Sweet Home Yerushalayim

Your Prayers at Work

2009-10-30T14:31:00.005+02:00

B"H

12 Cheshvan 5770
October 30, 2009

Dear Friends and Family,

This morning there were changes in the air. I noticed it crossing through the Kotel plaza as the sleepy sunlight filtered pinks, blues and purples through some of Cheshvan's first clouds. The days of crisp sapphire skies are softening now. Wednesday morning hung with low grey thunderheads that dropped only enough rain to get us scampering for cover and then once we found a dry spot to stand, she gathered up her gifts and strode away. Yesterday on Rechov King George, a little sprinkling sent me into the tachana (covered bus stand) as I stood on the street for the 38. Almost everyone inside whipped out their cellphones to tell their next of kin that it was raining. But not for long.

Today was a very different story. I spent the morning cooking for Shabbos with the door to our courtyard wide open so I could enjoy the cooling autumn air. It began with a rustling sound, something made me thing an animal was scurrying around in the potted plants...and then I realized it was GESHEM!

It rained all afternoon, a long refreshing soaking, exactly the kind we pray for. And it's predicted to rain for another four days.

Thanks Ya'll~ Keep up the good work!

Shabbat Shalom,
Renee and David

Praying for Rain

2009-10-01T11:51:00.003+02:00

B”H

13 Tishre 5770

October 1, 2009

Dear Friends and Family,

This Yom Tov season marks our third in Eretz Yisrael. At the end of this third year, we will no longer be “olim chadashim,” new immigrants. Our benefits will be mostly over and we will be counted among the “vatikim,” or old-timers. They say that you are ready to be vatikim when you can help the olim chadashim become more settled. This summer we had the awesome opportunity to see 500 families make aliya and help just a few of them.

As we begin this third time around the cycle of Holidays here, we notice that we no longer have to make mistakes in order to figure out the nuances of what to do, and what to avoid at this time of year. Three times in Judaism means a “chazaka,” a strengthening, or an acceptance of the status quo. Our roots are taking hold and we do feel stronger. We are finally beginning to feel that life here is normal; we are feeling settled. And that in and of itself, is a bit unsettling.

It’s been a long time since we have had this settled feeling so it’s a strange one for us.

Six years ago we set/announced our aliya date and change became our constant buddy. Changes in ourselves and changes in others. After the initial flurry of excitement from our friends and premature requests for lift space, the weight of the decision altered the way we perceived just about everything.

We stopped buying anything we could not use up or bring to Israel. Dry clean clothing was no longer attractive, electronics would need adapters before their usefulness was up, decorative items were surplus, and useful items were ones that served more than one purpose. We hung on to our cars way past their prime. And we hung on to our dearest friends for their support and love as we felt ourselves move from the center of community life.

Our move from Breezy Lane involved divestiture of massive amounts of the familiar items from decades of our shared lives: dishes, plants, art, books, tools, toys, clothes, furniture, knick-knaks, memorabilia, private letters, notes, preschooler drawings and other treasures.

It was traumatic to rid ourselves of the perceived permanence of our lives. And that is exactly why feeling settled again feels so unsettling.

All those “things” we got rid of do not mean a thing when we look up at the crystal blue sky on a weekday morning or watch it turn a majestic sapphire as the Shabbos melts away at dusk. We feel very small, and yet because we sit on a bench in Jerusalem in the year 5770, somehow we also feel mightily significant in the eternal play of history.

It is not that we are living in the most disputed piece of real estate on the planet or that constant awareness of the hovering threat of our decimation by Iran. Most of us are more concerned that we will have rain this year. With good reason. We need an substantial rainy season that will put an end to the drought we are suffering.

Now that Sukkos is knocking at the door to our safe, protected homes, we’ll move out under that crystal sky. When we leave the sukkah, we’ll pray for the rain to fall at the most beneficial times. And in the most beneficial places. And in the most beneficial amounts.

Geshem, rain, means the physical world, the “things” that make us feel safe and secure. We need these things in order to eat, dress, sleep and live in dignity. But sometimes, when things fool us into believing the status quo will endure, it can be too much. Like too much rain, we drown in our stuff.

Last week the news, facebook and twitter-talk was all of ark-building, newly acquired basement swimming pools and impromptu dangerous dips in neighborhood creeks. There were terrible tragedies, too. Unsettling to say the least. Ruby arrived home on Wednesday via Atlanta and gave us a first hand report of the muddy roof-high water she saw flying over the city we called home for 30 years.

Now, our home in Jerusalem is a comfortable rented apartment with a few water problems that our landlords work diligently to protect us from. We recently signed our lease for a third year which again includes a “Moshiach Clause.” This means we’ll iy”H soon be reclaiming a Jewish home in the newly abandoned Muslim Quarter as the owners of our apartment will surely want to settle into their home as our people’s destiny unfolds here.

This clause keeps us from feeling fooled into believing the status quo will endure. And it keeps us aware that it’s not yet time for a Jew to feel settled.

I think living in a sukkah is a bit like living in Israel. Small space, delicious, simple foods, useful furniture, less dependence on material things and much, much more on the benevolence of Hashem. Like the sukkah, none of us will remain in our homes forever, but we can look forward to joining together in the great sukkah when our Moshiach Clause takes effect.

This year you can think of moving into your sukkah as a virtual aliya. Throughout the world, we Jews will all be in our sukkahs, but because we are one people--we’ll be together. And when we move back into our storm-worthy houses, please pray for rain. The good kind, the kind that will make us all able to come home soon.

Love,

David and Renee

Surviving Ulpan Boot Camp & Good Medicine

2009-08-09T12:02:00.007+03:00

B”H

16 Av 5769
August 6, 2009

In a couple of hours I will be catching the bus to meet David after his ulpan class. I have to go to have “our foot” x-rayed to see how it is healing. You see, I was walking out of the Old City three weeks ago to meet my Partner in Torah (so exciting, hopefully more about that later) and I turned my ankle, or so I thought.

But over the next couple of days the swelling got worse and my foot was quite the sight, black and blue with a little yellow thrown in for a disgusting touch of color. David went to the medical equipment gemach here in the Rova where we got to use a bit of our newly acquired Ivrit skills to communicate with the gracious non English speakers who run it. Tell them what you need, “gabaim”, leave a check for 18NIS and when we return them, they tear up the check. Keep for as long as you need them, but “refuah shelima.”

I have not spoken about the medical care here, because, B”H we have not needed so much of it. It’s such a timely topic nowadays with Obama’s Health Bill dominating the news. Here in Israel, we have found the medical care here to be thorough, efficient and provided with a capital C for care.

We signed up for Meuchedet, one of the four national insurance providers. They deduct about 450NIS per month from our bank account for the premium. My first encounter included some heart tests ordered because I had an erratic heart rate in America just before I left-I am sure it was stress and nerves about the big move. The tests all turned out normal, B”H.

Navigating the medical system was daunting then because it was unfamiliar and in a language we did not understand. First, I went to my local Meuchedet office, no appointment needed, and waited 15 minutes for the two people in front of me to see the doctor. I walked into her tiny office-consisting of a desk, examining table and small sink-separated from the main hall by only a curtain, to show her my EKG grids from the US. The doctor spoke no English but responded by printing out three papers with directions in Hebrew. I almost burst into tears. She was Russian-no patience with tears. So she took the papers, called the number on one of them and found an English speaker at the main Meuchedet clinic in Jerusalem who walked me through what I needed to do, including directions to get there.

So, the next day I showed up at what we call “Meuchedet HaTurim” on the corner of Jaffa Road and HaTurim for my EKG, pronounced “eh-keh-geh” here, and Holter monitor. I took the elevator to the directed floor and when the door opened I was facing a main desk. I handed my papers to the non-smiling attendant who asked me for –hold on folks-24 shekel, about $8.50 at the time. I was instructed to heder shemona, room 8, where I simply signed my name on a list on the door. The last time I did that was at the gym waiting for the treadmill.

The Meuchedet clinic and rooms have not been touched by the talents of any interior designer. The walls are bare, the floors industrial and black plastic chairs line the walls and halls. I sat for just a few minutes an Anglo woman called me into the small examining room. We told each other our 1-minute aliya stories then she told to lie down and take off my shoes. She efficiently hooked me up and soon sent me on my way, results in hand. Next was the Holter experience, much the same procedure, except I left the offices taped to a meter the size of a small Tehillim that would be my closest buddy for the next 24 hours. I also left with a pass for the metal detectors which as you know hover in front of every restaurant and mall, a genuine smile and a “good luck” from the doctor. Which kind of scared me, did she know something I did not know?

I had to go back two days later to return the monitor and get my results. The results were also entered into the Meuchedet system so that any doctor I visit will have access to the records. I got a recommendation for a wonderful South African physician in Har Nof. It a 20 minute cab ride or 45 minutes on the bus (50NIS vs. 5 on for the bus) each way. I’ll take the bus, thank you. He is worth the scenic trip.

