be honest and this point cuts both ways.
5. Leining the “right” parshiyot. We are technically all in galut. You are just in the furthest galut, being outside of Israel. Last year I talked about having only one day of yom tov for the chagim, but this year another funny quirk popped up—the last day of a yom tov fell out on Shabbat.
We celebrated one day of Shavuot as always (with Megillat Rut, Akdamot, and Yizkor all done on the same day—beginning at 4:30 a.m. after Tikkun Leil Shavuot). The next day, although flowing naturally from Shavuot, was a regular Shabbat for us and we read Parashat Nasso. You (as noted above) still had that day as Shavuot and read a special yom tov leining, delaying Nasso until the next week (when we read Bha’alotcha). Through July you will be a week behind us (you catch up with a double parashah on Matot-Masei). I am not in any way saying your way is wrong but wouldn’t it be better to do it the way it was originally intended to be?
4. The shopkeepers. We try to shop “Jewish” whenever we can in order to support other Jews. While it is almost impossible to totally avoid buying non-Jewish/Arab products (for instance, the overwhelming majority of cucumbers here are grown on Arab farms), we want to benefit the Jewish shopkeepers as much as possible.
While this is relatively easy to do in Bet Shemesh, it becomes harder in major cities. Almost all Jewish shopkeepers are aggressive and incredibly knowledgeable and helpful (as opposed to civil servants or those who work in service industries like bank tellers). They understand that their eagerness to please and their help in identifying just the right product leads to loyal customers and more business.
We have a couple of local “variety” type stores in Bet Shemesh about 200 feet from each other. One is more for hardware and the other is more for housewares. They are owned by a father and son and you could not find friendlier and more helpful people.
One of the main reasons we like them (aside from their good natured friendliness) are the little things that they do and know. We recently bought some coffee glasses in the housewares store and as Goldie peeled the labels off, she commented on how easily they came off. The owner responded that he stocks a specific brand of glasses and price tags in order to make it easier to peel the labels off prior to dunking them in the mikvah. That is service.
We patronize a local appetizing store owned by really nice Gerrer Chassidim. The owner greets us personally every time we walk into the store and makes sure to wish us a Gut Shabbos before we leave. At the shuk in Machane Yehuda, a storekeeper once told me that I could not shop in his store for Pesach products because his ingredients were kitniyot and I am Ashkenazi.
They might all be out to make a buck (or shekel as the case may be), but they are super friendly and their recognition of halachah and the value we place on halachah (even if the shopkeeper himself is not religious) is comforting.
3. Tuition, tuition, tuition. This is the only repeat from last year. I should really repeat my points about the holiness of the land, doing mitzvot in Israel, being in the land of the Tanach, or any of the other ones dealing with the fact that Jews belong in the land that was given to us and that it is the holiest place for us to be and enhances our every action (both good and bad).
However, as a regular reader of the Five Towns Jewish Times this past year, I have seen a recurrent theme in its pages: “The Tuition Crisis” and “The Cost Of A Jewish Education.” The costs are incredibly high and I am amazed that in this time of recession it is still possible to pay up to $30,000 to send a single child for a year to high school. What are you people thinking?
I may earn less and pay higher taxes, but the benefits in health care and education are incredible. I pay less than a 5 digit dollar figure to send all 5 kids to school, and there are so many schools to choose from here.
None of our schools have building funds, dinners, or any of the other fees and taxes that your yeshiva has been hitting you with. We are therefore less tied in to a specific school and it is not a big deal to send kids to different schools, allowing you to send each kid to the school that is best for him/her as an individual instead of them all being lumped into the same building for convenience/cost.
2. Davening. There are many wonderful shuls and chazzanim outside of Israel. However, most of the people in those shuls don’t fully understand the words they are saying. Hebrew is a foreign language to them. Even people who have studied the davening and can literally translate them don’t fully appreciate what they are saying.
Almost all of davening (all of Tehillim) is poetry written by David HaMelech. Most of us cannot fully appreciate Italian, Greek, or Latin poetry, even when it is translated to English because we lack the fluency to understand the nuances that make the poetry especially beautiful and meaningful. The same holds true for davening.
Israeli born Jews do not have such a handicap. Even immigrants stack up better than foreign Jews because they are forced to be somewhat fluent in order to conduct their everyday lives. Most of us know where the accents are supposed to be and pause at the correct moment. Singing a tefillah that you understand (especially as a group) is unbelievable.
1. Write your own Chronicles. I have enjoyed tremendous support from the overwhelming majority of my readers. Larry Gordon’s vision of enabling the average reader to visualize the aliyah process and connect a little more closely with Israel turned out to be prophetic in a way. Your support has seen us through many of the trials and tribulations we have faced and comforted us when we needed it most.
Yet, it is practically impossible to please everyone. I have heard it all: “Katz is too religious,” “Katz isn’t religious enough,” “How could you have done that in public” and of course, my all-time favorite “Katz is a jerk for beating up on the chareidim because we identify with them.”
Firstly, you only think you identify with them. I complain about those who do things that no one in the Five Towns would even dream of doing and behave in such an immoral way that it is impossible to defend them. I have repeatedly said that I understand that the majority of the chareidi public are nice people and want to live their lives the same way I do—without interference from outsiders. My complaint to them is that they (by their silence) enable the worst elements in their community to terrorize us all.
Yet no matter how many times I say this, there are always a handful of people who think I am an agent of evil and have no “right” to say (in a column that is supposed to be a journal of my personal experiences and thoughts in making aliyah) anything negative about this minority of people who have tried to enforce their standards on me and my neighbors. So please, come prove me wrong.
I would eagerly look forward to reading about your experiences and hearing your opinions, since you too will have made the sacrifice of uprooting your family and committing yourself to the future of our country and our nation. Having walked a mile in each other’s shoes, I have a suspicion that you might not be as critical of me as you are now. Or you might be. We’ll never know until you move in.
I am a total advocate for everyone to come here and add to the mosaic that is the population of our homeland. In another few years we will have 50%+ of the Jewish people resident in Israel for the first time in thousands of years. Mitzvot specific to Israel will become obligatory from the Torah then. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of that?
On a separate note, mazal tov to Goldie’s brother David and his wife Marcia on the engagement of their daughter Tova to Yitzy Klapper of Hillcrest. We are very close with David and Marcia (and especially Tova who was in seminary in Israel when we initially made aliyah). We owe tremendous appreciation to them for all they have done for us over the years. They have always been staunch supporters of our aliyah, when other relatives were not, and we feel a special bond with them. Hopefully Yitzy and Tova’s aliyah plans will come true.
Last year, in response to Nefesh B’Nefesh’s request that olim send a list of reasons (à la the original meraglim) to come live in Israel, I wrote a column entitled “Spying out the Land” giving the top 10 reasonsto come live in Israel (in correlation to the 10 meraglim who recommended against entering Israel) which I urge you all to reread by visiting http://tinyurl.com/lo6vwj. However, if those reasons weren’t enough, here are another 10 reasons you should embark on an aliyah adventure of your own.
10. It’s the economy, stupid. Although Israel has struggled along with the rest of the world, most indicators tell us that (gasp) Binyamin Netanyahu’s financial reforms (enacted when he was Minister of Finance in the previous Likud government) put Israel in a strong position to withstand the worst of the crisis. The shekel has proven to be a strong and resilient currency and inflation looks to be as stable as can be expected in these recessionary times. Make no mistake: we are suffering here too with layoffs, pay cuts, and a loss in income and assets, but it isn’t as bad here as it is there (although that is hard to prove to someone who is out of work).
9. Vacationing in Israel is much cheaper. There is a connection to this land that keeps so many of you coming back on a regular basis and/or sending your children here for a visit or even a year. Even with the recently lowered cost of airfare, it still costs several thousand dollars for a family to make the trip here before they even embark on a single day trip.
Europe is much closer too. When you are looking for that additional treat, the flights are incredibly cheap at times. Some of the deals require very little notice, but if you are flexible you can take advantage of great pricing. For instance, airfare for a weeklong trip to Italy was priced at $188 this week with similar deals for Hungary, Spain, and a host of other European destinations.
8. Gentile neighbors are a thing of the past. Unless you live in a major urban area or are specifically looking to be in a mixed-religion community, your family will not have that much to do with people not like you. Yes, I may rail on about some of the chareidim in Bet Shemesh (not all of them; only an acknowledged minority) but they are still Jews and they are still more like me than most of my former neighbors from Woodmere. I may not like/approve of their actions, but we are all one nation.
There is very little chilul Shabbat in our neighborhood—maybe 12-20 cars each week and even the most irreligious people have a basic “Jewish education” including Tanach and Jewish history. Bet Shemesh is a hamlet of sorts, as is Chashmonaim, Efrat, Neve Daniel, etc., but a main attraction of all these small communities, which seem to be Anglo magnets (aside from the English), is their existential Jewishness.
7. The food. I have always been a fan of Israeli food, enjoying falafel and shwarma as much as the next guy. Or at least I thought I did. When I began to eat “Israeli food” in Israel, I realized what a poor imitation I had in the U.S. No insult to the “Israeli” places in the U.S., but I rarely eat in them when I am on a trip to the U.S. Once you go authentic, you can’t go back to the imitation.
Even non “Israeli” foods are great here. There are a host of wonderful kosher restaurants overseas (that means over there), but you cannot experience the great range of options we do unless you live in a major metropolitan area. Even then, the sheer population advantage of kosher consumers we enjoy here allows for a much broader spectrum of choices and opportunities for a great meal.
Theme restaurants are kosher. Where else in the world can you enjoy the experience of eating a delicious kosher meal in total darkness, served by blind waiters? How about enjoying a meal from one of our several all-you-can-eat Brazilian steakhouse chains? Pizza Hut? Sbarro’s? We even have a (mehadrin) kosher KFC (I think their coating is way too salty)!
6. Fitting in. This is both a positive and a negative. Here in Israel, there are so many communities that there is somewhere for everyone, no matter what their religious practices and/or political leanings are. There are like-minded people for almost everyone, which makes for a comfortable existence and life.
However, this also provides a natural breeding ground for disagreements and antagonism. Since we Israelis share a common bond as Jews, we have to look harder than you do to find the things that make us different. Our distaste for those who do not share the same beliefs/values is much stronger than we experienced in the U.S. (I am guilty as well) and emboldens people to do things they never would consider doing outside of Israel. This is reflected in the fact that in some (social) ways, you in galut enjoy more achdut than we do (a fact I have lamented often).
On the whole, being part of a united community vastly outweighs the negatives but I have to be honest and this point cuts both ways.
5. Leining the “right” parshiyot. We are technically all in galut. You are just in the furthest galut, being outside of Israel. Last year I talked about having only one day of yom tov for the chagim, but this year another funny quirk popped up—the last day of a yom tov fell out on Shabbat.
We celebrated one day of Shavuot as always (with Megillat Rut, Akdamot, and Yizkor all done on the same day—beginning at 4:30 a.m. after Tikkun Leil Shavuot). The next day, although flowing naturally from Shavuot, was a regular Shabbat for us and we read Parashat Nasso. You (as noted above) still had that day as Shavuot and read a special yom tov leining, delaying Nasso until the next week (when we read Bha’alotcha). Through July you will be a week behind us (you catch up with a double parashah on Matot-Masei). I am not in any way saying your way is wrong but wouldn’t it be better to do it the way it was originally intended to be?
4. The shopkeepers. We try to shop “Jewish” whenever we can in order to support other Jews. While it is almost impossible to totally avoid buying non-Jewish/Arab products (for instance, the overwhelming majority of cucumbers here are grown on Arab farms), we want to benefit the Jewish shopkeepers as much as possible.
While this is relatively easy to do in Bet Shemesh, it becomes harder in major cities. Almost all Jewish shopkeepers are aggressive and incredibly knowledgeable and helpful (as opposed to civil servants or those who work in service industries like bank tellers). They understand that their eagerness to please and their help in identifying just the right product leads to loyal customers and more business.
We have a couple of local “variety” type stores in Bet Shemesh about 200 feet from each other. One is more for hardware and the other is more for housewares. They are owned by a father and son and you could not find friendlier and more helpful people.
One of the main reasons we like them (aside from their good natured friendliness) are the little things that they do and know. We recently bought some coffee glasses in the housewares store and as Goldie peeled the labels off, she commented on how easily they came off. The owner responded that he stocks a specific brand of glasses and price tags in order to make it easier to peel the labels off prior to dunking them in the mikvah. That is service.
We patronize a local appetizing store owned by really nice Gerrer Chassidim. The owner greets us personally every time we walk into the store and makes sure to wish us a Gut Shabbos before we leave. At the shuk in Machane Yehuda, a storekeeper once told me that I could not shop in his store for Pesach products because his ingredients were kitniyot and I am Ashkenazi.
They might all be out to make a buck (or shekel as the case may be), but they are super friendly and their recognition of halachah and the value we place on halachah (even if the shopkeeper himself is not religious) is comforting.
3. Tuition, tuition, tuition. This is the only repeat from last year. I should really repeat my points about the holiness of the land, doing mitzvot in Israel, being in the land of the Tanach, or any of the other ones dealing with the fact that Jews belong in the land that was given to us and that it is the holiest place for us to be and enhances our every action (both good and bad).
However, as a regular reader of the Five Towns Jewish Times this past year, I have seen a recurrent theme in its pages: “The Tuition Crisis” and “The Cost Of A Jewish Education.” The costs are incredibly high and I am amazed that in this time of recession it is still possible to pay up to $30,000 to send a single child for a year to high school. What are you people thinking?
I may earn less and pay higher taxes, but the benefits in health care and education are incredible. I pay less than a 5 digit dollar figure to send all 5 kids to school, and there are so many schools to choose from here.
None of our schools have building funds, dinners, or any of the other fees and taxes that your yeshiva has been hitting you with. We are therefore less tied in to a specific school and it is not a big deal to send kids to different schools, allowing you to send each kid to the school that is best for him/her as an individual instead of them all being lumped into the same building for convenience/cost.
2. Davening. There are many wonderful shuls and chazzanim outside of Israel. However, most of the people in those shuls don’t fully understand the words they are saying. Hebrew is a foreign language to them. Even people who have studied the davening and can literally translate them don’t fully appreciate what they are saying.
Almost all of davening (all of Tehillim) is poetry written by David HaMelech. Most of us cannot fully appreciate Italian, Greek, or Latin poetry, even when it is translated to English because we lack the fluency to understand the nuances that make the poetry especially beautiful and meaningful. The same holds true for davening.
Israeli born Jews do not have such a handicap. Even immigrants stack up better than foreign Jews because they are forced to be somewhat fluent in order to conduct their everyday lives. Most of us know where the accents are supposed to be and pause at the correct moment. Singing a tefillah that you understand (especially as a group) is unbelievable.
1. Write your own Chronicles. I have enjoyed tremendous support from the overwhelming majority of my readers. Larry Gordon’s vision of enabling the average reader to visualize the aliyah process and connect a little more closely with Israel turned out to be prophetic in a way. Your support has seen us through many of the trials and tribulations we have faced and comforted us when we needed it most.
Yet, it is practically impossible to please everyone. I have heard it all: “Katz is too religious,” “Katz isn’t religious enough,” “How could you have done that in public” and of course, my all-time favorite “Katz is a jerk for beating up on the chareidim because we identify with them.”
Firstly, you only think you identify with them. I complain about those who do things that no one in the Five Towns would even dream of doing and behave in such an immoral way that it is impossible to defend them. I have repeatedly said that I understand that the majority of the chareidi public are nice people and want to live their lives the same way I do—without interference from outsiders. My complaint to them is that they (by their silence) enable the worst elements in their community to terrorize us all.
Yet no matter how many times I say this, there are always a handful of people who think I am an agent of evil and have no “right” to say (in a column that is supposed to be a journal of my personal experiences and thoughts in making aliyah) anything negative about this minority of people who have tried to enforce their standards on me and my neighbors. So please, come prove me wrong.
I would eagerly look forward to reading about your experiences and hearing your opinions, since you too will have made the sacrifice of uprooting your family and committing yourself to the future of our country and our nation. Having walked a mile in each other’s shoes, I have a suspicion that you might not be as critical of me as you are now. Or you might be. We’ll never know until you move in.
I am a total advocate for everyone to come here and add to the mosaic that is the population of our homeland. In another few years we will have 50%+ of the Jewish people resident in Israel for the first time in thousands of years. Mitzvot specific to Israel will become obligatory from the Torah then. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of that?
On a separate note, mazal tov to Goldie’s brother David and his wife Marcia on the engagement of their daughter Tova to Yitzy Klapper of Hillcrest. We are very close with David and Marcia (and especially Tova who was in seminary in Israel when we initially made aliyah). We owe tremendous appreciation to them for all they have done for us over the years. They have always been staunch supporters of our aliyah, when other relatives were not, and we feel a special bond with them. Hopefully Yitzy and Tova’s aliyah plans will come true.
The Meaning of Service (Article# 116) 5/14/2009
Although I have already written about our Yom HaZikaron (Memorial Day) experiences last week, my sister related a story about my nephew to me late last week that I want to share.
As you know, my nephew Yonatan is currently in the middle of his military service. Although his assignments change regularly, he is currently stationed either in Gaza or at the Gaza border, and you can understand that his parents and family are quite concerned for his well-being.
He comes home for Shabbat every few weeks and is occasionally given a couple of days off during the week as well. As it happened, he came home for an overnight visit the night of Yom HaZikaron and then had to leave quite early the next morning to what my sister thought was a routine company memorial assembly. It was only days later that he told her where he had gone.
Each year on Yom HaZikaron, the active members of the unit are assigned (in pairs) to visit the graves of the soldiers from that division who had been killed in action. They are given a biography of the soldier as well as family member information so that they can greet the family members (who almost always visit the graves on Yom HaZikaron) and offer their personal support or condolences.
I think the soldier whose grave they were assigned had been killed in the Yom Kippur war. That means that every year for 35+ years, two (different) soldiers have visited the grave to support and comfort the family. I do not know whether this policy holds true for every company in every division of our military or only for the company in which my soldier serves, but it says something about the value we place upon our servicemen and women and the sacrifice that some of them make.
Later in the week I got a copy of an e-mail that was sent by one of my relatives to his parents in the USA. He has been on his “gap year” in a yeshiva and had decided (with his parents approval) to stay for a second year as well. However, he does not feel that even this second year will be enough to quench the thirst within him, and he sent them the following e-mail:
Being a Jew, a son of the Avos and Imahos, one carries responsibility and the history of his nation with him. Being the Am Segulah (Chosen Nation) entails many things, one of which is that from the beginning of time till the end of time we will always be around.
We have seen Pharaohs come and go, Bavel come and go, Greece and the Romans come and go, Persia come and go. We have withstood the Crusades, blood libels, pogroms, and myriads of massacres. We have seen the sheker of Christianity, since its origin, lead to untold deaths of our people and of course the most recent, the terrors of the Shoah.
Yet throughout all these catastrophes, the horror of each of which it is impossible to relate to, there is one common denominator—“Am Yisrael Chai.”
Yes, of course on the individual level hundreds of thousands of millions of Jews died, but nationally we are here and flourishing.
For over 2,000 years since the Churban Bayis Sheini the Jews have been ripping their hearts apart in tears to return to Eretz Yisrael. Every single day a Jew prays to return to Israel, to rebuild Yerushalayim, and for Kibutz Galuyos—at least three times a day. Those 2,000 years of prayers started to be openly answered in 1948.
In 1948, the geulah started to openly unfold. The people exiled for 2,000 years returned to their homeland. What an unbelievable event. One can’t put into words the awesomeness of that event.
The world watched the Jew wander the earth for centuries. The Jew was beaten many times along the away, was near death at points, but the Jew never forgot where he was going. The Jew was walking with a “guide” (G-d) who promised him that he will make it back to his homeland against all odds. The Jew made many stops along the way, but whenever he got too settled and comfortable in one area, the Guide would remind him, at a cost, that he must not forget where he came from and to where he is going.
In 1948 the Jew made it home, and in 1948 the history of the Jew and the history of the world started wrapping itself up. In 2009, sixty-one years later, we can see history wrapping itself up and we hear the footsteps of Moshiach.
From the prophecies to the midrashim we can see their fulfillment in front of our eyes. I walk in the Rova and see the fulfillment of Zechariah’s vision of children playing in the streets of Yerushalayim.
I see the fulfillment of what the navi said, that when the Jews are exiled Israel will not bear its fruit; all one has to do now is to open the window of his home in Israel to see the beautiful forests and gardens.
With all the midrashim about B’nei Yishmael and other hundreds of sources, could it be more obvious that we are only moments away from the ultimate Geulah?
That being said, one must ask himself: “What role do I want to take in this wrapping up of history?” A Jew can no longer only think individually. He must think for the K’lal, for Am Yisrael. Now more than ever, one must gear his life on the question of: “What could I do for K’lal Yisrael now?”
A Jew can’t be self-centered and just care about what is best for him. That’s not the way a Jew thinks. At a time when there is the opportunity to live in Israel again, when there is more Torah learning in Israel than ever, where there is a Jewish army for the first time since Bayis Sheini, individuals must start thinking as one united nation. There is no space for the selfish in the Jewish Nation.
It is mind boggling that Hashem gave us Eretz Yisrael and there are still millions of Jews in the galus. What do they think about when they say the words “U’veneih Yerushalayim” in davening three times a day, or sing “L’shanah haba’ah” at the Seder?
“Next year in Yerushalayim—as long as we could stay comfortable and get rid of those rude Israelis.”
“We are too comfortable here in galus; it’s too hard to move to Israel.”
What small thinking. In Jewish history, have the Jews ever stayed in one place for too long? A true Jew, by definition, yearns to live in Eretz Yisrael. People in the galus are too comfortable for geulah.
What a z’chus to live during such a time. The questions I ask myself are: “What role do I want to play in the geulah?” “What have I done for K’lal Yisrael?”
The answer for that is—nothing yet. Yes, of course I am at a young age where there is only so much one can do for a nation, but I am at a pivotal point in my life where I can choose the path I take for the rest of my life, until my death.
So here is the question: “What will I do for K’lal Yisrael?” Hopefully many things bs”d, but one thing I can do now (as in the next few years) is join the Jewish army.
I want to take part in protecting and fighting for Am Yisrael, the same way Yehoshua’s army and the Chashmonaim did in our past. I wish with all my being to join Tzahal. I yearn with every inch of my body to fight for my country, my people, and my heritage.
What’s the difference between me and a Dudik Perez from Haifa? Is my blood any redder? I desire with my whole heart to join my brothers and fight right beside them. I feel it is my duty. They are Jewish and so am I.
What a great message and an inspiration. I do not know that this young man will end up following this dream and serving in the army; this decision is more than a year away. However, I do know that his sentiment and his emotion represent what I believe that we need more of.
This past Shabbat we had the privilege of joining our dear friends and former neighbors Gabe and Anat Levi for the celebration of the Bar Mitzvah of their son David in Yerushalayim. We are always thrilled to join our friends for their smachot here.
This simcha was additionally special. Gabe and Anat went out of their way repeatedly during Goldie’s illness to give us guidance, comfort, and support. They would kill me if I went into further detail, but I am grateful to have the opportunity to publicly thank Gabe and Anat for their kindness and support and wish them and their family a huge Mazal Tov.
As you know, my nephew Yonatan is currently in the middle of his military service. Although his assignments change regularly, he is currently stationed either in Gaza or at the Gaza border, and you can understand that his parents and family are quite concerned for his well-being.
He comes home for Shabbat every few weeks and is occasionally given a couple of days off during the week as well. As it happened, he came home for an overnight visit the night of Yom HaZikaron and then had to leave quite early the next morning to what my sister thought was a routine company memorial assembly. It was only days later that he told her where he had gone.
Each year on Yom HaZikaron, the active members of the unit are assigned (in pairs) to visit the graves of the soldiers from that division who had been killed in action. They are given a biography of the soldier as well as family member information so that they can greet the family members (who almost always visit the graves on Yom HaZikaron) and offer their personal support or condolences.
I think the soldier whose grave they were assigned had been killed in the Yom Kippur war. That means that every year for 35+ years, two (different) soldiers have visited the grave to support and comfort the family. I do not know whether this policy holds true for every company in every division of our military or only for the company in which my soldier serves, but it says something about the value we place upon our servicemen and women and the sacrifice that some of them make.
Later in the week I got a copy of an e-mail that was sent by one of my relatives to his parents in the USA. He has been on his “gap year” in a yeshiva and had decided (with his parents approval) to stay for a second year as well. However, he does not feel that even this second year will be enough to quench the thirst within him, and he sent them the following e-mail:
Being a Jew, a son of the Avos and Imahos, one carries responsibility and the history of his nation with him. Being the Am Segulah (Chosen Nation) entails many things, one of which is that from the beginning of time till the end of time we will always be around.
We have seen Pharaohs come and go, Bavel come and go, Greece and the Romans come and go, Persia come and go. We have withstood the Crusades, blood libels, pogroms, and myriads of massacres. We have seen the sheker of Christianity, since its origin, lead to untold deaths of our people and of course the most recent, the terrors of the Shoah.
Yet throughout all these catastrophes, the horror of each of which it is impossible to relate to, there is one common denominator—“Am Yisrael Chai.”
Yes, of course on the individual level hundreds of thousands of millions of Jews died, but nationally we are here and flourishing.
For over 2,000 years since the Churban Bayis Sheini the Jews have been ripping their hearts apart in tears to return to Eretz Yisrael. Every single day a Jew prays to return to Israel, to rebuild Yerushalayim, and for Kibutz Galuyos—at least three times a day. Those 2,000 years of prayers started to be openly answered in 1948.
In 1948, the geulah started to openly unfold. The people exiled for 2,000 years returned to their homeland. What an unbelievable event. One can’t put into words the awesomeness of that event.
The world watched the Jew wander the earth for centuries. The Jew was beaten many times along the away, was near death at points, but the Jew never forgot where he was going. The Jew was walking with a “guide” (G-d) who promised him that he will make it back to his homeland against all odds. The Jew made many stops along the way, but whenever he got too settled and comfortable in one area, the Guide would remind him, at a cost, that he must not forget where he came from and to where he is going.
In 1948 the Jew made it home, and in 1948 the history of the Jew and the history of the world started wrapping itself up. In 2009, sixty-one years later, we can see history wrapping itself up and we hear the footsteps of Moshiach.
From the prophecies to the midrashim we can see their fulfillment in front of our eyes. I walk in the Rova and see the fulfillment of Zechariah’s vision of children playing in the streets of Yerushalayim.
I see the fulfillment of what the navi said, that when the Jews are exiled Israel will not bear its fruit; all one has to do now is to open the window of his home in Israel to see the beautiful forests and gardens.
With all the midrashim about B’nei Yishmael and other hundreds of sources, could it be more obvious that we are only moments away from the ultimate Geulah?
That being said, one must ask himself: “What role do I want to take in this wrapping up of history?” A Jew can no longer only think individually. He must think for the K’lal, for Am Yisrael. Now more than ever, one must gear his life on the question of: “What could I do for K’lal Yisrael now?”
A Jew can’t be self-centered and just care about what is best for him. That’s not the way a Jew thinks. At a time when there is the opportunity to live in Israel again, when there is more Torah learning in Israel than ever, where there is a Jewish army for the first time since Bayis Sheini, individuals must start thinking as one united nation. There is no space for the selfish in the Jewish Nation.
It is mind boggling that Hashem gave us Eretz Yisrael and there are still millions of Jews in the galus. What do they think about when they say the words “U’veneih Yerushalayim” in davening three times a day, or sing “L’shanah haba’ah” at the Seder?
“Next year in Yerushalayim—as long as we could stay comfortable and get rid of those rude Israelis.”
“We are too comfortable here in galus; it’s too hard to move to Israel.”
What small thinking. In Jewish history, have the Jews ever stayed in one place for too long? A true Jew, by definition, yearns to live in Eretz Yisrael. People in the galus are too comfortable for geulah.
What a z’chus to live during such a time. The questions I ask myself are: “What role do I want to play in the geulah?” “What have I done for K’lal Yisrael?”
The answer for that is—nothing yet. Yes, of course I am at a young age where there is only so much one can do for a nation, but I am at a pivotal point in my life where I can choose the path I take for the rest of my life, until my death.
So here is the question: “What will I do for K’lal Yisrael?” Hopefully many things bs”d, but one thing I can do now (as in the next few years) is join the Jewish army.
I want to take part in protecting and fighting for Am Yisrael, the same way Yehoshua’s army and the Chashmonaim did in our past. I wish with all my being to join Tzahal. I yearn with every inch of my body to fight for my country, my people, and my heritage.
What’s the difference between me and a Dudik Perez from Haifa? Is my blood any redder? I desire with my whole heart to join my brothers and fight right beside them. I feel it is my duty. They are Jewish and so am I.
What a great message and an inspiration. I do not know that this young man will end up following this dream and serving in the army; this decision is more than a year away. However, I do know that his sentiment and his emotion represent what I believe that we need more of.
This past Shabbat we had the privilege of joining our dear friends and former neighbors Gabe and Anat Levi for the celebration of the Bar Mitzvah of their son David in Yerushalayim. We are always thrilled to join our friends for their smachot here.
This simcha was additionally special. Gabe and Anat went out of their way repeatedly during Goldie’s illness to give us guidance, comfort, and support. They would kill me if I went into further detail, but I am grateful to have the opportunity to publicly thank Gabe and Anat for their kindness and support and wish them and their family a huge Mazal Tov.
Showing Our True Colors (Article# 115) 5/7/2009
Getting back to normal life is always a bit of a change. When Pesach vacation ends, the kids have been off for more than two weeks and the schools generally wind down their activities in the last couple of months of the year here anyway. It is strange actually. Serious learning is mostly done “between the holidays,” with the time before Sukkot and after Pesach seemingly run at something like two-thirds or half speed. Yet, even with a shorter time period of more intensive learning than we had in the USA, they cover the Judaic subjects and even some secular subjects (specifically math) so much more comprehensively.
