Memorials

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

I remember where I was 1 year ago today. Israel turned 60, and we were sweating and walking with 1000 members of the community from CityPlace to the Meyer Amphitheater. There were Israeli dancers, food, and vendors; and I wasn't sure yet if we were actually going to come to Israel or not. I think it was May 8. I didn't know if I passed my hebrew exam, or if we could manage to rent our house, or pack up our life and say goodbye.

But we did. And now I sit at Har Hertzel with 1000 Israelis, soldiers, families and watch the rehearsal for the Yom Hazikaron ceremony commemorating the IDF, the 61st anniversary of the State of Israel, and also the 100th anniversary of the country's oldest city, Tel Aviv. There were soldiers marching, holding flags and twirling into formations representing the different branches of the military. Hundreds of kids dancing and singing, people singing, speaking, torches; it was so formal. We were impressed at the formality and the precision--for all the casual, untucked image of daily soldier sightings on the street--which is all the time, these were so beautiful and proud. It was very moving. We always joke about how disorganized the country is, or seems on the outside. Their precision was beautiful, and in huge contrast with the rumpled kids we see on the streets wearing their uniforms wrinkled, hanging, backpacks, jumping on and off buses, loud, smoking, laughing, one hand always touching their rifles hanging over one shoulder. 

It was freezing as it got later, like every other cemetery in the world, the sun was setting across from us, and a tiny eyelash of the moon was emerging, and I think about the unlikely chance that this little country actually reinvented itself within my parents' lifetime. With the Torah behind them, they have a much deeper sense of history than what just 61 years provides. 

So Coby insisted that we bake a cake for his class for Israel's birthday. They've been practicing all week for their Yorm Haatzmaut ceremony--all the ganim are doing something special. And all the older kids' schools are focusing first on Yom Hazikaron-Memorial Day.

Nancy and I welled up, it really was beautiful. Everyone important was present, singers, kids, politicians. They were also celebrating Tel Aviv's 100th, so were telling the story of different people who were during the founding of the state. They lit 12 torches--for the tribes. I wonder if they celebrate with such seriousness because it such a young country, and so many people remember a time when it wasn't here, or because the military is in everyone's life. We sat and watched, Coby and Ben begging to see the horses that I promised them. I thought again, like at the beginning of last summer, the fact that this country is here is a miracle. No horses, loud fireworks, we had to take the rugrats home.

Tuesday morning I co-led a tefillah with Nancy and Jaclyn for Yom hazikaron, over and over again we felt the power of the day. When we were shaping the service, we decided to connect it to home by talking about Michael Levin, the American-born soldier who emigrated, fought in the second Lebanon war, and was killed in the summer of 2006. A friend of Michael's said that many of them (Americans), joined the Israeli military because they felt Israel was a tiny country, disliked by many sides, and they wanted to help. And then I think about them, in all this grandeur, marching with their flags and torches, and choreography, and amazing music, and it really is amazing, in spite of being disliked on many sides--just look at them. Proud and strong.

Israel has sirens.

They have sirens that blow to signal that Shabbat is here, but also Monday evening, 8pm exactly, the siren blew. And also at 11am on Yom Hazikaron.  Just like everyone says, cars stopped, lights on, and everyone got out of the car, just standing, looking to others, to meet their eyes and share something. When people used to describe this to me, I thought they stopped their cars to see what the siren was, but it's out of solidarity and respect. Such a stillness, for 2 minutes. Haunting. I cried, the first of several times over those 24 hours.

When the siren stops, it seems to spin and cycle like a drill, the pitch sounds like its falling, but it doesn't, it keeps drilling and droning into your core. Its scary and haunting.