To see Dr. N I needed an appointment. When I showed up, I was directed to the waiting room , also sparse, industrial but friendly feeling, with several people seated in those same black plastic chairs. When the next person entered, she asked us each the time of our appointment in Hebrew, which I though was odd. But everyone announced their time, and I went along-in English. Someone soon came out of the doctor’s door, leaving it ajar and one of my co-patients got up and entered. I soon realized the reason that the woman asked our appointment times was to know her spot in the line-up. No nurse calls you in to take your vitals and escort you to a room where you can wait alone for tens of minutes before seeing the doc.

Dr. N was running about 20 minutes late and when my turn came, I was greeted by a genteel slight man about my age who engaged in the friendly welcome-to-Israel-where-are-you-from-and-a bit-of Jewish-geography before proceeding to swipe my Meuchedet card and enter my entire medical history into the computer. He ordered an array of basic tests which would keep me busy for months. Each doctor I went to was much the same, Anglo, refined, kind and genuinely caring. Not that that is so different from my doctors in the US. Clearly they were less pressured here. I saw one world renowned doctor; it took months to get that appointment. As I was standing at the elevator to leave, I realized I had left my coat in his office. When I turned to go back I saw him running toward me, my coat in hand. Blew me away. Another doctor’s daughter lived in Atlanta for a year, teaching with Torah MiTzion.

My foot is getting better but it’s not a way to spend a summer sitting inside all day. When I am out, every Israeli feels he needs to know what's wrong with my foot. The bus driver makes people get out of the front seat for me. People offer their arm, ask if I need help and say “margisha tova,” feel better, all the time. I was waiting in line at a pharmacy when the customers made me sit and handled my entire transaction, then escorted me out with a roomfull of "refuah shelima”s. This mishap has forced me to converse in Hebrew with well meaning Israelis. And thanks to David, I am getting better at it.

David's summer revolves around Ulpan Morasha: he goes 5 hours a day 5 days a week and has hours of homework and review every day. I've learned a lot by reviewing with him, but he is really learning to speak this language.

Before I enrolled in my easy-going ulpan program, I went for 2 weeks to Ulpan Morasha. It felt like uplan boot camp. I kept asking myself, “I volunteered for this abuse?” The teachers are demanding and expect total submission. They do not explain, they just give over the material and refuse to answer questions. But this system is truly successful for many. You cannot miss a day; you cannot even daydream for one minute. Most can’t maintain the pace and the class is dwindling in size, David says its kind of like “Survivor Island.”

There are many non-Jews in the class, some who want to convert to Judaism and some missionaries who want to convert Jews. Most of the Jews are not observant. Needless to say, David in his black and white and growing beard gets lots of questions. One gentile man wore tzitzis and a baseball cap and kissed the mezuzah but wanted to pick and choose his mitzvos and didn’t care about the Noahide Laws. One girl considering conversion wanted to know where she could "buy a Talmud" so she could look all up those laws. A woman from Finland is in dance school here because she loves Israelis; she lives and volunteers at a Christian youth hostel near Jaffa Gate in the Old City. Another is a young olah learning at Nevey who ended up at our table one Friday night last spring.

As the class gets smaller, the committed students are forming close bonds. In fact we’ll be having an ulpan Shabbos dinner in a few weeks here when my foot is better.

Which I am happy to tell you since I went to the doctor today is on the road to recovery. I no longer am confined to crutches. Who knows, maybe I’ll even get into a real shoe soon, or a even a boot…no, I guess not.

L'habria v' t'vo-u habaiyta bkarov,
(Be well and come home soon)
Rena and David

another reason to love living here...

2009-07-28T12:02:00.010+03:00

Today was a yom iyun at Neve Yerushalayim. I heard the most
powerful speakers, and now I don't think I can ever speak
LH (loshen hara-gossip, slander, malicious or not)
again (yeah, right..oops, is that LH?)

A capsule of what I learned:

1-If you want to know whom you have decided to be,
listen to the words you decide to say.

2-The key to not speaking LH is
being an anav, a humble person.
Anava doesn't come from seeing how small we are.
Anava comes from seeing H's greatness, His greatness in others
and His greatness in ourselves.

3-Every Jewish neshama comes from the Kesei haKavod because
our purpose is to reveal the greatness of Hashem. We do this by
honoring what is important to Him. What is important to Hashem?
The greatness of every single Jew, including ourselves.

4-Abusing our speech, abuses our humanity. Learn the glory
of the power of speech. Use it to reveal our greatness.
Say kind words, use soft speech, make a sincere apology,
and create bonds with powerful, building statements.

We have a lot of work to do, but the good news is, we can do it!

I can be nothing less than incredibly grateful that learning on
such a level in the Place where we have clearer insights is
available to ME-it can only be zechus avos, that I am here.

Something to live up to. Please read Unburying & Rebuilding.
Go with your greatness.
May we merit to have Tisha B'Av become a Yom Tov this year.

Aliya Fantasy Camp Anyone?

2009-06-25T20:06:00.025+03:00

A letter to Yishai Fleischer of Israel National Radio
and kumah.org

Dear Yishai,

Hi, this is Fran. I was at your Kumah meeting in NY last year
when you talked about the "aliyah boat". I have another idea
for your listeners: I call it Fantasy Aliyah!

In the Jewish newspapers in NY they are advertising a Glatt
Kosher, Shomer Shabbat Fantasy *baseball *camp with one of the NY major league teams. I root for the OTHER NY team, but in any case I would not spend ridiculous sums of money to go do such a thing since being a baseball player is not
my fantasy.

However, I really wish I could make aliyah, but for personal
family reasons I am not yet in a position to do so. My husband
and I are working on a longer term plan, but meanwhile we

are bringing the family to Israel this summer.

Instead of vacationing in the expensive tourist bubble of
four or five star Hotels and fancy tours, I planned a trip
where we are renting a house for three weeks in a community
we would consider living in where we have some friends. We
will be attending an unveiling ceremony, and also a wedding.
We will visit friends,do some fun things for sure. Most important is that I want to learn to ride the buses, the train, shop in the supermarket, shop at the mall, visit the community pool, the library and practice my Hebrew. I may even rent a car and try driving in Israel (scary thought!)

At first I was calling this my pre pre pilot trip, but now I am
calling it Fantasy Aliyah! For three weeks I'm going to imagine that I'm really an olah chadasha! My daughter
even picked up an NBN hat for me at the salute to Israel parade!

I'm hoping that this will be a good experience, and make the
idea of aliyah less scary. I'm hoping that I will get more
comfortable with being in Israel, and that one day G-d
willing we can make aliyah for real.

Meanwhile "Fantasy Camp" in Israel, is better than not
coming at all! We hope to turn our Fantasy into reality some
day soon.

You may read this email on air as an idea for your listeners,
and I hope to visit Beit El and all my radio friends at INR.

Fran

12 Invitations

2009-06-18T09:13:00.006+03:00

B”H

26 Sivan 5769
June 18, 2009

Dear Friends and Family,

It’s that time again, for the annual “12 to 12.” Nefesh B'Nefesh requested that every Oleh compose a list of 12 things we appreciate and love about living in Israel and email our message to 12 friends abroad. It’s a tikkun for the sin of the spies we read in Parsha Shelach. In the past, we sent out “12+1” and “12 to 120” and this year, “12 Invitations.” Let’s make an extra effort this week not to say anything that could possibly be construed as negative about the Land. (there’s a lot of Hebrew in this one, so I put a glossary at the end)

In Israel, we read parsha Shelach last Shabbos because your 2nd day Shavous was a “regular” Shabbos for us. Which of course brings me to one of the nicest things people tout for living here:

1) No 2-day Yom tov. I had no idea how special that could be until

we lived it. All the energy of the yom tov condensed and distilled into one 25-hour oasis, crystallizes the magnificence of the holy day.

And so it is with all the holidays-
2) The entire country regardless of custom or level of observance shares the chag. For secular Israelis Shavuos may be a day off --for basking in the sun, and for Chassidim a day on-- for dressing in the most regal of clothing and basking in the countenance of their Rebbe. For those in our realm, it’s like Shabbos with a different aroma. I don’t mean cheese and butter; there is richness to the very air. We hear singing all day in the Old City alleyways. The yeshivas are spending their last chag together; the boys hang on to every sweet morsel of the experience. The seminary girls who come to us in droves, B”H talk about all they learned and David and I comment on how they have matured into fine young women ready to begin a new generation of Kl’al Yisrael, b’esras Hashem. We bless them that the will return soon with their husbands and establish their homes here. (amen)

3) Tourist Season. The kids are mostly gone now, and every week in the summer months friends and acquaintances from Atlanta and kiruv group participants are booked for meals at our Shabbos table. It’s really something to look forward to as these visitors always energize us. They readily share their week of life changing experiences and insights over the meal. It’s delicious.

4) Days of simcha and days of mourning express themselves fully here. Beginning soon with the fast of the 17th of Tammuz, the Jerusalem air each day will feel emptier and emptier until by the 9th of Av there will seem be no air at all to breathe. The stones seem harder, the sun harsher, the loss even greater.