I think it all stems from less time being focused on the Judaic subjects. Hebrew is natural, so they spend less time translating and can cover a lot more ground in less time, freeing time for other subjects. I also think it is an outgrowth of the way (at least in our children's schools) many of the “home room” teachers stay with their class for two-year stretches (Mordechai’s morah has seen him through both first and second grades) and their familiarity with the students (and vice versa) make the second year much more productive. Of course, that is only my opinion and by many means of measurement we (as a country) are woefully behind, so…
In any case, as opposed to the frustrations of the pre-chagim fall term when no learning is done, this is a very busy time of year for the kids. Packed into these few weeks are sefirat ha’omer, several national holidays, and then finally Shavuot—so there is a lot for them to do, even if it means less focus on core subjects.
Yom HaShoah is the beginning of a week of special days, ending with Yom HaAtzma’ut, for the entire country. In anticipation of the festive week, Goldie and I went out and bought a couple of huge Israeli flags to display outside our house (we also bought four flags to fly outside our car windows). It is the season for such things, and our old flag was kind of tattered, so we knew we needed a replacement.
Last year one of our community representatives got a call from our across-the-street neighbors instructing us to take down the flags, which were offensive to them. This year, knowing we needed to replace our existing flag, I bought two seven-by-five flags and prominently displayed them. I also took orders for some of my neighbors, and we all were quite happy to hang the flags as visibly as possible.
Our kids asked us why we bought four flags for the car when we only displayed two of them. Unfortunately, that night they got their answer. (Warning: Rabbi Ginzberg should kindly skip ahead to the paragraph beginning “As I noted…”)
Mordechai had stabbed himself in the hand with a knife while cutting an orange, and I took him to the local night clinic belonging to our health plan, which is situated in Ramat Bet Shemesh Bet (a.k.a. Chareidi-land) to be checked by the on-call pediatrician. We were there for no more than 15 minutes and returned to the car to find that both of our flags had been broken off the windows, with just the plastic bases remaining.
Boy was I angry!
After quite vocally shouting that somebody owed me ten shekels for my stolen property, I got into the car and began to back out of my parking spot to leave when I was suddenly inspired. I slammed on my brakes and jumped out of the driver’s seat. Reaching into the back seat, I grabbed my two spare flags and proceeded to quite loudly inform the (very few) people watching that I WIN—and that I will ALWAYS display the flag, no matter how much they hate it.
I still have one of the plastic bases in the car window. I keep it there as a badge of honor. I want everyone to know what the hoodlums do and to be reminded that we do not give in to thuggery.
Of course, this year brought a new twist to the disgusting displays of our anti-Israeli brethren: black flags. Put up as an obvious rebuke of our Israeli flags, they are an obnoxious statement by people who clearly have no hakarat ha’tov. Thankfully, I only saw three of them this year (although one was directly across the street from our house).
As I noted last year, I personally feel that the close proximity of both Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron to Yom HaAtzma’ut adds to the celebration and is incredibly meaningful, especially for the children. Even the littlest of them are taught to respect the memories of the fallen on both memorial days; and understanding the Shoah’s role in leading to the creation of the State of Israel is a major part of the spring curriculum here. In fact, an overwhelming majority of the 12th-grade students here have a trip to Poland (similar to the “March of the Living”) as their school-sponsored class trip.
A week later, on Yom HaZikaron, I took Batya (10) and Mordechai (8) to the Bet Shemesh municipal memorial service for the residents of Bet Shemesh who perished either in service to the country or in terrorist attacks. It was an incredibly moving ceremony and I never cease to be amazed at the tremendous respect that servicemen and servicewomen get in this country.
The memorial opened with the sounding of the air-raid sirens. Even though I knew it would happen, the sudden silence as a few thousand people stood in unison for the siren was breathtaking. The MC truly captured the essence of the day in his opening remarks, as he spoke about the losses the families and the country as a whole have suffered: Children and grandchildren never to be born. Husbands and wives never to meet. Generations of people taken away in the ultimate sacrifice to the safety and security of our country and our people.
After his brief remarks, they presented a slide show on large screens erected for the day. Every person’s picture was displayed as a narrator informed us of their birth dates and death dates as well as the war or terrorist attack in which the person perished. I didn’t think the kids were paying attention until both kids commented together, “Abba, a lot of people died in the Six Day War.”
After the slide show, a memorial torch (similar to an eternal flame) was lit adjacent to the permanent war memorial we had assembled in front of. A “Keil Malei Rachamim” was sung and then all the male relatives of the victims came up to the stage to recite Kaddish in unison in memory of their loved ones.
We left toward the end (the kids were getting antsy) after the singing of HaTikvah. I can honestly say that I really felt a part of Bet Shemesh that night. This city is so cosmopolitan, and we (admittedly) live in a very insular Anglo neighborhood. Even though some of our other neighbors (the ones I don’t like—you know who they are) hung up their black flags and totally disrespected the sacrifices of those who risk everything for the protection of every Israeli, everyone else united in a very positive way, and it was awesome!
In Batya’s school, the fourth grade puts on the Yom HaZikaron presentation for the entire school, and Goldie and I attended. I thought it would be sappy, but was again impressed by the serious tone and approach the girls took in putting on the dramatic performance.
That afternoon we went as a family to a local shul’s memorial assembly and transition into Yom HaAtzma’ut. They had a special Maariv davening, and when we finished we capped off the night by walking down to the local amphitheater to enjoy the municipal fireworks.
The next day we had a Katz family extravaganza. My sister (who decided to be a homebody) didn’t come, but everyone else went for a hike through the mountains here to a cave known as the Batcave (insert joke here) and a natural rock slide (the kids loved it). After the hike we were all joined by Bubbee and Zaidy at our house for a special Yom HaAtzma’ut BBQ.
It is truly a great time of year to be an Israeli and to live here in our land. As time goes by and we become more familiar with the language and the practices of our adopted country, we feel more and more comfortable in calling this place home. It is an amazing place of contradictions and dispute—but it is still the only place for Jews like you and me to live.
A special Mazal Tov to our good friends and fellow olim Dani and Tzippy Lieberman (who have appeared in these pages before) on the bar mitzvah of Avrumi, their bechor (firstborn). As Avrumi’s bar mitzvah teacher, I was especially pleased to participate in the celebration, and we look forward to sharing many more s’machot together.
I think it all stems from less time being focused on the Judaic subjects. Hebrew is natural, so they spend less time translating and can cover a lot more ground in less time, freeing time for other subjects. I also think it is an outgrowth of the way (at least in our children's schools) many of the “home room” teachers stay with their class for two-year stretches (Mordechai’s morah has seen him through both first and second grades) and their familiarity with the students (and vice versa) make the second year much more productive. Of course, that is only my opinion and by many means of measurement we (as a country) are woefully behind, so…
In any case, as opposed to the frustrations of the pre-chagim fall term when no learning is done, this is a very busy time of year for the kids. Packed into these few weeks are sefirat ha’omer, several national holidays, and then finally Shavuot—so there is a lot for them to do, even if it means less focus on core subjects.
Yom HaShoah is the beginning of a week of special days, ending with Yom HaAtzma’ut, for the entire country. In anticipation of the festive week, Goldie and I went out and bought a couple of huge Israeli flags to display outside our house (we also bought four flags to fly outside our car windows). It is the season for such things, and our old flag was kind of tattered, so we knew we needed a replacement.
Last year one of our community representatives got a call from our across-the-street neighbors instructing us to take down the flags, which were offensive to them. This year, knowing we needed to replace our existing flag, I bought two seven-by-five flags and prominently displayed them. I also took orders for some of my neighbors, and we all were quite happy to hang the flags as visibly as possible.
Our kids asked us why we bought four flags for the car when we only displayed two of them. Unfortunately, that night they got their answer. (Warning: Rabbi Ginzberg should kindly skip ahead to the paragraph beginning “As I noted…”)
Mordechai had stabbed himself in the hand with a knife while cutting an orange, and I took him to the local night clinic belonging to our health plan, which is situated in Ramat Bet Shemesh Bet (a.k.a. Chareidi-land) to be checked by the on-call pediatrician. We were there for no more than 15 minutes and returned to the car to find that both of our flags had been broken off the windows, with just the plastic bases remaining.
Boy was I angry!
After quite vocally shouting that somebody owed me ten shekels for my stolen property, I got into the car and began to back out of my parking spot to leave when I was suddenly inspired. I slammed on my brakes and jumped out of the driver’s seat. Reaching into the back seat, I grabbed my two spare flags and proceeded to quite loudly inform the (very few) people watching that I WIN—and that I will ALWAYS display the flag, no matter how much they hate it.
I still have one of the plastic bases in the car window. I keep it there as a badge of honor. I want everyone to know what the hoodlums do and to be reminded that we do not give in to thuggery.
Of course, this year brought a new twist to the disgusting displays of our anti-Israeli brethren: black flags. Put up as an obvious rebuke of our Israeli flags, they are an obnoxious statement by people who clearly have no hakarat ha’tov. Thankfully, I only saw three of them this year (although one was directly across the street from our house).
As I noted last year, I personally feel that the close proximity of both Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron to Yom HaAtzma’ut adds to the celebration and is incredibly meaningful, especially for the children. Even the littlest of them are taught to respect the memories of the fallen on both memorial days; and understanding the Shoah’s role in leading to the creation of the State of Israel is a major part of the spring curriculum here. In fact, an overwhelming majority of the 12th-grade students here have a trip to Poland (similar to the “March of the Living”) as their school-sponsored class trip.
A week later, on Yom HaZikaron, I took Batya (10) and Mordechai (8) to the Bet Shemesh municipal memorial service for the residents of Bet Shemesh who perished either in service to the country or in terrorist attacks. It was an incredibly moving ceremony and I never cease to be amazed at the tremendous respect that servicemen and servicewomen get in this country.
The memorial opened with the sounding of the air-raid sirens. Even though I knew it would happen, the sudden silence as a few thousand people stood in unison for the siren was breathtaking. The MC truly captured the essence of the day in his opening remarks, as he spoke about the losses the families and the country as a whole have suffered: Children and grandchildren never to be born. Husbands and wives never to meet. Generations of people taken away in the ultimate sacrifice to the safety and security of our country and our people.
After his brief remarks, they presented a slide show on large screens erected for the day. Every person’s picture was displayed as a narrator informed us of their birth dates and death dates as well as the war or terrorist attack in which the person perished. I didn’t think the kids were paying attention until both kids commented together, “Abba, a lot of people died in the Six Day War.”
After the slide show, a memorial torch (similar to an eternal flame) was lit adjacent to the permanent war memorial we had assembled in front of. A “Keil Malei Rachamim” was sung and then all the male relatives of the victims came up to the stage to recite Kaddish in unison in memory of their loved ones.
We left toward the end (the kids were getting antsy) after the singing of HaTikvah. I can honestly say that I really felt a part of Bet Shemesh that night. This city is so cosmopolitan, and we (admittedly) live in a very insular Anglo neighborhood. Even though some of our other neighbors (the ones I don’t like—you know who they are) hung up their black flags and totally disrespected the sacrifices of those who risk everything for the protection of every Israeli, everyone else united in a very positive way, and it was awesome!
In Batya’s school, the fourth grade puts on the Yom HaZikaron presentation for the entire school, and Goldie and I attended. I thought it would be sappy, but was again impressed by the serious tone and approach the girls took in putting on the dramatic performance.
That afternoon we went as a family to a local shul’s memorial assembly and transition into Yom HaAtzma’ut. They had a special Maariv davening, and when we finished we capped off the night by walking down to the local amphitheater to enjoy the municipal fireworks.
The next day we had a Katz family extravaganza. My sister (who decided to be a homebody) didn’t come, but everyone else went for a hike through the mountains here to a cave known as the Batcave (insert joke here) and a natural rock slide (the kids loved it). After the hike we were all joined by Bubbee and Zaidy at our house for a special Yom HaAtzma’ut BBQ.
It is truly a great time of year to be an Israeli and to live here in our land. As time goes by and we become more familiar with the language and the practices of our adopted country, we feel more and more comfortable in calling this place home. It is an amazing place of contradictions and dispute—but it is still the only place for Jews like you and me to live.
A special Mazal Tov to our good friends and fellow olim Dani and Tzippy Lieberman (who have appeared in these pages before) on the bar mitzvah of Avrumi, their bechor (firstborn). As Avrumi’s bar mitzvah teacher, I was especially pleased to participate in the celebration, and we look forward to sharing many more s’machot together.
Chagim U'zmanim L'sasson (Article# 114) 4/23/2009
I hope you enjoyed your Pesach. I know that in some places it was quite cold leading into the chag, and I do not know what possesses you to remain in the frozen galut when you can enjoy the beautiful sunny spring and summer here in Israel.
Some terrific things about preparing for Pesach in Israel as opposed to other places: The vendors in Machane Yehuda telling me not to buy one of their products because it is kitniyot and therefore not for me; no price gouging (many items are cheaper or in larger-size packages than normal in anticipation of the Pesach buying frenzy); almost every brand of soda pop is available kosher-for-Pesach; and the list goes on.
I think one of the best benefits is that all the major supermarkets in Bet Shemesh (think Foodtown or A&P) sell their chametz and cover the shelves of chametzdik products, so you can shop almost anywhere here without concern, both during and after Pesach.
One thing that I found to be strangely missing…free Haggadot. We used to get a couple of them free with grocery orders every year, and they were perfect for sending with the kids to school so that they could mark them up and make notes in them. Yet, there were none this year, and we ran out of the ones we had kept in storage from prior years. We might even have to buy a couple of extras next year.
As with most of you, our celebration started a bit early, with birkat ha’chamah. With myriad shiurim and handouts, there was plenty of opportunity to learn about this mitzvah and how we have come to calculate the proper time for its recitation. I personally have some chavrutot with some of our alumni in the USA (online via Skype) and used Mordechai’s second-grade handout as a terrific source for them; it was written in simple Hebrew and covered the material comprehensively.
Our celebration in Bet Shemesh actually began a bit earlier that we had originally planned. The chareidi neighborhoods had erected a large grandstand with a sound system, and they ran a sound check (with music) at 10:30 p.m. the night before (Tuesday). Since we were davening at 6 a.m. the next morning, most of the neighborhood was already in bed trying to sleep, and this was a bit disturbing. Or at least so we thought…up until 5:30 a.m. Wednesday morning.
Apparently, one of the people running the chareidi mass gathering decided that too many people did not own their own alarm clocks and that it was his job to wake up the neighborhood. Which he did. Quite loudly. We were waking up then anyway, but I am sure that anyone who had planned on sleeping in and coming to the berachah and then going to daven afterward was not so thrilled.
I have to give the chareidim credit. Our neighborhood’s shuls all posted their own davening and birkat ha’chamah times and invited “the community” to join with each shul and say the berachah as a large group. None of them actually made an effort to join together. In contrast, the chareidi mass gathering was just that—thousands of people all together in one spot. (I understand that there were large gatherings at the Kotel and in multiple sites around the country that were very inspiring as well.)
If we could somehow get a bit of their achdut in that type of thing and give them a bit of our achdut in other areas, wouldn’t the world be a much better place?
We had originally scheduled our birkat ha’chamah to be at 6:45 a.m., but the sun had not yet come out from behind the mountains to our east by then, so we had a siyum bechorim and then went outside to birkat ha’chamah. It was really very beautiful. The families of our shul, headed by people mostly in their thirties and forties, have a lot of young children.
Inspired by a local fellow who had made an audiotape of himself at the last birkat ha’chamah (among other things on the tape, we hear his mother predicting that she would be dancing at the next birkat ha’chamah; sadly, she passed away five years ago), I decided to make a video of the entire thing. As I shot it, I could not help but wonder who among those in attendance will not be with us to make the berachah the next time around. Who will lose parents, spouses, or even children (we do live in a country where our youth are unfortunate victims of violent wars)? I know that this wasn’t the intent of the rabbis when they instituted this berachah, but I felt very much as if we were saying U’Netaneh Tokef instead of birkat ha’chamah and that it was Yom Kippur instead of Erev Pesach.
As I have mentioned many times, Goldie is incredibly organized, and we had almost nothing to do on Erev Pesach when we got home. We seized the opportunity to get in some pre-Seder naps for everyone, which would be helpful in an average year, and certainly one in which we woke up for 6 a.m. davening.
With 17 at our Seder, we had a packed house. Having one Seder means that there is just one chance for all of the kids to share whatever divrei Torah they have prepared, so the Seder can run a bit slowly. (On the flip side, it also means that there is only one day of Yom Tov, with much less cooking required.)
We enjoy the Seder every year, no matter the speed. Each year also brings a new revelation of some growth for one or another of the kids. This year it was Mordechai (age 8, grade 2) who made a major transition from last year, a transition that was totally enabled by the fact that we live in Israel.
In the past, he followed the story of the Seder and was definitely a participant. However, this year he read the entire Haggadah with us, word for word. The best part? He understands it—it is almost all in Hebrew, a language that is first nature to him (he prefers reading Hebrew over English). When I realized what was happening, I made sure to read the Haggadah slower than normal and found myself inflecting as I read the words. (Apparently, my Hebrew is better as well, and I too gained a new understanding of what I had read by rote for so many years.) He was so excited to “get it” and also to finally stay awake through the end of the Seder for the singing of Nirtzah songs, which he had learned in school. The littler kids were also a part of the singing, but it was clear that they were totally exhausted and out of it, while he essentially had his first “complete” Seder experience (the naps sure helped).
Interestingly, Pesach morning was cloudy and even rainy at times. Although it is a bit late in the year to be thinking of rain, it rained several times over Pesach, mostly in the very early morning, which was very nice. We were apparently very lucky with the weather we had on Erev Yom Tov, since it allowed us to say birkat ha’chamah on time.
We shared the chag with both sets of grandparents once again, which always enhances any celebration for the children. (My parents will be here for three months and are renting an apartment two blocks from us, while Goldie’s parents will leave a few days after Pesach.) Being away from the larger family-oriented events and celebrations is the major downside of being here, so we try to maximize each visit.
Day two of Pesach was Erev Shabbat (and still yom tov for my parents, who keep two days of chag) so we did not have enough time to really do a major tiyul. We were invited to join our neighbors the Greenzweigs (originally from Fair Lawn, N.J.—SECOND aliyah in 2006) on a hike in the mountains around Bet Shemesh, something we normally do not do. Since it was a short day, we split into two groups.
The first group (Goldie, her parents, and Aliza) went shopping in the Modiin mall. The second group (Chaya, Batya, Mordechai, Moshe, and I) joined David Greenzweig and their son Itamar (age 5, and Moshe’s good buddy) for a hike down Nachal Dolev (no, not the street—the actual valley). Chaim made his own group and dumped us all to go play paintball.
Goldie dropped us off at the top of a mountain and we actually did the hike in reverse. Much better than the normal way, which is practically all uphill. With all the kids (and me, who am not much of a hiker), we didn’t think we would make it uphill as a group.
Although hikes are not a normal part of our Israeli experience, it is a major part of Israeli life and something we definitely miss out on. The kids’ major class trips are generally hikes up some mountain or another, and vacation times find many, many, many Israelis camping and hiking throughout Israel. It is a cheap and time-exhaustive way of spending the day—and the scenery isn’t bad, either.
Our hike was very nice. The kids all got into the spirit, and even little Moshe didn’t complain too much about having to walk almost four miles through the mountains. The highlight for the kids was trying to find the trail markers as we went along and singing their Pesach songs (a great way to distract a four-year-old). I could get used to an occasional family hike, but I doubt Goldie will agree (not her thing).
Shabbat chol ha’moed saw the beginning of some real heat (it continued to heat up each day, reaching the 90s on the last day of chol ha’moed before cooling off to the 60s the last day of Pesach). We had some yeshiva guys over, one who kept two days and three who kept one day. I feel bad for all the two-day people. Not only did they have to sit around, basically alone (my sister drove in from Ramat Gan to visit with my parents that morning) for the second day, but they had a three-day yom tov (something incredibly rare for Israelis, although it will happen this Rosh Hashanah).
On Sunday we went to the Bullet Museum, located beneath a kibbutz near Rechovot, where the Haganah secretly manufactured over two million bullets in preparation for the War of Independence. We were astounded by the incredible planning and commitment of the people involved. We then went to a local mall for some bowling to complete the day.
The next day we went to Tel Aviv. I took Moshe to the park while the rest of the family enjoyed the Palma”ch Museum (I wrote about this museum a few weeks ago) and they joined us at Park HaYarkon, Israel’s largest park, for a few hours in the sun. We had lunch in the park and the kids played in some of the many playgrounds there. A good time was had by all.
The rest of Pesach was uneventful. With only one day of chag at the end, we were done on Wednesday night and the only major decision was: do we continue the after-Pesach conversion to chametz pizza run, or not? (We did, and got the fourth and fifth pies they made.)
Thankfully, this late in the year rain is continuing, with several post-Pesach days of rain in Teveria—exactly where we need it most. The Kineret is now at –213.29, only 29 cm below the lower red line. If the weather holds and Somebody Upstairs is kind to us, the conservation efforts already in place (two weeks ago, the Water Authority banned all watering of grass for the entire summer) will keep us from reaching the dreaded black line, and we can all pray that next year’s rainy season begins early, is very heavy, and brings an end to the current water crisis.
As I was preparing to send this column, I noticed a comment on the 5TJT website on my pre-Pesach column about baking our own Ashkenazi shemurah matzot in which I said that the matzot we had baked were nowhere near what the matzot were like in Egypt…
“Thought you’d be interested in hearing about the matzah shemurah that we eat at our Seder. It is special ‘Sephardic’ matzah: very thick and has a soggy cardboard texture (and taste). Apparently, this is closer to what our ancestors actually ate when fleeing from Egypt—it has a lot more water in it than the “regular” Ashkenaz kind, and a lot less flour/wheat. It tastes awful and is very hard to chew (kinda’ like gnawing on the sole of your shoe). Would you like me to send you some?”—Anonymous
Dear Anonymous: No thanks!
Some terrific things about preparing for Pesach in Israel as opposed to other places: The vendors in Machane Yehuda telling me not to buy one of their products because it is kitniyot and therefore not for me; no price gouging (many items are cheaper or in larger-size packages than normal in anticipation of the Pesach buying frenzy); almost every brand of soda pop is available kosher-for-Pesach; and the list goes on.
I think one of the best benefits is that all the major supermarkets in Bet Shemesh (think Foodtown or A&P) sell their chametz and cover the shelves of chametzdik products, so you can shop almost anywhere here without concern, both during and after Pesach.
One thing that I found to be strangely missing…free Haggadot. We used to get a couple of them free with grocery orders every year, and they were perfect for sending with the kids to school so that they could mark them up and make notes in them. Yet, there were none this year, and we ran out of the ones we had kept in storage from prior years. We might even have to buy a couple of extras next year.
As with most of you, our celebration started a bit early, with birkat ha’chamah. With myriad shiurim and handouts, there was plenty of opportunity to learn about this mitzvah and how we have come to calculate the proper time for its recitation. I personally have some chavrutot with some of our alumni in the USA (online via Skype) and used Mordechai’s second-grade handout as a terrific source for them; it was written in simple Hebrew and covered the material comprehensively.
Our celebration in Bet Shemesh actually began a bit earlier that we had originally planned. The chareidi neighborhoods had erected a large grandstand with a sound system, and they ran a sound check (with music) at 10:30 p.m. the night before (Tuesday). Since we were davening at 6 a.m. the next morning, most of the neighborhood was already in bed trying to sleep, and this was a bit disturbing. Or at least so we thought…up until 5:30 a.m. Wednesday morning.
Apparently, one of the people running the chareidi mass gathering decided that too many people did not own their own alarm clocks and that it was his job to wake up the neighborhood. Which he did. Quite loudly. We were waking up then anyway, but I am sure that anyone who had planned on sleeping in and coming to the berachah and then going to daven afterward was not so thrilled.
I have to give the chareidim credit. Our neighborhood’s shuls all posted their own davening and birkat ha’chamah times and invited “the community” to join with each shul and say the berachah as a large group. None of them actually made an effort to join together. In contrast, the chareidi mass gathering was just that—thousands of people all together in one spot. (I understand that there were large gatherings at the Kotel and in multiple sites around the country that were very inspiring as well.)
If we could somehow get a bit of their achdut in that type of thing and give them a bit of our achdut in other areas, wouldn’t the world be a much better place?
We had originally scheduled our birkat ha’chamah to be at 6:45 a.m., but the sun had not yet come out from behind the mountains to our east by then, so we had a siyum bechorim and then went outside to birkat ha’chamah. It was really very beautiful. The families of our shul, headed by people mostly in their thirties and forties, have a lot of young children.
Inspired by a local fellow who had made an audiotape of himself at the last birkat ha’chamah (among other things on the tape, we hear his mother predicting that she would be dancing at the next birkat ha’chamah; sadly, she passed away five years ago), I decided to make a video of the entire thing. As I shot it, I could not help but wonder who among those in attendance will not be with us to make the berachah the next time around. Who will lose parents, spouses, or even children (we do live in a country where our youth are unfortunate victims of violent wars)? I know that this wasn’t the intent of the rabbis when they instituted this berachah, but I felt very much as if we were saying U’Netaneh Tokef instead of birkat ha’chamah and that it was Yom Kippur instead of Erev Pesach.
As I have mentioned many times, Goldie is incredibly organized, and we had almost nothing to do on Erev Pesach when we got home. We seized the opportunity to get in some pre-Seder naps for everyone, which would be helpful in an average year, and certainly one in which we woke up for 6 a.m. davening.
With 17 at our Seder, we had a packed house. Having one Seder means that there is just one chance for all of the kids to share whatever divrei Torah they have prepared, so the Seder can run a bit slowly. (On the flip side, it also means that there is only one day of Yom Tov, with much less cooking required.)
We enjoy the Seder every year, no matter the speed. Each year also brings a new revelation of some growth for one or another of the kids. This year it was Mordechai (age 8, grade 2) who made a major transition from last year, a transition that was totally enabled by the fact that we live in Israel.
In the past, he followed the story of the Seder and was definitely a participant. However, this year he read the entire Haggadah with us, word for word. The best part? He understands it—it is almost all in Hebrew, a language that is first nature to him (he prefers reading Hebrew over English). When I realized what was happening, I made sure to read the Haggadah slower than normal and found myself inflecting as I read the words. (Apparently, my Hebrew is better as well, and I too gained a new understanding of what I had read by rote for so many years.) He was so excited to “get it” and also to finally stay awake through the end of the Seder for the singing of Nirtzah songs, which he had learned in school. The littler kids were also a part of the singing, but it was clear that they were totally exhausted and out of it, while he essentially had his first “complete” Seder experience (the naps sure helped).
Interestingly, Pesach morning was cloudy and even rainy at times. Although it is a bit late in the year to be thinking of rain, it rained several times over Pesach, mostly in the very early morning, which was very nice. We were apparently very lucky with the weather we had on Erev Yom Tov, since it allowed us to say birkat ha’chamah on time.
We shared the chag with both sets of grandparents once again, which always enhances any celebration for the children. (My parents will be here for three months and are renting an apartment two blocks from us, while Goldie’s parents will leave a few days after Pesach.) Being away from the larger family-oriented events and celebrations is the major downside of being here, so we try to maximize each visit.
Day two of Pesach was Erev Shabbat (and still yom tov for my parents, who keep two days of chag) so we did not have enough time to really do a major tiyul. We were invited to join our neighbors the Greenzweigs (originally from Fair Lawn, N.J.—SECOND aliyah in 2006) on a hike in the mountains around Bet Shemesh, something we normally do not do. Since it was a short day, we split into two groups.
The first group (Goldie, her parents, and Aliza) went shopping in the Modiin mall. The second group (Chaya, Batya, Mordechai, Moshe, and I) joined David Greenzweig and their son Itamar (age 5, and Moshe’s good buddy) for a hike down Nachal Dolev (no, not the street—the actual valley). Chaim made his own group and dumped us all to go play paintball.
Goldie dropped us off at the top of a mountain and we actually did the hike in reverse. Much better than the normal way, which is practically all uphill. With all the kids (and me, who am not much of a hiker), we didn’t think we would make it uphill as a group.
Although hikes are not a normal part of our Israeli experience, it is a major part of Israeli life and something we definitely miss out on. The kids’ major class trips are generally hikes up some mountain or another, and vacation times find many, many, many Israelis camping and hiking throughout Israel. It is a cheap and time-exhaustive way of spending the day—and the scenery isn’t bad, either.
Our hike was very nice. The kids all got into the spirit, and even little Moshe didn’t complain too much about having to walk almost four miles through the mountains. The highlight for the kids was trying to find the trail markers as we went along and singing their Pesach songs (a great way to distract a four-year-old). I could get used to an occasional family hike, but I doubt Goldie will agree (not her thing).
Shabbat chol ha’moed saw the beginning of some real heat (it continued to heat up each day, reaching the 90s on the last day of chol ha’moed before cooling off to the 60s the last day of Pesach). We had some yeshiva guys over, one who kept two days and three who kept one day. I feel bad for all the two-day people. Not only did they have to sit around, basically alone (my sister drove in from Ramat Gan to visit with my parents that morning) for the second day, but they had a three-day yom tov (something incredibly rare for Israelis, although it will happen this Rosh Hashanah).
On Sunday we went to the Bullet Museum, located beneath a kibbutz near Rechovot, where the Haganah secretly manufactured over two million bullets in preparation for the War of Independence. We were astounded by the incredible planning and commitment of the people involved. We then went to a local mall for some bowling to complete the day.
The next day we went to Tel Aviv. I took Moshe to the park while the rest of the family enjoyed the Palma”ch Museum (I wrote about this museum a few weeks ago) and they joined us at Park HaYarkon, Israel’s largest park, for a few hours in the sun. We had lunch in the park and the kids played in some of the many playgrounds there. A good time was had by all.
The rest of Pesach was uneventful. With only one day of chag at the end, we were done on Wednesday night and the only major decision was: do we continue the after-Pesach conversion to chametz pizza run, or not? (We did, and got the fourth and fifth pies they made.)
Thankfully, this late in the year rain is continuing, with several post-Pesach days of rain in Teveria—exactly where we need it most. The Kineret is now at –213.29, only 29 cm below the lower red line. If the weather holds and Somebody Upstairs is kind to us, the conservation efforts already in place (two weeks ago, the Water Authority banned all watering of grass for the entire summer) will keep us from reaching the dreaded black line, and we can all pray that next year’s rainy season begins early, is very heavy, and brings an end to the current water crisis.
