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A couple of months ago, Chani (Pearlman) Schwartz, one of our good friends and neighbors, approached me with an idea for a column. Having had a tremendous experience when making aliyah with her parents, she was pained to see how some of her friends and their extended families struggled to deal with aliyah. I invited Chani to guest-write my column that week, and I was glad to share another person’s words and opinions with you. (Having a week off was an added bonus.)
At the time, I felt very positive about the experiment and resolved to continue inviting guest columnists with a Five Towns connection to share this space.
Sima (Fogel) Menora grew up in Far Rockaway. Her brothers lived a few blocks away from us, (one in Far Rockaway when we lived there, and one in Woodmere when we moved there) and some of her nieces went to school with our girls. Her son Yehuda was part of a group of teens who welcomed our Chaim with open arms and made his adjustment to Israel a positive experience.
In the “shameless plug” department, she sells real estate in Yerushalayim. If you will be in Israel for a vacation or simcha, feel free to look her up.
Sima came on aliyah at an earlier stage of life than Goldie and I did, so she has a much more experienced outlook than I normally reflect. I thought you might enjoy hearing a slice of her life as a contrast . . .
Sunday morning. In my mind’s eye, I see the first line of the article: Former perennially frenzied soccer mom seen dropping two soldier sons at six-o’clock bus to Be’er Sheva. I try convincing myself that I appear similar to the other Israeli moms, but let’s be honest—what’s a Far Rock girl doing at the Sunday morning soldier drop-off?
OK, some background first. Fifteen years ago, we were enjoying a summer month in Israel, breathing in the holy air, being parched by the lovely heat. With the family business undergoing change, a window of opportunity opened—we had a chance to make aliyah. What do you do when a goal you originally thought would take a lifetime to accomplish suddenly appears in your reach? Well, if you’re spontaneous, you grab it; and if you’re lucky, it actually works! And we were both spontaneous and lucky.
I had always assumed I’d spend my pre-aliyah year in the aisles of Costco—how can I make aliyah without six cases of Bumble Bee solid white? But we grabbed the opportunity and—call it G-dly intervention or just dumb luck (I prefer the former)—we sailed through our aliyah. Sold the house and two cars in less than a week and had Strand movers pack up our boxes and send them forth. Signed my six-year-old up for 1st grade with nary a word of Hebrew in his vocabulary. And here we were in The Promised Land.
Our first year in a furnished rental in Jerusalem turned into four, what with two new babies accompanied by pregnancies that had me more often than not on bed-rest. Eventually we built our home—our bayit ne’eman—in Bet Shemesh. The years passed. The kids grew. With my youngest searching for the right high school, I decided to take some time from my home jewelry-making business and go to work in the big city—selling penthouses in Jerusalem.
Somehow I thought just making aliyah was the great equalizer. I waited on the requisite lines for nursery school, at the bank, and to get identity cards for the whole family. I was sure that that earned us our citizenship. How about when I sat through the seemingly endless three-hour Chanukah parties in my kids’ nursery school? At one Chanukah party, a small fire broke out (Israelis tend to be a bit blasé about the whole kids-n-candles thing) and the teacher proceeded to extinguish the fire with a paper napkin. Sitting there with the other moms, I thought to myself, “Now I’m Israeli.” Rainy winters, hot summers, scraped knees. Hikes through water in the south, rappelling in the north, skiing down the Hermon—surely we were regular sabras!
Well, on this early Sunday morning my older boys search for rubber bands. (The rubber bands are a soldier’s necessity—they keep the pant leg tucked neatly into the army boot; if the boys are caught without the bands, they lose an hour from their precious bimonthly 48-hour Shabbat break). I join the search, but all I really see are a six-year-old and a nine-year-old on their frantic Sunday-morning search for kippah clips.
At the bus stop, I wave goodbye to the boys but wait an extra moment before returning home. I’m doing what moms all over the world are doing, raising kids and going to work, while my boys are doing G-d’s work of protecting this country. But still, as a tiny tear threatens to seep out of my eye, I hear myself whisper, “Now I’m Israeli.”