After our service on Tuesday morning we went to the Gimnasia High School, which honors its 138 alum who have been lost over the last 100 years in wars and terrorist acts. High School seniors lead this, which is insane, because they are 17 and 18, and they know where they are going next year. Its an awful way to live. yet it is really amazing how they all give themselves permission to cry and be sad with each other, around others; everyone understands and is OK. Everyone is emotional and crying. Its this public display of privacy. And at the end, singing Hatikvah, I've never heard anything like it. It wasn't loud and proud and high; it was intimate and whispered, you couldn't hear any one person's individual voice, we all sang so so quietly. It was painful and very emotional.  I spoke to some teachers that came with us afterward. 10 months ago, the 10 days of Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur also stopped traffic, we had just arrived, still getting used to the country and the culture, and now look at us, feeling so much a part of culture that we finally have permission to dislike it, be disgusted by parts of it, and say so. Yet still, who am I to be so emotional next to these people here. These people, including my teachers, have children who fought, who are going to fight; how can I align myself with them and share concern and tears. Who am I, who in 6 weeks, will be going to New York and flit around the east coast, visiting the beach, being oh so busy; but nothing like this.

I felt like I had been beaten up. I had been singing, talking, tearing up for hours, I was exhausted. I went home, we took the kids for ice cream, mellowed out, all the regular TV stations were off until the following day--except for stories of fallen soldiers.

But in the evening, the country turns over, everyone who had been wearing pure white, were now draping themselves in Israeli flags, glow in the dark things, drinking, singing, dancing. We walked through the center of town, listening to music, more ice cream for the kids, then went to Kikar Safron, the municipal square where we registered the kids for school during the summer. It was a huge square with a stage, and they had their famous Shira B'Tziboor--'public singing'. I loved it! This time, I knew so many of the songs and their histories from class, it was so happy. People broke out into spontaneous dancing. Veterans from the Lahakat HaYam--the Navy entertainment troupe were there singing along. Songs from the 'war' movie: HaLahakat. And again, fireworks, which got a bit dangerous when the sparks started to fall around us...as we walked home through Independence Park, the fireworks must have been shot off from the top of the Sheraton Hotel, the sparks were falling literally on the ground around us. We--and everyone around us--ran and hid under trees. Crazy. And beautiful.

Yom Haatzmaut, Israel Independence Day, was one giant BBQ. Everyone cooked meat, you could smell fire everywhere. Music, children, meat. Every 10 feet was a new group of people clumped together for a little party, it was happy, celebration. This is one group of holidays that I am really glad I was here for.The turning from the depths of sadness to heights of happiness in an afternoon is incredible. 

Yom Hazikaron

Saturday, April 25, 2009

We have very few weeks left in Israel. We're counting our weekends carefully, to make sure we get to the places we wanted to see, the people we wanted to spend time with. When I think about it, I'm still surprised that we are here.

Tonight we're having some friends over, Friday night Shabbat get togethers have been a highlight of the year. 

We spent our vacation hiking in Ein Gedi, which is even more beautiful after the winter rains; the trees are full and green, bamboo trees are scattered throughout running streams, and there are so many waterfalls dropping into pools where everyone tosses their shoes to the side and jumps in for a swim. 

Jerusalem during Pesach is a bit like New York in the summer, it clears out. Everyone is travelling--except for people visiting from other countries for seder. We spent days on the beach in Eilat, the kids miss playing in the sand. It's so funny how Israeli families pretty much camp out on the beach for the day. They not only bring coolers, blankets and towels, but gas stoves, meat, coffee--they are serious about their day at the beach.  They inspired us to buy one of these fantastic plastic straw mats for the beach or park, 2x3 meters, it's huge! 75 Shekels (about $18). 

I finally got my passport stamped, the first time I'm leaving the country since July, Petra, Jordan. Amazing place, amazing sculptures right into the sides of the mountains.  It is believed the Nabateans 'carved' out this culture here as they were travelling salesman, so to speak, but I've also read some theories that Petra may have been the place where the Israelites lived for 38 years in the desert. This would have been before the Nabateans, of course this can not be proven one way or the other, but its an interesting thought. Even without the burial caves that the Nabateans formed, there are shady alleys and places to stay, water to drink, and surrounded by amazing mountains.  We could have spent days hiking around here, but instead Ben and Coby rode donkeys. They thought that was the best thing in the world--look at them with their Indiana Jones hats! (Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade filmed a scene here in Petra, so the local salesmen try to capitalize on that)

So now we're back at school. And we all look exhausted. Everyone rested and travelled and did wonderful things, and here we are trying to negotiate our time remaining. It's not merely a semester at school, it's another country, which we are still in the process of 'processing', and how we feel about that. I was hiking in Ein Kerem last week thinking sometimes I feel our times in Israel are to connect us more deeply to Judaism. But sometimes I feel that all my Judaic connections and practice is all pointing to a relationship with Israel. We fight it constantly, but this place has a soul, I think the earth speaks and it challenges you. It fluctuates.