As I was preparing to send this column, I noticed a comment on the 5TJT website on my pre-Pesach column about baking our own Ashkenazi shemurah matzot in which I said that the matzot we had baked were nowhere near what the matzot were like in Egypt…
“Thought you’d be interested in hearing about the matzah shemurah that we eat at our Seder. It is special ‘Sephardic’ matzah: very thick and has a soggy cardboard texture (and taste). Apparently, this is closer to what our ancestors actually ate when fleeing from Egypt—it has a lot more water in it than the “regular” Ashkenaz kind, and a lot less flour/wheat. It tastes awful and is very hard to chew (kinda’ like gnawing on the sole of your shoe). Would you like me to send you some?”—Anonymous
Dear Anonymous: No thanks!
Matzot, Matzot Everywhere (Article# 113) 4/7/2009
Welcome to the annual [spring] Pesach cleaning frenzy! As I am sure happens in most Jewish households, sometime around Chanukah Goldie looked up and exclaimed, “Pesach is only three and a half months away!” And thus began the countdown.
I have to give her credit. She has mellowed the past couple of years and has really been quite relaxed about a process that used to drive her nuts each and every year. Yes, she still obsesses, but with older kids to help and a simpler life here (and I really believe that is a factor—smaller houses and less storage space makes the cleanup a lot easier), she is very calm about it. Of course, the single-day Yom Tov and lone Seder also help.
I was actually speaking to a friend of mine, a former Chicagoan who has lived here many years and is very “Israeli” in attitude, earlier today. She commented to me that her husband had requested that they switch their kitchen to Pesach a day early this year so that he could cook for the Seder two days before Pesach and not on Erev Pesach as they usually do. She added that she was confused why Goldie and I had gone Pesach shopping two full weeks before Pesach—why the rush?
I guess we still have some America in us.
This is why we still do most of our shopping in an Anglo-friendly store (as my sister-in-law found out after she bought the kitniyot mayonnaise—“Kosher L’Pesach” on the label in Israel does not quite mean what it does in the USA); and why we over-obsess about buying wine, matzot, and other items; and why we plan our Chol Ha’moed activities as far in advance as possible (another no-no for the Israeli-born).
Another part of our new Pesach preparation schedule is the baking of our own handmade matzot. Our kids enjoy it, and this year I put together the entire chaburah, so it was almost all friends of ours (and my brother), which added to the enjoyment and general atmosphere. Our mashgiach commented that it was a pleasure for him to work with us, because we had “character.” I didn’t ask.
I graduated this year from putting the matzot into the oven to taking them out. This is much harder than it appears. If you leave them in too long, they burn and everyone complains that they are very burnt-looking (and -tasting—although they taste so bad that I don’t quite understand the taste complaints). If you take them out too quick, they look nice, but are doughy and chametz. I discovered that by slightly lowering the oven temperature I could get them fully baked inside without burning the outside (yes, I asked the mashgiach first; it was more his suggestion).
When all was said and done, we ended up with over 200 kosher matzot (I checked last year’s column and was quite amused to read how “proud” I was then to have gotten 160+). Of course, there was a scramble in dividing them over who would get which ones—but I let Goldie and the kids handle it.
I am simply excited (and looking forward) to have matzot at the Seder that we all had a hand in baking. We will make berachot on them and it is just a very powerful addition to the experience, at least for me. Even if they taste like cardboard and are nowhere near what the matzot in Egypt were like (they were probably more like pita than anything else).
As we approach another major chag, I would like to extend best wishes to all our friends worldwide and to you, dear reader, for a chag kasher v’sameiach and a truly wonderful and meaningful Seder. Hopefully it will be together as one nation in Yerushalayim—eating the Korban Pesach we will have offered in the rebuilt Beit HaMikdash. If not, L’shanah ha’baah biYerushalayim ha’b’nuyah!
I have to give her credit. She has mellowed the past couple of years and has really been quite relaxed about a process that used to drive her nuts each and every year. Yes, she still obsesses, but with older kids to help and a simpler life here (and I really believe that is a factor—smaller houses and less storage space makes the cleanup a lot easier), she is very calm about it. Of course, the single-day Yom Tov and lone Seder also help.
I was actually speaking to a friend of mine, a former Chicagoan who has lived here many years and is very “Israeli” in attitude, earlier today. She commented to me that her husband had requested that they switch their kitchen to Pesach a day early this year so that he could cook for the Seder two days before Pesach and not on Erev Pesach as they usually do. She added that she was confused why Goldie and I had gone Pesach shopping two full weeks before Pesach—why the rush?
I guess we still have some America in us.
This is why we still do most of our shopping in an Anglo-friendly store (as my sister-in-law found out after she bought the kitniyot mayonnaise—“Kosher L’Pesach” on the label in Israel does not quite mean what it does in the USA); and why we over-obsess about buying wine, matzot, and other items; and why we plan our Chol Ha’moed activities as far in advance as possible (another no-no for the Israeli-born).
Another part of our new Pesach preparation schedule is the baking of our own handmade matzot. Our kids enjoy it, and this year I put together the entire chaburah, so it was almost all friends of ours (and my brother), which added to the enjoyment and general atmosphere. Our mashgiach commented that it was a pleasure for him to work with us, because we had “character.” I didn’t ask.
I graduated this year from putting the matzot into the oven to taking them out. This is much harder than it appears. If you leave them in too long, they burn and everyone complains that they are very burnt-looking (and -tasting—although they taste so bad that I don’t quite understand the taste complaints). If you take them out too quick, they look nice, but are doughy and chametz. I discovered that by slightly lowering the oven temperature I could get them fully baked inside without burning the outside (yes, I asked the mashgiach first; it was more his suggestion).
When all was said and done, we ended up with over 200 kosher matzot (I checked last year’s column and was quite amused to read how “proud” I was then to have gotten 160+). Of course, there was a scramble in dividing them over who would get which ones—but I let Goldie and the kids handle it.
I am simply excited (and looking forward) to have matzot at the Seder that we all had a hand in baking. We will make berachot on them and it is just a very powerful addition to the experience, at least for me. Even if they taste like cardboard and are nowhere near what the matzot in Egypt were like (they were probably more like pita than anything else).
As we approach another major chag, I would like to extend best wishes to all our friends worldwide and to you, dear reader, for a chag kasher v’sameiach and a truly wonderful and meaningful Seder. Hopefully it will be together as one nation in Yerushalayim—eating the Korban Pesach we will have offered in the rebuilt Beit HaMikdash. If not, L’shanah ha’baah biYerushalayim ha’b’nuyah!
Back to Politics (Article# 112) 4/2/2009
As I write this, the new government is (finally) preparing itself to be sworn in. It will be called a “centrist” government by some, a “traitorous” government by others. And almost everyone will be unhappy with it in some shape or form.
The Right will be infuriated that Bibi chose Labor to be a part of the government and that he “suddenly” flip-flopped on the two-state solution. The Left will be aghast at the “defection” of Barak and his “desire” for power (remaining as defense minister) after committing to be a part of the opposition almost immediately after the balloting closed. And those somewhere in between will simply be upset.
I see things a bit differently.
As I have said in the past, we have to look through the same window that each of these people is looking through in order to understand their motives. We also have to understand that the prime motivating factor for each of these people is their desire to be the Prime Minister of the State of Israel.
Yes, they want to serve their country. Yes, they want their party to lead. Yes, they believe in the platform of their party. But those are only secondary concerns. The politicians have shown time and again that they will do anything they can to be “the guy” (or “the gal”). And they do.
Start with Tzipi Livni. Her party won more seats than any other in the Knesset, yet she is relegated to second-tier status in the race for the ultimate prize. However, she has seen how successfully Bibi Netanyahu ran the opposition the past several years, seizing every opportunity to say “See? I told you so!” without actually having to govern. She understands that her best bet at power comes not by being a part of the current government (no matter if that would be best for Israel or not—a point I am not currently debating), but by being a vocal member of the opposition and hoping that in the next election the disaffected voters—those who vote against the status quo no matter what—will flock to her banner.
Then comes Ehud Barak. When it initially looked like Kadima would try to make a power-sharing agreement, he was overjoyed to be in the opposition. Instead of Livni, he would be the vocal head of the opposition, leading all the disenfranchised to the Labor Party. Having lost their voters to the currently popular Kadima, this was the best way for Barak to rebuild his party to be a factor in the next elections.
Yet it was not to be. Livni and Kadima’s refusal to be a part of the government made Labor and Barak the midgets of the opposition. He/they would not be the leader of the opposition, and any “I told you so” moment would go to the credit of Kadima and not Labor. Many pundits were predicting that this might actually be the end of the Labor Party for this very reason, and Barak, both personally and as leader of the party, could not allow this to happen.
It was therefore inevitable that he would make a deal with Likud. Although it is not nearly as effective as being the leader of the opposition, there is still the opportunity for him to claim an “elder statesman” title, simply by inferring that they are truly the princes of the Left because “We did what we did for the sake of the country” in an effort to (i) moderate the voice of the government, (ii) serve the country, and (iii) further the peace process and at the same time make Kadima look as if they are solely interested in petty politics.
Of course, Kadima will spin this as the ultimate act of betrayal by Barak and Labor. In fact, the (incredibly Left-leaning) media has had an immediate and nonstop paroxysm of rage at this betrayal, acting as if this doesn’t happen all the time. (Interestingly, I read a fascinating article about the media’s adoration of Sharon’s betrayal of the Right in the Gush Katif pullout and the formation of Kadima, and how the media portrayed that group of betrayers as heroes and visionaries for doing almost exactly what Barak is doing.)
Finally, we get to Bibi Netanyahu. Through various miscues and the nearness of the Gaza war to the elections, both Yisrael Beiteinu and Kadima picked up seats at Likud’s expense. He ended up as the leader of the second-largest party, yet the only party leader who had a reasonable chance at actually forming a government. He also has a memory.
In his last incarnation as prime minister, and leader of the largest party, he was too arrogant in setting his policies and ignoring the opposition/minority partners in his government. His single-minded focus on doing things as he saw fit and his decision to give away large swaths of the West Bank are a big part of what led his backers to abandon him and both dissolve his government and later vote his party out of power.
He understands that his best chance at continuing his reign at the head of the government is to try to make the government one of all the people—at least as many of them as he can. He also understands that by aligning himself with a Leftist party, he will blunt some of the criticism that would normally come from that end of the spectrum. He was dying to make a deal with someone from the Left in order to portray himself as a bridge builder and consensus maker.
I have no idea what kind of leader Ehud Barak was as prime minister. I do know that the war he ran in Gaza as defense minister appeared to be totally different from the one that Peretz ran in Lebanon against Hezbollah. It appeared to be more focused, with attainable goals (whether or not we attained them is again a different discussion), and was fiercely supported by a majority of the country. And the body count was low (thank G-d). This certainly makes him an attractive addition to the government.
So whose gambles will pay off and whose are more risky? Well, Livni’s gamble to be part of the opposition will work if Bibi falters. So she is putting her fate in his hands, hoping that he will fail. If he is successful, she is sunk—as will be her party. They, who have very little social platform other than as claimants to the political middle, will have been exposed to the public as the party whose policies were simply wrong (and I certainly pray for that day).
Barak’s gamble is much more risky than Livni’s and also has a much greater payoff. If Netanyahu is a failure and Livni rises to power, he is done. He threw his lot in with Likud while at the same time betraying the Left, and I cannot imagine how he and Labor can show themselves to be the heroes of the Left in such a situation.
If, however, Bibi is successful in running the government and Barak can be credited for helping “moderate” the voice and approach of the government, then he can try to lay claim to a role as a responsible and patriotic member of the Left who did what he needed to do in a time of crisis and is the best choice to lead the Left out of the doldrums. He may not win the majority of seats in a subsequent election, but having gotten out of the shadow of Kadima and Livni, he and Labor at least have a shot at becoming the leaders of the Left again—if everything falls into place perfectly.
At this point, though, the big winner is Bibi. He can work both sides of the aisle now with Labor in his pocket, and no matter what happens he can certainly claim that he is the man who put together a more wide-ranging coalition than anyone else in the Knesset could possibly have. He can blame failures on the far Right and the Left and, should he fail, he still has a chance to ask the voters to give him a clear mandate so that he does not have to be beholden to the smaller parties and their interest groups in order to govern.
Bibi is a smart guy (hey—they all have to have some brains in order to have gotten where they are). After all the Kadima posturing, he was able to appear willing to meet with them and partner with them without really having to worry about their joining him, since he knew they couldn’t sign on the dotted line. He was able to moderate the power of the Right a bit with bringing in Labor, and he got Ehud Barak as defense minister, which he clearly seems to be thrilled with.
While the outcomes of, and apparent differences between, the two wars we have lived through may have been circumstantial, I personally believe that Barak is a better option as defense minister than most, and that he will actually lead the military well. I also think that having Livni outside the government is the biggest gain we have had in this entire election, so I am not terribly disappointed on those counts.
My disappointments? The biggest one is Bibi’s concession to consider the two-state plan. However, I am also a big enough boy to understand David Rotem’s (MK of Yisrael Beiteinu—see last week’s column) point that a two-state solution is almost inevitable now, and that we have to figure some way of it not being the end of our part of it. But I am not in favor of the two-state solution!
I know that many people will find the prior two statements to be impossible to reconcile. I really am not in favor of this solution. I will demonstrate against it, rally against it—whatever I can possibly do (within halachah) to stop it from happening. Yet, I recognize that these efforts are most likely going to be futile. It kills me, but it is sadly true.
So whom do I want to be in charge of either trying to get out of such a solution or at the very least trying to protect my country’s safety and security in the face of such a disaster? Tzipi Livni? Are you joking?
She (and the Left) want to give away the store—anything and everything—just to have the world like us and treat us as moral and humane members of the world society. Their blind desire for any deal at all is reckless and irresponsible, and there is no way I would want to see them in charge.
Am I thrilled with the back-and-forth Bibi and what will be his inevitable capitulation to the peaceniks in order to extricate himself from what he perceives as the death grip of the fanatical far-right-wing parties? Would I prefer that he stick to what got him here? Yes. But it will not be.
We have instead a government of compromise. A government that will be afraid to give away both too much and too little. A government that came to power because of the failure of the Gaza-style diplomacy of unilateral withdrawal, and that I really hope understands that safety and security are not purchased through gestures, but rather through responsible planning and responsible actions.
Yes, I know I ignored Yisrael Beiteinu. They got a lot of what they wanted, and it is hard to tell if they will continue to be major players or if, like Meretz, they will end up returning to minor-party status in the future.
Of course, I have lived here all of two years and nine months. I readily admit that my understanding is very likely to be limited and there is a strong likelihood that I am so totally misreading things that it is scary. Only time will tell. On all counts.
After rising 5 centimeters this week, the Kineret Lake is at –213.41, 41 centimeters below the lower red line. There is no rain in the forecast, and I am afraid we might have reached the end of the rain for this year. Hopefully, as the snow in the northern mountains melts, we will at least pass the lower red line. It will certainly be close.
The Right will be infuriated that Bibi chose Labor to be a part of the government and that he “suddenly” flip-flopped on the two-state solution. The Left will be aghast at the “defection” of Barak and his “desire” for power (remaining as defense minister) after committing to be a part of the opposition almost immediately after the balloting closed. And those somewhere in between will simply be upset.
I see things a bit differently.
As I have said in the past, we have to look through the same window that each of these people is looking through in order to understand their motives. We also have to understand that the prime motivating factor for each of these people is their desire to be the Prime Minister of the State of Israel.
Yes, they want to serve their country. Yes, they want their party to lead. Yes, they believe in the platform of their party. But those are only secondary concerns. The politicians have shown time and again that they will do anything they can to be “the guy” (or “the gal”). And they do.
Start with Tzipi Livni. Her party won more seats than any other in the Knesset, yet she is relegated to second-tier status in the race for the ultimate prize. However, she has seen how successfully Bibi Netanyahu ran the opposition the past several years, seizing every opportunity to say “See? I told you so!” without actually having to govern. She understands that her best bet at power comes not by being a part of the current government (no matter if that would be best for Israel or not—a point I am not currently debating), but by being a vocal member of the opposition and hoping that in the next election the disaffected voters—those who vote against the status quo no matter what—will flock to her banner.
Then comes Ehud Barak. When it initially looked like Kadima would try to make a power-sharing agreement, he was overjoyed to be in the opposition. Instead of Livni, he would be the vocal head of the opposition, leading all the disenfranchised to the Labor Party. Having lost their voters to the currently popular Kadima, this was the best way for Barak to rebuild his party to be a factor in the next elections.
Yet it was not to be. Livni and Kadima’s refusal to be a part of the government made Labor and Barak the midgets of the opposition. He/they would not be the leader of the opposition, and any “I told you so” moment would go to the credit of Kadima and not Labor. Many pundits were predicting that this might actually be the end of the Labor Party for this very reason, and Barak, both personally and as leader of the party, could not allow this to happen.
It was therefore inevitable that he would make a deal with Likud. Although it is not nearly as effective as being the leader of the opposition, there is still the opportunity for him to claim an “elder statesman” title, simply by inferring that they are truly the princes of the Left because “We did what we did for the sake of the country” in an effort to (i) moderate the voice of the government, (ii) serve the country, and (iii) further the peace process and at the same time make Kadima look as if they are solely interested in petty politics.
Of course, Kadima will spin this as the ultimate act of betrayal by Barak and Labor. In fact, the (incredibly Left-leaning) media has had an immediate and nonstop paroxysm of rage at this betrayal, acting as if this doesn’t happen all the time. (Interestingly, I read a fascinating article about the media’s adoration of Sharon’s betrayal of the Right in the Gush Katif pullout and the formation of Kadima, and how the media portrayed that group of betrayers as heroes and visionaries for doing almost exactly what Barak is doing.)
Finally, we get to Bibi Netanyahu. Through various miscues and the nearness of the Gaza war to the elections, both Yisrael Beiteinu and Kadima picked up seats at Likud’s expense. He ended up as the leader of the second-largest party, yet the only party leader who had a reasonable chance at actually forming a government. He also has a memory.
In his last incarnation as prime minister, and leader of the largest party, he was too arrogant in setting his policies and ignoring the opposition/minority partners in his government. His single-minded focus on doing things as he saw fit and his decision to give away large swaths of the West Bank are a big part of what led his backers to abandon him and both dissolve his government and later vote his party out of power.
He understands that his best chance at continuing his reign at the head of the government is to try to make the government one of all the people—at least as many of them as he can. He also understands that by aligning himself with a Leftist party, he will blunt some of the criticism that would normally come from that end of the spectrum. He was dying to make a deal with someone from the Left in order to portray himself as a bridge builder and consensus maker.
I have no idea what kind of leader Ehud Barak was as prime minister. I do know that the war he ran in Gaza as defense minister appeared to be totally different from the one that Peretz ran in Lebanon against Hezbollah. It appeared to be more focused, with attainable goals (whether or not we attained them is again a different discussion), and was fiercely supported by a majority of the country. And the body count was low (thank G-d). This certainly makes him an attractive addition to the government.
So whose gambles will pay off and whose are more risky? Well, Livni’s gamble to be part of the opposition will work if Bibi falters. So she is putting her fate in his hands, hoping that he will fail. If he is successful, she is sunk—as will be her party. They, who have very little social platform other than as claimants to the political middle, will have been exposed to the public as the party whose policies were simply wrong (and I certainly pray for that day).
Barak’s gamble is much more risky than Livni’s and also has a much greater payoff. If Netanyahu is a failure and Livni rises to power, he is done. He threw his lot in with Likud while at the same time betraying the Left, and I cannot imagine how he and Labor can show themselves to be the heroes of the Left in such a situation.
If, however, Bibi is successful in running the government and Barak can be credited for helping “moderate” the voice and approach of the government, then he can try to lay claim to a role as a responsible and patriotic member of the Left who did what he needed to do in a time of crisis and is the best choice to lead the Left out of the doldrums. He may not win the majority of seats in a subsequent election, but having gotten out of the shadow of Kadima and Livni, he and Labor at least have a shot at becoming the leaders of the Left again—if everything falls into place perfectly.
At this point, though, the big winner is Bibi. He can work both sides of the aisle now with Labor in his pocket, and no matter what happens he can certainly claim that he is the man who put together a more wide-ranging coalition than anyone else in the Knesset could possibly have. He can blame failures on the far Right and the Left and, should he fail, he still has a chance to ask the voters to give him a clear mandate so that he does not have to be beholden to the smaller parties and their interest groups in order to govern.
Bibi is a smart guy (hey—they all have to have some brains in order to have gotten where they are). After all the Kadima posturing, he was able to appear willing to meet with them and partner with them without really having to worry about their joining him, since he knew they couldn’t sign on the dotted line. He was able to moderate the power of the Right a bit with bringing in Labor, and he got Ehud Barak as defense minister, which he clearly seems to be thrilled with.
While the outcomes of, and apparent differences between, the two wars we have lived through may have been circumstantial, I personally believe that Barak is a better option as defense minister than most, and that he will actually lead the military well. I also think that having Livni outside the government is the biggest gain we have had in this entire election, so I am not terribly disappointed on those counts.
My disappointments? The biggest one is Bibi’s concession to consider the two-state plan. However, I am also a big enough boy to understand David Rotem’s (MK of Yisrael Beiteinu—see last week’s column) point that a two-state solution is almost inevitable now, and that we have to figure some way of it not being the end of our part of it. But I am not in favor of the two-state solution!
I know that many people will find the prior two statements to be impossible to reconcile. I really am not in favor of this solution. I will demonstrate against it, rally against it—whatever I can possibly do (within halachah) to stop it from happening. Yet, I recognize that these efforts are most likely going to be futile. It kills me, but it is sadly true.
So whom do I want to be in charge of either trying to get out of such a solution or at the very least trying to protect my country’s safety and security in the face of such a disaster? Tzipi Livni? Are you joking?
She (and the Left) want to give away the store—anything and everything—just to have the world like us and treat us as moral and humane members of the world society. Their blind desire for any deal at all is reckless and irresponsible, and there is no way I would want to see them in charge.
Am I thrilled with the back-and-forth Bibi and what will be his inevitable capitulation to the peaceniks in order to extricate himself from what he perceives as the death grip of the fanatical far-right-wing parties? Would I prefer that he stick to what got him here? Yes. But it will not be.
We have instead a government of compromise. A government that will be afraid to give away both too much and too little. A government that came to power because of the failure of the Gaza-style diplomacy of unilateral withdrawal, and that I really hope understands that safety and security are not purchased through gestures, but rather through responsible planning and responsible actions.
Yes, I know I ignored Yisrael Beiteinu. They got a lot of what they wanted, and it is hard to tell if they will continue to be major players or if, like Meretz, they will end up returning to minor-party status in the future.
Of course, I have lived here all of two years and nine months. I readily admit that my understanding is very likely to be limited and there is a strong likelihood that I am so totally misreading things that it is scary. Only time will tell. On all counts.
After rising 5 centimeters this week, the Kineret Lake is at –213.41, 41 centimeters below the lower red line. There is no rain in the forecast, and I am afraid we might have reached the end of the rain for this year. Hopefully, as the snow in the northern mountains melts, we will at least pass the lower red line. It will certainly be close.
Thank You, MK Rotem (Article# 111) 3/26/2009
I had a unique experience last week. As part of our curriculum, the yeshiva normally spends a day touring both the Knesset and the Supreme Court buildings, learning about Israel’s governmental process and legal system. After the first couple of times, the novelty of the tour has run out—but it is interesting to hear the questions posed by our students and gain some insight into their perception of Israeli life.
Each year, we try to schedule a meeting with members of the Knesset, but for various reasons we had been unable to coordinate a personal visit in prior years. This year, Rav Yehuda Susman, our Rosh Yeshiva, spoke to the “candyman” in his shul in Efrat, who is also known as MK David Rotem of the Yisrael Beteinu party and is a current member of Knesset, and Rav Susman arranged for us to have a meeting with him.
I have to admit that I was fascinated. Although I did not vote for them, the enthusiasm and momentum that Yisrael Beteinu built through the elections was palpable, and I was incredibly curious to meet a religious MK from that faction. After all, a major spin of the party is that it represents the non-religious, specifically Russian immigrants (many of whom may not even be Jewish).
Because of time considerations, we did not get the chance to tour the Knesset as we normally do. Instead, we went to the Knesset’s Jerusalem Conference Room (I hope I remember the name correctly) where MK Rotem was waiting for us. The Jerusalem Room is a very large room, with a circular set of tables. Mr. Rotem sat at the head of the table with a microphone, and our students sat around the table and in folding chairs set up for the overflow.
Mr. Rotem opened the meeting by offering us a choice: we could hear him lecture about his party, his opinions, and the running of the Knesset (of which he has been a member for a bit over two years) or he would open the floor to questions. We chose the Q-and-A session.
First, I must state that I may err in my recollection of his answers, and I apologize to him (and his party) in advance for any such errors.
I also must admit that I found MK Rotem to be very engaging and persuasive. At least in my eyes, there is no question that he is an Israeli patriot and believes (passionately) in his party and its platform, and that their platform truly is the best long-term solution for Israel. He was thoughtful and took great care in formulating his responses to make sure that he wasn’t misunderstood (although he is Israeli born, he speaks excellent English—he has to; he lives in Efrat).
I would also add that while I definitely disagree with some of their platform, a lot of what he said made sense to me and should not be discarded as radical lunacy. Take the “oath of loyalty” that Yisrael Beteinu wants to require of all Israeli citizens (it was the first question asked of him). Although it is portrayed as an anti-Arab measure, he was adamant that it was an extension of a principal that is applied even in the USA. After all, the final step of the naturalization of a new U.S. citizen is the administration of an oath of loyalty to the United States. If the USA can require such an oath, why shouldn’t Israel be able to?
Yes, this is an oversimplification and an extension of the principal beyond what is required by the USA, (after all, none of us had to swear such an oath, and we are still American citizens) but the basic idea exists.
Furthermore, Israel is a country that is in a state of war with several neighbors (even if there is no active fighting at the current time) and has been in direct conflict twice with Arab militant groups in the last two and a half years. During one of those conflicts, Israeli Arab citizens actively aided the enemy. (According to MK Rotem, an Arab MK used his cellphone to call targeting information to Hezbollah terrorist rocket launching squads.)
American citizens doing such acts would be jailed. Could you imagine the outcry if it was discovered that a U.S. Senator or Congressman had aided Al-Qaeda in the 9/11 attacks? He/she would be tried for treason!
What Yisrael Beteinu is advocating is that such people be denied the benefits of Israeli citizenship and that the oath of loyalty is the litmus test. And they do not stop with requiring it of the Arabs. Any person wanting to benefit from the Jewish State would be required to take the oath, including all the Jews.
While this would be fine with me (I’d probably do it twice just to enjoy the experience a second time), many of my neighbors (ie: chareidim) would be less than thrilled. Swear loyalty to the Zionist State? Ha! But they would have to, in order to continue to benefit from the vast social services network which certainly pays them out much more than they (as a single group) pay in. And that is something that I definitely agree with.
Along with this oath is a requirement for National Service. Also a good idea. Chareidim are so active in chesed that they could easily satisfy this obligation with existing projects (although they would definitely be expanded) and the Arabs would have thousands of their youth putting active effort into building up their communities and benefiting the social welfare of their communities. Who wouldn’t be in favor of that?
He answered questions about the two-state solution, of which he is definitely not in favor, but understands that it is the most likely outcome and therefore wants to work to structure it to be something that can be successful for Israel’s safety and security. Other questions covered many topics, such as his feelings as an Orthodox Jew in a party advocating civil marriages and the opening of our markets to non-kosher foods; he patiently answered each one (he even admitted that he could not answer a question about our water crisis as it is an issue that he is not familiar with).
Perhaps the most astonishing of his answers was to a question about how he could reconcile living in Efrat with being a member of a party whose platform for an eventual two-state solution includes both population and land exchanges. He responded that he understood that it may cost him his home, but that he feels that such a land/population exchange would provide for defensible borders and an opportunity for coexistence. I was impressed by such honesty and forthrightness.
We had to cut the meeting short because we had to head to the Supreme Court to continue our day. Mr. Rotem was prepared to sit with us as long as we liked and was extremely accommodating. We appreciated it.
We will hopefully have a government within the next couple of weeks, and then it will be up to all the MKs involved to see that they move forward in maintaining our safety and security and the well-being of our homeland.
Mazal tov to former Five Towners and current neighbors Penina and Mutty Eichler on the birth of Yisrael Avishai and to former Five Towners and current neighbors Mark and Yosefa Krauss on the marriage of Gavriel to Kayla Kowal of Yad Binyamin.
The Kineret Lake is at –213.46, 46 cm below the lower red line. It is currently raining, and we hope and pray for lots more.
Each year, we try to schedule a meeting with members of the Knesset, but for various reasons we had been unable to coordinate a personal visit in prior years. This year, Rav Yehuda Susman, our Rosh Yeshiva, spoke to the “candyman” in his shul in Efrat, who is also known as MK David Rotem of the Yisrael Beteinu party and is a current member of Knesset, and Rav Susman arranged for us to have a meeting with him.
I have to admit that I was fascinated. Although I did not vote for them, the enthusiasm and momentum that Yisrael Beteinu built through the elections was palpable, and I was incredibly curious to meet a religious MK from that faction. After all, a major spin of the party is that it represents the non-religious, specifically Russian immigrants (many of whom may not even be Jewish).
Because of time considerations, we did not get the chance to tour the Knesset as we normally do. Instead, we went to the Knesset’s Jerusalem Conference Room (I hope I remember the name correctly) where MK Rotem was waiting for us. The Jerusalem Room is a very large room, with a circular set of tables. Mr. Rotem sat at the head of the table with a microphone, and our students sat around the table and in folding chairs set up for the overflow.
Mr. Rotem opened the meeting by offering us a choice: we could hear him lecture about his party, his opinions, and the running of the Knesset (of which he has been a member for a bit over two years) or he would open the floor to questions. We chose the Q-and-A session.
First, I must state that I may err in my recollection of his answers, and I apologize to him (and his party) in advance for any such errors.