Sima Fogel Menora, formally of Far Rockaway and Chicago, now resides in Bet Shemesh. Currently employed at Habitat Real Estate in Wolfson towers, Sima finds the best deals in vacation apartments and homes, including sales, long-term and short-term rentals, new projects, and retirement homes. Contact her at sima@habitatrealestate.co.il
At the time, I felt very positive about the experiment and resolved to continue inviting guest columnists with a Five Towns connection to share this space.
Sima (Fogel) Menora grew up in Far Rockaway. Her brothers lived a few blocks away from us, (one in Far Rockaway when we lived there, and one in Woodmere when we moved there) and some of her nieces went to school with our girls. Her son Yehuda was part of a group of teens who welcomed our Chaim with open arms and made his adjustment to Israel a positive experience.
In the “shameless plug” department, she sells real estate in Yerushalayim. If you will be in Israel for a vacation or simcha, feel free to look her up.
Sima came on aliyah at an earlier stage of life than Goldie and I did, so she has a much more experienced outlook than I normally reflect. I thought you might enjoy hearing a slice of her life as a contrast . . .
Sunday morning. In my mind’s eye, I see the first line of the article: Former perennially frenzied soccer mom seen dropping two soldier sons at six-o’clock bus to Be’er Sheva. I try convincing myself that I appear similar to the other Israeli moms, but let’s be honest—what’s a Far Rock girl doing at the Sunday morning soldier drop-off?
OK, some background first. Fifteen years ago, we were enjoying a summer month in Israel, breathing in the holy air, being parched by the lovely heat. With the family business undergoing change, a window of opportunity opened—we had a chance to make aliyah. What do you do when a goal you originally thought would take a lifetime to accomplish suddenly appears in your reach? Well, if you’re spontaneous, you grab it; and if you’re lucky, it actually works! And we were both spontaneous and lucky.
I had always assumed I’d spend my pre-aliyah year in the aisles of Costco—how can I make aliyah without six cases of Bumble Bee solid white? But we grabbed the opportunity and—call it G-dly intervention or just dumb luck (I prefer the former)—we sailed through our aliyah. Sold the house and two cars in less than a week and had Strand movers pack up our boxes and send them forth. Signed my six-year-old up for 1st grade with nary a word of Hebrew in his vocabulary. And here we were in The Promised Land.
Our first year in a furnished rental in Jerusalem turned into four, what with two new babies accompanied by pregnancies that had me more often than not on bed-rest. Eventually we built our home—our bayit ne’eman—in Bet Shemesh. The years passed. The kids grew. With my youngest searching for the right high school, I decided to take some time from my home jewelry-making business and go to work in the big city—selling penthouses in Jerusalem.
Somehow I thought just making aliyah was the great equalizer. I waited on the requisite lines for nursery school, at the bank, and to get identity cards for the whole family. I was sure that that earned us our citizenship. How about when I sat through the seemingly endless three-hour Chanukah parties in my kids’ nursery school? At one Chanukah party, a small fire broke out (Israelis tend to be a bit blasé about the whole kids-n-candles thing) and the teacher proceeded to extinguish the fire with a paper napkin. Sitting there with the other moms, I thought to myself, “Now I’m Israeli.” Rainy winters, hot summers, scraped knees. Hikes through water in the south, rappelling in the north, skiing down the Hermon—surely we were regular sabras!
Well, on this early Sunday morning my older boys search for rubber bands. (The rubber bands are a soldier’s necessity—they keep the pant leg tucked neatly into the army boot; if the boys are caught without the bands, they lose an hour from their precious bimonthly 48-hour Shabbat break). I join the search, but all I really see are a six-year-old and a nine-year-old on their frantic Sunday-morning search for kippah clips.
At the bus stop, I wave goodbye to the boys but wait an extra moment before returning home. I’m doing what moms all over the world are doing, raising kids and going to work, while my boys are doing G-d’s work of protecting this country. But still, as a tiny tear threatens to seep out of my eye, I hear myself whisper, “Now I’m Israeli.”
Sima Fogel Menora, formally of Far Rockaway and Chicago, now resides in Bet Shemesh. Currently employed at Habitat Real Estate in Wolfson towers, Sima finds the best deals in vacation apartments and homes, including sales, long-term and short-term rentals, new projects, and retirement homes. Contact her at sima@habitatrealestate.co.il
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