Jerusalem to Rosh Pina to Tel Aviv

Jerusalem -- Rosh Pina -- Tel Aviv

Operation Tzok Eitan--Protective Edge

July 8-July 13

As Israel continues to be under rocket fire from the Gaza Strip over this last week...and my conference ends, you probably have noticed that my picture and update postings on facebook have dramatically stopped. It seems surreal to post a picture and first hand account of hearing a siren and running to a bomb shelter--yes, a real bomb shelter--this is 2014, not 1944 London, when just above or below me on facebook is a silly posting about recipes, or gossip, or nail polish, or something that just feels so mundane compared to missiles and soldiers being called back to the reserve, that it pushes me away from the conversation. Facebook is becoming a conversation site for those who mourn and those who want to share--so I have reposted other updates from friends and colleagues who share perspective or insight--but have not been able to put my own words to this terrible and dangerous time, so I have chosen others'. Please continue to read them, and honor them by sharing the ones that move you. 

Now I do it more quietly and privately.

Welcome!

Stay informed, we are alone in our quest. Read, know the truth.

Tuesday night, the day my conference ended, I had the gift of wandering the sunny streets of Jerusalem, the streets that we walked through as a family, to wander through beautiful and old nachlaot, seeing sights and shuls we used to frequent, tasting halva from the shuk, drinking cold bottled water and buying bags of zatar, kippot, CDs, and of course a stop by marzipan to watch the bees who fly around and buzz over the sweet rugelach that is baked throughout the day.

Dinner with my amazing and old Israeli friend Danny, and then off to see my new friend, says Facebook, Mattan Klein, who is playing with Miki Gavrielov at Beit Avichai. Remember, the siren in jerusalem has not begun yet, we are all just still mildly worried. I have lunch with my friend Hannah Soltz, who was here on shlichut 9 years ago who continues to try to explain to me how we just continue to live--what else is there to do. You can't become consumed by anger--because then you become 'them'. You can't be frozen with fear--because then they 'win'. But Hannah, how do you go on like this?

I was sitting with my two new cantor friends at the outdoor garden at Beit Avichai listening to Miki Gavrielov sing with Mattan Klein, tickling the air with his amazing flute when people started to talk loud, we couldn't believe how rude they were, but then the sound of the siren became louder than the sound of their voices. And we all became very quiet. In an unusually orderly way for Israelis, we all went inside to the safest, most 'enclosed' room there was. It was an indoor concert hall, I had seen Craig Taubman there 5 years earlier. I remember Craig sang to Coby, who was asleep on my shoulder in the audience. 10 minutes went by, the assumed 10 minutes to determine if something actually was released, or if it landed, or if anything was going to happen---and then we returned to the music. 

What else was there to do?

Miki sang, of course, Ani V'Atah, and I welled up a bit with my new friends Hollis and Rachel. We were all on our phones reading the news, seeing what happened. I was so grateful for the mysterious Iron Dome that we were soon to learn so much more about. The IDF, allowing us to sit here and 'go on' and smile, even, when we listened to music together.  What else was there to do?

Danny called me, to come home when I was finished and to explain protocol to me and how to stay safe. 

I finally understand what it means to be normal, but just be careful.

Yaron sent a text: "It seems like war is coming, please be careful"

I slowly visited our old neighborhood, caught up on sleep. Slept through a siren. Read my friends' postings about their experiences and reactions--wherever they were in the country or the world. I read the world's reactions and couldn't believe how alone I felt. How could the US and the world say the things they are saying. 

We had to stay together and protect ourselves. To keep living, and keep alive. What else was there to do?

As planned, I went to Rosh Pina, to spend Shabbat with my new friends in our partner region in the North. It was quiet there, for a change, near the Lebanese  border. We talked politics, opinion, J Street, liberal jews, conservative jews, we sat in the garden and went from good acquaintances to good friends. We became family. And more and more, all the people that I saw in israel, my old friends that i met in florida who i was seeing here, colleagues and friends who I knew from Israel that I was meeting again--all these relationships made me truly consider Israel my other home. In a much much deeper and profound way than ever before. 

I prepare on Friday by listening to a violin concert with members of the Pluralistic community in Rosh Pina, and supported the economy of the north by buying jewelry, food, walking, speaking hebrew, and preparing to worship together in their small community center. I visit the old memories of being with my JCC Staff Mission so long ago--where we spend Purim. 

Afterwards we talk for hours around the table, a mixture of olim and sabras, opinionated Brooklyn-ites who now live in the occupied territories as well as a soldier on leave, I am so grateful for their humor and their candor as they share their experiences and what troubles them. What is real for them in their daily lives and the work they try to do.

My host, Anthony and Judith Luder are amazing, and am so grateful for having had the time to spend with them. 

It is Shabbat, it has been 4 days for the big cities who have unlocked their miklat (bomb shelter) and are using it frequently--but it has been weeks and weeks for my friends in the south of Tel Aviv (close to Yavneh--the birthplace of Rabbinic Judaism) My sweet friends on Moshav B'naya, which ironically means 'building' have been responding to sirens from rockets fired out of Gaza for several weeks. It is common, their sons are accustomed to it, and it is a disheartening and disgusting normal that we are getting used to.  But the sabra inside them says, what else is there to do but get on with our lives--when we stop living than they have really won. So in a nutshell, I suppose that is why I in some way am glad to be here once again during an operation. I don't want to be running away, want to remain, visiting, singing, supporting, shopping--which I am....my host up in Rosh Pina says we can't run, but the opposite, we stay strong and show they can't interrupt our lives. But his son asks what if Iron Dome makes a mistake or malfunctions, what if the Iron Dome operator makes a mistake? What if suddenly the shooters and terrorists in Gaza take better aim and really hurt a significant number of people--or a schoolyard full of children or a hospital?

What if they hit the giant Golden Dome in the center of Jerusalem? Are they relying on Iron Dome to knock it down or do they really want to destroy the holy site of their brothers. Egypt is very quiet these days.

We talk, we eat, we rest....and then close to motzei shabbat, i get on a bus to head south to Tel Aviv, for my last night with Tzachi. It's so good to spend time with him, and he greets me with great plans to go to a hip 'newer' section of Tel Aviv, great restaurant. We sipped sangria and caught up on music and life, and were interrupted twice by the siren overhead. We head 90 seconds here to get down to the shelter--better than the 15 seconds they have in the south, but then Tzachi told me his original plan for the evening was to see a concert in Caesaria--but it was cancelled, impossible to protect 5,000 people in an amphitheater who are looking for a safe, enclosed room when the siren blasts.

And so it was....

My last day in Israel was beautiful, and emotional. I know everyone at home wanted me to come home and be safe. But I did feel safe, but worried for our future. After the teaching that I do, how can I still not understand why we are such targets. Are we as alone in the world as I feel? Are we strong enough to fight it, strong enough to bind together through this? Strong enough to fight until we are safe? Our lives are in the hands of our leaders.

With sadness, I brought my suitcase onto the train toward Ben Gurion Airport. We stopped en route while a siren blared. We looked at each other, nowhere to go. We all got on the floor and covered our heads--phone in hand to read the news and if it landed somewhere. Did the Iron Dome intercept something or did it land in a field. This is what life is like. And I was traveling alone--what if I had my kids with me, or toddlers with me.

I am very sad in the airport, I hope I just sleep the whole way home. They push me through to the front of the lines, I don't know why. I am so sad, and promise to come back each year.