I also must admit that I found MK Rotem to be very engaging and persuasive. At least in my eyes, there is no question that he is an Israeli patriot and believes (passionately) in his party and its platform, and that their platform truly is the best long-term solution for Israel. He was thoughtful and took great care in formulating his responses to make sure that he wasn’t misunderstood (although he is Israeli born, he speaks excellent English—he has to; he lives in Efrat).
I would also add that while I definitely disagree with some of their platform, a lot of what he said made sense to me and should not be discarded as radical lunacy. Take the “oath of loyalty” that Yisrael Beteinu wants to require of all Israeli citizens (it was the first question asked of him). Although it is portrayed as an anti-Arab measure, he was adamant that it was an extension of a principal that is applied even in the USA. After all, the final step of the naturalization of a new U.S. citizen is the administration of an oath of loyalty to the United States. If the USA can require such an oath, why shouldn’t Israel be able to?
Yes, this is an oversimplification and an extension of the principal beyond what is required by the USA, (after all, none of us had to swear such an oath, and we are still American citizens) but the basic idea exists.
Furthermore, Israel is a country that is in a state of war with several neighbors (even if there is no active fighting at the current time) and has been in direct conflict twice with Arab militant groups in the last two and a half years. During one of those conflicts, Israeli Arab citizens actively aided the enemy. (According to MK Rotem, an Arab MK used his cellphone to call targeting information to Hezbollah terrorist rocket launching squads.)
American citizens doing such acts would be jailed. Could you imagine the outcry if it was discovered that a U.S. Senator or Congressman had aided Al-Qaeda in the 9/11 attacks? He/she would be tried for treason!
What Yisrael Beteinu is advocating is that such people be denied the benefits of Israeli citizenship and that the oath of loyalty is the litmus test. And they do not stop with requiring it of the Arabs. Any person wanting to benefit from the Jewish State would be required to take the oath, including all the Jews.
While this would be fine with me (I’d probably do it twice just to enjoy the experience a second time), many of my neighbors (ie: chareidim) would be less than thrilled. Swear loyalty to the Zionist State? Ha! But they would have to, in order to continue to benefit from the vast social services network which certainly pays them out much more than they (as a single group) pay in. And that is something that I definitely agree with.
Along with this oath is a requirement for National Service. Also a good idea. Chareidim are so active in chesed that they could easily satisfy this obligation with existing projects (although they would definitely be expanded) and the Arabs would have thousands of their youth putting active effort into building up their communities and benefiting the social welfare of their communities. Who wouldn’t be in favor of that?
He answered questions about the two-state solution, of which he is definitely not in favor, but understands that it is the most likely outcome and therefore wants to work to structure it to be something that can be successful for Israel’s safety and security. Other questions covered many topics, such as his feelings as an Orthodox Jew in a party advocating civil marriages and the opening of our markets to non-kosher foods; he patiently answered each one (he even admitted that he could not answer a question about our water crisis as it is an issue that he is not familiar with).
Perhaps the most astonishing of his answers was to a question about how he could reconcile living in Efrat with being a member of a party whose platform for an eventual two-state solution includes both population and land exchanges. He responded that he understood that it may cost him his home, but that he feels that such a land/population exchange would provide for defensible borders and an opportunity for coexistence. I was impressed by such honesty and forthrightness.
We had to cut the meeting short because we had to head to the Supreme Court to continue our day. Mr. Rotem was prepared to sit with us as long as we liked and was extremely accommodating. We appreciated it.
We will hopefully have a government within the next couple of weeks, and then it will be up to all the MKs involved to see that they move forward in maintaining our safety and security and the well-being of our homeland.
Mazal tov to former Five Towners and current neighbors Penina and Mutty Eichler on the birth of Yisrael Avishai and to former Five Towners and current neighbors Mark and Yosefa Krauss on the marriage of Gavriel to Kayla Kowal of Yad Binyamin.
The Kineret Lake is at –213.46, 46 cm below the lower red line. It is currently raining, and we hope and pray for lots more.
Water, Water Everywhere (Article# 110) 3/19/2009
Purim was, as usual, quite awesome here. It might have been a bit chilly with temps in the 60s or so, but that certainly beats the frigid weather we used to face in the U.S. In Israel, even the secular celebrate Purim in some form, so you get to see a lot of people/kids in costume.
Several years ago I had designed a Fred Flintstone costume (sewn for me quite professionally by Bina Zaiman) that was really cool. Unfortunately it was stained with motor oil one year and inadvertently discarded. I loved that costume and decided that this year I would revive it (thanks to third cousin Shulamit Felsenthal for sewing it at the last minute).
Chaya decided that she wanted to be a box of popcorn and created her entire costume almost on her own (I sewed the popcorn necklace) and designed a mishloach manot to match. Aliza had planned to be a terrorist, but in a moment of teen indifference decided to skip the entire costume thing this year. Batya was Minnie Mouse, Mordechai a Power Ranger, and Moshe was an incredibly muscular Spiderman (all the superhero costumes here seemed to have padded muscles in them resulting in some incredibly sculpted little kids running around).
Chaim has been way too cool to put on a costume the past few years (see Aliza above), but at the last minute he decided to be a golfer. He grabbed my clubs and really put together a nice look. (I miss golf—there is only one very expensive course here that I am aware of and I haven’t played in almost three years)
The approach to mishloach manot is much different here. We belong to two shuls. Both of them have “community” mishloach manot programs and it is understood that with the exception of the four or five families that you are closest to, participation in the shul mishloach manot really does count (in Woodmere we had a huge list of people we delivered to each year, no matter what).
The focus here (at least in our part of Bet Shemesh) is on the kids. They throw themselves wholeheartedly into the celebration. Our kids packed their packages several days before Purim and had their lists all drawn up for me to prepare. I think that between the six kids they delivered around 130–140 mishloach manot bags. Yeah, I did spend the day in the car.
We had former Five Towners Chanoch (formerly Alan) and Naomi Schwartz and their family as well as our steady Friday double date couple Dani and Tzippy Lieberman and their family for the seudah. With a house packed full of little kids (ours and the Liebermans’) and teenagers (ours and the Schwartzes’), the atmosphere was definitely festive and fun. The only downer was my having to run out to the yeshiva for Shushan Purim at the end (try celebrating both regular and Shushan Purim—it is exhausting).
At the seudah, Goldie mentioned that she was glad that it hadn’t rained that day; there had been a 40% chance of rain predicted for Purim morning. I disagreed. Even though we stopped adding the special tefillah for rain in Shemoneh Esreih (and I have no idea why), we are in real trouble here. A few wet kids would definitely have been worth it.
Over the past month I have become more and more engrossed in the saga that is Israel’s water system. The ecological balance of the system is incredibly precarious and allows for very little error. Throw in a few years of low rainfall and disaster is sure to occur (as it is about to).
The best indicator of the current crisis is the Kinneret Lake. It supplies around 40% of the country’s water. Since the other 60% of the water comes from similar sources (aquifers, reservoirs, etc.) the Kinneret level pretty accurately reflects the level of those sources as well.
All of these sources are considered “renewable,” meaning that they are continually replenished by the rain that falls each year. Unfortunately, these resources are also finite and our consumption level is more that 95% of the amount of rain we get in a normal year. When rainfall is below normal, the reserve levels of these water sources are used. Unfortunately, this has happened for several years in a row and we are now in serious trouble here. Or will be soon.
The media here is covering the story regularly and the water authority’s conservation push is also making people aware of the crisis. I myself track the information via the water authority’s website (as I wrote a couple of weeks ago) and post the results on my Facebook profile in order to increase awareness of the situation.
My sister dropped me a note that she just saw that we are less than two meters above the Black Line—a Kinneret level she had never heard of before. She asked what that meant, and wondered why we are so focused on the Red Line?
There are several “lines” in the Kinneret. There is the full line/Upper Red Line, the Lower Red Line, and there is the new Black Line which was only defined last year.
The Upper Red Line equals 208 meters and 80 centimeters below sea level (–208.80). This is what the Kinneret has measured when full to capacity—before flooding. At this level, they open the Deganya Dam and allow the overflow to drain into the Jordan River to prevent flooding.
The Lower Red Line is –213.00. When the water level is below this line, the water is considered to have higher than desired amounts of contaminants and pollutants in it. This is not good! This level is also two meters above the Black Line.
The Black Line is –215.00. When the water level goes down to this level, the water pumps that the national water authority uses to pump water are exposed. If the water is below the pump level, they obviously cannot pump water. Assuming the other water sources are similarly low (having experienced the same drought that currently plagues the Kinneret), the loss of the Kinneret’s 40% contribution to the water reserves will quickly overburden the system and the country will be effectively dry. Also not such a good thing.
So why all the focus on the Lower Red Line? Well, aside from the health issues involved with drinking water having abnormally high levels of contaminants and pollutants in it, it is a key marker for how close we will get to the Black Line during the summer/fall, before the next rainy season kicks in.
Traditionally, the Kinneret loses about one and a half meters in height each dry season, but it is supposed to recover during the rainy season. However, the past several years have seen less than average rainfall and the levels never recovered. Each year’s high level was lower than the prior year’s high.
Last year, the Kinneret lost two meters from its high point of the year to the low point of the year. Yes, it was abnormal—most years are only one and a half, but it does makes sense. After all, as the water level lowers, the lake itself narrows. A narrower lake means that there is less cubic meters of water per centimeter of lake height than normal, resulting in more dramatic changes in height than in normal years.
If we were to duplicate last year’s drop of close to two meters of height from the Kinneret during the dry season, in order to ensure that we do not reach the black line, the Kinneret needs to be at least two meters above the black line at its high point (sometime in April/May). The Lower Red Line is two meters above the Black Line. The bottom of the Kinneret is something like –254, so this is not a significant factor.
It ain’t going dry—we are!
Several years ago I had designed a Fred Flintstone costume (sewn for me quite professionally by Bina Zaiman) that was really cool. Unfortunately it was stained with motor oil one year and inadvertently discarded. I loved that costume and decided that this year I would revive it (thanks to third cousin Shulamit Felsenthal for sewing it at the last minute).
Chaya decided that she wanted to be a box of popcorn and created her entire costume almost on her own (I sewed the popcorn necklace) and designed a mishloach manot to match. Aliza had planned to be a terrorist, but in a moment of teen indifference decided to skip the entire costume thing this year. Batya was Minnie Mouse, Mordechai a Power Ranger, and Moshe was an incredibly muscular Spiderman (all the superhero costumes here seemed to have padded muscles in them resulting in some incredibly sculpted little kids running around).
Chaim has been way too cool to put on a costume the past few years (see Aliza above), but at the last minute he decided to be a golfer. He grabbed my clubs and really put together a nice look. (I miss golf—there is only one very expensive course here that I am aware of and I haven’t played in almost three years)
The approach to mishloach manot is much different here. We belong to two shuls. Both of them have “community” mishloach manot programs and it is understood that with the exception of the four or five families that you are closest to, participation in the shul mishloach manot really does count (in Woodmere we had a huge list of people we delivered to each year, no matter what).
The focus here (at least in our part of Bet Shemesh) is on the kids. They throw themselves wholeheartedly into the celebration. Our kids packed their packages several days before Purim and had their lists all drawn up for me to prepare. I think that between the six kids they delivered around 130–140 mishloach manot bags. Yeah, I did spend the day in the car.
We had former Five Towners Chanoch (formerly Alan) and Naomi Schwartz and their family as well as our steady Friday double date couple Dani and Tzippy Lieberman and their family for the seudah. With a house packed full of little kids (ours and the Liebermans’) and teenagers (ours and the Schwartzes’), the atmosphere was definitely festive and fun. The only downer was my having to run out to the yeshiva for Shushan Purim at the end (try celebrating both regular and Shushan Purim—it is exhausting).
At the seudah, Goldie mentioned that she was glad that it hadn’t rained that day; there had been a 40% chance of rain predicted for Purim morning. I disagreed. Even though we stopped adding the special tefillah for rain in Shemoneh Esreih (and I have no idea why), we are in real trouble here. A few wet kids would definitely have been worth it.
Over the past month I have become more and more engrossed in the saga that is Israel’s water system. The ecological balance of the system is incredibly precarious and allows for very little error. Throw in a few years of low rainfall and disaster is sure to occur (as it is about to).
The best indicator of the current crisis is the Kinneret Lake. It supplies around 40% of the country’s water. Since the other 60% of the water comes from similar sources (aquifers, reservoirs, etc.) the Kinneret level pretty accurately reflects the level of those sources as well.
All of these sources are considered “renewable,” meaning that they are continually replenished by the rain that falls each year. Unfortunately, these resources are also finite and our consumption level is more that 95% of the amount of rain we get in a normal year. When rainfall is below normal, the reserve levels of these water sources are used. Unfortunately, this has happened for several years in a row and we are now in serious trouble here. Or will be soon.
The media here is covering the story regularly and the water authority’s conservation push is also making people aware of the crisis. I myself track the information via the water authority’s website (as I wrote a couple of weeks ago) and post the results on my Facebook profile in order to increase awareness of the situation.
My sister dropped me a note that she just saw that we are less than two meters above the Black Line—a Kinneret level she had never heard of before. She asked what that meant, and wondered why we are so focused on the Red Line?
There are several “lines” in the Kinneret. There is the full line/Upper Red Line, the Lower Red Line, and there is the new Black Line which was only defined last year.
The Upper Red Line equals 208 meters and 80 centimeters below sea level (–208.80). This is what the Kinneret has measured when full to capacity—before flooding. At this level, they open the Deganya Dam and allow the overflow to drain into the Jordan River to prevent flooding.
The Lower Red Line is –213.00. When the water level is below this line, the water is considered to have higher than desired amounts of contaminants and pollutants in it. This is not good! This level is also two meters above the Black Line.
The Black Line is –215.00. When the water level goes down to this level, the water pumps that the national water authority uses to pump water are exposed. If the water is below the pump level, they obviously cannot pump water. Assuming the other water sources are similarly low (having experienced the same drought that currently plagues the Kinneret), the loss of the Kinneret’s 40% contribution to the water reserves will quickly overburden the system and the country will be effectively dry. Also not such a good thing.
So why all the focus on the Lower Red Line? Well, aside from the health issues involved with drinking water having abnormally high levels of contaminants and pollutants in it, it is a key marker for how close we will get to the Black Line during the summer/fall, before the next rainy season kicks in.
Traditionally, the Kinneret loses about one and a half meters in height each dry season, but it is supposed to recover during the rainy season. However, the past several years have seen less than average rainfall and the levels never recovered. Each year’s high level was lower than the prior year’s high.
Last year, the Kinneret lost two meters from its high point of the year to the low point of the year. Yes, it was abnormal—most years are only one and a half, but it does makes sense. After all, as the water level lowers, the lake itself narrows. A narrower lake means that there is less cubic meters of water per centimeter of lake height than normal, resulting in more dramatic changes in height than in normal years.
If we were to duplicate last year’s drop of close to two meters of height from the Kinneret during the dry season, in order to ensure that we do not reach the black line, the Kinneret needs to be at least two meters above the black line at its high point (sometime in April/May). The Lower Red Line is two meters above the Black Line. The bottom of the Kinneret is something like –254, so this is not a significant factor.
It ain’t going dry—we are!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
משיב הרוח (Article# 109) 3/5/2009
Living in Israel has made us much more sensitive to the seasons and the balance of our ecology. Having grown up in the Midwest and spent the majority of my adult years in New York, I am a true city boy. The change of seasons was admired, but only for its aesthetic beauty, not because it had any meaning to me. Rain was an inconvenience, except in “drought years.” Even then, the real inconvenience was in adhering to the “no watering” rules and having a brown lawn.
We enjoyed having snow days and playing in the snow with our kids (although having to shovel a rather large driveway as well as both sidewalks of our corner house was definitely a pain) or playing “bucket hockey” on our driveway in the sunny summers. Weather was an experience, but not much more than that.
Intellectually, I understood that there were farmers whose livelihood could be destroyed by a badly timed storm or by a bad season. I even saw how disastrous it was one year when there was a drought on Long Island and a late rain came and practically ruined that year’s grape crop. But none of that had any real consequence to me or my immediate environment, beyond a higher cost for water or having to pay more for fruits or vegetables—which even when “out of season” would be generally available year round (since they were “in season” somewhere in the vast USA).
I even understood that the weather in Israel was crucial to the country. With farming being a major industry in Israel, it was obvious that rainfall was important, and as an Orthodox Jew I learned quite early on that we said “Mashiv HaRuach” and why. Yet it was more of an academic understanding, a religious belief without a tremendous internal meaning.
My whole world has changed in this regard. We live in a desert. The summer heat is unbelievable and there are parts of the country that are almost always hot. Being in the middle of the desert, with essentially only one source of water (the Kinneret Lake), we are very conscious of its importance to our lives.
We are also in the middle of one of the worst rain seasons on record (January was the driest month in Israel since they began tracking such things). As a matter of fact, we have not had “normal” rainfall in any of the winters that we have been living here, and the continued shortage keeps compounding the problem. Add in the fact that the entire world (not just Israel) seems to be facing tremendous rain shortages—with severe droughts in parts of the USA, Australia, and Asia causing food shortages and crop devastation—and our current drought takes on more significance.
Each year that we’ve been here, we have said the special prayer for rain that is inserted into the Shemoneh Esreh. I have wondered who it is that determines that we should start saying it, but we have done it every year. So I am assuming there is a system—and the system is saying, “We need help!”
Last year at this time I tried to keep abreast of the developments, but my Hebrew was not up to the challenge and I couldn’t find any real-time updates on the water levels. I knew there was concern about the water issue, but it didn’t seem to be a dire picture, just a matter for concern if things would get worse. At the end of the season we were above the “red line” that needs to be reached to ensure that we only have to conserve water instead of ration it severely.
We saw tangible results of the shortage in August when Goldie and I took a couple of days off in Teveria. We went rafting on the Jordan River. The rafting company told us that the water was extremely low and apologized that in several areas we would have to get out of the raft and push it because the water was so low. And we did.
We hoped things would improve. They didn’t. As I mentioned, this past January was the driest one on record, and the media has been abuzz with how dire the situation was. We were significantly below the lower “red line,” and a major crisis was brewing.
After months of hearing about how terrible things are and personally noticing the absolute absence of rain, it began to grate upon me. In the USA, beautiful sunny weather is the preference. But I began to be disgusted with it—every day, sunny and clear.
I will admit that I did miss the pleasant climate when I went to the USA. Snow? Freezing cold? Definitely not what I was looking forward to when I traveled. Yet, within a few days of my return to Israel I was again looking for rain and getting sick of the sun. (Friday rain was a specific desire—getting much-needed rain with the added bonus of a little-league rainout.)
It finally rained two weekends ago and we got about 10 centimeters of water in the Kinneret. It was a beginning, but not nearly enough. I began to add a desire for rain to my Facebook status, saying things like “Shmuel is looking forward to at least three days of rain this weekend—we need even more,” which definitely confused people. And I even got a message from a friend telling me, “Yes, unfortunately it is another disgusting day of sunshine. I cannot wait for the rains to return and those beautiful stormy skies with the delightful sounds of water pouring outside my window.”
I originally thought he was joking, and I made a comment about how he needed to understand how serious the situation was. He replied, “Unfortunately, you think I am joking. I meant truthfully what I said. I am completely sick of sunny days and they are not beautiful to me. I, of course, know the status, and another 12 days of the [amount of] rain we had last will ensure we pass the red line. We have been praying to get it and hopefully more. If it were rainy and cloudy till Pesach I would be the happiest camper.”
Well, the three days of rain came, and they were awesome! It rained and rained and rained. Of course, rain in Bet Shemesh is not nearly as important as rain in the North, which is what feeds the Kinneret. But rain in our area is an indirect help, providing water for all things that grow in the ground and eliminating the need to use Kinneret water for irrigation or watering.
Yet when the dust (or, in this case, rain clouds) settled, the level of water in the Kinneret had risen by 30 centimeters—the most water ever to fall in a single rain event since we began to track such things. It was terrific, and it seemed as if everyone was talking about it.
I posted updates of how much the Kinneret had risen and got several comments about it. I even found a terrific website to track the progress of the water (www.water.gov.il/water/console/kinnert_history.aspx). It gives you what the daily change is and the current water level. It prompted my sister to get me the URL of a different website that also gives you the shortfall from the “Red Line” and “Full Line” (www.kineret.org.il/main.asp), although the graph on that site is very misleading.
On my Monday-morning train ride to Yerushalayim, I made a point of looking out the window as we approached the station. Just outside the train there is a seasonal stream formed each spring by the runoff of the rains. When it rains, the water runs strong, but within hours it dries up. It was flowing well, something I had not seen in quite a while.
That stream feeds into another stream, which flows continuously throughout the year. On my way home that afternoon I took a look at that second river and was amazed. And very excited.
The second stream was not only flowing strong, I could see that the stream was clearly swollen with water. I could see grass and bushes growing on the banks of the stream that were partially submerged in the water. And it was exhilarating. I couldn’t believe that seeing water would be so stimulating, but it is.
So I hope and pray for more and more rain to come our way. We are now only 83 centimeters from the lower red line, and the runoff from the prior rain has not yet settled into the river. Six or seven days of this and we will pass the red line comfortably. We’ll still be 5+ meters from the normal values, but we will have averted the worst. So don’t forget to keep us in your mind when you are davening—we can use the help.
As we approach Purim, Goldie and I wish you all simchat Purim and hope that if not this Purim, then certainly by next Purim we should all be celebrating Purim together with a huge seudah in a rebuilt Yerushalayim.
A special mazal tov to our former neighbors and very close friends Yehuda and Carolyn Deutsch on the birth of their first daughter, Rochel Avigail. Enjoy her.
A special mazal tov also goes to my nephew Yonatan, who graduated from commander training this week. He did so well that the training school requested that he stay on as a teacher for future trainees. He declined. He didn’t want to waste his time teaching—he wanted to serve. So he pulled some strings to be assigned to a field unit (we don’t know where). However, in the end, they saw through him and he was assigned as a commander for new recruits in basic training. He now has to do the entire training over again with them, this time as their sergeant.
And finally, special Shabbat Shalom wishes to my good friend Dov Herman, who was peeved that I left his name out of the paper when telling a recent story about him. So please, everyone make a point of mentioning to him that you saw his name in the paper.
We enjoyed having snow days and playing in the snow with our kids (although having to shovel a rather large driveway as well as both sidewalks of our corner house was definitely a pain) or playing “bucket hockey” on our driveway in the sunny summers. Weather was an experience, but not much more than that.
Intellectually, I understood that there were farmers whose livelihood could be destroyed by a badly timed storm or by a bad season. I even saw how disastrous it was one year when there was a drought on Long Island and a late rain came and practically ruined that year’s grape crop. But none of that had any real consequence to me or my immediate environment, beyond a higher cost for water or having to pay more for fruits or vegetables—which even when “out of season” would be generally available year round (since they were “in season” somewhere in the vast USA).
I even understood that the weather in Israel was crucial to the country. With farming being a major industry in Israel, it was obvious that rainfall was important, and as an Orthodox Jew I learned quite early on that we said “Mashiv HaRuach” and why. Yet it was more of an academic understanding, a religious belief without a tremendous internal meaning.
My whole world has changed in this regard. We live in a desert. The summer heat is unbelievable and there are parts of the country that are almost always hot. Being in the middle of the desert, with essentially only one source of water (the Kinneret Lake), we are very conscious of its importance to our lives.
We are also in the middle of one of the worst rain seasons on record (January was the driest month in Israel since they began tracking such things). As a matter of fact, we have not had “normal” rainfall in any of the winters that we have been living here, and the continued shortage keeps compounding the problem. Add in the fact that the entire world (not just Israel) seems to be facing tremendous rain shortages—with severe droughts in parts of the USA, Australia, and Asia causing food shortages and crop devastation—and our current drought takes on more significance.
Each year that we’ve been here, we have said the special prayer for rain that is inserted into the Shemoneh Esreh. I have wondered who it is that determines that we should start saying it, but we have done it every year. So I am assuming there is a system—and the system is saying, “We need help!”
Last year at this time I tried to keep abreast of the developments, but my Hebrew was not up to the challenge and I couldn’t find any real-time updates on the water levels. I knew there was concern about the water issue, but it didn’t seem to be a dire picture, just a matter for concern if things would get worse. At the end of the season we were above the “red line” that needs to be reached to ensure that we only have to conserve water instead of ration it severely.
We saw tangible results of the shortage in August when Goldie and I took a couple of days off in Teveria. We went rafting on the Jordan River. The rafting company told us that the water was extremely low and apologized that in several areas we would have to get out of the raft and push it because the water was so low. And we did.
We hoped things would improve. They didn’t. As I mentioned, this past January was the driest one on record, and the media has been abuzz with how dire the situation was. We were significantly below the lower “red line,” and a major crisis was brewing.
After months of hearing about how terrible things are and personally noticing the absolute absence of rain, it began to grate upon me. In the USA, beautiful sunny weather is the preference. But I began to be disgusted with it—every day, sunny and clear.
I will admit that I did miss the pleasant climate when I went to the USA. Snow? Freezing cold? Definitely not what I was looking forward to when I traveled. Yet, within a few days of my return to Israel I was again looking for rain and getting sick of the sun. (Friday rain was a specific desire—getting much-needed rain with the added bonus of a little-league rainout.)
It finally rained two weekends ago and we got about 10 centimeters of water in the Kinneret. It was a beginning, but not nearly enough. I began to add a desire for rain to my Facebook status, saying things like “Shmuel is looking forward to at least three days of rain this weekend—we need even more,” which definitely confused people. And I even got a message from a friend telling me, “Yes, unfortunately it is another disgusting day of sunshine. I cannot wait for the rains to return and those beautiful stormy skies with the delightful sounds of water pouring outside my window.”
I originally thought he was joking, and I made a comment about how he needed to understand how serious the situation was. He replied, “Unfortunately, you think I am joking. I meant truthfully what I said. I am completely sick of sunny days and they are not beautiful to me. I, of course, know the status, and another 12 days of the [amount of] rain we had last will ensure we pass the red line. We have been praying to get it and hopefully more. If it were rainy and cloudy till Pesach I would be the happiest camper.”
Well, the three days of rain came, and they were awesome! It rained and rained and rained. Of course, rain in Bet Shemesh is not nearly as important as rain in the North, which is what feeds the Kinneret. But rain in our area is an indirect help, providing water for all things that grow in the ground and eliminating the need to use Kinneret water for irrigation or watering.
Yet when the dust (or, in this case, rain clouds) settled, the level of water in the Kinneret had risen by 30 centimeters—the most water ever to fall in a single rain event since we began to track such things. It was terrific, and it seemed as if everyone was talking about it.
I posted updates of how much the Kinneret had risen and got several comments about it. I even found a terrific website to track the progress of the water (www.water.gov.il/water/console/kinnert_history.aspx). It gives you what the daily change is and the current water level. It prompted my sister to get me the URL of a different website that also gives you the shortfall from the “Red Line” and “Full Line” (www.kineret.org.il/main.asp), although the graph on that site is very misleading.
On my Monday-morning train ride to Yerushalayim, I made a point of looking out the window as we approached the station. Just outside the train there is a seasonal stream formed each spring by the runoff of the rains. When it rains, the water runs strong, but within hours it dries up. It was flowing well, something I had not seen in quite a while.
That stream feeds into another stream, which flows continuously throughout the year. On my way home that afternoon I took a look at that second river and was amazed. And very excited.
The second stream was not only flowing strong, I could see that the stream was clearly swollen with water. I could see grass and bushes growing on the banks of the stream that were partially submerged in the water. And it was exhilarating. I couldn’t believe that seeing water would be so stimulating, but it is.
So I hope and pray for more and more rain to come our way. We are now only 83 centimeters from the lower red line, and the runoff from the prior rain has not yet settled into the river. Six or seven days of this and we will pass the red line comfortably. We’ll still be 5+ meters from the normal values, but we will have averted the worst. So don’t forget to keep us in your mind when you are davening—we can use the help.
As we approach Purim, Goldie and I wish you all simchat Purim and hope that if not this Purim, then certainly by next Purim we should all be celebrating Purim together with a huge seudah in a rebuilt Yerushalayim.
A special mazal tov to our former neighbors and very close friends Yehuda and Carolyn Deutsch on the birth of their first daughter, Rochel Avigail. Enjoy her.
A special mazal tov also goes to my nephew Yonatan, who graduated from commander training this week. He did so well that the training school requested that he stay on as a teacher for future trainees. He declined. He didn’t want to waste his time teaching—he wanted to serve. So he pulled some strings to be assigned to a field unit (we don’t know where). However, in the end, they saw through him and he was assigned as a commander for new recruits in basic training. He now has to do the entire training over again with them, this time as their sergeant.
And finally, special Shabbat Shalom wishes to my good friend Dov Herman, who was peeved that I left his name out of the paper when telling a recent story about him. So please, everyone make a point of mentioning to him that you saw his name in the paper.
Monday, March 02, 2009
The Mixing Bowl (Article# 108) 2/26/2009
Enough politics. Netanyahu is going to form the government, either a last minute bad deal with Kadima or a simple right wing government. No more talking about the elections this week.
I often get asked how I can live in Bet Shemesh, especially since I refer to the city as “Teaneck East” (the Rosh Yeshiva where I work lives in Efrat, which he calls “Occupied Scarsdale” so I am not alone in making this kind of reference). Don’t I wish that I lived in a more Israeli area, where my kids could integrate better and we don’t have to deal with the handicap of all the English? Actually, no.
A couple of weeks ago we hosted an Open House meeting for Mordechai’s school. Geared to parents of incoming first graders, the meeting was a chance for the parents to come meet the Principal and the Assistant Principal (Grades 1-1) and hear about the curriculum and activities.
One of the main things that stood out (at least to me) in the presentation was a sense of “one people - one nation” that we as parents in the school already knew prevailed. The school consists of 50% immigrant children from all over the world. Yet, when they are in school they do not segregate themselves into different cliques. They play as one, they learn as one and they get along very well.
Two years ago we had gone to a similar Open House to meet the same Principal and hear about the school (for Mordechai). I remember him telling us that during recess he occasionally hears students speaking English and that he asks them why they are talking Chinese – they are in Israel and they should speak Hebrew. At the time, we thought that his approach was quite rigid and not allow for the kids to express themselves comfortably in their free time. We were wrong.