And then-- it is Shabbos Nachamu- last year at the Kotel on Shabbos Nachamu morning just after the Torah reading, I heard the voice of a frightened little boy. He pierced the cool morning air with a longing wail, “ aba-aba!” I turned to see the almost 3-year-old in his tiny vest and Shabbos pants, shiny shoes and un-cut hair tied into a flowing pony tail, looking utterly lost and alone. Just then, his mother scooped him into her arms and held him close until his sobbing subsided. And the haftorah began: Nachamu, nachamu ami----

5) Then, the country goes on vacation together and there is an astounding abundance of natural beauty to visit during the weeks of comfort called “chufsha, ” “bein hazmanim,” a.k.a., vacation. Israelis go to zimmers (cottages) in the cool mountains and valleys of the North, camping along the sapphire Mediterranean and on tiyuim (trips) to the craters in the sparse dessert or to lush wineries throughout the country, or on adventures like caving, rappelling, biking, rafting and hiking. Yeshivas close, run a less rigorous program and some move out of the city for a refreshing change of pace in preparation for Elul.

6) Elul is very, very serious here. Shiurim take on an urgent tone and pop up everywhere, every day, every night. We work in earnest to prepare for the awesome days soon upon us. Slichos begins at dawn for Sephardim and the shofar blows all morning throughout the Land. Buses to Rachel’s Tomb and Hevron are full, we give tzedeka to the collectors a bit more freely and we bite our tongue a bit more often. It’s also a sweet time. The kids are back. Israeli teachers fill the Kotel Elul mornings with hundreds of young students in identical pastel shirts and dark pleated skirts, or children capped in brightly colored kippot, wearing shorts and flying tzitzit. Yeshiva boys announce themselves in great song on Friday nights. Throughout the week, new American seminary students giggle in groups in the plaza in and shed sincere tears in solitary prayer at the wall.

7) Even the gashmius side of life here takes on a yom tov aura. In America, Labor day sales are emptying the stores of summer clothing, but in Israel we will wear white into October. Hat store windows display 17 different styles; only white in Elul. All along Jaffa Road you can buy flowing skirts and men’s three piece suits in pure white. Deep into usually “black” Geula, women shop for tailored outfits and children’s dresses as white as clouds.

And on the streets and in the malls and at the shuk you have no doubt that any yom tov is on her way. Sefarim stores fill their shelves with recent publications and reliable classics written to inspire deeper insights into the holiday at hand. Relevant machzorim pile on tables in front of the stores on crowded sidewalks. In Elul, honey bottles, bears and jars are everywhere. Tablecloths fly out the doors of linen shops. The silver stores clean their windows--just as we work to clean our souls, so their polished wares gleam in the sun.

8) Every Jew directs their prayer towards Israel and Jerusalem.
When the Awesome Days finally arrive, we find ourselves standing on the front lines of prayer. Do we feel fully worthy? Not at all. However, we know that we are backed by you, holy Jews around the globe begging for mercy, heeding the shofar, honoring the King, longing to come home.

9) The Yom Kippur fast ends early and the hammering begins…
Our fast is over somewhere around 6:30 and immediately after a light meal, we begin to hear hammer on nails, planks banging and metal bars clanging. Store fronts turn into lulav and esrog stands overnight, sidewalks and mall kiosks overflow with sukkah decorations and Simchas Torah flags. Before we know it we’ve moved outside for a week of delight in the cool fall air, sleeping near our snoring neighbors under a blanket of Jerusalem stars.

10) With the chill of winter comes donut season! Beginning on the 1st of Cheshvan, it lasts all the way until the 8th night of Chanukah. After that, you’ll rarely see (or want to see) another fried pastry until the next Cheshvan. During Chanukah schools get off early and work understands that you’ll be leaving by 3. Everyone, and I mean everyone, lights menorahs. We walk around different neighborhoods to enjoy the simple flames outside the doors or twinkling in the windows in every apartment on every story. Everywhere.

11) The almond trees blossom to announce that Tu b’Shevat is here-- and then on 1 Adar Purim “begins.” Kids pile off the buses in costume and hamentashen pop up in places which just a few months ago hawked varieties of doughnuts, and before that sold esrogim and lulavim. The Breslovers drive around in Adar with huge speakers attached to the roofs of cars with bungee cords. You just can’t help but smile and put a little bounce in your step when you hear their music and see their joy. This national simcha escalates for 2 weeks and then, the party begins! And for those who didn’t get enough to drink on Purim day-you can always head to Jerusalem for Shushan Purim. Now that’s a 2-day holiday many people go for!

12) Pesach: While it’s great that entire stores go kosher for Passover, it’s even better that any number of rabbis are available 24/7 for the multitude of shailas that come up several times each day. We love how once it is Chol Hamoed, everyone is finally relaxed and ready for the concerts each evening and fireworks after sunset. Every town and moshav has its festival, some with magicians, musicians or clowns or balloon sculptors, maybe art displays, special tours and tiyulim.

But I think the very best part of Pesach is that one pure Seder. The one that ends just like yours does: “Next year in Yerushalayim.”

So come home soon.

Love,
David & Rena

We are so excited IY”H to welcome our dear friends, Moshe, Caryn, Tova, Chaim, Yael, Shira, Shalom Tzvi and Gila Oberman as olim chadashim (new arrivals on aliya) next week! May they have only an ayin tova (see good) about the Land and may their yishuv (settling in) be easy.

Aba-father
b’esras Hashem, G-d willing
chag, yom tov-holiday
Chol Hamoed- interim days of Passover and Sukkos
Gashmius-material
Haftorah-a section of the Book of Prophets read after the Torah portion on Shabbos
Kiruv-outreach
Kl’al Yisrael-the Jewish people
Lulav, esrog, sukkah-used on the holiday of Sukkos
Machzorim-holiday prayer books
Moshav-village
Parsha-Torah portion
Sefarim-books
Sephardim-Jews of Middle Eastern and Spanish descent
Shiurim-Torah classes
Shabbos Nachamu-the Sabbath of comfort following our day of national mourning
Shailas-questions about Jewish law
Shushan Purim-the day Purim is observed in walled cities such as Jerusalem
Simcha-happiness
Simchas Torah-last day of Sukkos
Slichos-prayers of repentance
Tammuz, Av, Elul, Cheshvan, Shevat, Adar-Hebrew Months
Tikkun-rectification
Tzedeka-charity
Yeshiva-boys’ school

The Day the Pope Stole Lag b'Omer

2009-05-12T14:57:00.006+03:00

B”H

18th Iyar 5769
33rd day of the Omer
May 12, 2008

Dear Friends and Family,

Yesterday afternoon I left the Old City at one to meet David for the a slice of what I think is absolutely the world’s best pizza at Big Apple on Jaffa Road before running a few errands. This left me plenty of time to get to ulpan by four. Or so I thought.

By 3:30 I was walking up Keren haYesod when the city suddenly came to a standstill. Giant empty tour buses parked sideways across the main streets to block traffic. A barricade manned by half a dozen police officers stopped me and a dozen pedestrians in front of the King’s Hotel. Some of us siphoned off to side streets. I joined scores of others and tried a back way to my destination but the end of every street single street I tried was blocked and when I tried to backtrack, they had sealed those streets too.

I was late, lost, hot and thirsty in Rehavia and had no where to go. But it was worse for others who could not leave their homes for miles and parents who could not get home to their families for hours. Police manned barriers at hundreds of intersections and tiny cross streets all around the center of town. An alive Jerusalem of the early afternoon, in just a few moments transformed into a ghost town, not a civilian in sight.

Police and soldiers stood every 20 meters in the sunshine. Cafes emptied. Helicopters hovered, their oppressive guttural “whop-whop-whop” obliterating the sounds of daily life. Sirens asserted loud whines. Sounds like a siege, doesn’t it? It certainly felt like it, too.

Today is Lag b’Omer; it’s supposed to be one very happy day-of song in the golden air, of holiday of picnics, weddings and joyful prayer. But we in Yerushalyim will be under siege again. Buses to Meron will be shy of passengers who cannot get to the terminals. Guests will miss attending the wedding of friends and family, disappointing many a chosson and kallah on their happiest day. Thousands of Jerusalem residents will not be able leave their homes with the simple comfort that they will be able to return at an appointed time. Children will be stuck at school, planes will be missed, G-d forbid everyday emergency care could be hindered.

This morning Jews cannot even go to our holiest site, as the Kotel is shut down for the visit of “his holiness” and we cannot even get a glimpse because every visual access is blocked too. All those people trying to have the segula (“treasure” that brings a salvation) to pray 40 consecutive days at the Kotel may have to begin again. Regular minyanim and tehillim groups will be disrupted, too. I just spoke with a woman who said she waited 30 years to pray at the Kotel today. Rabbi Gold said that in 28 years he has never seen this kind of clamp on our freedom.

What would it be if we Jews could have a religious figure (l’havdil) that we so universally respect. Maybe this is why Hashem is allowing the Pope to steal Lag B’Omer.