I'm dying to go to the Sinai, not to Taba, where the resorts are, but to really penetrate the desert, with a good guide, with the Tanach in our packs. But now; this was not the time to go, there was an alert put out by the consolate, even the Israelis are warning us that it's not a good time to go, and we've heard several stories that it's not such a safe time to travel there. Next time--and there will be a next time.

So there is the issue of HUC's future, all the students are worried about where they are going next year. The school is wisely trimming expenses where they can, and the College's President sends us letters keeping us informed of their processes and what they are hoping to do. Right now there is a lot of speculation, nervous students, people who don't know what to do with their energy and their nervousness. Yet in spite of this, and this is to be expected, enrollment for next year is up. I think in times of financial and economic stress, people are turning towards social services and away from finance and economics.

But, in spite of my saturated brain, I would still say I'm happy here. Sunday I will miss part of my biblical grammar (hard to image) class to be mom, and go to the gan's ceremony for Rosh Chodesh Iyyar. This is a very serious and intense week coming up, we are between Yom Hashoah--Holocaust Rememberance Day, and Yom Hazikaron--Memorial Day. An intense and deeply meaningful period of time for Israelis. This country wears its history on its face like jewelry, its everywhere. Israel is turning just 61. I was telling Coby today, who wants to bake a birthday cake for Israel, that all his Grandparents are older than Israel. What a concept.

Ein Kerem, Ein Gedi, Eilat, Petra

Saturday, April 25, 2009

We have very few weeks left in Israel. We're counting our weekends carefully, to make sure we get to the places we wanted to see, the people we wanted to spend time with. When I think about it, I'm still surprised that we are here.

Tonight we're having some friends over, Friday night Shabbat get togethers have been a highlight of the year. 

We spent our vacation hiking in Ein Gedi, which is even more beautiful after the winter rains; the trees are full and green, bamboo trees are scattered throughout running streams, and there are so many waterfalls dropping into pools where everyone tosses their shoes to the side and jumps in for a swim. 

Jerusalem during Pesach is a bit like New York in the summer, it clears out. Everyone is travelling--except for people visiting from other countries for seder. We spent days on the beach in Eilat, the kids miss playing in the sand. It's so funny how Israeli families pretty much camp out on the beach for the day. They not only bring coolers, blankets and towels, but gas stoves, meat, coffee--they are serious about their day at the beach.  They inspired us to buy one of these fantastic plastic straw mats for the beach or park, 2x3 meters, it's huge! 75 Shekels (about $18). 

I finally got my passport stamped, the first time I'm leaving the country since July, Petra, Jordan. Amazing place, amazing sculptures right into the sides of the mountains.  It is believed the Nabateans 'carved' out this culture here as they were travelling salesman, so to speak, but I've also read some theories that Petra may have been the place where the Israelites lived for 38 years in the desert. This would have been before the Nabateans, of course this can not be proven one way or the other, but its an interesting thought. Even without the burial caves that the Nabateans formed, there are shady alleys and places to stay, water to drink, and surrounded by amazing mountains.  We could have spent days hiking around here, but instead Ben and Coby rode donkeys. They thought that was the best thing in the world--look at them with their Indiana Jones hats! (Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade filmed a scene here in Petra, so the local salesmen try to capitalize on that)

So now we're back at school. And we all look exhausted. Everyone rested and travelled and did wonderful things, and here we are trying to negotiate our time remaining. It's not merely a semester at school, it's another country, which we are still in the process of 'processing', and how we feel about that. I was hiking in Ein Kerem last week thinking sometimes I feel our times in Israel are to connect us more deeply to Judaism. But sometimes I feel that all my Judaic connections and practice is all pointing to a relationship with Israel. We fight it constantly, but this place has a soul, I think the earth speaks and it challenges you. It fluctuates.