I think that this approach forces the kids to interact as equals. Our kids have had incredibly successful integrations (for the most part) and I credit this to their quick adaptation to Hebrew. There are, however, still some interesting culture differences between people, as the Principal illustrated when we were talking about this specific topic.
He had gone on a field trip with the kids recently. As he sat on the bus, he noticed a couple of Ethiopian kids speaking ……whatever their native tongue is, and decided to let it pass. The bus was passing the airport and the kids were excitedly pointing out the planes, the buildings and all the fancy equipment on display. Each time they passed an industrial center, these boys would excitedly chatter and point to all the big buildings and technology.
Interestingly, the other kids did not react to any of this at all. They sat calmly in their seats talking, reading, playing, etc. However, a few minutes later the roles were reversed. Most of the kids were busy pointing out the windows and getting excited, while the Ethiopian kids were sitting calmly. What were the other kids getting excited about? They were passing a herd of donkeys.
Another thing that fascinates me is the “Israeli” label and how it is applied to different people/groups here. Most of us who live here are Israeli. I am and so is my family – we have citizenship cards to prove it. Yet, somehow we aren’t considered Israeli.
In fact, I know some Olim, who aren’t happy living in places like Bet Shemesh, Ranaana or Chashmonaim because of the high concentration of Anglos in those places. They feel that these places aren’t Israeli enough – whatever that means. They want a more “native” experience.
However, when you stop and consider it, there are almost no real Israelis. Everyone here is an immigrant at some point. Yes, there was a small Jewish community here in the 19th century, but most of us arrived here only within the last 100 years or so. Most of the people who are now called “Israeli” immigrated from Morroco or Iran or Iraq or any one of a dozen countries that made up Sephardic Judaism. The Ashkenazim are also immigrants, most of whom arrived within the last 75 years or so.
Yes, it is our land – our country as given to us by G-d. I am not trying to discuss those issues. My point is only that there is no such thing as a true “Israeli”ness that makes one person more Israeli than another. We are a conglomerate of the various people who make up our society (just like in most societies) and the trick is in understanding that we are all in this together and that this conglomerate is the definition of an “Israeli”.
So I don’t wish that I was in a less Anglo place per se. My kids are quite comfortable and are friends with people of various national backgrounds and I think this makes them better people for it. I (and my Anglo neighbors) bring a new unique approach to life that will add to attractiveness and success of my new country, just as I will be influenced (hopefully for the better) by the people who are currently here and those who will join us in the future.
The USA is called the “Melting Pot” by virtue of its successful blending of so many different ethnicities and backgrounds into a unique American identity. Since you already have that title, I guess you could call us the “Mixing Bowl”. We aren’t quite as large, nor do we do things on such a grand scale – but the idea is the same.
I often get asked how I can live in Bet Shemesh, especially since I refer to the city as “Teaneck East” (the Rosh Yeshiva where I work lives in Efrat, which he calls “Occupied Scarsdale” so I am not alone in making this kind of reference). Don’t I wish that I lived in a more Israeli area, where my kids could integrate better and we don’t have to deal with the handicap of all the English? Actually, no.
A couple of weeks ago we hosted an Open House meeting for Mordechai’s school. Geared to parents of incoming first graders, the meeting was a chance for the parents to come meet the Principal and the Assistant Principal (Grades 1-1) and hear about the curriculum and activities.
One of the main things that stood out (at least to me) in the presentation was a sense of “one people - one nation” that we as parents in the school already knew prevailed. The school consists of 50% immigrant children from all over the world. Yet, when they are in school they do not segregate themselves into different cliques. They play as one, they learn as one and they get along very well.
Two years ago we had gone to a similar Open House to meet the same Principal and hear about the school (for Mordechai). I remember him telling us that during recess he occasionally hears students speaking English and that he asks them why they are talking Chinese – they are in Israel and they should speak Hebrew. At the time, we thought that his approach was quite rigid and not allow for the kids to express themselves comfortably in their free time. We were wrong.
I think that this approach forces the kids to interact as equals. Our kids have had incredibly successful integrations (for the most part) and I credit this to their quick adaptation to Hebrew. There are, however, still some interesting culture differences between people, as the Principal illustrated when we were talking about this specific topic.
He had gone on a field trip with the kids recently. As he sat on the bus, he noticed a couple of Ethiopian kids speaking ……whatever their native tongue is, and decided to let it pass. The bus was passing the airport and the kids were excitedly pointing out the planes, the buildings and all the fancy equipment on display. Each time they passed an industrial center, these boys would excitedly chatter and point to all the big buildings and technology.
Interestingly, the other kids did not react to any of this at all. They sat calmly in their seats talking, reading, playing, etc. However, a few minutes later the roles were reversed. Most of the kids were busy pointing out the windows and getting excited, while the Ethiopian kids were sitting calmly. What were the other kids getting excited about? They were passing a herd of donkeys.
Another thing that fascinates me is the “Israeli” label and how it is applied to different people/groups here. Most of us who live here are Israeli. I am and so is my family – we have citizenship cards to prove it. Yet, somehow we aren’t considered Israeli.
In fact, I know some Olim, who aren’t happy living in places like Bet Shemesh, Ranaana or Chashmonaim because of the high concentration of Anglos in those places. They feel that these places aren’t Israeli enough – whatever that means. They want a more “native” experience.
However, when you stop and consider it, there are almost no real Israelis. Everyone here is an immigrant at some point. Yes, there was a small Jewish community here in the 19th century, but most of us arrived here only within the last 100 years or so. Most of the people who are now called “Israeli” immigrated from Morroco or Iran or Iraq or any one of a dozen countries that made up Sephardic Judaism. The Ashkenazim are also immigrants, most of whom arrived within the last 75 years or so.
Yes, it is our land – our country as given to us by G-d. I am not trying to discuss those issues. My point is only that there is no such thing as a true “Israeli”ness that makes one person more Israeli than another. We are a conglomerate of the various people who make up our society (just like in most societies) and the trick is in understanding that we are all in this together and that this conglomerate is the definition of an “Israeli”.
So I don’t wish that I was in a less Anglo place per se. My kids are quite comfortable and are friends with people of various national backgrounds and I think this makes them better people for it. I (and my Anglo neighbors) bring a new unique approach to life that will add to attractiveness and success of my new country, just as I will be influenced (hopefully for the better) by the people who are currently here and those who will join us in the future.
The USA is called the “Melting Pot” by virtue of its successful blending of so many different ethnicities and backgrounds into a unique American identity. Since you already have that title, I guess you could call us the “Mixing Bowl”. We aren’t quite as large, nor do we do things on such a grand scale – but the idea is the same.
Coalitions (Article# 107) 2/19/2009
Wanting to vote in the first Israeli national elections for which I am a registered voter, I made sure to schedule my arrival from the USA for the morning of Election Day. As I mentioned last week, there are no absentee ballots in Israel for the average citizen. The only people who vote absentee are government workers, such as embassy employees or Jewish Agency representatives. Everyone else must be in Israel on Election Day in order to vote.
In Israel, Election Day is a national holiday. All schools close (well, probably not the chareidi schools) and many offices close as well. This is done for two reasons. One is to encourage people to vote. The other is because almost all the polling stations are in schools, and the kids would not be able to attend in any case. We had been told that Israeli Election Day would be a big party, with people having BBQ’s and other family/community activities. Any national day off would be treated this way because we have so few off days since Sunday is a workday.
Since the kids were off, Goldie brought the younger ones with her to pick me up at the airport and we went straight from the airport to the voting booth. The kids were very excited to be with us, and having experienced the voting process in the mayoral elections just a couple of months ago, they knew exactly how to vote.
It is important to remember that in Israel votes are cast for the political parties—not for the candidates themselves. The leader of each party is usually the person at the top of their Knesset candidate list. Knesset members are elected on a proportional basis, calculated from the popular vote results. Israeli law does not allow for a party to have less than three seats, so there is a mathematical formula to calculate how many seats each party actually gets.
Voters are divided into districts, with each district having its own ballot box. In Bet Shemesh the districts are divided geographically and often consist of a couple of blocks (our block alone has over 150 families in it). The polling place (as I said, usually a school) is divided up by districts as well, with three to five districts assigned a joint ballot box.
Upon entering the school, we went to the classroom assigned to our district and checked in. Each eligible voter is mailed a voting card to tell him where he should vote and what district he is in. Voters can vote without having the card in hand, but it is easier to show the card. Once a voter checks in, he is handed his ballot envelope and votes.
Unlike the municipal elections, the atmosphere (at least in Bet Shemesh) was pretty low key. The parties had their information/lobbying booths set up outside the polling places, but there was none of the frenetic “color war” type of politicking we had seen in November. With the exception of the immediate vicinity of the polling place, there wasn’t the blizzard of campaign literature littered throughout the streets, and to the relief of my little kids there was almost no disturbing the peace with “victory parades” or taxis running around with roof-mounted loudspeakers blaring voting instructions.
It was actually a pretty quiet day. Toward the evening we seized the opportunity to spend some family time together and went out for dinner (kosher food court at the mall). This turned out to be a pretty popular activity nationwide; the papers all carried stories the next day about the incredible amount of people who turned up at the malls on Election Day.
Since I don’t understand the TV news well enough yet, I got most of my election result information online. Exit and pre-election polls here are not so terrifically accurate, so it was hard to tell what the final results were going to be, but we had a pretty good idea what was happening by the time we went to bed.
I had been concerned about this type of result. The results clearly showed a Right leaning electorate and a repudiation of the “make peace at any cost—even if it is our end” policies of the Left. However, the Right’s splinter parties definitely weakened the Likud’s mandate, and it is not the largest faction in the Knesset. I still believe that Netanyahu will be the next prime minister, but his position is definitely weakened by having his party come in second place.
I think some of Kadima’s strength also came from a panicky anti-Lieberman crowd. I think that the growing strength of his party in the pre-election polls got many people who would have voted Likud thinking twice about supporting Likud (who would be the most ideal coalition partner for the Lieberman-led Yisrael Beiteinu party) and they cast their votes for Kadima—not in support of Kadima, but rather as a rejection of Yisrael Beiteinu and a diminishing of Likud’s mandate. They wanted Likud to win, but not by much.
So now we are going to be stuck with a government that has a chip on its shoulder, since the largest party will be in the opposition and will constantly be sniping at its heels. Alternatively, there could be a national unity government, which would mean that Netanyahu made a deal with the devil to get them in. Any such deal would probably be less than thrilling to those who voted the Right in, but would be a direct result of all the factionalized voting that ended up splitting the Right into a whole bunch of smaller parties instead of a unified large party.
Now that the elections are over the rest is up to the politicians, and we can go back to regular life. We have been having a major drought here. Even though it rained a couple of times this week, this has been the worst rain season since they started keeping records and follows two below average rain seasons as well. The economic crisis is catching up to us here (many employers have instituted across the board mandatory wage cuts of 10–20 percent, CPI is down and continues to fall and economic growth is expected to decline for the first time in years), and we are growing more and more concerned about the rising threats of our neighbors (specifically Iran).
On the personal front we are coming to realize that our oldest son is going to fly the coop in a matter of months (four) and it is startling. The kids’ report cards just came in (Yay!—at least for the most part). We have begun to prepare for Purim and Pesach and are looking forward to having the Zaidees and Bubbees with us on yom tov. Life continues...
In Israel, Election Day is a national holiday. All schools close (well, probably not the chareidi schools) and many offices close as well. This is done for two reasons. One is to encourage people to vote. The other is because almost all the polling stations are in schools, and the kids would not be able to attend in any case. We had been told that Israeli Election Day would be a big party, with people having BBQ’s and other family/community activities. Any national day off would be treated this way because we have so few off days since Sunday is a workday.
Since the kids were off, Goldie brought the younger ones with her to pick me up at the airport and we went straight from the airport to the voting booth. The kids were very excited to be with us, and having experienced the voting process in the mayoral elections just a couple of months ago, they knew exactly how to vote.
It is important to remember that in Israel votes are cast for the political parties—not for the candidates themselves. The leader of each party is usually the person at the top of their Knesset candidate list. Knesset members are elected on a proportional basis, calculated from the popular vote results. Israeli law does not allow for a party to have less than three seats, so there is a mathematical formula to calculate how many seats each party actually gets.
Voters are divided into districts, with each district having its own ballot box. In Bet Shemesh the districts are divided geographically and often consist of a couple of blocks (our block alone has over 150 families in it). The polling place (as I said, usually a school) is divided up by districts as well, with three to five districts assigned a joint ballot box.
Upon entering the school, we went to the classroom assigned to our district and checked in. Each eligible voter is mailed a voting card to tell him where he should vote and what district he is in. Voters can vote without having the card in hand, but it is easier to show the card. Once a voter checks in, he is handed his ballot envelope and votes.
Unlike the municipal elections, the atmosphere (at least in Bet Shemesh) was pretty low key. The parties had their information/lobbying booths set up outside the polling places, but there was none of the frenetic “color war” type of politicking we had seen in November. With the exception of the immediate vicinity of the polling place, there wasn’t the blizzard of campaign literature littered throughout the streets, and to the relief of my little kids there was almost no disturbing the peace with “victory parades” or taxis running around with roof-mounted loudspeakers blaring voting instructions.
It was actually a pretty quiet day. Toward the evening we seized the opportunity to spend some family time together and went out for dinner (kosher food court at the mall). This turned out to be a pretty popular activity nationwide; the papers all carried stories the next day about the incredible amount of people who turned up at the malls on Election Day.
Since I don’t understand the TV news well enough yet, I got most of my election result information online. Exit and pre-election polls here are not so terrifically accurate, so it was hard to tell what the final results were going to be, but we had a pretty good idea what was happening by the time we went to bed.
I had been concerned about this type of result. The results clearly showed a Right leaning electorate and a repudiation of the “make peace at any cost—even if it is our end” policies of the Left. However, the Right’s splinter parties definitely weakened the Likud’s mandate, and it is not the largest faction in the Knesset. I still believe that Netanyahu will be the next prime minister, but his position is definitely weakened by having his party come in second place.
I think some of Kadima’s strength also came from a panicky anti-Lieberman crowd. I think that the growing strength of his party in the pre-election polls got many people who would have voted Likud thinking twice about supporting Likud (who would be the most ideal coalition partner for the Lieberman-led Yisrael Beiteinu party) and they cast their votes for Kadima—not in support of Kadima, but rather as a rejection of Yisrael Beiteinu and a diminishing of Likud’s mandate. They wanted Likud to win, but not by much.
So now we are going to be stuck with a government that has a chip on its shoulder, since the largest party will be in the opposition and will constantly be sniping at its heels. Alternatively, there could be a national unity government, which would mean that Netanyahu made a deal with the devil to get them in. Any such deal would probably be less than thrilling to those who voted the Right in, but would be a direct result of all the factionalized voting that ended up splitting the Right into a whole bunch of smaller parties instead of a unified large party.
Now that the elections are over the rest is up to the politicians, and we can go back to regular life. We have been having a major drought here. Even though it rained a couple of times this week, this has been the worst rain season since they started keeping records and follows two below average rain seasons as well. The economic crisis is catching up to us here (many employers have instituted across the board mandatory wage cuts of 10–20 percent, CPI is down and continues to fall and economic growth is expected to decline for the first time in years), and we are growing more and more concerned about the rising threats of our neighbors (specifically Iran).
On the personal front we are coming to realize that our oldest son is going to fly the coop in a matter of months (four) and it is startling. The kids’ report cards just came in (Yay!—at least for the most part). We have begun to prepare for Purim and Pesach and are looking forward to having the Zaidees and Bubbees with us on yom tov. Life continues...
Elections (Article# 106) 2/12/2009
By the time this edition of the paper hits the street, Goldie and I will have voted in our first national elections in Israel, and you will probably be reading the results elsewhere in this paper. We will have a fair idea of which direction our country is headed in. However, since I coordinated my recent trip to the U.S. to allow me to arrive home for Election Day (no absentee ballots for Israel), I was not able to write a post-election column before deadline and will instead share some of our thoughts going into the elections.
First, I will freely admit that I do not have even a basic understanding of the way our system works, nor do I comprehend all the various issues and platforms that Israelis use in order to form their voting decisions. I don’t understand how the different parties view things like health care, the economy, education, or even taxes (which are incredibly high here)—many of the major issues I would take into account when deciding how to vote when I lived in America. So I will concede that a candidate I support may indeed be in favor of an 80 percent income tax which he uses to line his pockets and minimally prop up what may be a fading infrastructure.
The issue that I relate to most closely is security. As you may well imagine, at this time this is a major concern of most of the country, as well. We are concerned about rockets, bombs, terrorists—you name it. There are those who want to make any deal they can in the hopes that it will appease the enemy; there are those who oppose any deal because they understand that the enemy will never honor its side; and there are those who espouse various positions in the middle.
Additionally, there are religious parties with their agendas, Arab parties with their agendas—all vying for a place at the table. Mix in the various splinters of each group (three chareidi parties, two Religious Zionist parties, etc.), and it makes for a confusing mess.
There are also many ways in which to twist the truth to make it appear more appealing to one view or another. For instance: We are all aware of the facts regarding the Gaza rockets, are we not? They have been falling on S’derot and the Negev for 8 years—a fact predicted by current Likud candidate Bibi Netanyahu at the time of the Gush Katif withdrawal. (He also predicted at that time that Hamas would take over the entire Gaza, creating “Hamasastine.”) Seemingly, a direct cause-and-effect relationship—right? Obviously, the Gush Katif pullout led to the rockets falling for eight years.
Not so fast. The Gush Katif pullout happened less than eight years ago. The truth is that there had been rockets for some time before the pullout, although the pullout led to a dramatic increase in the frequency of the rockets and the fact that we had to “invade” part of our own country in order to confront the terrorists.
While it is definitely clear that the Gush Katif pullout resulted in increased violence and an eventual war, the cause-and-effect relationship is not nearly so clear as the media and politicians would have us believe. I personally believe that the pullout was a disastrous move, and I further credit Bibi’s “Hamasastine” prediction as being 100 percent accurate, but some of the spin involved is misleading and deceitful.
Interestingly, the candidates themselves seem to be campaigning not only in support of their own platforms, but in their portrayals of their opponents they are also preying on the fears of the voters. Livni calls Barak and Netanyahu failed has-beens. Barak and Netanyahu call Livni totally unprepared and inexperienced (and I agree with them). Livni and Barak assert that Netanyahu’s eventual refusal to make a deal with the Arabs will weaken Israel’s relationship with the USA (and the world). Netantyahu makes the case that Barak has no vision, failing to see the Hamas and terrorist dangers and failing to finish the job in our most recent war. And so on and so forth.
In fact, many of these characterizations are both right and wrong for various reasons. Ideas and issues that were failures the first time around may be just the right solution to our current crisis. Sometimes new ideas are just the right thing needed to get things started. So it is hard for us to establish criteria for what it is we want to get done and apply those standards to choosing who should lead us in getting there (especially since many candidates here are elected saying one thing and end up supporting the exact opposite of their original election platforms).
So how do we decide whom to vote for to make our votes count?
My brother-in-law is furious at me for it, but I am not voting for one of the Religious Zionist parties. Quite frankly, I do not see that the Religious Zionist movement has much sway. We are not organized enough, we fight too much amongst ourselves and—nationally—we are overlooked as a group. Yes, the combined National Religious Zionist parties will get several seats, but for some reason they never get their agenda addressed the same way that Shas or Agudah seem to get.
I am also concerned about the possibility of (what is definitely going to be) a Likud-led government having to join into a coalition with Kadima because their mandate is not strong enough. By splitting off the vote to a dozen splinter parties, the Likud will either have to make separate (and very costly) special-interest deals with the minor parties in order to pull together a shaky coalition, or it will have to partner with the other major parties to form an ineffective unity government. Neither choice seems particularly attractive to me.
I am therefore going to cast my vote for Likud. No, I am not thrilled with their platform. No, I am not excited about the fact that I am voting for a non-religious party. No, I am not excited about the fact that Netanyahu has pledged to destroy existing “settlements” where Jews are simply trying to live their lives in Israel. No, I do not think that Netanyahu is more honorable than the rest of the crooks here—they will all sell us out to make a “historic” deal if the Americans pressure them strongly enough, no matter which party is in power.
I am voting for Likud because, at least for right now, they seem to be most closely aligned with “no giving away land” (notice how I did not say “no dismantling so-called settlements”). Other politicians have felt the same way in the past and changed their minds when in office or as part of the ruling party (see Arik Sharon and Ehud Olmert). There is no guarantee that Likud will not be turncoats and give away land. Yet, at least for the current time, I believe that Likud and Netanyahu have the best chance of delivering security and prosperity to Israel and Israelis, without giving away land to the Arabs.
I was talking about this with my sister, the one whose son is in the army. She and my brother-in-law have never been fans of Bibi Netanyahu and have historically chosen the parties looking to pursue peace at any cost. However, she has lately seen that this stance and outlook has not worked, and she seems to have lost faith in the entire process. She wants to support Bibi, but mentioned that her personal dislike for him prevented her from doing so (she equated him to a snake).
I told her that I too found fault with the major candidates and was concerned. However, I said, here is the thing that makes me feel a bit more comfortable with my choice. They are all snakes—so wouldn’t you rather have the snake that is on your side?
Many of you reading this will say that I am out of my mind and supporting people who will betray the nationalist movement, or perhaps that my vote will go to support past failures or even future failures. You may be right. But I am the one with the vote, which means that in this discussion - my opinion counts most.
First, I will freely admit that I do not have even a basic understanding of the way our system works, nor do I comprehend all the various issues and platforms that Israelis use in order to form their voting decisions. I don’t understand how the different parties view things like health care, the economy, education, or even taxes (which are incredibly high here)—many of the major issues I would take into account when deciding how to vote when I lived in America. So I will concede that a candidate I support may indeed be in favor of an 80 percent income tax which he uses to line his pockets and minimally prop up what may be a fading infrastructure.
The issue that I relate to most closely is security. As you may well imagine, at this time this is a major concern of most of the country, as well. We are concerned about rockets, bombs, terrorists—you name it. There are those who want to make any deal they can in the hopes that it will appease the enemy; there are those who oppose any deal because they understand that the enemy will never honor its side; and there are those who espouse various positions in the middle.
Additionally, there are religious parties with their agendas, Arab parties with their agendas—all vying for a place at the table. Mix in the various splinters of each group (three chareidi parties, two Religious Zionist parties, etc.), and it makes for a confusing mess.
There are also many ways in which to twist the truth to make it appear more appealing to one view or another. For instance: We are all aware of the facts regarding the Gaza rockets, are we not? They have been falling on S’derot and the Negev for 8 years—a fact predicted by current Likud candidate Bibi Netanyahu at the time of the Gush Katif withdrawal. (He also predicted at that time that Hamas would take over the entire Gaza, creating “Hamasastine.”) Seemingly, a direct cause-and-effect relationship—right? Obviously, the Gush Katif pullout led to the rockets falling for eight years.
Not so fast. The Gush Katif pullout happened less than eight years ago. The truth is that there had been rockets for some time before the pullout, although the pullout led to a dramatic increase in the frequency of the rockets and the fact that we had to “invade” part of our own country in order to confront the terrorists.
While it is definitely clear that the Gush Katif pullout resulted in increased violence and an eventual war, the cause-and-effect relationship is not nearly so clear as the media and politicians would have us believe. I personally believe that the pullout was a disastrous move, and I further credit Bibi’s “Hamasastine” prediction as being 100 percent accurate, but some of the spin involved is misleading and deceitful.
Interestingly, the candidates themselves seem to be campaigning not only in support of their own platforms, but in their portrayals of their opponents they are also preying on the fears of the voters. Livni calls Barak and Netanyahu failed has-beens. Barak and Netanyahu call Livni totally unprepared and inexperienced (and I agree with them). Livni and Barak assert that Netanyahu’s eventual refusal to make a deal with the Arabs will weaken Israel’s relationship with the USA (and the world). Netantyahu makes the case that Barak has no vision, failing to see the Hamas and terrorist dangers and failing to finish the job in our most recent war. And so on and so forth.
In fact, many of these characterizations are both right and wrong for various reasons. Ideas and issues that were failures the first time around may be just the right solution to our current crisis. Sometimes new ideas are just the right thing needed to get things started. So it is hard for us to establish criteria for what it is we want to get done and apply those standards to choosing who should lead us in getting there (especially since many candidates here are elected saying one thing and end up supporting the exact opposite of their original election platforms).
So how do we decide whom to vote for to make our votes count?
My brother-in-law is furious at me for it, but I am not voting for one of the Religious Zionist parties. Quite frankly, I do not see that the Religious Zionist movement has much sway. We are not organized enough, we fight too much amongst ourselves and—nationally—we are overlooked as a group. Yes, the combined National Religious Zionist parties will get several seats, but for some reason they never get their agenda addressed the same way that Shas or Agudah seem to get.
I am also concerned about the possibility of (what is definitely going to be) a Likud-led government having to join into a coalition with Kadima because their mandate is not strong enough. By splitting off the vote to a dozen splinter parties, the Likud will either have to make separate (and very costly) special-interest deals with the minor parties in order to pull together a shaky coalition, or it will have to partner with the other major parties to form an ineffective unity government. Neither choice seems particularly attractive to me.
I am therefore going to cast my vote for Likud. No, I am not thrilled with their platform. No, I am not excited about the fact that I am voting for a non-religious party. No, I am not excited about the fact that Netanyahu has pledged to destroy existing “settlements” where Jews are simply trying to live their lives in Israel. No, I do not think that Netanyahu is more honorable than the rest of the crooks here—they will all sell us out to make a “historic” deal if the Americans pressure them strongly enough, no matter which party is in power.
I am voting for Likud because, at least for right now, they seem to be most closely aligned with “no giving away land” (notice how I did not say “no dismantling so-called settlements”). Other politicians have felt the same way in the past and changed their minds when in office or as part of the ruling party (see Arik Sharon and Ehud Olmert). There is no guarantee that Likud will not be turncoats and give away land. Yet, at least for the current time, I believe that Likud and Netanyahu have the best chance of delivering security and prosperity to Israel and Israelis, without giving away land to the Arabs.
I was talking about this with my sister, the one whose son is in the army. She and my brother-in-law have never been fans of Bibi Netanyahu and have historically chosen the parties looking to pursue peace at any cost. However, she has lately seen that this stance and outlook has not worked, and she seems to have lost faith in the entire process. She wants to support Bibi, but mentioned that her personal dislike for him prevented her from doing so (she equated him to a snake).
I told her that I too found fault with the major candidates and was concerned. However, I said, here is the thing that makes me feel a bit more comfortable with my choice. They are all snakes—so wouldn’t you rather have the snake that is on your side?
Many of you reading this will say that I am out of my mind and supporting people who will betray the nationalist movement, or perhaps that my vote will go to support past failures or even future failures. You may be right. But I am the one with the vote, which means that in this discussion - my opinion counts most.
Time Out for a Recap (Article# 105) 1/29/2009
Having gone through a lot of heady topics in recent weeks—such as the war, the chareidim, the war and the chareidim (just to name a few)—I thought I would seize the opportunity of my latest overseas trip to update you on how our family is doing individually. After all, there are only so many times I can kvetch about how absolutely freezing cold it is in the USA and wonder how you can possibly deal with it.
Chaim (almost 18), who is thankfully recuperating from his bike accident, is having a terrific shanah bet (second-year) experience at Yesodei HaTorah in Moshav Zanoach, a short 15-minute walk from our home. Chaim, who did not make aliyah, decided on his own to return to yeshiva for a second year and gain additional maturity in preparation for going to YU next year.
He has become an incredibly responsible and mature young man in Israel. When we first spoke about moving, he wanted nothing to do with the idea at all and still maintains that he will most likely settle down in the U.S. However, the positive experience he has had in making friends and being accepted by the youth of our neighborhood has drawn him in to the allure of Israel, and he has begun to show a love for the country that was lacking before our aliyah.
He has even recently mentioned that, depending on who he marries, he could actually see himself living in Israel. No matter what else, his newfound love for our country is one of the greatest by-products of our coming to Israel—no matter where he ends up.
Chaya (16) has blossomed tremendously. She was always a responsible and nurturing child, and we did not realize how much greater she could be until we moved to Israel and saw the true Chaya emerge. She has become a model student and is incredibly focused on achieving her bagrut diploma (read "Regents") next year. She has surprised us all with her remarkable adaptation to the country, and it is a credit to her friends that our oldest teenage daughter has really acclimated well.
She speaks Hebrew much better than she lets on, and we are amazed that this girl, who made aliyah at age 13, has such a wide range of friends—many of them speak no English at all. She always makes the extra effort to fit in (her cell-phone screen is set to Hebrew, whereas the rest of us use English), and her efforts have paid off.
She is a sought-after babysitter and can be relied upon to step up to the plate whenever the younger children need care. She actively helps parent the younger boys (sometimes a bit too much), and our friends constantly comment how capable and warm she is. Coming on aliyah has helped her develop independence and a strong sense of confidence in her abilities, two traits she did not have in America.
Aliza (13) has always been part of a large network of friends, and her circle of friends remains a priority for her in Israel. A typical teen, she spends hours with her friends, either in person, on the phone, or on the computer. As the middle kid, she has fended for herself for quite some time and is a very self-confident person.
She was the quickest of the kids to adjust to Hebrew in school, and we were amazed when she was accepted to a middle/high school that is known for academic excellence at the end of our (very tumultuous) first year in Israel. Only four girls in her class speak English, and Aliza is committed to being able to do anything she wants (she has even expressed interest in doing military service instead of national service at the end of high school). Although she is fluent in Hebrew, English is her preferred language.
Batya (almost 10) is the best Hebrew-speaker of the bunch. She also took to Hebrew rather quickly and is an outstanding student in all disciplines. She is equally comfortable reading books in Hebrew or English and, as I had forecast long before our aliyah, Batya (and the other kids, as well) laughs at our Hebrew skills, which are certainly below hers.
Batya has begun to show tremendous dependability and responsibility as well. With Goldie joining me in the yeshiva office three days each week, it is often Batya who is called upon to pick Moshe up from preschool when we are a few minutes late. She is popular with the native Israeli kids from our block and has adjusted very well.