My friend Feigel pointed out that today is the day we remember Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai who was forbidden to teach Torah-- by whom? Rome. Who sentenced him to death? Rome. How did most of Rabbi Akiva’s 24,000 talmidim die? In the rebellion against Rome. Who tortured and killed Rabbi Akiva? Rome.

Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Shimon bar Yocahi made no secret of their abhorrence for the Roman occupation of Eretz Yisrael and put themselves in grave danger by their refusal to buckle to the demands of the world power at the time. Today in 2009, Rome has taken over Jerusalem. Frightening.

If only we also could learn to say “No” to Rome, its influence, its immorality, its selfishness and say “Yes” to Torah. “No” to their demand to take our Land. “Yes” to our people’s desire to live in peace on our Land.

When the Jewish world united around one leader and Rabbi Akiva’s 24,000 scholar-warriors. Rome was threatened. We held Jerusalem in our hands, it looked like Bar Kochba was bringing the final geula. But we erred in our mission and the result was devastating beyond belief. Neither we nor Rome have recovered.

Rabbi Akiva lost his students because they did not observe the mitzvah of “loving your neighbor like yourself “to the highest of their capability. Rabbi Akiva stated this was a major tenet in the Torah because without unity, we cannot learn or disseminate its truth, let alone live it.

Even though we have the first fighting force in 2000 years to protect us-our leadership does not know their Torah. Even though the West, with its roots in the ancient Roman empire, are today’s world leaders-our growing physical strength threatens them. They tighten the clamp and we have no backbone of Torah to resist.

Like everything Jewish, there is another extreme. In the darkness of those times there was a spark of hope. One of the Rabbi’s students, Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai not only survived, but revealed a great light of the future redemption hidden in the Zohar. Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai teaches us that there is always, always hope.

The day of Lag B’Omer is just beginning for you. So many of us in Yerushalyim cannot get out and be among our people in the same way you can today. So, please do it for us. Love each other, play with each other and learn with each other. Give tzedeka. Eat and dance and pray. Together.

May we soon celebrate our release from the suffocating clamp of Rome -and from our own limitations -which hide our greatness.

Come Home Soon-
Light a fire.
Renee & David

Birkat haChama in Yerushalayim

2009-04-08T09:43:00.012+03:00

BS”D

Erev Pesach 5769

The excitement built all day yesterday in Jerusalem...”where will you be tomorrow?” “do you know of a good rooftop?” “ I heard Rabbi Eliyashav, shilta, will be at the Kotel.” “ 28 years ago I was.../I heard.../I couldn’t imagine ever being this old....” “What time are you getting up?” “I hope it won’t be cloudy.”

Birchat haChama. It brought a smile of anticipation and gratitude to all our faces.

Late last night kids began arriving at our apartment to sleep so that they could get up early and be at the Kotel for the first in their lifetime (and may there be several more) opportunity for this mitzvah. At 5 a.m. we gathered in the kitchen for coffee before joining the streams of fellow Jews softly filling the Jewish Quarter streets-sharing excitement, yet each going our separate ways to find our own perfect place from where we would eventually all praise our Creator in the best possible way we could-together.

By the time I joined my friend Star on her rooftop in the chilly dark morning, the davening had begun. We said “amen” and “y’hey..” to the minyan on a balcony behind us and to the loudspeaker from the Kotel in front of us. To the right Rabbi Aaron of Israelight led his services and guitars strummed sweetly. Above on the left several minyanim stood and swayed, some Breslovers danced a few steps down as they prayed.

The skies lightened, becoming a golden rose. ~Shema~ The cold stones responded with a warm glow. ~Shemona Esrei~ And our hearts rose with the sun ~Kedusha~as she peered from her hiding place behind Har haZeytzim –lining up with the exact same Yom Revii of five thousand seven hundred and sixty nine years ago—the very first morning. Ever.

Loudly, clearly from behind and before us: ~Baruch ata...osay maasay bereshit (s) ;)~

I prayed a fervent prayer that on the next Birkat HaChama we will-every single one of us-say it from Jerusalem’s rooftops, stairways and balconies and from her hilltops, valleys and fields. From Haifa, Sederot and Neve Dekalim. From our kibbutzim, moshavim and our cities. Each from our own perfect place, here in our own Land where we will praise our Creator in the best possible way-together.

We wish you all a wonderful Pesach, a Chag kasher v’samayech.
Let this be the last time we say “Next year in Yerushalayim.”(translation: Come home soon)

Love,
David and Rena

Be The Yearning Remnant

2009-03-27T07:52:00.013+03:00

B”H

Rosh Chodesh Nissan 5759
March 26, 2009

Dear Friends and Family,

We did not plan on coming home this way, but we were glad it worked out that we landed in Eretz Yisrael last night on an El Al flight, instead of on Delta as we had booked. Tuesday night we arrived at Hartsfield Atlanta and learned that our direct flight was extremely oversold. We could each receive a $400 voucher if we volunteered to be routed through London and arrive home 4 hours later than we’d planned. So I thought about it as David made the tenth man for a waiting maariv minyan. Hmmm, a bit of a hassle, but with family in America and budgets tighter than ever, this offer could be a gift; when I met back up with David, he agreed. And soon we boarded the Delta to London to spend the night with some of the most well behaved passengers I have ever seen. Those Brits stayed buckled when the sign was lit, made way for flight attendants in the aisles, cooed over quiet smiling babies, and conversed with one another in delightful accents.

After our three hour layover at Heathrow, we cleared security and found ourselves huddled en masse at the ElAl gate with hundreds of Israelis headed home for Pesach. The crowd was merging towards just 2 agents taking boarding passes, and funneling into one walkway toward the 747’s door. No “zone” boarding, no long thin lines, but no pushing or jostling either. And while babies cried throughout the trip and the “fasten seat belt sign” was largely ignored; the poor flight attendants were cheerful in spite of passengers blocking the aisles and the accents were, mamash, the best in the world. As we approached Ben Gurion, I peered past a young man with tears in his eyes to see the glow of lights marking the shoreline of our Eretz Yisrael.

The landing was like a kiss. And of course, because it was ElAl, we clapped.

I cannot tell you how good it is to be home. The purpose of our trip was the marriage of our precious daughter to her true bashert. We are so grateful that we merited this simcha, that her new family is so gracious, and that many of our friends and family were in attendance. I can tell you that in our entire lives, we have felt no greater happiness than this.

But days have rivaled it. Like the glorious day of our own wedding, and each of the sweet transcendent days our daughters were born, and the day we, with tears in our eyes, peered out the window of another ElAl jet to see the approaching shoreline of our Eretz Yisrael. The day we made aliya.

I can honestly say our aliya has impacted our lives and changed us for the better as much as our marriage and parenthood have. These are the milestones in life we Jews are designed for. These are what we yearn for, prepare for, pray for and cry over. And yes, we yearned to be here, prepared and prayed and cried for it. Just as we knew the Almighty preordained that David and Renee would marry and chose just these two perfect daughters for us, we knew He was also inviting us, beckoning us, yearning for us to come home.

He beckons us all. I’ve heard it said that it is a mitzvah to live here just as much as it is a mitzvah to wear tzitzit. Surely tzitzit doesn’t involve the complications that the upheaval of aliya does. So I cannot help but wonder, why this analogy? It is because tzitzit, detached from a four cornered garment, are just knots and strings? And what are we--when detached from Eretz Yisrael?

In these letters, I’ve tried to relate how spiritually enhancing living here can be-where every mundane day, adventure and mishap, detour and encounter can feel Divinely crafted just for each of us on a level that cannot be compared to when living in America. And on top of that, the geula (world upheaval leading to Moshiach, rebuilding of the Temple, the ingathering of the Exiles, World Peace...) feels imminent here. We are excited but worried. There are still Jews, our friends and family, living in the four corners of the world-and time is running out.

I’ve heard that if you yearn, really yearn with your whole heart, then you can be counted among those who are here. For the first time in 2000 years, 3,000,000 Jews have the option to come. But most do not, nor do they even yearn to live here or to visit or have their children live here. Even among “Torah Jews” like us. Why is that? I cannot judge, it is not possible for many, I know. But for so many others, it is possible and possibly even comfortable. Goodness knows, we have decent tuna fish, VOIP and wholesome neighborhoods. We do have less money, less affluence, and less crime, and more freedom.

Freedom will be the prevailing topic in two weeks when we will iy”H sit at the Pesach seder and read the Haggadah. Don’t you often wonder why 4/5ths of our people did not merit freedom? Why they did not see the signs of the imminent destruction of Egypt as they knew it? Signs so clearly from the hand of G-d-- did they explain them away as natural disasters? Did they just get used to the immorality, the violence and the loss of personal autonomy? We descend from those who did see, who could no longer bear the burdens. They cried out to Hashem and He was waiting. He brought a yearning remnant to receive His Torah and to be His holy nation. This was a nation ready to inherit the Land.

Living here has it’s challenges. I cried all morning after we saw the new couple off to Baltimore following sheva brachos in Atlanta. I do not know when we will see them again. I will miss sharing an occasional Shabbos with them and a common time zone to make calling easier. It’s true, we chose to leave our family and friends, the familiar and easy. Even though it was our choice, I still ache each and every time someone innocently asks if all of our children will be with us for Pesach.