I'm dying to go to the Sinai, not to Taba, where the resorts are, but to really penetrate the desert, with a good guide, with the Tanach in our packs. But now; this was not the time to go, there was an alert put out by the consolate, even the Israelis are warning us that it's not a good time to go, and we've heard several stories that it's not such a safe time to travel there. Next time--and there will be a next time.

So there is the issue of HUC's future, all the students are worried about where they are going next year. The school is wisely trimming expenses where they can, and the College's President sends us letters keeping us informed of their processes and what they are hoping to do. Right now there is a lot of speculation, nervous students, people who don't know what to do with their energy and their nervousness. Yet in spite of this, and this is to be expected, enrollment for next year is up. I think in times of financial and economic stress, people are turning towards social services and away from finance and economics.

But, in spite of my saturated brain, I would still say I'm happy here. Sunday I will miss part of my biblical grammar (hard to image) class to be mom, and go to the gan's ceremony for Rosh Chodesh Iyyar. This is a very serious and intense week coming up, we are between Yom Hashoah--Holocaust Rememberance Day, and Yom Hazikaron--Memorial Day. An intense and deeply meaningful period of time for Israelis. This country wears its history on its face like jewelry, its everywhere. Israel is turning just 61. I was telling Coby today, who wants to bake a birthday cake for Israel, that all his Grandparents are older than Israel. What a concept.

Passover--a confession

Sunday, April 12, 2009

If Passover is the holiday of deflation--wheat, food, money, ego, etc. It's working.

This day started before dawn. Once every 28 years is the Blessing of the Sun, we raced around our neighborhood with 2 sleepy children on our backs looking for a taxi. As was every other person in the 'hood. Hopeless, I stalked the roof of a nearby building, thinking I'd just watch the sunrise from there, but at the last moment, we caught a cab and found our Renewal Congregation: Nava Tehila, on the Tayelet. This view is unforgettable, it overlooks the Jordanian Mountains to the East, and the Kidron Valley, Old City, and Temple Mount in front and to the West. We made it just as the sun was reaching up above the horizon. Wow. They say that the sun was in this exact position, on the Tuesday of the week that the world was created. Look at that sunrise.

By mid-afternoon we all smelled like smoke. This was the day of the seder--when people were burning all their hametz over make-shift campfires in parks, backyards, garbage cans...probably not so safe, but the kids were mesmerized. All kids are pyromaniacs, right? When I was little we just had that candle, a feather, and a spoon; but here people were burning pizza, pasta, pretzels, pitas, all the wrappers, quiches, (yes, there was a quiche) and the piles just smoldered. I hear Lag B'Omer is just like this, fires everywhere. We gleaned off someone else's fire, tossing in our 1/2 loaf of bread, we're not so strict, everything else we have was stored on top of the microwave.

I really liked doing a seder in Israel. Ein Karem is so beautiful, it feels like Italy--granted I've never been to Italy. But the Israeli family we were joining was so warm and into having our kids there. There were more kids than adults, which is the way I remember seders growing up. With the two 5-yr olds crawling under the table, just like I remember doing. We all used a different Hagadah, which was a bit of an eye-opener for me, that the text is all the same, from Hagadah to Hagadah, the blessings, the order (of course), and all the rabbinic dialogue in the middle. It was actually really cool to all have  different Hagadot, it somehow connected us even more. The words are the same everywhere in the world--it's just the colors and pictures that change.