Mordechai (almost 8) is Israeli. He is clearly more comfortable reading Hebrew than he is reading English and is simply "another one of the boys" in school. He speaks Hebrew quite well and it is his homework (second grade!) that gives us the most fits. All this after being the kid with the most difficult transition period (in his own words, hearing Hebrew made him want to "throw up"). In fact, we often switch to Hebrew when trying to explain something he doesn't understand, since he is able to process Hebrew more easily than English.
Mordechai is a talented athlete and is a popular kid in his class. He remembers very little of his life before Israel. Interestingly, although he is quite familiar with the names of the days and months in the Hebrew calendar, he has no idea what the names of the English months are or where they fall during the year.
Moshe (who turns 4 this week—while I am in America!) is of course our baby and is therefore the one child whom everyone in the house is happy to spoil. His Hebrew is flawless and he only recently began to consciously understand that there are actually two different languages being spoken. In an effort to keep him ahead of the curve in English-language skills, we have begun to teach him the ABC's, yet we understand that he will probably not have the best English language skills.
When we embarked on our aliyah, one of the most frequent comments we heard was that it was suicidal to contemplate making aliyah with older children. We were told story after story about disastrous adjustments and kids who never recovered, and it was something we were quite concerned about.
There is no question that things could have gone awry for our children in a myriad of ways. Yet somehow we managed to keep things together for them.
We approached the whole process with open minds and a focus on doing what would best help the kids grow and develop. We definitely acknowledge the fact that their successful acclimation to Israel was a heavenly gift to us, and that without such assistance, our kids could have certainly fared much worse.
We are living proof (so far, at least) that you can make aliyah and that if you work hard and have a certain amount of faith, this can work for you, too.
Chaim (almost 18), who is thankfully recuperating from his bike accident, is having a terrific shanah bet (second-year) experience at Yesodei HaTorah in Moshav Zanoach, a short 15-minute walk from our home. Chaim, who did not make aliyah, decided on his own to return to yeshiva for a second year and gain additional maturity in preparation for going to YU next year.
He has become an incredibly responsible and mature young man in Israel. When we first spoke about moving, he wanted nothing to do with the idea at all and still maintains that he will most likely settle down in the U.S. However, the positive experience he has had in making friends and being accepted by the youth of our neighborhood has drawn him in to the allure of Israel, and he has begun to show a love for the country that was lacking before our aliyah.
He has even recently mentioned that, depending on who he marries, he could actually see himself living in Israel. No matter what else, his newfound love for our country is one of the greatest by-products of our coming to Israel—no matter where he ends up.
Chaya (16) has blossomed tremendously. She was always a responsible and nurturing child, and we did not realize how much greater she could be until we moved to Israel and saw the true Chaya emerge. She has become a model student and is incredibly focused on achieving her bagrut diploma (read "Regents") next year. She has surprised us all with her remarkable adaptation to the country, and it is a credit to her friends that our oldest teenage daughter has really acclimated well.
She speaks Hebrew much better than she lets on, and we are amazed that this girl, who made aliyah at age 13, has such a wide range of friends—many of them speak no English at all. She always makes the extra effort to fit in (her cell-phone screen is set to Hebrew, whereas the rest of us use English), and her efforts have paid off.
She is a sought-after babysitter and can be relied upon to step up to the plate whenever the younger children need care. She actively helps parent the younger boys (sometimes a bit too much), and our friends constantly comment how capable and warm she is. Coming on aliyah has helped her develop independence and a strong sense of confidence in her abilities, two traits she did not have in America.
Aliza (13) has always been part of a large network of friends, and her circle of friends remains a priority for her in Israel. A typical teen, she spends hours with her friends, either in person, on the phone, or on the computer. As the middle kid, she has fended for herself for quite some time and is a very self-confident person.
She was the quickest of the kids to adjust to Hebrew in school, and we were amazed when she was accepted to a middle/high school that is known for academic excellence at the end of our (very tumultuous) first year in Israel. Only four girls in her class speak English, and Aliza is committed to being able to do anything she wants (she has even expressed interest in doing military service instead of national service at the end of high school). Although she is fluent in Hebrew, English is her preferred language.
Batya (almost 10) is the best Hebrew-speaker of the bunch. She also took to Hebrew rather quickly and is an outstanding student in all disciplines. She is equally comfortable reading books in Hebrew or English and, as I had forecast long before our aliyah, Batya (and the other kids, as well) laughs at our Hebrew skills, which are certainly below hers.
Batya has begun to show tremendous dependability and responsibility as well. With Goldie joining me in the yeshiva office three days each week, it is often Batya who is called upon to pick Moshe up from preschool when we are a few minutes late. She is popular with the native Israeli kids from our block and has adjusted very well.
Mordechai (almost 8) is Israeli. He is clearly more comfortable reading Hebrew than he is reading English and is simply "another one of the boys" in school. He speaks Hebrew quite well and it is his homework (second grade!) that gives us the most fits. All this after being the kid with the most difficult transition period (in his own words, hearing Hebrew made him want to "throw up"). In fact, we often switch to Hebrew when trying to explain something he doesn't understand, since he is able to process Hebrew more easily than English.
Mordechai is a talented athlete and is a popular kid in his class. He remembers very little of his life before Israel. Interestingly, although he is quite familiar with the names of the days and months in the Hebrew calendar, he has no idea what the names of the English months are or where they fall during the year.
Moshe (who turns 4 this week—while I am in America!) is of course our baby and is therefore the one child whom everyone in the house is happy to spoil. His Hebrew is flawless and he only recently began to consciously understand that there are actually two different languages being spoken. In an effort to keep him ahead of the curve in English-language skills, we have begun to teach him the ABC's, yet we understand that he will probably not have the best English language skills.
When we embarked on our aliyah, one of the most frequent comments we heard was that it was suicidal to contemplate making aliyah with older children. We were told story after story about disastrous adjustments and kids who never recovered, and it was something we were quite concerned about.
There is no question that things could have gone awry for our children in a myriad of ways. Yet somehow we managed to keep things together for them.
We approached the whole process with open minds and a focus on doing what would best help the kids grow and develop. We definitely acknowledge the fact that their successful acclimation to Israel was a heavenly gift to us, and that without such assistance, our kids could have certainly fared much worse.
We are living proof (so far, at least) that you can make aliyah and that if you work hard and have a certain amount of faith, this can work for you, too.
Alarming Alarms (Article# 104) 1/22/2009
We find ourselves listening to the radio a lot more lately. Not for the music or the talk; as we tread deeper and deeper into war we thirst for news and information, anything that lets us know our troops and our neighbors are safe. Each attack, each booby trap, even the sounds of gunfire entices a new sense of panic and worry. And we live miles from the warzone.
My sister called to let me know she had spoken to Yonatan at the front. As we spoke, she mentioned to me how noisy the phone call was. Apparently, there were a lot of staccato noises in the background, and it was only after she hung up the phone that she realized that what she was hearing was gunfire. It was only in the background because he was in the “safe zone” outside the border.
A tragedy is that we become immune to such things, especially when they do not happen to us. We express shock and dismay about the fact that there are cities, towns and communities that live under threat of fire many times each day – but it is near impossible to really relate to what this means. Yes, we see the pictures and read about the preschool children huddling in bomb shelters – but it doesn’t translate into something we can understand, even though we live here too.
On Wednesday afternoon, most of the Yeshiva staff was assembled (during the lunch break) in our office building. When I say building, I really mean a construction trailer directly in back of the Yeshiva’s building that was left behind by the contractors and now holds our administrative office. We were involved in various discussions and meetings when someone suddenly said, “HEY – is that an air raid siren?”
We all paused and sure enough, we could hear the warbling siren of multiple air raid sirens sounding over the city. We looked at each other dumbfounded. Could it be possible that Yerushalayim was under rocket attack? Within seconds we got a text message from the security services that alarms were sounding all over Israel (which was inaccurate – they only sounded in Yavneh, Yerushalayim, Bet Shemesh and Maale Adumim).
All over Israel? This really puzzled us. What kind of alert could this possibly be? One guy asked if maybe this was some kind of missile attack from Iran? Perhaps a major warhead of some type?
It turned out to be a false alarm. A rocket had indeed been fired, toward Yavne and since these other areas are on a straight line from Yavne, there was an error made and the alarm sounded. All this information was readily available within minutes.
The experience however, was quite harrowing. Chaim was on a tiyul to the North (more on that later) so he heard nothing. Chaya told us about girls running through her school panic struck and how she had helped secure the shelter blast windows. Aliza’s teacher did not believe the girls that there was a siren and refused to interrupt the lesson. Batya cried and Mordechai’s school seemed to be the most organized, with the teachers hurrying them along to their shelter.
All for a false alarm.
We talked about it at home that night and tried to get the kids to understand that the community of Sderot has lived like this FOR EIGHT YEARS! Several alerts a day. We wanted them to imagine what it was like to have this as a threat and why we were proud of our soldiers for going into Gaza and try to stop the rockets.
I am not sure if they got it. I am not sure if ANYONE not living in the rocket range can really get it.
As soon as you finish reading this paragraph, think about having to do the following…… Drop everything. In the following half minute, grab the kids (wake them up if they are sleeping) and run into a small reinforced room in your house. Sit there for no less than 5 minutes, all the while worrying about your family and wondering if the next thing you hear is the explosion of a rocket coming through your roof.
Now imaging having to do this several times a day. I know how I felt just the one time, which turned out to be a false alarm. I cannot fathom going through that several times daily. For 8 years.
We spent the rest of the week closely following the news. Visiting websites, listening to the radio, watching TV – anything that would connect us to what was happening. I was reminded of Israel the first time I visited (1982). In those days, when the news went on you could hear a pin drop – even on the bus. The bus drivers would raise the volume of the radio and everyone would listen to the latest update.
Nowadays you rarely see that. It is as if the news is not as crucial as it used to be.
The first war we faced here as Olim, the Second Lebanon War did not seem as tense as this one. The truth is that we were so new during that war and so excited to be here, that we may just not have had our fingers quite on the pulse of the nation yet. I think that the Lebanon War was also very vaguely conceived and carried out that our invincibility was shattered and no one wanted to really face that.
This time around we feel events much more strongly. We understand most of the news. And of course, we have our own family chayal, Yonatan – who was probably in Gaza more than he was out of it during the war. We notice when the news comes on, and we feel much more connected to reality.
I think the entire public is taking a different approach to this war as well. The Lebanon war started so quickly and (as we later found out) was so poorly managed that the message and goals of the country were not communicated to the populace. The lack of achievement also hurt. When you fail to achieve a single one of your stated goals, it is hard to feel positive about it.
I think the general public is much more supportive of this war. I don’t mean that they aren’t supportive of the troops. The soldiers are beloved here. The politicians are the problem.
We may not totally stop the rocket fire, but I doubt it can be considered a first option for the terrorists. We have definitely dealt them a beating that will take them a long time to recover from – and let us all hope that they never recover.
On Thursday, as I was getting ready to leave work, I got a call from Goldie. Chaim had called her that he was on the way to the hospital. His Yeshiva had been mountain biking on a tiyul near Teverya. Chaim lost control of his bike and had landed on its handle bars.
I had to run up to Haifa for the night, there was a concern that he may have needed surgery. Thankfully, he did not need surgery, did not break anything and after a night’s observation I was allowed to take him home. He has a lot of bruises and scratches but is otherwise OK.
Having already become an expert in the medical system here, especially in how to deal with doctors. Had it not been for my aggressiveness: i) we would still be waiting for an orthopedist to examine him (the squeaky wheel GOT the grease), ii) he wouldn’t have been given any pain medication, iii) they would have kept him through Sunday and iv) they wouldn’t have gotten paid.
As a (non-Israeli) student, Chaim’s status so confused the medical staff that they neglected to get billing information from us, even after I volunteered to submit it. Most students have private insurance; Chaim has Kupat Cholim (HMO coverage that is standard for Israelis). Most students’ parents are 6,000 miles away; Chaim’s father was at the emergency room in less than 2 hours. It took me 3 days to finally find someone willing to take our information and bill the insurance.
My sister called to let me know she had spoken to Yonatan at the front. As we spoke, she mentioned to me how noisy the phone call was. Apparently, there were a lot of staccato noises in the background, and it was only after she hung up the phone that she realized that what she was hearing was gunfire. It was only in the background because he was in the “safe zone” outside the border.
A tragedy is that we become immune to such things, especially when they do not happen to us. We express shock and dismay about the fact that there are cities, towns and communities that live under threat of fire many times each day – but it is near impossible to really relate to what this means. Yes, we see the pictures and read about the preschool children huddling in bomb shelters – but it doesn’t translate into something we can understand, even though we live here too.
On Wednesday afternoon, most of the Yeshiva staff was assembled (during the lunch break) in our office building. When I say building, I really mean a construction trailer directly in back of the Yeshiva’s building that was left behind by the contractors and now holds our administrative office. We were involved in various discussions and meetings when someone suddenly said, “HEY – is that an air raid siren?”
We all paused and sure enough, we could hear the warbling siren of multiple air raid sirens sounding over the city. We looked at each other dumbfounded. Could it be possible that Yerushalayim was under rocket attack? Within seconds we got a text message from the security services that alarms were sounding all over Israel (which was inaccurate – they only sounded in Yavneh, Yerushalayim, Bet Shemesh and Maale Adumim).
All over Israel? This really puzzled us. What kind of alert could this possibly be? One guy asked if maybe this was some kind of missile attack from Iran? Perhaps a major warhead of some type?
It turned out to be a false alarm. A rocket had indeed been fired, toward Yavne and since these other areas are on a straight line from Yavne, there was an error made and the alarm sounded. All this information was readily available within minutes.
The experience however, was quite harrowing. Chaim was on a tiyul to the North (more on that later) so he heard nothing. Chaya told us about girls running through her school panic struck and how she had helped secure the shelter blast windows. Aliza’s teacher did not believe the girls that there was a siren and refused to interrupt the lesson. Batya cried and Mordechai’s school seemed to be the most organized, with the teachers hurrying them along to their shelter.
All for a false alarm.
We talked about it at home that night and tried to get the kids to understand that the community of Sderot has lived like this FOR EIGHT YEARS! Several alerts a day. We wanted them to imagine what it was like to have this as a threat and why we were proud of our soldiers for going into Gaza and try to stop the rockets.
I am not sure if they got it. I am not sure if ANYONE not living in the rocket range can really get it.
As soon as you finish reading this paragraph, think about having to do the following…… Drop everything. In the following half minute, grab the kids (wake them up if they are sleeping) and run into a small reinforced room in your house. Sit there for no less than 5 minutes, all the while worrying about your family and wondering if the next thing you hear is the explosion of a rocket coming through your roof.
Now imaging having to do this several times a day. I know how I felt just the one time, which turned out to be a false alarm. I cannot fathom going through that several times daily. For 8 years.
We spent the rest of the week closely following the news. Visiting websites, listening to the radio, watching TV – anything that would connect us to what was happening. I was reminded of Israel the first time I visited (1982). In those days, when the news went on you could hear a pin drop – even on the bus. The bus drivers would raise the volume of the radio and everyone would listen to the latest update.
Nowadays you rarely see that. It is as if the news is not as crucial as it used to be.
The first war we faced here as Olim, the Second Lebanon War did not seem as tense as this one. The truth is that we were so new during that war and so excited to be here, that we may just not have had our fingers quite on the pulse of the nation yet. I think that the Lebanon War was also very vaguely conceived and carried out that our invincibility was shattered and no one wanted to really face that.
This time around we feel events much more strongly. We understand most of the news. And of course, we have our own family chayal, Yonatan – who was probably in Gaza more than he was out of it during the war. We notice when the news comes on, and we feel much more connected to reality.
I think the entire public is taking a different approach to this war as well. The Lebanon war started so quickly and (as we later found out) was so poorly managed that the message and goals of the country were not communicated to the populace. The lack of achievement also hurt. When you fail to achieve a single one of your stated goals, it is hard to feel positive about it.
I think the general public is much more supportive of this war. I don’t mean that they aren’t supportive of the troops. The soldiers are beloved here. The politicians are the problem.
We may not totally stop the rocket fire, but I doubt it can be considered a first option for the terrorists. We have definitely dealt them a beating that will take them a long time to recover from – and let us all hope that they never recover.
On Thursday, as I was getting ready to leave work, I got a call from Goldie. Chaim had called her that he was on the way to the hospital. His Yeshiva had been mountain biking on a tiyul near Teverya. Chaim lost control of his bike and had landed on its handle bars.
I had to run up to Haifa for the night, there was a concern that he may have needed surgery. Thankfully, he did not need surgery, did not break anything and after a night’s observation I was allowed to take him home. He has a lot of bruises and scratches but is otherwise OK.
Having already become an expert in the medical system here, especially in how to deal with doctors. Had it not been for my aggressiveness: i) we would still be waiting for an orthopedist to examine him (the squeaky wheel GOT the grease), ii) he wouldn’t have been given any pain medication, iii) they would have kept him through Sunday and iv) they wouldn’t have gotten paid.
As a (non-Israeli) student, Chaim’s status so confused the medical staff that they neglected to get billing information from us, even after I volunteered to submit it. Most students have private insurance; Chaim has Kupat Cholim (HMO coverage that is standard for Israelis). Most students’ parents are 6,000 miles away; Chaim’s father was at the emergency room in less than 2 hours. It took me 3 days to finally find someone willing to take our information and bill the insurance.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Dorothy Shapiro, An American Hero (Article# 103) 1/15/2009
One of my oldest and closest friends is Steve Kirshner, a fellow former Chicagoan currently living in Efrat. We speak regularly on the phone and get together too infrequently. Of course, as humans in the 21st century – we email. Jokes, pictures, stories, anything that catches our eye and seems like it would interest the other.
This week he sent me a terrific editorial cartoon that summed up in one picture a great sense of who we are and who our enemies our. On the left side is a terrorist dressed in civilian clothing, aiming his gun at an Israeli soldier while crouching to hide behind an Arab woman who is holding a child, using them as a shield. On the right side is the Israeli soldier in full uniform. He too is standing next to a woman who is holding a child, yet he is standing in front of them – shielding THEM from harm.
I have written several times about my nephew Yonatan, who is currently a soldier in a Golani brigade. Military service was something that he looked forward to; it is a rite of passage for the average Israeli male, whose grandfather, father, uncles and older brothers have all served in the military and whose grandmother, mother, aunts and older sisters may have done so as well (although some may have elected to serve in Sherut Leumi/National Service).
As he approached his enlistment, we all shared a mutual sense of pride in him along with our concern for his well being, should he see action. While on a live training mission at an army checkpoint, his team successfully identified and arrested a terrorist who was attempting to smuggle a bomb. Just days later, his commander was partially blinded by a female terrorist who threw acid in his face at the checkpoint. My sister (with our blessings) missed Goldie’s Seudat Hoda’a on Chol HaMoed Sukkot in order to attend his graduation from training. His leadership skills and commitment were quickly recognized with his recent selection for officer training, and he has been attending commander school over the past couple of months.
When the retaliatory air strikes began, his platoon was advised to prepare – but he assured my sister that they were only going to drill in preparation and he had no idea if and when they would be called into combat. Once the ground operation started, we knew there was a possibility that he would be called into combat, but we knew that he would not tell us until after the fact.
A week ago Monday he called my sister to tell her that he was in the neighborhood for a special driving lesson. It seems that he needed to learn how to drive a specific type of vehicle. My sister met him to say hello and he was very vague when she asked him where he was heading after his lesson.
Later that week he spoke to my brother in law and admitted that he had indeed seen action during the week. He added that his platoon had accomplished their task and he was being reassigned to his base to await further orders. This news certainly brought a measure of relief to my sister and brother in law.
She called us before Shabbat to share the news, which seemed a bit strange (not having been in the military I didn’t understand the logic of rotating a platoon back to base in the middle of a conflict) – but certainly welcome. At the end of the call, my sister said “I just hope he isn’t lying to me to keep me from worrying – even though I know he probably is”.
Little did my nephew know that one of his many cousins would see him at the front on Sunday and call one of my sister’s in laws to report that he had seen Yonatan and that he was fine. This was of course reported to my sister and he eventually admitted that he was seeing action in the Gaza region and he simply did not want his parents to go crazy with worry about his well being. He wouldn’t divulge any more information to her, possibly because he isn’t allowed to or perhaps because he didn’t want to cause any more alarm than was necessary. But he did tell her that he was OK, and she called me Monday morning to let me know.
Later that day I got an incredible follow up call from her.
I am sure that you have seen many requests for care packages for the Israeli soldiers. There are several organizations that are organizing these drives and delivering the packages. Be it simple supplies like deodorant and baby wipes, or treats like candies and baked goods, a care package makes a world of difference to a tired soldier.
As someone who goes out at least once each month to deliver pizza or other treats to the men and women serving at checkpoints and on military bases, I personally witness the soldiers joy and excitement in seeing us and being surprised with a small thank you. Yet, at least in most cases, once the package is packed and sent, one rarely hears what an impact getting the package made on the recipient. Not today.
My nephew’s platoon had care packages from America distributed to them that morning. Although most of the packages come unmarked, Yonatan’s package contained a letter along with the goodies. As the son of an American immigrant, my nephew speaks and reads English better than the average Israeli, so it was unbelievably appropriate that his package, randomly distributed, would contain this beautiful letter. (It is possible that several other packages also contained personal letters, but from my sister’s representation it does not appear that they did)
My sister paraphrased the letter for me, in between tears. Upon hearing her version, I immediately called my nephew, who was at the border resting with his platoon, to hear the letter in full. It reads:
Dear Soldier,
My daughter told me that I could help send a package to an Israeli soldier and I wanted to let you know how much I admire you and wish you well. I am almost 88 years old and had hoped that by now we would not have to be fighting for our homeland. I remember when Israel was founded and remember all the wars trying to annihilate Israel. I wish you could be home with your loved ones and not fighting. My prayers are with you and with Israel. Please be careful and be safe. May there be peace in my time.
Best wishes and Shalom,
Dorothy Shapiro
Hartsdale, NY
I cannot adequately describe how much strength and inspiration these words gave not just to my nephew, but to his buddies as well. They all got packages and just getting these gifts is uplifting, but the personal message really inspired them and touched these young men (all of whom have seen the horrors of battle in the past week) to the core.
I was glad to have the chance to speak with Yonatan and tell him how proud we are of him. I asked him how he was doing and he told me that he is OK and that he has seen a lot of things, rockets flying overhead and other things that he does not want to talk about; all I could think about was that he is still just 20.
As I said goodbye, I was able to tell him that we love him and that he should (as Dorothy so aptly put it) be careful and be safe. Knowing that he is busy and needs rest when he has the chance, I would not normally call him in the middle of a conflict. I am glad that I had a good excuse.
Later in the day my sister called to tell me how Yonatan and all of his buddies were all huddled around a cellphone, jointly composing a thank you note to be sent via email (she had enclosed an email address in the letter). He had called her to verify some spelling issues and asked me for the best way to translate a specific word. I asked her to send me a copy of his note, which reads:
Dear Dorothy,
I got your letter and package and wanted say thanks from me and all my platoon friends. My name is Yonatan. I'm 20 years old, and serve at Golani brigade. My current mission is guarding the Israel-Gaza border. Your letter really touched me, and even though things here are pretty tense - I decided I have to write you back right away.
It feels so good to know that our people, all over the world, care and stand behind us. I also wish for peace, but unfortunately our homeland is surrounded by enemies. The only answer we can provide is standing-up persistently and united in front of them and fight. Your letter gave me and my friends a lot of strength, and we wanted to let you know how much your support is important for us. I wish you won't have to see any more wars for our homeland.
With much gratitude and appreciation,
Yonatan
I salute you Dorothy Shapiro. You had no idea to whom your package and letter would go; you only wanted to express your very ardent support for our soldiers and our country. You made an impression upon not just one soldier, but his whole platoon and you also brought a large amount of pride to our family. We are quite grateful that you (and all those who took the time to send care packages to our military’s young men and women) could bring such joy to our nephew at a time when we are sure he and his buddies needed the very boost that you gave them. You will always be a hero in our hearts.
This week he sent me a terrific editorial cartoon that summed up in one picture a great sense of who we are and who our enemies our. On the left side is a terrorist dressed in civilian clothing, aiming his gun at an Israeli soldier while crouching to hide behind an Arab woman who is holding a child, using them as a shield. On the right side is the Israeli soldier in full uniform. He too is standing next to a woman who is holding a child, yet he is standing in front of them – shielding THEM from harm.
I have written several times about my nephew Yonatan, who is currently a soldier in a Golani brigade. Military service was something that he looked forward to; it is a rite of passage for the average Israeli male, whose grandfather, father, uncles and older brothers have all served in the military and whose grandmother, mother, aunts and older sisters may have done so as well (although some may have elected to serve in Sherut Leumi/National Service).
As he approached his enlistment, we all shared a mutual sense of pride in him along with our concern for his well being, should he see action. While on a live training mission at an army checkpoint, his team successfully identified and arrested a terrorist who was attempting to smuggle a bomb. Just days later, his commander was partially blinded by a female terrorist who threw acid in his face at the checkpoint. My sister (with our blessings) missed Goldie’s Seudat Hoda’a on Chol HaMoed Sukkot in order to attend his graduation from training. His leadership skills and commitment were quickly recognized with his recent selection for officer training, and he has been attending commander school over the past couple of months.
When the retaliatory air strikes began, his platoon was advised to prepare – but he assured my sister that they were only going to drill in preparation and he had no idea if and when they would be called into combat. Once the ground operation started, we knew there was a possibility that he would be called into combat, but we knew that he would not tell us until after the fact.
A week ago Monday he called my sister to tell her that he was in the neighborhood for a special driving lesson. It seems that he needed to learn how to drive a specific type of vehicle. My sister met him to say hello and he was very vague when she asked him where he was heading after his lesson.
Later that week he spoke to my brother in law and admitted that he had indeed seen action during the week. He added that his platoon had accomplished their task and he was being reassigned to his base to await further orders. This news certainly brought a measure of relief to my sister and brother in law.
She called us before Shabbat to share the news, which seemed a bit strange (not having been in the military I didn’t understand the logic of rotating a platoon back to base in the middle of a conflict) – but certainly welcome. At the end of the call, my sister said “I just hope he isn’t lying to me to keep me from worrying – even though I know he probably is”.
Little did my nephew know that one of his many cousins would see him at the front on Sunday and call one of my sister’s in laws to report that he had seen Yonatan and that he was fine. This was of course reported to my sister and he eventually admitted that he was seeing action in the Gaza region and he simply did not want his parents to go crazy with worry about his well being. He wouldn’t divulge any more information to her, possibly because he isn’t allowed to or perhaps because he didn’t want to cause any more alarm than was necessary. But he did tell her that he was OK, and she called me Monday morning to let me know.
Later that day I got an incredible follow up call from her.
I am sure that you have seen many requests for care packages for the Israeli soldiers. There are several organizations that are organizing these drives and delivering the packages. Be it simple supplies like deodorant and baby wipes, or treats like candies and baked goods, a care package makes a world of difference to a tired soldier.
As someone who goes out at least once each month to deliver pizza or other treats to the men and women serving at checkpoints and on military bases, I personally witness the soldiers joy and excitement in seeing us and being surprised with a small thank you. Yet, at least in most cases, once the package is packed and sent, one rarely hears what an impact getting the package made on the recipient. Not today.
My nephew’s platoon had care packages from America distributed to them that morning. Although most of the packages come unmarked, Yonatan’s package contained a letter along with the goodies. As the son of an American immigrant, my nephew speaks and reads English better than the average Israeli, so it was unbelievably appropriate that his package, randomly distributed, would contain this beautiful letter. (It is possible that several other packages also contained personal letters, but from my sister’s representation it does not appear that they did)
My sister paraphrased the letter for me, in between tears. Upon hearing her version, I immediately called my nephew, who was at the border resting with his platoon, to hear the letter in full. It reads:
Dear Soldier,
My daughter told me that I could help send a package to an Israeli soldier and I wanted to let you know how much I admire you and wish you well. I am almost 88 years old and had hoped that by now we would not have to be fighting for our homeland. I remember when Israel was founded and remember all the wars trying to annihilate Israel. I wish you could be home with your loved ones and not fighting. My prayers are with you and with Israel. Please be careful and be safe. May there be peace in my time.
Best wishes and Shalom,
Dorothy Shapiro
Hartsdale, NY
I cannot adequately describe how much strength and inspiration these words gave not just to my nephew, but to his buddies as well. They all got packages and just getting these gifts is uplifting, but the personal message really inspired them and touched these young men (all of whom have seen the horrors of battle in the past week) to the core.
I was glad to have the chance to speak with Yonatan and tell him how proud we are of him. I asked him how he was doing and he told me that he is OK and that he has seen a lot of things, rockets flying overhead and other things that he does not want to talk about; all I could think about was that he is still just 20.
As I said goodbye, I was able to tell him that we love him and that he should (as Dorothy so aptly put it) be careful and be safe. Knowing that he is busy and needs rest when he has the chance, I would not normally call him in the middle of a conflict. I am glad that I had a good excuse.
Later in the day my sister called to tell me how Yonatan and all of his buddies were all huddled around a cellphone, jointly composing a thank you note to be sent via email (she had enclosed an email address in the letter). He had called her to verify some spelling issues and asked me for the best way to translate a specific word. I asked her to send me a copy of his note, which reads:
Dear Dorothy,
I got your letter and package and wanted say thanks from me and all my platoon friends. My name is Yonatan. I'm 20 years old, and serve at Golani brigade. My current mission is guarding the Israel-Gaza border. Your letter really touched me, and even though things here are pretty tense - I decided I have to write you back right away.
It feels so good to know that our people, all over the world, care and stand behind us. I also wish for peace, but unfortunately our homeland is surrounded by enemies. The only answer we can provide is standing-up persistently and united in front of them and fight. Your letter gave me and my friends a lot of strength, and we wanted to let you know how much your support is important for us. I wish you won't have to see any more wars for our homeland.