Of course I want our children here, but they have to want it, too. I confess that I write because I hope everyone who reads this will hunger for home. And if these letters serve to feed your innate yearning, then they have also served their purpose. Yearn they way a mother yearns for her child. Yearn until tears fill your eyes and you cry out to your Father. Because if your heart is really, really here, then- when the blink of an eye moment that has been building for all of eternity finally does come, then- Hashem will count you among the ones He already brought out. And besrat H” He will bring you out, too. Maybe even sooner.

At the end of our single seder, footsteps from the waiting Temple Mount, we will still say “Next Year in Yerushalayim,” even here. Because without you, our family is not complete. So I will continue to yearn that you-every single one of you- will also yearn to come home soon.

Chag Pesach Kasher V'Sameach.

Love,
Renee and David

My Strength-words from a soldier

2009-01-30T14:56:00.007+02:00

I have felt weakness. I have felt my supposedly mighty muscles shudder, felt my devastatingly powerful weapon shake in my hands, felt my heart hammer against my armor, felt my soul and mind search for some way to avoid pain and the nightmares that were becoming real.

I felt strength. I would have been lost, but for the words of my Rebbe. "Ein od Milvado" There is no one but Him. The mere utterance strengthened limbs, and a surge of faith and hope carried me through the invasion, through the detonations and whistling of ricocheting rounds and falling bombs. For I knew, for once KNEW and understood absolutely that I was in the hands of the greatest general on earth....

My strength lay in the thousands of people who prayed for me, who prayed for the wellbeing of the army, who cried for the return of the fragile and precious Jewish youth who fought like lions where men twice there age would have fled. You are the reason we returned. You are the reason I am alive. You, the people who pray and cry and feel you are not the front lines, are truly the army of Hashem. The IDF, as people should see, is merely the physical arm of what your prayers accomplish. You are the ones in the battle. We are the holding action, delaying the physical evil while you battle to clear the path for Moshiach. Never again will I feel a yeshiva student who learns all day is not brave for not being with us on this field. Because I watched the words and letters that he learned and prayed march ahead of us, thousands deep, and millions strong, absorbing the bullets and metal meant for me. I thank you, humbly, warriors of my heart and faith. You let me come home to my wife....

I have seen this people, my people, at its best and at its worst. I can see why Redemption will come soon. As a nation, we drew together. Disunity, differences in Kippot or sects fell away, and everyone reached out to help as best they could. No one said, "I have no part" or "This isn't my war". May Hashem see the greatness of His holy, beautiful people, and allow me to sing that old song to my child, with absolute truth and great joy: "I promise, my little one, that this is the last war."

Joshua Eastman made aliyah from Baltimore in 2005. He met his wife, Chana, on a trip back to Baltimore; and the two of them live in Givat Ze'ev. Joshua is currently a full-time soldier in the Golani Brigade of the Israel Defense Forces. When he can get near a computer, he blogs about his life in Israel at "Through Josh-Colored Glasses," http://hashkeofthedevonshire.blogspot.com/.

Josh's mom writes from http://rutimizrachi.blogspot.com/

Enough-by Gila Kanal Zarbiv

2009-01-20T13:02:00.010+02:00

Enough.

I am tired of turning on the news and seeing them talk about Israel's disproportionate attacks.
Where were they when Kasam after Kasam landed on Sderot?
Where were they when we pulled out of Gaza to give the Palestinians their chance to have change?
Where were they when the Israeli army went door to door seeking out terrorists and risking THEIR lives to save the lives of innocent civilians?
Where were they when Israel stood by since 2001 and let Kasams kill innocent Israelis and DID NOTHING!?
Where have they been?!

How dare anyone make this anything other than it really is: Israel defending her people, her nation, and her homeland. It is not a revelation that Israel has not lost a war since her existence. Its a necessity! When we lose a war we will lose our homeland. There is nowhere for us to surrender to! We are surrounded by countries that hate Israel and the Jewish people and would like nothing better than to push us into the sea. If we give them that chance, we will drown.
So now, Jewish world, as you sit back and watch your brothers fight for you and your family die for you, I beg you to fight back! Challenge this close minded, one sided, media bias that we see every day.

Enough is enough! I dare one of those reporters to come to Sderot, or Ashkelon, or Be'er Sheva and survive one night. I dare them to walk through the streets, hear the sirens, fall to their knees, and hold their breaths for 15 seconds as a Kasam wails overhead. I dare them to hear the voice "Code Red, Code Red" and wonder, is this the end? Is this going to be the rocket that lands on me? Am I going to be the next statistic on CNN?

How many times do we hear "only one killed in Sderot" and breathe a sigh of relief. "Only one." Close your eyes and imagine your wife, your husband, daughter, son, brother, sister, boyfriend, girlfriend, father, or mother were that "only one." It's OK. It was just one. Stop whining...

Enough.

I am intensely saddened when I see the pictures of the innocent Palestinian children who are caught up in the cross fire. I am intensely infuriated when their deaths are blamed on Israel. Israel did not ask for this war. Israel did not want this war. Israel did not choose this war. Israel was attacked. Since her very existence she has been attacked. Be it on her buses, her streets, her homes, and her cities.

Let us be very clear. Israel is not randomly attacking Gaza. Israel is responding to the HUNDREDS of rocket attacks that have landed on her soil that have SPECIFICALLY targeted civilians and civilian homes. Israel is responding by bombing SPECIFIC Hamas locations and killing 400 people, 90% of whom are Hamas operatives.

Disproportionate? Hamas kills men, women, and children. Israel kills terrorists.

Disproportionate?

ENOUGH!!

This war, in my opinion, is too late. Israel should have stood up years ago when the first rocket fell.

How ridiculous is it to imagine that after Sept 11th America would have done nothing in response. How dare America start a war! Its disproportionate. All that happened was three measly planes hit three measly buildings! What right do they have to go fight an entire country?! What justification do they have?

The Arabs think they can fight us? They think they are up to our level of standards? Well kol yisrael arevim zeh lazeh. We Jews are all connected. Take a lesson Arabs. Wake up. You want justice? You want peace? You want equality? Then deserve it! You alone are responsible for the actions of your people and your nation. There is a virus growing in your own people and it is spreading to your children and grandchildren. Stop it!

Enough!

How dare anyone blame this war on Israel. It is time the world practiced what they preached. It is time they live up to their own standards. The next time someone comes to attack THEIR children, I want a completely proportional response. I want them to stop and calculate. Remember, it isn't about saving the lives of your family. It's about making sure that the world approves and will not condemn your actions. Be careful, because apparently in their eyes, all people are not created equal... They can attack us because they are "terrorists" and that's what terrorists do. We cannot fight back because they are cowering behind the backs of 3 year old children.

Enough.

I will not stand silently by watching my family be attacked night and day. I will not sit and wait for the bombs to fall. I will rise and defend my husband, children, and nation by whatever means, doing whatever it takes. Wouldn't you?

Disproportionate?

How dare they.

Enough.

We are very close to Gila's wonderful family. Gila (Kanal) Zarbiv volunteered a couple of summers ago in an ambulance in Sderot. She has experienced the terror of rockets falling around her, and wrote about that terror and fear here:"gila writes" where I also found this post.

In Everything We Do

2009-01-13T20:34:00.006+02:00

Our family is worried about us. Friends too, even random people: an insurance agent, our broker, and the AT&T customer service rep to whom we have spoken in America in the past few weeks are worried. You ask how we are managing, what we see in Jerusalem of the war, and what people are saying, thinking and feeling. To tell you the truth, on the surface life has not changed much.

On Shabbos Chanukah as we sat down to our meal at about 11:30 AM, we did hear something unusual: jets flying over the Old City.

We are off the flight track for most aircraft, so we commented to our guests from America-our daughter and her soon to be chosson!-that it was strange to hear. And the talk moved on to more pertinent things.

Motzi Shabbos, as is our custom, we flipped up our laptops. There it was: we were at war. Well, finally. How much longer was our government going to allow primitive but deadly missiles to destroy normal life in towns, on moshavim and kibbutzim?? You’ve heard it all, I am not going over the situation again as so many have done it already and better than me.

As far as our lives are concerned, we go about our routines. Davening, learning, ulpan, shopping, working, eating, sleeping as we always have. Weekday, Shabbos, back to the week.

Just below the surface however, thoughts of the war-or rather the kids serving in it, seep into everything we do. In the makolet (market) there is a bin by the register where we can place a little something extra that we buy for the soldiers. A neighbor collects homemade goodies, notes, socks and money for them. A cab driver who came here decades ago from Kurdistan told me about his son serving there, and on the bus a mother told me that her son had not been sent, but he wants to be there. A Birthright student at our home last Shabbos, told us how the color drained from the face of the chayal (soldier) assigned to her group when he was called up. These boys are always with us.

