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.