With much gratitude and appreciation,
Yonatan
I salute you Dorothy Shapiro. You had no idea to whom your package and letter would go; you only wanted to express your very ardent support for our soldiers and our country. You made an impression upon not just one soldier, but his whole platoon and you also brought a large amount of pride to our family. We are quite grateful that you (and all those who took the time to send care packages to our military’s young men and women) could bring such joy to our nephew at a time when we are sure he and his buddies needed the very boost that you gave them. You will always be a hero in our hearts.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Another War? (Article# 102) 1/8/09
I wrote a whole bunch of introductions to this article. When it comes down to it, reality overwhelms anything I could have written. I had planned to write about our trip to Eilat (it was the first time for all of us except Goldie – who was in Eilat 20 years ago), but current events overwhelm my ability to focus on anything else.
When we originally made Aliyah, we were at an education seminar where one principal jokingly said that he defines the difference between an Oleh Chadash (new immigrant) and an Oleh Vatik (old – or experienced – immigrant) as their having lived through a war as citizens. No matter how recently you have arrived or how long you have been here, he argued, you aren’t really a part of the fabric of Israeli society until you have lived through a war. I guess this makes us real Sabras, since this is our second war in less than three years.
On our way back from Eilat we had a choice to make. The longer route (traveling via the Dead Sea Highway), added almost two hours to our trip, but totally avoided the rocket zone. The shorter route, which we had taken earlier in the week, took us past Beer Sheva and through Kiryat Gat, areas that were within the “danger zone” of rocket attacks.
After discussing the issue, we decided not to let ourselves be terrorized and chose to return the “normal” way home. We also felt that it would be important for our kids to get a small sense of what other children have to live through day after day. So we had a conversation with the kids about where we were going and how to act in case of a rocket alert and then headed home.
Batya was clearly spooked by the whole thing. She kept asking if we were in Beer Sheva yet and how long it would be until we got to Beer Sheva. Unfortunately, Batya is our most sensitive kid in these areas. When we talked about going on vacation, she made sure to pour over the details to make sure we weren’t sneaking to Sderot or “the North” (she is still spooked by the Lebanon war and thinks that the entire Northern region of Israel is still a warzone).
When we got to Beer Sheva, Batya put her head down and was terrified. As soon as the city was in the rearview mirror, I told Batya that we were past it and Mordechai chimed up “Good – now nobody is going to throw bombs on us.”
I know it seems foolhardy to put our family in the danger zone, but there is a point to be made, not to our enemy, but to ourselves. Yes, we have to take care of ourselves and avoid insane risks. But we also need to keep ourselves from allowing the terror to defeat us. We need to make personal statements that say, “I acknowledge the fear, but will not let it rule me.”
I fear that our military will end up having to withdraw before the job is done. Quite frankly, I cannot actually imagine how they will get the job done. How do you defeat an army that can vanish into the civilian population until you leave? We need to have certainty that we will be safe from rocket fire, but I have no clue how we can get it. Yet, and here is the real point, it seems that we often seem to end up at a place that is good for us, even if we didn’t think so in the first place.
There are difficult military and political maneuvers ahead of our country and I have no idea how they will turn out. But I do have faith that things are not left to chance and have seen too many things fall into perfect place (especially when they seemed to be at their worst) to think that there isn’t someone at the helm of the ship.
I worry more about individuals. My nephew. The dorm counselor from our Yeshiva who was called up for military reserve duty. The neighbor who had his reserve duty extended a few weeks. For these people there are no guarantees, and we seem to pay a heavy price, in blood, for the existence of our nation.
They show up for duty and are proud of their ability to serve our nation. They often are forbidden from sharing the details of what they are doing (the soldiers are having their cellphones taken away from them when they enter the warzone). My nephew had to lie to my sister (a mother always knows) about what he was doing (so far we aren’t aware if he has entered into Gaza). These are all real people and they have real families, families just like yours.
I have said it before, but it bears repeating. I DON’T CARE WHAT YOUR POLITICS ARE. You can believe in Israel or not. You can be non religious, modern orthodox, ultra orthodox or anywhere in between. It doesn’t make a difference when Jews are dying and need your support. We need you to daven for the safety of our soldiers, the same soldiers who protect you whenever you come to visit and ask nothing in return. Please remember this in shul this week when it comes time for the Mi Sheberach for the soldiers and have them all in your minds, hearts and prayers.
To end on a less somber note, I wanted to share two different “only in Israel” stories. In the first, Goldie and I were heading home after an engagement party. We were listening to the radio and the announcer said, “all you residents of the South, don’t you worry – stay tuned right here and we will tell you if there is an alert, no need to miss a minute of the music.” Goldie and I exchanged a look. It was a truly surreal moment, something we would never expect elsewhere.
Imagine our surprise when about a minute and a half later when the announcer came back on the air in the middle of a song to announce that the alert for Ashkelon had sounded and all residents of Ashkelon should immediately go to their shelters. The next time you listen to the radio, stop for a second and try to figure out what you would do if you needed to go to a shelter. Where you would go and how you would react if you were under this kind of constant threat.
We had a different tragedy in our Yeshiva this week. One of our Rabbeim lost his wife after a long illness. The family lives in the Yeshiva’s building and will be sitting shiva there all week. We have known that this was coming, but it still is not an easy thing to deal with.
As part of the arrangements, we had to notify the police about the shiva so that they would not give out parking tickets to those who came to console the mourners. Our administrator called them up and told the person who answered the phone what she needed. The response? “I am not the right person to talk to and I will transfer you to them. But I want to tell you first that I share your pain.”
That extra sentence is what makes Israel such a special place. The sense of community and belonging that we share. As Jews, we generally feel excluded from that feeling in other countries. Not here. Please daven that we get to keep being this way.
Mazal Tov to former 5 Towners and our current neighbors Mark and Yosefa Krauss on the engagement of their son Gavi. Mazal Tov also to Miriam Pinsky (who stayed with us for Shabbat a couple times when she was here for the year) on her engagement. And a very special Mazal Tov to our steady Friday morning double date couple, Tzippy and Dani Lieberman on the birth and Brit of their son Uziel.
When we originally made Aliyah, we were at an education seminar where one principal jokingly said that he defines the difference between an Oleh Chadash (new immigrant) and an Oleh Vatik (old – or experienced – immigrant) as their having lived through a war as citizens. No matter how recently you have arrived or how long you have been here, he argued, you aren’t really a part of the fabric of Israeli society until you have lived through a war. I guess this makes us real Sabras, since this is our second war in less than three years.
On our way back from Eilat we had a choice to make. The longer route (traveling via the Dead Sea Highway), added almost two hours to our trip, but totally avoided the rocket zone. The shorter route, which we had taken earlier in the week, took us past Beer Sheva and through Kiryat Gat, areas that were within the “danger zone” of rocket attacks.
After discussing the issue, we decided not to let ourselves be terrorized and chose to return the “normal” way home. We also felt that it would be important for our kids to get a small sense of what other children have to live through day after day. So we had a conversation with the kids about where we were going and how to act in case of a rocket alert and then headed home.
Batya was clearly spooked by the whole thing. She kept asking if we were in Beer Sheva yet and how long it would be until we got to Beer Sheva. Unfortunately, Batya is our most sensitive kid in these areas. When we talked about going on vacation, she made sure to pour over the details to make sure we weren’t sneaking to Sderot or “the North” (she is still spooked by the Lebanon war and thinks that the entire Northern region of Israel is still a warzone).
When we got to Beer Sheva, Batya put her head down and was terrified. As soon as the city was in the rearview mirror, I told Batya that we were past it and Mordechai chimed up “Good – now nobody is going to throw bombs on us.”
I know it seems foolhardy to put our family in the danger zone, but there is a point to be made, not to our enemy, but to ourselves. Yes, we have to take care of ourselves and avoid insane risks. But we also need to keep ourselves from allowing the terror to defeat us. We need to make personal statements that say, “I acknowledge the fear, but will not let it rule me.”
I fear that our military will end up having to withdraw before the job is done. Quite frankly, I cannot actually imagine how they will get the job done. How do you defeat an army that can vanish into the civilian population until you leave? We need to have certainty that we will be safe from rocket fire, but I have no clue how we can get it. Yet, and here is the real point, it seems that we often seem to end up at a place that is good for us, even if we didn’t think so in the first place.
There are difficult military and political maneuvers ahead of our country and I have no idea how they will turn out. But I do have faith that things are not left to chance and have seen too many things fall into perfect place (especially when they seemed to be at their worst) to think that there isn’t someone at the helm of the ship.
I worry more about individuals. My nephew. The dorm counselor from our Yeshiva who was called up for military reserve duty. The neighbor who had his reserve duty extended a few weeks. For these people there are no guarantees, and we seem to pay a heavy price, in blood, for the existence of our nation.
They show up for duty and are proud of their ability to serve our nation. They often are forbidden from sharing the details of what they are doing (the soldiers are having their cellphones taken away from them when they enter the warzone). My nephew had to lie to my sister (a mother always knows) about what he was doing (so far we aren’t aware if he has entered into Gaza). These are all real people and they have real families, families just like yours.
I have said it before, but it bears repeating. I DON’T CARE WHAT YOUR POLITICS ARE. You can believe in Israel or not. You can be non religious, modern orthodox, ultra orthodox or anywhere in between. It doesn’t make a difference when Jews are dying and need your support. We need you to daven for the safety of our soldiers, the same soldiers who protect you whenever you come to visit and ask nothing in return. Please remember this in shul this week when it comes time for the Mi Sheberach for the soldiers and have them all in your minds, hearts and prayers.
To end on a less somber note, I wanted to share two different “only in Israel” stories. In the first, Goldie and I were heading home after an engagement party. We were listening to the radio and the announcer said, “all you residents of the South, don’t you worry – stay tuned right here and we will tell you if there is an alert, no need to miss a minute of the music.” Goldie and I exchanged a look. It was a truly surreal moment, something we would never expect elsewhere.
Imagine our surprise when about a minute and a half later when the announcer came back on the air in the middle of a song to announce that the alert for Ashkelon had sounded and all residents of Ashkelon should immediately go to their shelters. The next time you listen to the radio, stop for a second and try to figure out what you would do if you needed to go to a shelter. Where you would go and how you would react if you were under this kind of constant threat.
We had a different tragedy in our Yeshiva this week. One of our Rabbeim lost his wife after a long illness. The family lives in the Yeshiva’s building and will be sitting shiva there all week. We have known that this was coming, but it still is not an easy thing to deal with.
As part of the arrangements, we had to notify the police about the shiva so that they would not give out parking tickets to those who came to console the mourners. Our administrator called them up and told the person who answered the phone what she needed. The response? “I am not the right person to talk to and I will transfer you to them. But I want to tell you first that I share your pain.”
That extra sentence is what makes Israel such a special place. The sense of community and belonging that we share. As Jews, we generally feel excluded from that feeling in other countries. Not here. Please daven that we get to keep being this way.
Mazal Tov to former 5 Towners and our current neighbors Mark and Yosefa Krauss on the engagement of their son Gavi. Mazal Tov also to Miriam Pinsky (who stayed with us for Shabbat a couple times when she was here for the year) on her engagement. And a very special Mazal Tov to our steady Friday morning double date couple, Tzippy and Dani Lieberman on the birth and Brit of their son Uziel.
Preparing for the Worst (Article# 101) 1/1/09
Having been away for three and half out of five weeks (NY and London), it was great to return home. Not that I don’t enjoy seeing family and our alumni, but everyone knows there is no place like home.
One of the great parts about Israeli attitudes is the commitment toward the community that the average Israeli displays. With mandatory military service and a voluntary national service program for women, Israeli youth are indoctrinated with the need to care about the well being of others at a very young age. This commitment often (although certainly not always) extends itself to a high level of volunteerism in the “nationalistic” or “Zionistic” ranks.
One of these extraordinary volunteers is Benny Pflanzer, the Manka”l (Director) of the Yeshiva I work at, Yeshivat Eretz HaTzvi. Aside from being some type of executive officer of his Golani battalion (I don’t understand what he does – just that it is important in the army) who is regularly called for reserve duty, he recently trained to be a paramedic and volunteers his time for Magen David Edom (“MADA”) – the Israeli emergency medical response/ambulance service.
He takes this commitment very seriously, spending time both on emergency calls and driving and ambulance when needed, in order to serve the needs of his neighbors. His dedication is actually quite intimidating at times, and I often see it as a silent rebuke for the fact that other than actually making Aliyah (which many Israelis see as a dedication beyond anything they can do), I don’t feel like I really give much back to my new country.
When he asked me what I thought about our Yeshiva serving as host for an emergency response exercise, I told him that I thought it was a great idea. Reflecting on the effectiveness of their emergency responders to the Mercaz HaRav terrorist attack, MADA was looking to stage a simulation of a similar attack in order to prepare their medics.
The medics came to the building for an educational seminar, at the end of which we conducted the simulation. In order to provide for a realistic response by the medics, they were not told about the simulation until literally seconds before it began.
Each student was given a role. Some were victims (with injury and vital sign cards hung on their necks), others were bystanders (encouraged to display shock or volunteer to help as needed) and one was even a member of the media (with video camera in hand) encouraged to be as “in their face” and annoying as possible in order to give a true realistic flavor. They were also encourage to be as realistic as possible, by screaming and yelling and creating a general sense of pandemonium.
As I prepared to video the simulation, I wandered outside to the Yeshiva’s parking lot where I found an incredibly chilling scene. In preparation for the drill, there were ambulances with flashers running and a series of stretchers lined up in a row, waiting for “victims”. Even though I knew it was a fake, it still shook me.
Once the simulation began it was truly chaotic. Our guys threw themselves into their parts wholeheartedly. As a bystander I was overwhelmed by the noise and frantic activity. While the gravity of an actual attack was not present and there were frequent smiles exchanged, there was definitely a serious approach taken to the work and all “victims” were identified, triaged, treated and “taken” by ambulance in less than 20 minutes from the start of the event.
Although we certainly hope that such preparedness is not needed, we were quite proud to have participated and be a part (minor as it may be) of preparing these dedicated volunteers to do their duty when called upon.
The simulation also served as a kind of kickoff to Channuka season. Without the heavy influence of other religions’ holidays in Israel, we are free to celebrate Channuka as an entire society. Sufganiyot began to appear in the bakeries and grocery stores and channuka candles sprouted on store counters throughout the land. And, our personal favorite, the kids started singing their channuka songs (none of which we, as American born, are familiar with).
We are no longer in the “first zone” (first year in Israel, first channuka, etc.) for many items. We are somewhat “used to” the idea that this is a Jewish country. It was a special moment for Goldie and I then, when one of our students (Daniel Bonner from Dallas, Texas) walked into the office, looked at a calendar and commented, “Is it X-mas today? I had NO IDEA!”
Yet another reminder of what makes our home special.
As we went to press this week, the latest series of violence erupted in Gaza. My nephew (Yonatan Ben Arieh), who serves in the Golani brigade, stands a very strong chance of being called into action within days, if not weeks. Please keep him and all of our men and women in the Armed Services in your tefillot as well as those bystanders who are injured or heaven forbid killed, simply so that the enemy can inflict pain upon us. May the violence end soon, may our military be successful in accomplishing their mission and may we see a safe, secure Israel very soon.
One of the great parts about Israeli attitudes is the commitment toward the community that the average Israeli displays. With mandatory military service and a voluntary national service program for women, Israeli youth are indoctrinated with the need to care about the well being of others at a very young age. This commitment often (although certainly not always) extends itself to a high level of volunteerism in the “nationalistic” or “Zionistic” ranks.
One of these extraordinary volunteers is Benny Pflanzer, the Manka”l (Director) of the Yeshiva I work at, Yeshivat Eretz HaTzvi. Aside from being some type of executive officer of his Golani battalion (I don’t understand what he does – just that it is important in the army) who is regularly called for reserve duty, he recently trained to be a paramedic and volunteers his time for Magen David Edom (“MADA”) – the Israeli emergency medical response/ambulance service.
He takes this commitment very seriously, spending time both on emergency calls and driving and ambulance when needed, in order to serve the needs of his neighbors. His dedication is actually quite intimidating at times, and I often see it as a silent rebuke for the fact that other than actually making Aliyah (which many Israelis see as a dedication beyond anything they can do), I don’t feel like I really give much back to my new country.
When he asked me what I thought about our Yeshiva serving as host for an emergency response exercise, I told him that I thought it was a great idea. Reflecting on the effectiveness of their emergency responders to the Mercaz HaRav terrorist attack, MADA was looking to stage a simulation of a similar attack in order to prepare their medics.
The medics came to the building for an educational seminar, at the end of which we conducted the simulation. In order to provide for a realistic response by the medics, they were not told about the simulation until literally seconds before it began.
Each student was given a role. Some were victims (with injury and vital sign cards hung on their necks), others were bystanders (encouraged to display shock or volunteer to help as needed) and one was even a member of the media (with video camera in hand) encouraged to be as “in their face” and annoying as possible in order to give a true realistic flavor. They were also encourage to be as realistic as possible, by screaming and yelling and creating a general sense of pandemonium.
As I prepared to video the simulation, I wandered outside to the Yeshiva’s parking lot where I found an incredibly chilling scene. In preparation for the drill, there were ambulances with flashers running and a series of stretchers lined up in a row, waiting for “victims”. Even though I knew it was a fake, it still shook me.
Once the simulation began it was truly chaotic. Our guys threw themselves into their parts wholeheartedly. As a bystander I was overwhelmed by the noise and frantic activity. While the gravity of an actual attack was not present and there were frequent smiles exchanged, there was definitely a serious approach taken to the work and all “victims” were identified, triaged, treated and “taken” by ambulance in less than 20 minutes from the start of the event.
Although we certainly hope that such preparedness is not needed, we were quite proud to have participated and be a part (minor as it may be) of preparing these dedicated volunteers to do their duty when called upon.
The simulation also served as a kind of kickoff to Channuka season. Without the heavy influence of other religions’ holidays in Israel, we are free to celebrate Channuka as an entire society. Sufganiyot began to appear in the bakeries and grocery stores and channuka candles sprouted on store counters throughout the land. And, our personal favorite, the kids started singing their channuka songs (none of which we, as American born, are familiar with).
We are no longer in the “first zone” (first year in Israel, first channuka, etc.) for many items. We are somewhat “used to” the idea that this is a Jewish country. It was a special moment for Goldie and I then, when one of our students (Daniel Bonner from Dallas, Texas) walked into the office, looked at a calendar and commented, “Is it X-mas today? I had NO IDEA!”
Yet another reminder of what makes our home special.
As we went to press this week, the latest series of violence erupted in Gaza. My nephew (Yonatan Ben Arieh), who serves in the Golani brigade, stands a very strong chance of being called into action within days, if not weeks. Please keep him and all of our men and women in the Armed Services in your tefillot as well as those bystanders who are injured or heaven forbid killed, simply so that the enemy can inflict pain upon us. May the violence end soon, may our military be successful in accomplishing their mission and may we see a safe, secure Israel very soon.
Letter to the Editor By Shmuel Katz 1/1/2009
Dear Editor,
I was quite dismayed to see Rav Aryeh Z. Ginzberg’s letter in last week’s paper, in which he criticizes the tone of some of my recent “Aliyah Chronicle” articles. It was all the more distressing because Rav Ginzberg’s last comment upon my articles (“A Personal Response,” April 27, 2007) imparted an inspiring sense of tremendous chizuk for Goldie and I when we were going through such trying times. To face such a sharp rebuke from a friend who has in the past been a source of inner strength and confidence—a person who enhanced our bitachon when it was truly ebbing—was quite painful. I respect and admire him and certainly hope that his letter and my response do not mar our personal friendship in any way.
Twenty months ago, Larry Gordon, publisher of the Five Towns Jewish Times, approached me with what I thought was a tremendously novel idea. He was convinced that the public would be interested in hearing about aliyah from a personal perspective and that people would respond to a personal journal of the everyday experiences of an oleh. Perhaps, he added, coming to understand that the many hurdles faced in making aliyah can be overcome will inspire others to follow in our footsteps. And thus “Our Aliyah Chronicle” was born.
Almost immediately, it became apparent that Larry’s idea was right on target. From the first week the column hit the paper, we were approached by people who told of their admiration that we were taking the plunge, of a relative who had gone before us, and even a few who thought we were making a terrible mistake. I remember a conversation I had with Rav Ginzberg, at the annual Hatzalah barbecue in 2006, in which he predicted that my articles would inspire many others to come on aliyah in our footsteps.
Over time, it was made clear to me that one of the most compelling parts of the series was my willingness to be honest about not only the highs, but the lows as well. At his son’s bar mitzvah, Larry shared some feedback he had gotten from a friend in the Five Towns about how my articles were more captivating than any other series he had read about Israel because “you never know what is going to happen with Katz. One week he is higher than a kite and the next week is the worst week he has ever had. He writes life.”
In the feedback that I have gotten from those who have chosen to follow us or are considering following us to Israel, that same message appears. They see from our experiences that there are highs and there are lows, but that the lows can be overcome and it is just that piece of reality that encourages him. I often hear, “If you could do it—with all that you have faced—so can I.”
So, at least in my opinion, the fact that I share the bad along with the good actually enhances my message. No one reading my articles can accuse me of glossing over the tough spots. Which is a good thing. The last thing I would want on my conscience is someone having a claim that I misled them or failed to be honest with them about such a life-changing endeavor.
And, according to my inbox, many of you feel the same. I want to thank Rabbi Ginzberg for inspiring feedback that I got this week from others. Last week’s criticism of my articles has inspired people to show me their support, and I appreciate it.
Rav Ginzberg also says that he misses the wonderful inspiration that my stories of life in Eretz Yisrael used to bring. The fact is that I am still writing stories about my other experiences here, such as being interviewed for the radio for the USA elections, a story about my speaking to Batya’s fourth-grade class (in Hebrew for 45 minutes) about being a kohein, and the overwhelming feelings we had in Chaya’s getting her first citizen’s ID card—I wrote all this in the month of November. (In December, I wrote two articles: one, the article in question, and the other focused on my USA trip.)
Rav Ginzberg raises additional issues, saying that what I wrote is akin to the sin of the meraglim, telling lashon ha’ra about our holy land of Israel. He certainly makes a compelling case, and asks some serious questions about the justification for my treatment of the radical chareidim and their outrageous behavior.
I am not a Torah scholar; I have no semichah or any other form of rabbinic or scholarly ordination. If I err in my interpretation of the following source or in my interpretation of halachah, I apologize.
In the Ramban’s analysis of the sin of the meraglim, he specifically states that their sin was in the use of the word “efes,” (translated as “but”). The meraglim said wonderful things about Israel, then said “but” and proceeded to tell negative things about the land. In that instance, the “but” was used as a means to say, “Yes, it is a great land, but we cannot live there, because…” This, according to the Ramban, is their sin. It’s not the fact that they told the truth, but that they lacked faith that such obstacles could be overcome by the Divine.
I defy anyone to find the “but” in anything I have written. Never have I said that people should not come to Israel, and in the article in question, I specifically closed with a disclaimer that all neighborhoods worldwide have tensions at times, and that this is simply the tension that we are facing in Bet Shemesh at the current time and my hope is that we will overcome such tensions.
I am not criticizing the Land of Israel; I am only decrying the horrible sins of those who by their actions are creating a chillul H-shem. It is their actions that are denigrating the holiness of the land—not mine. At no point do I ever say that this is an Israeli problem or something which is awful about Israel. I am even very particular to point out (on a regular basis) that we are not talking about the vast majority of chareidim, just a very effective minority.
Interestingly, it does not appear to be lashon ha’ra about Israel when I talk about issues relating to the chilonim (non-religious) or the Arabs. They live in Israel, as well, and are part of the aliyah experience. I have written about our concerns about our kids’ future military service and my nephew’s current military service—certainly topics that might make someone reconsider coming on aliyah. Yet, this didn’t seem to be of concern, either.
Rather than criticize me, I respectfully suggest that, as a religious leader, Rabbi Ginzberg should be the first in line to repudiate any connection such thugs and goons have to Torah and the holiness of Israel. All the rabbanim of Bet Shemesh were indeed quick to do so, each one of them calling for every person in the community to do “whatever he can” to stand up to such hooliganism. One of them went so far as to say that any rabbi who encourages such actions is not a rabbi in any sense of the word.
I think some of the difference between our attitudes towards the situation stems from the fact that my children are endangered by these people. My wife and daughters have to walk the streets of Bet Shemesh, and these criminals are a serious threat to their safety. One might have a different perspective if it were his own daughter that was thrown to the ground, pelted with eggs, kicked repeatedly, and called a Nazi (and other, unprintable, names).
I invite anyone who is critical of my reporting to show their own love for the land of Israel and to lead by example—by making aliyah themselves.
Shmuel Katz
Bet Shemesh
I was quite dismayed to see Rav Aryeh Z. Ginzberg’s letter in last week’s paper, in which he criticizes the tone of some of my recent “Aliyah Chronicle” articles. It was all the more distressing because Rav Ginzberg’s last comment upon my articles (“A Personal Response,” April 27, 2007) imparted an inspiring sense of tremendous chizuk for Goldie and I when we were going through such trying times. To face such a sharp rebuke from a friend who has in the past been a source of inner strength and confidence—a person who enhanced our bitachon when it was truly ebbing—was quite painful. I respect and admire him and certainly hope that his letter and my response do not mar our personal friendship in any way.
Twenty months ago, Larry Gordon, publisher of the Five Towns Jewish Times, approached me with what I thought was a tremendously novel idea. He was convinced that the public would be interested in hearing about aliyah from a personal perspective and that people would respond to a personal journal of the everyday experiences of an oleh. Perhaps, he added, coming to understand that the many hurdles faced in making aliyah can be overcome will inspire others to follow in our footsteps. And thus “Our Aliyah Chronicle” was born.
Almost immediately, it became apparent that Larry’s idea was right on target. From the first week the column hit the paper, we were approached by people who told of their admiration that we were taking the plunge, of a relative who had gone before us, and even a few who thought we were making a terrible mistake. I remember a conversation I had with Rav Ginzberg, at the annual Hatzalah barbecue in 2006, in which he predicted that my articles would inspire many others to come on aliyah in our footsteps.
Over time, it was made clear to me that one of the most compelling parts of the series was my willingness to be honest about not only the highs, but the lows as well. At his son’s bar mitzvah, Larry shared some feedback he had gotten from a friend in the Five Towns about how my articles were more captivating than any other series he had read about Israel because “you never know what is going to happen with Katz. One week he is higher than a kite and the next week is the worst week he has ever had. He writes life.”
In the feedback that I have gotten from those who have chosen to follow us or are considering following us to Israel, that same message appears. They see from our experiences that there are highs and there are lows, but that the lows can be overcome and it is just that piece of reality that encourages him. I often hear, “If you could do it—with all that you have faced—so can I.”
So, at least in my opinion, the fact that I share the bad along with the good actually enhances my message. No one reading my articles can accuse me of glossing over the tough spots. Which is a good thing. The last thing I would want on my conscience is someone having a claim that I misled them or failed to be honest with them about such a life-changing endeavor.
And, according to my inbox, many of you feel the same. I want to thank Rabbi Ginzberg for inspiring feedback that I got this week from others. Last week’s criticism of my articles has inspired people to show me their support, and I appreciate it.
Rav Ginzberg also says that he misses the wonderful inspiration that my stories of life in Eretz Yisrael used to bring. The fact is that I am still writing stories about my other experiences here, such as being interviewed for the radio for the USA elections, a story about my speaking to Batya’s fourth-grade class (in Hebrew for 45 minutes) about being a kohein, and the overwhelming feelings we had in Chaya’s getting her first citizen’s ID card—I wrote all this in the month of November. (In December, I wrote two articles: one, the article in question, and the other focused on my USA trip.)
Rav Ginzberg raises additional issues, saying that what I wrote is akin to the sin of the meraglim, telling lashon ha’ra about our holy land of Israel. He certainly makes a compelling case, and asks some serious questions about the justification for my treatment of the radical chareidim and their outrageous behavior.
I am not a Torah scholar; I have no semichah or any other form of rabbinic or scholarly ordination. If I err in my interpretation of the following source or in my interpretation of halachah, I apologize.
In the Ramban’s analysis of the sin of the meraglim, he specifically states that their sin was in the use of the word “efes,” (translated as “but”). The meraglim said wonderful things about Israel, then said “but” and proceeded to tell negative things about the land. In that instance, the “but” was used as a means to say, “Yes, it is a great land, but we cannot live there, because…” This, according to the Ramban, is their sin. It’s not the fact that they told the truth, but that they lacked faith that such obstacles could be overcome by the Divine.
I defy anyone to find the “but” in anything I have written. Never have I said that people should not come to Israel, and in the article in question, I specifically closed with a disclaimer that all neighborhoods worldwide have tensions at times, and that this is simply the tension that we are facing in Bet Shemesh at the current time and my hope is that we will overcome such tensions.
I am not criticizing the Land of Israel; I am only decrying the horrible sins of those who by their actions are creating a chillul H-shem. It is their actions that are denigrating the holiness of the land—not mine. At no point do I ever say that this is an Israeli problem or something which is awful about Israel. I am even very particular to point out (on a regular basis) that we are not talking about the vast majority of chareidim, just a very effective minority.
Interestingly, it does not appear to be lashon ha’ra about Israel when I talk about issues relating to the chilonim (non-religious) or the Arabs. They live in Israel, as well, and are part of the aliyah experience. I have written about our concerns about our kids’ future military service and my nephew’s current military service—certainly topics that might make someone reconsider coming on aliyah. Yet, this didn’t seem to be of concern, either.
Rather than criticize me, I respectfully suggest that, as a religious leader, Rabbi Ginzberg should be the first in line to repudiate any connection such thugs and goons have to Torah and the holiness of Israel. All the rabbanim of Bet Shemesh were indeed quick to do so, each one of them calling for every person in the community to do “whatever he can” to stand up to such hooliganism. One of them went so far as to say that any rabbi who encourages such actions is not a rabbi in any sense of the word.
I think some of the difference between our attitudes towards the situation stems from the fact that my children are endangered by these people. My wife and daughters have to walk the streets of Bet Shemesh, and these criminals are a serious threat to their safety. One might have a different perspective if it were his own daughter that was thrown to the ground, pelted with eggs, kicked repeatedly, and called a Nazi (and other, unprintable, names).