Out and about in the city, especially at night, the crowds are noticeably thinner as Hamas threatens to retaliate in our malls and cafes. The seminaries and yeshivos are limiting the travel of their students. I imagine adults as well, are keeping close to home and internet. The only increased presence is in the number of security guards. Cars coming through Jaffa Gate are scrutinized. On Ben Yehuda and in town, we see many more guards or “bitachon.” Bitachon is what they call the security detail here; bitachon also means “trust.”

The bitachon stand on the streets and at intersections, they ride on buses, check our bags in the doorways, and are probably posted on rooftops and monitoring surveillance screens. They will thwart the attempts of those who are dying to kill us, but even the bitachon cannot always keep us safe. So we place our ultimate trust in HaKodesh Boruch Hu, who is there in the street with us, riding with us, monitoring our every move as well as our enemy’s. It takes a lot of bitachon to live here.

Our ulpan teacher, Ruti tells that her brother has a lot of bitachon. He and his family been have spending many hours in bomb shelters. They live in Beer Sheva which has been the recipient of recent Hamas attacks. When one of my ulpan classmates used our new word “mefached” (afraid) in a sentence referring to the Jews in the South, Ruti was quick to tell us that her brother was not mefached. No-he has bitachon, she said. He and his wife run for the bomb shelter holding their precious children, but he sincerely relies only on the great kindness of the Almighty for the safety of his family.

The war trickles into our conversation in ulpan and Ruti uses these current events and the history of Israel as a teaching tool. The news we know, does not unequivocally get across to the world the situation here and this frustrates many students. Ruti says, quoting Ben Gurion: “Lo chashuv mah et choshvot hagoyim, mah chashuv mah osim haYehudim: It’s not important what the nations think, what is important is what the Jewish people do.”

In everything we do, thoughts of the chayalim seep into our hearts and minds. Every morning when we wake, we pray for them and learn for them, we shop for them, we are more considerate of fellow workers in their merit, we talk of them at our meals, say brachos with more kavana (intent) and say a prayer for them as we lay our heads on our soft pillows in our warm homes every night.

Gaza is not so far away from us and these boys are never far from our hearts. We breathe the same holy air and see the same piercing blue canopy above. I do not think that the Jerusalem sky has ever been bluer than since this war began. And on the days when the sky is not blue, it’s been raining. The kind of slow, generous soaking rain that seeps far below the surface and ensures another year of life. The kind of rain we pray for. The kind of rain that builds our bitachon. The rain of bracha.

May the great kindness of Almighty protect every one of our soldiers and civilians in the line of fire. May He send us rains of bracha and endow us with yet another year of life here, secure in the Land He promised to us. And may every one of our chayalim-and you, too- safely come home soon.
-Renee & David

Written by Rebbetzin Holly Pavlov about the soul stirring Pidyon haBen of the son of Gaby & IDF Commando Ariel (Orion) Siegelman:

2009-01-13T00:20:00.009+02:00

Ariel hails from Atlanta-his words touch the Nation of Israel.

Yesterday was the Pidyon Haben of the son of our former student Gaby and Ariel Siegelman. It was very special, as is each and every simcha. Yet, there was something particularly poignant here.

The father of the baby is a commando in the Israel Defense Forces. He is currently training for a mission in Gaza, and is supposed to enter the strip later this week. He came in his uniform, being allowed only a few hours to get from Gaza to Jerusalem and back again.

In fact, his commanding officer did not want to allow him to go, saying that it was impossible to travel back and forth without a car. Do the Pidyon in absentia urged the commander. Not to be deterred, Ariel immediately stopped another soldier, a stranger, and asked if he had a car on base. When the soldier responded in the affirmative, Ariel explained his situation, and shortly after, he was driving to Jerusalem in the car of a fellow Jew and soldier; a stranger, yet a brother.

Miraculously, Ariel was at his son's Pidyon. He spoke, urging his guests to learn Torah with all their strength. "You are the commandos in the Beis Midrash" He described how difficult the fight is at the front, how cold, how exhausting, how frightening, and he exhorted the community to push themselves in Torah learning like soldiers on the battlefield. "We are doing our job for you, you must do your job for us", he said.

We were all awed by his words, his bitachon and courage. He said; "When you are tired, too tired to get up for minyan, or when you are unable to focus in the Beis Midrash, please think of us soldiers, who push ourselves to get up in the shivering cold of the desert, who are forced to focus to fight our enemy. Push yourselves to get up, push yourselves to learn. We need you to learn for us."

Ariel said how torn he was by being called up for war with a new baby in the house. Emotionally he did not want to leave his wife and son, but he knew that civilians were being attacked, people were being killed. "My blood should be boiling knowing that my brothers and sisters have been hurt. I don't know anyone who was killed, but I should be feeling their loss as if it was my own. Because the House of Israel is one family."

The mother of the baby, Gaby, cried, hearing her husband's words. She said she was alright until now, fine until her husband returned, wearing his uniform, clearly focused on the mission he is about to fulfill. She told me "It is a matter of bitachon, isn't it? We trust Hashem that what should be, will be."

Ariel said that the IDF is treating this as a war, not a military action. In a military action, the troops must be exceedingly cautious about who they hurt or shoot. Many times, this causes casualties on our side (like in Jenin in 2003). But when at war, they kill - no questions asked. The IDF bombs any place where rocket fire comes from, regardless of whether there are human shields present. This is a war being fought to clean up Gaza as much as possible, not just to calm things down for while.

May our soldiers be blessed with success in their mission. They are fighting to protect us, the House of Israel. May our Father in Heaven protect each and every one of them.

This One's for Matan & ALL Soldiers of Israel (including you!)

2009-01-10T21:55:00.011+02:00

Private Matan Ar'ye Schwartz of the Foreign Relations Branch, IDF Ground Forces, wrote this letter to his family's congregation in America. Please read it to the end, it's very powerful. Kol haKavod, Ar'ye~

Hello Temple Or-Elokim!

I'm writing this to you from Israel...I'm sure you've been seeing a lot of us on the television recently...the situation has certainly tense.

For those of you who don't know me, my name's Matt (or Matan if you know me from Israel). Many of you know my family (my parents Fran and Marvin, and my two brothers, Dave and Sam). I made Aliyah to Israel a year ago to live my dream and do my part to help build the Jewish state. This past December 27th was my one year anniversary of Aliyah, the date I landed in Israel to start a new life. Keep that date in the back of your head.

Presently, I'm serving as a Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO) and Linguist for the Foreign Relations Branch of the IDF Ground Forces. What I'm going to talk to you about tonight isn't approved by the IDF, it doesn't contain any top secret information, and most of it doesn't have to do with the army at all. What I'm going to talk to you about tonight is my reality, as I've experienced it.

I started my basic training in August of 2008 and completed it in November of 2008. I was then assigned as a non-combat soldier (due to my academic background and personal preferences) to the Foreign Relations branch of the IDF Ground Forces. While combat soldiers receive the respect and glory that comes with the hard work they do, I wanted to give back in the best way I could and while I can fire a gun, I much prefer to choose a pen as my weapon...and I was fortunate enough to be afforded that opportunity.

Recently, I moved to a Kibbutz that was kind enough to adopt me as a Lonely Soldier (a soldier who has no family in the country). This Kibbutz like all Kibbutzim in Israel, has made the land grow...lush grass is everywhere...you breathe in and your chest just fills with an overwhelming pride of what we've been able to accomplish in the desert...agriculture and animals and families with young children are everywhere, the Kibbutz - even in tough economic times - is thriving.

As is my usual weekend routine when returning to the Kibbutz on Thursdays (I don't go to base on Fridays or Saturdays), I went food shopping, I dropped off my uniform to have it washed and pressed for the coming week, I waved to the cows hanging out in the refet (cow shed) and I had lunch and dinner in the dining hall with friends before I settled down for a weekend of what I thought was going to be rest and relaxation.

On December 27, 2008, the day where I was celebrating my first year in Israel I was brought out of my room at 11:30am with the sounds of bombs dropping.

The Kibbutz that I live on is called Kibbutz Zikim. Kibbutz Zikim is two miles from the Gaza City...for Chanukah, they have one of the largest menorah's I've ever seen...you see it, standing defiantly, at their front gate when you come home. This Menorah is like no other menorah in the world...it's been hand made out of collected Ketusha rockets.

Since my second week on the Kibbutz I had began to get used to hearing "Tseva Adom, Tseva Adom, Tseva Adom" (which literally means "Red Paint" but is our version of "Red Alert")...blasting from speakers in the area.

From the moment you hear the first "Tseva Adom" you have 15 seconds to run to a shelter...and you start to count down as you move, quick as lightning, to the safest area near you...your heart pounding in your chest...it isn't fear...it's adrenaline...you don't have time to be afraid...you barely have time to react...and you pray as you run that you'll be near a shelter, your eyes darting around you to assess in a split instant what might stop a qassam from landing on you if death has your number,breathing becomes an afterthought...and then you feel the earth shake -- impact...you let out a nervous laugh...you survived again...and you take out your cell phone and call your friends, trying to make sure that they did too...eventually, as I would learn, you just stop running.