As the 5 year olds crawled around under the 25 foot long table, and the 8-15 year olds read, the patriarch led, and the mothers sang, I realized who the seder is really for. We tend to tailor it to the preschool aged kids--the ma-nishtana crowd. But I am thinking it's for the 8-15 year olds, who are old enough to sit, read, nibble, participate, and be embarrassed by their parents; while the kiddies come and go, and just absorb good family vibes. Then, it's the mothers singing and squeezing in all the words to the verses of 'dayenu' and 'adir hu' (finally heard the whole thing sung in person) that infuses the atmosphere with the feeling of togetherness and the sense that everyone has been doing this for years. These were not people who would consider themselves religious, yet culturally, these are the traditions that they grew up with. Not one eye rolled that night. The moms hugged and swayed with their daughters toward the refrain of 'ki laolam chasdo'. I learned more when I had my head out of the Hagadah. And remember that Ron Wolfson was right last May when he said at Club Med that you have to do these holidays and traditions for yourself--not only for your children. They join in when they see it resonate for you, otherwise they won't buy it. I think he's right.

Meanwhile, we went around the room reading...in Hebrew of course. Ofer, my friend's husband, who teaches voice at the Jerusalem music academy read so fast I started to flush. I figured I had about 20 minutes until they came around to me. I felt my ears get hot, but I read my little paragraph in Hebrew. Phillip boldly followed with several paragraphs in loud English. Why so nervous? They were so positive towards us, and happy for us trying. I read fine, and yet still so so nervous. What was I thinking, that their image of me would be shattered? What image--they hardly knew me. So silly. It was a beautiful night.

Amazing, delicious food.

You could buy kosher for passover cookies everywhere!

The next morning we went to Har-El because Andrea was doing the Blessing of the Dew with the cantor there. This is the day when the added phrase in the Amidah changes from praying for more rain in the winter, to dew throughout the summer. Well if I thought I was going to have a relaxing prayer experience...ma nishtana? The 'greeter' asked me to read the Mi Shabeirach paragraph for IDF soldiers--in Hebrew. Oh my god, I'm sitting on the side feeling confident, doing lamaze breathing...then I go up without a tallis, and I think my eyesight is getting worse from all the reading in class, suddenly I can't see any vowels. I wouldn't say I butchered the prayer. I would say, however, it was not my finest Hebraic moment. But when it's important to you and you really want to get it right; you know, you really want it to be right. So, I guess it was fine. But I didn't feel so fine.....really...I suppose a bit of self-inflicted humiliation is good. A la pesach I suppose.

So if you thought every day here was filled with amazing Israel experiences...it's only because I only write and show pictures of the amazing things that happen. There are many days that I don't elaborate how behind my smile, I do inwardly mope around. So many times I catch myself--in my fatigue-- feeling sorry for myself that my hebrew isn't where I want it to be. I made a choice that since I have such limited time to do homework and study after hours, that at least I will make sure I go to class--that there must be some inherent value in absorbing it in person... Then why can I only understand my teacher, and not the guy from the taxi company who hung up on me. Or the impatient clerk at the drug store who snaps at me to "just speak in english" when I needed to buy lice shampoo for Coby.  As soon as I get home I put all my work away until after Ben and Coby go to bed, but is that enough for them? That I have the best voice teacher in the world but no time to practice. Theoretically I think its great and beneficial to have 50% of my classes in Hebrew, but sometimes feel like a child in a foreign country because though I understand most of what's going on, I always suspect that there are deeper concepts being explored that I didn't catch. My language is not nuanced yet, and sometimes I feel like an idiot.

So, no its not all amazing all the time. I do always step back though, breathe in the desert wind, and look at myself, and recognize this is part of a process here, and remind myself how much I have learned, how far I have come, how much deeper my relationship with Judaism and Israel is, how much I love it here. But if I'm really desperate, I tell myself how brave I am to try to pull this off at 40 years old. And that some of my best hebrew comes out when I'm yelling back at someone--like an Israeli. Sometimes when I am walking home from class and it's already dark, and I know Ben and Coby are already eating their pizza, and Phillip is waiting for me, and I'm another day closer to this very special year ending,  I just breathe and listen to my ipod, just breathe.

חתונה או לא חתונה

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

We were invited to our first wedding in Israel, which Phillip went to because suddenly Coby was sick. Ahhhhh? How could this happen? We're not one of 'those' families who are constantly missing events because the kids keep coming down with mysterious illnesses. But how could I leave with a child who looked green? From the pictures and eyewitness, Brian and Yamit's wedding was beautiful. I have to share an Israeli joke which encapsulates the cultural difference between Americans and Israelis and the 'formality' that they bring to weddings, bar-mitzvahs, etc... "How can you tell an Israeli groom on his wedding day?...New sneakers!"