I invite anyone who is critical of my reporting to show their own love for the land of Israel and to lead by example—by making aliyah themselves.
Shmuel Katz
Bet Shemesh
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Letter to the Editor By Rabbi AZ Ginzberg 12/25/2008
Dear Editor,
Until recently I thought I was the only one disturbed by the content and tone of my friend Shmuel Katz’s articles over the last few months; but the last installment seems to have touched a raw nerve in many others, as well.
When our friend and neighbor made the courageous decision to make aliyah with his family a few years ago he continued his valued and dedicated service to the community by keeping a diary of the challenges, problems, and benefits of the aliyah process. I, like others, read with great interest and concern Reb Shmuel Katz’s journey to the land of our fathers, and the minor setbacks and frustrations that he and his family faced, culminating with a successful aliyah.
His articles were informative, encouraging, even uplifting. I personally know of two families (and there probably were significantly more) that, after reading Shmuel’s weekly diary installments, were encouraged to take the final step to aliyah. V’chein yirbu.
But something happened.
In recent months, feeling the need to share with us some of the challenges of daily life in Ramat Beit Shemesh, in particular dealing with some of the extremists in the community; we have read descriptions of these chareidi extremists as gangsters, criminals etc.; the kind of terminology usually reserved by such secular Israeli newspapers as Haaretz or Yediot Achronot.
Most disturbing is why Reb Shmuel feels that we need to hear the “dark side” of life in Eretz Yisrael, and how this helps people become motivated about aliyah to Eretz Yisrael. If a particular person should ask him about the communal difficulties in Ramat Beit Shemesh, and it would be determined that there would be a “toeles” (purpose) in relating this information to that person, it would probably be acceptable to share this information; albeit without the name calling.
However, what heter is there to speak lashon ha’ra about Eretz Yisrael in a public forum without any toeles whatsoever. On whose halachic authority was this public criticism of life in Eretz Yisrael allowed?
Our Chazal point out that there were two terrible sins committed by Bnei Yisrael in the Midbar: one was the cheit ha’egel, and the other the sin of the meraglim. The fundamental difference between the two is that the cheit ha’egel was forgiven, but the sin of the meraglim was not. Why is that so? I once thought to explain that it was because the eigel was a sin against H-shem, and he was mochel on his kavod. However, the sin of the meraglim was a sin against Eretz Yisrael and on that there is no mechila.
Speaking publicly and disparagingly about Eretz Yisrael and about a specific group, no matter how disturbing, is a form of lashon ha’ra on the land, which the land does not forgive. Added to that is that the unacceptable categorizing of chareidim (even these extremists) as gangsters, etc. is unnecessary at best, prohibited at worst.
How did we go from advocating for aliyah to becoming an antagonist against the chareidim, or “chareidi bashing” as it’s referred to?
I once shared with your readers a story about the previous Amshinover Rebbe, zt”l, of Bayit Vegan. One day, the Rebbe’s driver, who usually wore a jacket out of respect for the Rebbe, commented, “It is so hot today, would the Rebbe mind if I take my jacket off?” The Rebbe replied, “For my part you can take off your shirt, but please don’t speak lashon ha’ra about Eretz Yisrael.”
The Gemara is replete with stories of how the Tannaim and Amoraim went out of their way never to utter a bad or unkind word about Eretz Yisrael, either the land or its people. It is related in Kesuvos (112A) that Rav Ami and Rav Assi would go from sun to shade and vice versa to avoid any feeling of discomfort in Eretz Yisrael.
Is the price of a successful aliyah to feel like an Israeli and take sides in a war against chareidim—even against the most extreme of groups? This will not encourage aliyah, nor will it inspire more Ahavas Yisrael and tolerance against even the most intolerant of us.
I miss the trials and tribulations of the aliyah process and the underlying love for the land and its people. I miss hearing of the experiences of the first yom tov, the first Chanukah, the kedushah of a Shabbos in Eretz Yisrael. And most of all I miss the wonderful inspiration that all of that gave to each and every one of us.
The consistent diary of the life and challenges of aliyah was indeed a valuable service; the chareidi-bashing and tales of communal strife in Ramat Beit Shemesh are not.
Rabbi Aryeh Z. Ginzberg
Cedarhurst
Until recently I thought I was the only one disturbed by the content and tone of my friend Shmuel Katz’s articles over the last few months; but the last installment seems to have touched a raw nerve in many others, as well.
When our friend and neighbor made the courageous decision to make aliyah with his family a few years ago he continued his valued and dedicated service to the community by keeping a diary of the challenges, problems, and benefits of the aliyah process. I, like others, read with great interest and concern Reb Shmuel Katz’s journey to the land of our fathers, and the minor setbacks and frustrations that he and his family faced, culminating with a successful aliyah.
His articles were informative, encouraging, even uplifting. I personally know of two families (and there probably were significantly more) that, after reading Shmuel’s weekly diary installments, were encouraged to take the final step to aliyah. V’chein yirbu.
But something happened.
In recent months, feeling the need to share with us some of the challenges of daily life in Ramat Beit Shemesh, in particular dealing with some of the extremists in the community; we have read descriptions of these chareidi extremists as gangsters, criminals etc.; the kind of terminology usually reserved by such secular Israeli newspapers as Haaretz or Yediot Achronot.
Most disturbing is why Reb Shmuel feels that we need to hear the “dark side” of life in Eretz Yisrael, and how this helps people become motivated about aliyah to Eretz Yisrael. If a particular person should ask him about the communal difficulties in Ramat Beit Shemesh, and it would be determined that there would be a “toeles” (purpose) in relating this information to that person, it would probably be acceptable to share this information; albeit without the name calling.
However, what heter is there to speak lashon ha’ra about Eretz Yisrael in a public forum without any toeles whatsoever. On whose halachic authority was this public criticism of life in Eretz Yisrael allowed?
Our Chazal point out that there were two terrible sins committed by Bnei Yisrael in the Midbar: one was the cheit ha’egel, and the other the sin of the meraglim. The fundamental difference between the two is that the cheit ha’egel was forgiven, but the sin of the meraglim was not. Why is that so? I once thought to explain that it was because the eigel was a sin against H-shem, and he was mochel on his kavod. However, the sin of the meraglim was a sin against Eretz Yisrael and on that there is no mechila.
Speaking publicly and disparagingly about Eretz Yisrael and about a specific group, no matter how disturbing, is a form of lashon ha’ra on the land, which the land does not forgive. Added to that is that the unacceptable categorizing of chareidim (even these extremists) as gangsters, etc. is unnecessary at best, prohibited at worst.
How did we go from advocating for aliyah to becoming an antagonist against the chareidim, or “chareidi bashing” as it’s referred to?
I once shared with your readers a story about the previous Amshinover Rebbe, zt”l, of Bayit Vegan. One day, the Rebbe’s driver, who usually wore a jacket out of respect for the Rebbe, commented, “It is so hot today, would the Rebbe mind if I take my jacket off?” The Rebbe replied, “For my part you can take off your shirt, but please don’t speak lashon ha’ra about Eretz Yisrael.”
The Gemara is replete with stories of how the Tannaim and Amoraim went out of their way never to utter a bad or unkind word about Eretz Yisrael, either the land or its people. It is related in Kesuvos (112A) that Rav Ami and Rav Assi would go from sun to shade and vice versa to avoid any feeling of discomfort in Eretz Yisrael.
Is the price of a successful aliyah to feel like an Israeli and take sides in a war against chareidim—even against the most extreme of groups? This will not encourage aliyah, nor will it inspire more Ahavas Yisrael and tolerance against even the most intolerant of us.
I miss the trials and tribulations of the aliyah process and the underlying love for the land and its people. I miss hearing of the experiences of the first yom tov, the first Chanukah, the kedushah of a Shabbos in Eretz Yisrael. And most of all I miss the wonderful inspiration that all of that gave to each and every one of us.
The consistent diary of the life and challenges of aliyah was indeed a valuable service; the chareidi-bashing and tales of communal strife in Ramat Beit Shemesh are not.
Rabbi Aryeh Z. Ginzberg
Cedarhurst
Climate Change (Article# 100) 12/18/2008
Traveling makes for a strange life. I know that there are plenty of people who travel for their jobs on a regular basis. Until we made Aliyah I was not one of them, and had really never thought that I would join their ranks.
I have to give credit to the families of the traveling parent. I calculated that my 5 or 6 trips I take each year translate into my being away for more than 10% of the Shabbatot of the year. With little kids in the house, this is a significant amount of time for me not to be home, especially since it is the only day we get to spend together as a family (remember – Sunday is a full work/school day here). This absence is certainly felt at home.
This past month was my busiest ever. I was home for 6 days (including Shabbat) out of 24 and it seemed strange trying to get back to a routine. I cannot imagine how the people who travel 8-10 times a year can manage. Thankfully, I am home for 6 weeks straight and can finally get back to a “normal” routine.
Two major events happened here in the past couple of weeks. In the first, the slates for the national elections were selected by each party. We now know who the candidates are and in what order they will get into the Knesset. We also saw how flawed the primary system for the parties is and how easily the system can be manipulated by our “leaders” (not that I have any gripes about Feiglin’s treatment – I am sure some other columnist in the paper will cover that angle for us).
The other major development, at least for Bet Shemesh, was the installation of our new Chareidi mayor. Yeah, I know it is getting boring hearing me rail on about the Chareidim, but it’s news. Since the mayor assumed his office, it appears that the more radical fringes of his community have felt emboldened to step up not just their rhetoric, but their actions as well.
It started with the mass resumption of the Shaaaaaaabbbbiiiiiiiiiiiiissssss shouters – our lovely neighbors who feel an urge to remind us all just what day it is at 3 AM. It continued when a group of thugs (there is no other word for them) came INTO OUR NEIGHBORHOOD (not theirs) and threatened to beat up a group of teenagers who were talking together in the street on a Friday night. It hit its lowest point (so far) when 3 teenage girls, all of whom were dressed appropriately, were accosted in the Chareidi neighborhood and verbally abused.
Two of them ran to safety. The third did not escape what was quickly becoming a mob. They grabbed her, threw her to the ground and proceeded to kick her. A local teen saw the beating and ran to try to get her away. He too was beaten and then told that if the Chareidim ever saw him again they would kill him.
They only got away when a woman called to them from her building (next door) and they managed to run to her apartment, where she kept them for over an hour until the thugs left before she and her husband walked them home. Although the kids were not hospitalized, they were certainly terrorized and have multiple bruises and scratches.
The initial response from the police and city were muted. They took a report and then went back to business as usual. It was only after they were flooded with calls from the greater Anglo community that they stepped up to the plate to say that they were trying to find ways to address the problem. They will not find one.
Unfortunately, the only thing these thugs respond to is the same thing that bullies respond to. Someone standing up to them. I am convinced that someone will have to be seriously injured before the “official” authorities step in and I am absolutely positive that “unofficial” authorities will end up taking matters into their own hands. There could be a real war here if things get out of hand.
The tragedy is that none of this has to happen. In my opinion, if the mayor called a meeting with the most radical of the Rabbis and told them that he will personally make sure that their schools’ discretionary funding will be cut, that the police will be scrutinizing their shuls and Yeshivot for violations, that quite frankly he will make sure that the municipality does everything to make life difficult for them – they will eventually cave in. I believe that a lot of their recent boldness is a direct result of their confidence that a chareidi mayor would never stand in their way (the same way that the general chareidi public, while not publicly supporting these people, still do nothing to thwart them in their terrorist behavior).
I know my neighbors are going to say, “How could you paint such a bleak picture of Bet Shemesh?” I can only answer that this is the truth of what we are living with in Bet Shemesh these days. I would also add that no community is free from infighting. Be it the school district election wars in the 5 Towns to the anti Semitism that is growing worldwide to the infighting between the various Chassidic sects in NY, tension is always a step away. Hopefully we will get through this as well as we can.
I have to give credit to the families of the traveling parent. I calculated that my 5 or 6 trips I take each year translate into my being away for more than 10% of the Shabbatot of the year. With little kids in the house, this is a significant amount of time for me not to be home, especially since it is the only day we get to spend together as a family (remember – Sunday is a full work/school day here). This absence is certainly felt at home.
This past month was my busiest ever. I was home for 6 days (including Shabbat) out of 24 and it seemed strange trying to get back to a routine. I cannot imagine how the people who travel 8-10 times a year can manage. Thankfully, I am home for 6 weeks straight and can finally get back to a “normal” routine.
Two major events happened here in the past couple of weeks. In the first, the slates for the national elections were selected by each party. We now know who the candidates are and in what order they will get into the Knesset. We also saw how flawed the primary system for the parties is and how easily the system can be manipulated by our “leaders” (not that I have any gripes about Feiglin’s treatment – I am sure some other columnist in the paper will cover that angle for us).
The other major development, at least for Bet Shemesh, was the installation of our new Chareidi mayor. Yeah, I know it is getting boring hearing me rail on about the Chareidim, but it’s news. Since the mayor assumed his office, it appears that the more radical fringes of his community have felt emboldened to step up not just their rhetoric, but their actions as well.
It started with the mass resumption of the Shaaaaaaabbbbiiiiiiiiiiiiissssss shouters – our lovely neighbors who feel an urge to remind us all just what day it is at 3 AM. It continued when a group of thugs (there is no other word for them) came INTO OUR NEIGHBORHOOD (not theirs) and threatened to beat up a group of teenagers who were talking together in the street on a Friday night. It hit its lowest point (so far) when 3 teenage girls, all of whom were dressed appropriately, were accosted in the Chareidi neighborhood and verbally abused.
Two of them ran to safety. The third did not escape what was quickly becoming a mob. They grabbed her, threw her to the ground and proceeded to kick her. A local teen saw the beating and ran to try to get her away. He too was beaten and then told that if the Chareidim ever saw him again they would kill him.
They only got away when a woman called to them from her building (next door) and they managed to run to her apartment, where she kept them for over an hour until the thugs left before she and her husband walked them home. Although the kids were not hospitalized, they were certainly terrorized and have multiple bruises and scratches.
The initial response from the police and city were muted. They took a report and then went back to business as usual. It was only after they were flooded with calls from the greater Anglo community that they stepped up to the plate to say that they were trying to find ways to address the problem. They will not find one.
Unfortunately, the only thing these thugs respond to is the same thing that bullies respond to. Someone standing up to them. I am convinced that someone will have to be seriously injured before the “official” authorities step in and I am absolutely positive that “unofficial” authorities will end up taking matters into their own hands. There could be a real war here if things get out of hand.
The tragedy is that none of this has to happen. In my opinion, if the mayor called a meeting with the most radical of the Rabbis and told them that he will personally make sure that their schools’ discretionary funding will be cut, that the police will be scrutinizing their shuls and Yeshivot for violations, that quite frankly he will make sure that the municipality does everything to make life difficult for them – they will eventually cave in. I believe that a lot of their recent boldness is a direct result of their confidence that a chareidi mayor would never stand in their way (the same way that the general chareidi public, while not publicly supporting these people, still do nothing to thwart them in their terrorist behavior).
I know my neighbors are going to say, “How could you paint such a bleak picture of Bet Shemesh?” I can only answer that this is the truth of what we are living with in Bet Shemesh these days. I would also add that no community is free from infighting. Be it the school district election wars in the 5 Towns to the anti Semitism that is growing worldwide to the infighting between the various Chassidic sects in NY, tension is always a step away. Hopefully we will get through this as well as we can.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
They Just Want to Kill Us (Article# 99B) 12/4/08
As I prepared to leave the USA and ran my last minute errands, I heard the initial reports of terrorist activity in Mumbai, India. Immersed as I was in my own activities, I did not follow the news closely. It was not until I was at minyan that I heard about the attack on the chabad house, and with the confusion and chaos that went on – it was only after I had returned home and was watching CNN a few minutes before Shabbat began that we heard reports of the killing of the people in the chabad house.
Much will be written and said about these tragic events. The Israeli government will certainly use the funerals as a “see what victims we are” platform (they won’t necessarily be wrong). Yet this particular attack, pointed at a “Jewish” target tugs at the heart of the average Israeli in a more personal way than other people. For several reasons.
We are after all, a country that is sadly all too familiar with the sight of a baby screaming for his missing mother or father. We experience such tragedies with a frequency that would not be tolerated in the USA or other major nations. Yet that is a story for another day.
We are also the country upon whom our enemies have drawn a large target and would gleefully obliterate if they could. We know what it means to have people infiltrate our cities and homes and seek to murder and maim. Their goal is not to make a point other than attempting to make us so miserable that we would do anything to appease them. And appeasement hasn’t worked. But that too is for another time.
It is the specific target, a Chabad house, which has struck a cord here. Jews from many countries are certainly familiar with Chabad. Many of those who come from other countries (not Israel) and travel on business or pleasure have come to recognize that they can find a minyan and often a meal in the most remote of places – simply by seeking out the local Chabad house representatives. Israelis, even many secular ones and those who are not observant but still consider themselves to be traditional, identify with the Chabad network as a home away from home as well.
Many Israelis, upon completing their military or national service and before entering University or the workplace, take a months long trip of discovery. They travel to various places worldwide and armed with their backpacks they seek to experience whatever the world has to offer. A vast majority of these youth are not religious and are quite comfortable traveling in the remote countryside.
As they travel and reach major cities, they will invariably find themselves drawn to the local Chabad house where they are always welcomed with a smile and warm greeting. Be it for a minute, a meal or even a Shabbat, Israelis come to Chabad for that brief taste of home, reconnecting with their identity as Jews – religious or not.
To deliberately target such a place (and make no mistake – the Chabad House was deliberately targeted) reminds all of us here in Israel just how much we are hated. It reminds we who live in the Jewish State that no matter where we go in the world and how much kindness we dispense, that our enemies seek nothing less than our total annihilation and obliteration. It sometimes takes a tragedy such as this to remind us, no matter what our backgrounds or beliefs, to reach across boundaries and grieve as one people and one nation for the loss of so many precious lives, Jew and non Jew alike.
I often bemoan the lack of Achdut that is displayed here in Israel. I am disappointed that we can no longer seem to bond together as one Jewish nation with tolerance and love for one another, no matter what our differences. It is unfortunate that it takes such a tragedy to force us to find some common ground.
So today Israel is transfixed by the images and stunned by the savagery. Yet, we also know too familiarly what happens after the cameras turn off and the world is no longer watching. We know what it means to raise orphans. We have consoled countless parents who have buried their children before their time. We have rebuilt and will continue to do so. We understand that we must never allow terrorism to win.
That sense of “I will never let you defeat me” was reflected by Rav Metzger in his eulogy and by Shimon Peres in his, but it was most strikingly demonstrated by Rivkah Holtzberg’s parents’ decision to be the new Directors of the Mumbai Chabad. Their commitment, to continue to do good despite the pain and harm they have suffered, is what our nation is all about.
Much will be written and said about these tragic events. The Israeli government will certainly use the funerals as a “see what victims we are” platform (they won’t necessarily be wrong). Yet this particular attack, pointed at a “Jewish” target tugs at the heart of the average Israeli in a more personal way than other people. For several reasons.
We are after all, a country that is sadly all too familiar with the sight of a baby screaming for his missing mother or father. We experience such tragedies with a frequency that would not be tolerated in the USA or other major nations. Yet that is a story for another day.
We are also the country upon whom our enemies have drawn a large target and would gleefully obliterate if they could. We know what it means to have people infiltrate our cities and homes and seek to murder and maim. Their goal is not to make a point other than attempting to make us so miserable that we would do anything to appease them. And appeasement hasn’t worked. But that too is for another time.
It is the specific target, a Chabad house, which has struck a cord here. Jews from many countries are certainly familiar with Chabad. Many of those who come from other countries (not Israel) and travel on business or pleasure have come to recognize that they can find a minyan and often a meal in the most remote of places – simply by seeking out the local Chabad house representatives. Israelis, even many secular ones and those who are not observant but still consider themselves to be traditional, identify with the Chabad network as a home away from home as well.
Many Israelis, upon completing their military or national service and before entering University or the workplace, take a months long trip of discovery. They travel to various places worldwide and armed with their backpacks they seek to experience whatever the world has to offer. A vast majority of these youth are not religious and are quite comfortable traveling in the remote countryside.
As they travel and reach major cities, they will invariably find themselves drawn to the local Chabad house where they are always welcomed with a smile and warm greeting. Be it for a minute, a meal or even a Shabbat, Israelis come to Chabad for that brief taste of home, reconnecting with their identity as Jews – religious or not.
To deliberately target such a place (and make no mistake – the Chabad House was deliberately targeted) reminds all of us here in Israel just how much we are hated. It reminds we who live in the Jewish State that no matter where we go in the world and how much kindness we dispense, that our enemies seek nothing less than our total annihilation and obliteration. It sometimes takes a tragedy such as this to remind us, no matter what our backgrounds or beliefs, to reach across boundaries and grieve as one people and one nation for the loss of so many precious lives, Jew and non Jew alike.
I often bemoan the lack of Achdut that is displayed here in Israel. I am disappointed that we can no longer seem to bond together as one Jewish nation with tolerance and love for one another, no matter what our differences. It is unfortunate that it takes such a tragedy to force us to find some common ground.
So today Israel is transfixed by the images and stunned by the savagery. Yet, we also know too familiarly what happens after the cameras turn off and the world is no longer watching. We know what it means to raise orphans. We have consoled countless parents who have buried their children before their time. We have rebuilt and will continue to do so. We understand that we must never allow terrorism to win.
That sense of “I will never let you defeat me” was reflected by Rav Metzger in his eulogy and by Shimon Peres in his, but it was most strikingly demonstrated by Rivkah Holtzberg’s parents’ decision to be the new Directors of the Mumbai Chabad. Their commitment, to continue to do good despite the pain and harm they have suffered, is what our nation is all about.
Support Your Local Library (Article# 99A) 12/4/08
I love the public library system. When we lived in the USA, I took advantage of the library in every city I lived in. I am an avid reader and can (and often do) finish a 300-400 page book in a single Friday night sitting. I even took advantage of the technological advances in Web design, reserving books online and picking them up on my arrival at the library (reducing my average library trip from 40 minutes to 3 minutes).
Since Aliyah I have come to appreciate the USA public library system much more than I had in the past. The library is literally my home away from home when I travel. It is the only place where they offer a place to sit, free internet access (including wireless access so that I can check emails on my laptop) and a ton of peace and quiet – all with zero pressure to buy a coffee or vacate a table for the next patron. You don’t realize what a treat it is to be able to sit and check emails, update yourself with some online news (especially news from home when you are traveling) and get work done until you are traveling and have limited access to the internet.
My favorite library is my home base library, the Hewlett-Woodmere library in Long Island. This was our local library before we made Aliyah and the facility is just awesome. They have a series of private study rooms available for residents and non-residents alike. Whenever I need to check emails, have a skype call chavruta with an alumnus, get information from the Yeshiva’s database or even sit and write my weekly article, I head off to the library, ensconce myself in one of their private rooms for an hour or two and really crank out the work.
It is also a great place to meet people. Almost every time I am there I come across some old friend that I hadn’t seen. It is a great place to reconnect with people and I am quite grateful for the use of it.
Upon our move we discovered that Israel does not have public libraries as such. Libraries may occasionally be funded by a local municipality, but it is the member subscription fees and donations that are the large part of library budgets in Israel. And the budgets aren’t that large.
Our local Bet Shemesh library does not buy books in English, using only books that have been donated to the library to stock its English shelves. The Hebrew language section is definitely larger than the English section, but not by a huge amount. The entire library is housed within one of our community centers and is probably smaller than the school libraries in a couple of your local Yeshivot – but it is what we have and we definitely patronize it (we have 4 memberships for the kids).
Since the resources are limited, there is a limit of how many books (4) each member can have at any time. They also rely a lot upon volunteers (although they have a very professional staff as well who have to be knowledgeable in order to serve their patrons in either of the two main languages they carry books in). On the flipside, without the fully stocked library, our kids have become a lot more computer and internet literate in order to use online resources for school research and other work (their parents have to also be savvy in monitoring internet use as well).
*If you would be interested in donating books to the Bet Shemesh library – feel free to email me and I will forward the offer.*
Throughout my trip, I was asked how the economy of Israel is faring and how badly the US problems have affected us. It is clear to see how difficult things have become in America and it was nice to see the concern for us as well. There is also no doubt that things in Israel will also get worse before they get better.
The dollar’s weakness has hurt all tourist related industries (of which we must include the Yeshiva and Seminary one year programs as a part). The dollar simply buys less and this has hurt budgets. Additionally, at least in the case of charitable organizations, with incomes shrinking or disappearing overseas, we not only get fewer shekels for each dollar donated – we are definitely seeing fewer dollars donated as a whole. There is no question that we are only beginning to see the repercussions from the worldwide recession.
One of the great pleasures of my job is hanging out with our students and alumni. As part of my trips abroad I schedule regular visits to as many college campuses as I can, visiting our alumni in their “natural habitat”. Since each student has his own schedule, I schedule at least 3 hours for each visit to allow for them to come say hi when they do not have a class. So I usually set up shop in the campus kosher cafeteria and let the guys come to me.
By the time Thanksgiving rolled around I was definitely ready to go home. I was amazed at how little traffic I encountered on the way to Newark airport, which was practically empty. I pulled in to the rental car return lot and was trying to figure out what was missing when it hit me, there were no cars there. I think the entire lot had 10 cars in it.
The terminals were also quite deserted. With the exception of the El Al counter, there was almost no one in the airport; getting through security and to the gate was a breeze. Of course, since it was Thanksgiving, most Americans wanting to be in Israel for the week had already flown and the plane was almost totally Israeli.
I was a bit disappointed to be leaving that afternoon. Goldie’s family was having an afternoon get together and it would have been nice to see everyone. Maybe next time. The good part was getting home to the family.
I didn’t end up missing the turkey in the end. Dennis and Rachel Lisbon, our across the street neighbors invited us for a turkey dinner on Thanksgiving. Upon hearing that I would be out of the country, they postponed the invitation one day and we enjoyed a Thanksgiving style seuda on Friday night.
PS Thanks for praying for Friday rain. Little league was rained out – only 7 more months of Fridays left to go.
Since Aliyah I have come to appreciate the USA public library system much more than I had in the past. The library is literally my home away from home when I travel. It is the only place where they offer a place to sit, free internet access (including wireless access so that I can check emails on my laptop) and a ton of peace and quiet – all with zero pressure to buy a coffee or vacate a table for the next patron. You don’t realize what a treat it is to be able to sit and check emails, update yourself with some online news (especially news from home when you are traveling) and get work done until you are traveling and have limited access to the internet.
My favorite library is my home base library, the Hewlett-Woodmere library in Long Island. This was our local library before we made Aliyah and the facility is just awesome. They have a series of private study rooms available for residents and non-residents alike. Whenever I need to check emails, have a skype call chavruta with an alumnus, get information from the Yeshiva’s database or even sit and write my weekly article, I head off to the library, ensconce myself in one of their private rooms for an hour or two and really crank out the work.
It is also a great place to meet people. Almost every time I am there I come across some old friend that I hadn’t seen. It is a great place to reconnect with people and I am quite grateful for the use of it.
Upon our move we discovered that Israel does not have public libraries as such. Libraries may occasionally be funded by a local municipality, but it is the member subscription fees and donations that are the large part of library budgets in Israel. And the budgets aren’t that large.
Our local Bet Shemesh library does not buy books in English, using only books that have been donated to the library to stock its English shelves. The Hebrew language section is definitely larger than the English section, but not by a huge amount. The entire library is housed within one of our community centers and is probably smaller than the school libraries in a couple of your local Yeshivot – but it is what we have and we definitely patronize it (we have 4 memberships for the kids).
Since the resources are limited, there is a limit of how many books (4) each member can have at any time. They also rely a lot upon volunteers (although they have a very professional staff as well who have to be knowledgeable in order to serve their patrons in either of the two main languages they carry books in). On the flipside, without the fully stocked library, our kids have become a lot more computer and internet literate in order to use online resources for school research and other work (their parents have to also be savvy in monitoring internet use as well).
*If you would be interested in donating books to the Bet Shemesh library – feel free to email me and I will forward the offer.*
Throughout my trip, I was asked how the economy of Israel is faring and how badly the US problems have affected us. It is clear to see how difficult things have become in America and it was nice to see the concern for us as well. There is also no doubt that things in Israel will also get worse before they get better.
The dollar’s weakness has hurt all tourist related industries (of which we must include the Yeshiva and Seminary one year programs as a part). The dollar simply buys less and this has hurt budgets. Additionally, at least in the case of charitable organizations, with incomes shrinking or disappearing overseas, we not only get fewer shekels for each dollar donated – we are definitely seeing fewer dollars donated as a whole. There is no question that we are only beginning to see the repercussions from the worldwide recession.
One of the great pleasures of my job is hanging out with our students and alumni. As part of my trips abroad I schedule regular visits to as many college campuses as I can, visiting our alumni in their “natural habitat”. Since each student has his own schedule, I schedule at least 3 hours for each visit to allow for them to come say hi when they do not have a class. So I usually set up shop in the campus kosher cafeteria and let the guys come to me.
By the time Thanksgiving rolled around I was definitely ready to go home. I was amazed at how little traffic I encountered on the way to Newark airport, which was practically empty. I pulled in to the rental car return lot and was trying to figure out what was missing when it hit me, there were no cars there. I think the entire lot had 10 cars in it.
The terminals were also quite deserted. With the exception of the El Al counter, there was almost no one in the airport; getting through security and to the gate was a breeze. Of course, since it was Thanksgiving, most Americans wanting to be in Israel for the week had already flown and the plane was almost totally Israeli.
I was a bit disappointed to be leaving that afternoon. Goldie’s family was having an afternoon get together and it would have been nice to see everyone. Maybe next time. The good part was getting home to the family.
I didn’t end up missing the turkey in the end. Dennis and Rachel Lisbon, our across the street neighbors invited us for a turkey dinner on Thanksgiving. Upon hearing that I would be out of the country, they postponed the invitation one day and we enjoyed a Thanksgiving style seuda on Friday night.
PS Thanks for praying for Friday rain. Little league was rained out – only 7 more months of Fridays left to go.
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