As I heard the bombs dropping I was worried that our alert system failed us - why weren't our sirens going off? I ran back into my room to pull up a news site to figure out what was going on, when I saw the headlines that the Israeli Air Force was finally taking action against Hamas who has taken over the Gaza Strip...my phone began to ring, a friend of mine was telling me to get to the first shelter I could find and to stay there...it was going to be a long day.

All day and through the night Tseva Adom could be heard, crackling from speakers breaking the stillness of the air. My room shook, my windows flexed...thankfully, my Kibbutz was not hit.

I have said that I was getting used to the Red Alerts...and it's true...in one day alone Hamas had fired 60 rockets into Israel. Their barrage of attacks after the expired truce (and, even during it) is what prompted the IDF to act in the first place.

And for a few days I stayed away from the Kibbutz. My commanding officers and fellow soldiers letting me know I could stay at their houses if I needed to, some begging me not to return to the Kibbutz, to rethink my decision to live there (after all, I may be a Jobnick, but I'm a Jobnick who's job it is to use his head, which requires that my head remain firmly attached to the rest of my body) and so I had ventured back and forth between Tel Aviv, my Base, and my Kibbutz as I let the adrenaline seep out of my body I tried to figure out where I stood on the issues...and when you're running to shelters constantly your body goes into protection mode "run...run...keep running...make it in the door...ten seconds left...nine seconds..." and sometimes it takes a little bit of Shabbat to figure out what the right thing to do is. That's one of my favorite things about Judaism, is that it's never too late to make the right choice.

Right now, there are countless soldiers braver than I am standing guard at Gaza, waiting for word from their commanders to put their boots on the ground. These are my boys...these are the soldiers that my base - the Ground Forces base - are responsible for. I have said that this isn't endorsed by the IDF, and that's true...but as a soldier in the Foreign Relations branch of the IDF Ground Forces - and make no mistake, no war has ever been won without putting boots on the ground - who has friends sitting in tanks right now waiting for the word, I think it behooves me to do a little foreign relations:

I want you to become soldiers for Israel.

Now, I know that making Aliyah and joining the IDF might not be your thing (though there are volunteer programs for that if you really want to), there's a lot you can do right now for Israel...and we need you...now, more than ever!

So what can you do for Israel?

If you've just finished High School, or need a semester away from College or have just graduated college and need some time to clear your head, come and volunteer - whether with the IDF, the Magan David Adom, as a Fire Fighter or on a Kibbutz -link don't worry training and Hebrew classes are free - you'll learn how to save lives, you'll help build the land, you'll make life bloom in the desert while working side by side with people from all over the world. Housing and food stipends come standard with every program.

For those of you who don't have the luxury to pick up everything and come for a few months, then come and visit us for a couple of weeks (yes... right now...there's no better time!).

Come and visit and see the beautiful ancient walls of Jerusalem and pray at the Kotel (speaking as a soldier, we really, really appreciate your prayers! And what better place to do it than in Jerusalem?), come bathe in the natural springs and cool off at our wonderful ocean resorts.

Enjoy the finest coffee the middle east has to offer and dance the night away in our nightclubs - Tel Aviv, the city where the party, literally, never stops! Shop for some art in Zichron Ya'akov at the artist colony and enjoy fresh milk from our country's refets (Israel, where we have holy cows!).

Come visit us, we're your country too!

For those of you who do the Sunday crossword puzzle in pen (you know who you are...yes, you) start writing! Write very day to your editor. We need your voice. Ask them why it's Israel's responsibility to treat Hamas terrorists in our hospitals (we did, recently, to one who had a 'work related' incident), ask them why when the Palestinians share borders with Egypt and Jordan it's Israels responsibility to take care of them...ask them why we should be providing them with food, money, gasoline, and Jewish doctors while they're bombing our civilian centers, and ask them why we should consider them partners for peace when they seek our total destruction, their vision of "liberating" Palestine includes all of Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and every other city from the north to the south of Israel where Jews live. Ask them why they surround themselves with children and store rockets and bomb making materials near or under schools and use their men, women, and children as human shields.

Ask them every question that should be burning in your chest when you watch this current media circus.

For those who are good with computers...start blogging...start emailing...start YouTubing and twittering...counter every thing you hear with facts, don't back down, don't give an inch!

This current operation in Gaza is about changing the equation, about setting our own terms...and like anything, it's a state of mind...so yes, it's been a little bit scary here recently...but it's our choice as to whether or not we're going to give into fear...help us set the tone, but please - whether you write your editor or start thinking about visiting - don't be quiet...don't forget us...we need your voices...because I'm almost hoarse...and we need to know that you have our backs...because while we get to sleep at home tonight there are IDF soldiers in the rain that falls this time of year in the south who are far away from their homes and there are parents who don't know if their children are going to be coming home again and it's the least we can do!

In Israel, when a bomb goes off we go outside...when a terrorist blows up a cafe, we go out for coffee and though I was caught up in a state of shock...in Israel you're told two things "look around, and look up" and so I looked around and knew what I had to do to do the right thing and I'm looking up and forward, towards the future...and I can tell you that I'll be sleeping in my room on the Kibbutz come Sunday night.

I'll be in Jerusalem, our holy city, for Shabbat this weekend...dancing with Breslovs, walking the ramparts of our old city walls, and putting a note in the wall for everyone...it's blank...so if you need to say anything to the big guy upstairs, there's a blank piece of paper in the wall waiting for you to write your hopes and wishes on it.

But please don't forget us...we need you, I need you to raise your voices!

Acharai! (after me!),

Signed:
Private Matan Ar'ye Schwartz
Foreign Relations Branch, IDF Ground Forces

A look at Tzeva Adom - video - "15 Seconds"

My Disconnect Week

2008-12-04T20:52:00.005+02:00

Kislev 7, 5768
December 4, 2008

Dear Friends and Family,

It started one Wednesday when David was in America. First, the internet went down. Ok, it happens. Usually we are back online in 15 to 20 minutes. So I kept checking. Too soon, I began to feel a little disconnected. As the hours went by and I kept trying to log on, I began to feel quite out of touch. So I decided to call someone: Netvision, our internet provider. I am just familiar enough with Hebrew to figure out how to get to technical support. First question to the voice on the other end: “Do you speak English?” “Of course,” was his reply. I told him we were off line. He took me through all the unplugging and replugging of the modem, the Airport, etc. that I had already performed several times myself, of course. No connection. He said he would have to have a technician call me. We arranged a time frame for late that night, and I waited.

The time for my phone date with the Netvision technician came and went. So I called them. When someone answered, I asked “Do you speak English?” “Of course,” was the reply. I told him what was going on and that no one called me yet. He said, “I need to get someone speaking English.” Then I was disconnected. It was late, I went to sleep and hoped for the best tomorrow.

Thursday morning, still offline. When I called this time, they said it was not a problem on our line, but a Netvision problem and we would be up and running later that day. Good. I had a busy day until late that night, so I would not really miss it.

I was spending that week as a madricha (volunteer who helps a guide), with an Aish HaTorah Gem trip to Israel http://www.aish.com/gem/. Eleven incredible women ages 33-88 toured and learned here for ten days and I got to spend every wonderful, memorable, inspiring, and exhausting moment with them. I was all over the city gathering food and running errands, shepherding stragglers and checking in with the rest of the group. My phone, as you can imagine was vital to the operation. And this was the day, after 4 years of almost perfectly reliable service, that it decided to completely die. No, it was not the battery. It was the whole thing. My phone numbers-gone. My access to the group-gone. My frustration-not gone.

It had been a great phone, that Blackberry. Sure, it was a bit complicated and certainly outdated, but it did everything, and much more than, I wanted. Without it, I was really disconnected. So I hurried to town to pick up a simple little phone. And there it was The Simple Phone. Little, too. The phone I’d wanted before inheriting the Blackberry. The phone of my dreams….Slip in the SIM card and-except for losing all those phone numbers-back in the business (of being a madricha).

So I gave the very pregnant saleswoman with about 17 earrings in one ear the 300 NIS (today that’s $75.00) thank you very much-and b’sha tova! She gave me a big smile and rubbed her tummy. Connected.

When I got home very late that night, I tried to check my email…but to no avail. We were still offline. Knowing that it was an attempt in vain, I called Netvision anyway. “Do you speak English?” “Of course,” I repeated the story and he said, “I will get someone speaking English.” This time I was not disconnected. The technician spoke perfect English accented with that delightfully, sweet Israeli accent I love. He was kind, too, when he repeated what I knew, that it was a Netvision problem, “we are working on it now and you will have service by the morning.” Flavoring my English with my newly acquired Israeli attitude, I asked, “What time this morning? The morning is just a few minutes away.” He was amused, but noncommittal. I was still offline, but we connected.

Friday morning, I woke and checked my email. 52 messages!!! I’d have to read them later. I was scheduled to escort our Gem Ladies on their Old City program. By noon-ish we were done, so I came home to clean and rest up for Shabbos. I was accompanying several ladies to host families for dinner & lunch, so I did not have to prepare meals, but I had Shabbos guests for sleeping. I made the beds, dusted and “sponge-ahhd” (Israeli mopping) and sat down to read all those emails.