Are you laughing?

I think it's funny.

Oh well.

I had been working all week on my first paper ALL in hebrew for my Bible class. I've written small assignments for my hebrew class, but this was 2 pages, TYPED, in hebrew, about a verse in Exodus. I had to research what modern and middle-age commentators said about this particular verse, and do it in Hebrew. So though the paper was simple, the hebrew was not. Whew! I think I broke a sweat doing my first draft. The verse I chose was Exodus 2:6, where Pharoah's daughter finds Moses in the basket on the Nile. She opens the basket, looks at the baby and has pity on him. The detail I was analyzing was why the text repeats that she saw a boy, a lad, when she opened the basket. Some of the answers were that she looked, and seeing that it was a baby boy, a jewish boy, she knew he was sent down the river to avoid the fate of all other jewish baby boys--to be killed by her dad's decree. Interesting, no?

Well, we'll see if the teacher thinks so.

On Thursday, April 2nd, we skipped school and took a bus up to Afula, then to Tivon to meet our HUC bicycle riders who participated in the Israeli Reform Movements' fundraiser: Ride for Reform. Cute town, they did an amazing job of riding about 300 km in 5 days all the way from Har Hermon around the southern tip of the Kinneret, up through Tsfat and out westward towards Haifa to Tivon. Fun, pretty town, maybe next year I can participate. After 5 days, don't they look great?

2009 celebrates Tel Aviv's 100th birthday, and we were stupid enough to pretend there wouldn't be an overwhelming crowd in Rabin Square in Tel Aviv, and went to join the festivities. It was shabbat, so we took a Shiroot with some friends, took the phone number of the driver, who promised to pick us up IN Rabin Square after the party, and had excellent hamburgers on Rothschild Blvd.

It was a very cool event, there must have been thousands of people, so packed, the kids were on our shoulders. The Israeli Pharmonic was playing song by famous Israeli composers, there were people suspended from huge canvases painting, a la blue man group style, people dancing on the stage with flags, roller blades, so many things. We couldn't see, so we snuck up onto the roof of a nearby apartment building--where the fireworks were shooting from. So we managed not to go deaf, and not to get pushed off the roof; which was good, because the real challenge was connecting with Asher the shiroot driver after the event. Wow, what a crazy night.

This morning we woke the kids up before dawn and desperately tried to flag down a cab at 5:30am. Today is The Blessing of the Sun, which only comes once every 28 years, and here we are in Jerusalem, how could we miss this? So, after failing to find a cab--and no, we were not the only ones out on Palmach looking for taxis, we skulked into Yakar Synagogue in our own neighborhood; where we were reassured to see some people we knew. But as I sat in the corner of the women's section, sitting low in my seat, without a prayerbook, holding Coby on my lap, still in his pajamas, I waved to Phillip, this just didn't feel right. I think we should give it another try--to meet up with Nava Tahila, the Renewal Congregation on the Tayelet and greet the sun in person. Success!

We ran under the Pavillion at the Tayelet just as the sun was reaching up out of the horizon. It was spectacular. We arrived in the midst of their service, but I was so glad we came. We gave the kids chocolate bars for breakfast to bribe them to be happy, and wrapped ourselves around them to keep them warm in the pajamas. The roosters actually started to crow, and down below in the Kidron Valley, in the desert, overlooking the old city and the Mount Olives, the Jordanian Mountains, the villages started to wake up and go about their day. Mostly preparing for Pesach. Such a great mix of all different kind of worshippers, and as we walked back on the Tayelet, there were so many groups of people from different synagogues there, having learning sessions, or burning their chametz.

Tonight is THE seder, remember, here it is only one. Then tomorrow is the holiday, when the whole country will digest matza, and make their way to the Kotel to hear the Birkat HaCohanim. Lynda and Lee--this is you, this would be your job on the Temple Mount. Of course only if this were 2000 years ago, and you lived here, and you weren't a woman...picky picky.