Before I knew it, it was 3 pm, almost time for candles. I dressed and went down the list of things to do (lights, turn off dud (hot water heater), call David, parents and daughters-great the internet phone was working). As I set the Shabbos lock on the gate outside, I noticed our mezuzah, which has been lodged into a crevice in the stone wall ever since we have been here---was gone. I looked all around but it was mysteriously nowhere to be found. We have a lot less doors here than in America, which means a few extra scrolls were tucked away, so I quickly found one, and looked up the bracha. As I said it and placed a new scroll in the doorpost, I heard my neighbor in the stairwell say “amen!” Yea!, connected again.

My guests arrived with cookies and smiles. As we chatted in the kitchen before we lit candles, I washed a few straggling glasses and noticed a putrid but familiar smell. Then I heard the drain “gurgle.” The horrible sound that means: the sewer is clogged, again. Oh no… This time it was our courtyard neighbor who heard me. I was in distress. He was leaving for his minyan, but told his wife that first, he would go to the Muslim Quarter to find an Arab plumber he knows. It was time to light, and meet up with the Gem Group. I had to leave the gate open for the plumber and go. Had to.

The Arab never came and all Shabbos I tried not to worry about an overflow. I placed towels all around so we hopefully could contain a disaster, and we kept water use to a bare minimum. B”H, we were saved and Sunday morning the son of the Rova plumber showed up. He’s a great kid, knows what he is doing and made jokes about the nature of his work. He can certainly joke. Plumbers here get paid more than many doctors and I wonder if maybe they are even more appreciated. Within 15 minutes and 230 NIS ($58) later, we were unclogged.

Internet, phone, mezuzah and sewer. All conduits. Why, within three days, did these four things disconnect, disappear and clog up?

Then, I realized that it really wasn’t the things—the true conduits were open, they were the people Hashem brought to me. The essential Jewish kindness of the Netvision technicians came through over the phone line, no matter how much English they thought they understood. They really just wanted to help. The multi-pierced woman at the phone store was genuinely happy to place exactly what I was looking for in my hands. And she knew I was sincere about my little bracha to her. Her child is also my child, just like when I hung the mezuzah. My mitzvah was also my neighbor’s. And when the sewer scare began, my other neighbor did not think twice, of course he was going to help me, despite the inconvenience. I could not help but be struck by the sight of the darling plumber’s son, so refined as he went about his grubby work. Only a Jew could make this job seem noble.

They are all around, every day, ready for connection. On the bus, in the makolet (little groceries that are everywhere), the waitress, the pharmacist, and the beggar who looks up and smiles when I drop a coin in her plastic cup. Only here can I get a heartfelt bracha for a shekel. There it is: "Kol Yisrael arevim zeh le zeh,," another connection.

All of those disconnects seemed like frustrating inconveniences that I had to deal with alone. It was really the opposite. Hashem was leading me to connect with others. I had to talk to Jews at Netvision and ask friends if I could come and check my email. I had to ask people about where to buy a phone, then share a bus ride to the store and share excitement with the mom to be. When the plumber’s father came to check the work, I got to tell a dad what a great kid he has-and because we are all connected, he was my kid, too.

It’s the same with these letters that I write to you. I do it so I can feel connected to you, and you to Eretz Yisrael--until you all come home, may it be very soon.

Love,
Renee & David

2008-11-09T09:55:00.004+02:00

”Wisdom is knowing the difference between what is important
and that which is more important.”-as heard from Rabbi Noah Orlowek

Why Lori Palatnik Doesn't Live Here Anymore

2008-10-30T04:12:00.026+02:00

Last summer an adorable Nevey Yerushalyim student from Kentucky spent a Shabbos with us here in the Old City. I cannot remember her name but I doubt I'll ever forget her story. Over the Friday night meal she told us that she was learning here because one evening she agreed to join her cousin at an Aish haTorah event. There she heard a speaker who provoked a question in this bright young woman. Could there be more to life than finishing college, graduating at the top of her class, and beginning a promising career? This question kept cycling through her mind. So, she made a bargain with herself. In the unlikely event that she could not land a position in her chosen field, well...she'd just go to Israel and learn there for a while.

You guessed it, after 32 resumes, countless follow up conversations and a only a few unmemorable interviews, she couldn't believe it, but she had not even the prospect of a job.

So, she kept that promise to herself and enrolled in a seminary in Israel. With tears in her eyes, the young woman told us how failing to land a job --in the field she had invested years of her life struggling for and working towards-- was the greatest kindness of Hashem. If she could only see Lori Palatnik, the speaker she held responsible for the bargain she made, and thank her....

Shabbos day our guest ventured out of the Old City to visit a relative in town. On the way back, she saw a familiar woman walk out of a hotel and head in her same direction, towards the ancient stone walls. First, she caught her breath; then she heard her own voice (as if it belonged to someone else she later told us), shaking but loud enough, say to the woman, "Excuse me, but are you Lori Palatnik?"

"Yes, I am," the woman replied and revealed her trademark, inviting smile.

Hashem, it seems, places His angels exactly where He needs them to be. This young woman and countless like her are why Lori Palatnik -and just a handful like her-needs to be in America today. Watch her 4 minute video as she so poignantly explains:

There are many legitimate reasons people cite for not living here in Israel. Most of these reasons do not involve mesiras nefesh, sacrifice, but Lori's reason certainly does. May she and her family redeem the merits they have most certainly accrued-and come home soon.

Making a Living, Making a Life

2008-10-19T08:53:00.010+02:00

B"H

3 Tishre 5769
Tzom Gedalia
October 2, 2008

Dear friends and family,

Often a letter (remember those?) or more contemporarily, a blog will begin with "Sorry, I haven't written in a while, but…."

Well, if you read my missives, then you know I've not written since July –and some have emailed in complaints, which I took as a compliment, you can be sure. But that doesn't mean that I have not been writing. I have been writing for m-o-n-e-y! Yes, publications have actually been paying me a pittance for the words I string into ideas that hopefully make their readers smile, cry, think or (hopefully not) skim and skip.

It's certainly not enough to support my husband in learning—yet. But that is among the many things I prayed for yesterday. And now it has been decided.

In the aftermath of all that davening, in the fog of this fast of Gedalia, I have been thinking: since our income is predetermined for the year, why do we even bother to work at all?

This question came up in a recent discussion I had with some visiting seminary students who are in the midst of deciding what they will study next year. With their teachers, they are exploring this idea of why we must find a parnassa. They learned that when Hashem told Adam that his livelihood would come "by the sweat of your brow," He was saying: our relationship has changed. I will no longer openly provide for all your needs. Now you must go to work. Only after Adam made the effort, would Hashem provide the food and shelter they needed.

Work is the vessel into which Hashem's material blessings flow.

Our need for food, clothing and shelter are a constant distraction from the real meaning of our lives. Sometimes we forget what our purpose is. Then comes Rosh Hashanah to remind us that we are only here to be emissaries of the King, and He will give us everything necessary to support us in that mission. And we are supposed to feel secure. But we do not.

Earning a living is hard. Effort is not always commensurate with reward. In the economic debacle we witnessed this Elul, we found out that financial security is often an illusion.

Nowhere is this more clear than in trying to support a family in Israel. The most common question I heard on my recent trip to America was, "Is it really possible to make a living there?" The answer is "Of course it is."

Then of course, David and I haven't completely figured that out yet. While we, like many, came with a job, a high percentage of those first oleh jobs do not hold for the long term. We count among that group. But a new, exciting position was not long in coming and Hashem once again proved to be the holder of the keys to success. While opportunity abounded last spring, Rabbi Berel Wein's organization, which depends on fundraising efforts in America for the bulk of its projects, is now suffering along with its benefactors. Hishtadlus, effort, is still necessary, but in the light of the economy, success is clearly and undeniably dependent upon His will.

Living here allows us to be defined by how we serve Hashem. We take our kochos, G-d given strengths and talents, and use them to do mitzvos-which includes providing for our families. Our job or career is not an expression of who we are, but rather, a utensil, if you will. It is the container for the physical means that helps us rise to the challenge of becoming a mighty soul.

You might say this idea is not really so different than the way it goes in America. It's true. But the difference is that in chutz l'aretz, hishtadlus and success are more relational. Effort seems to have a more direct effect on achievement. Here, you really need a deeper sense of bitachon. More often than not, we do not see a reciprocal cause and effect between the direction of our effort and the source of our reward. Help usually comes from an unexpected place-- often one that defies logic.

But there is also something else. It's how we live. It's a simpler life. And therefore, there is less pressure on the budget. Clothing, food, utilities may be more costly, but our closets, desires and homes are smaller so it takes much less to fill their demands.

Sometimes income can be measured in what we do not spend. If a family has a car, they usually have just one. And they walk to the makolet, bank, gan whenever they can. The children take the bus to school and run outside every afternoon to play. Their tuition, our doctors and prescriptions are miniscule in comparison to what we paid in the US. Entertainment comes in taking a walk on holy soil, bumping into neighbors, going out for a Fro-Yo, lingering over a "café auh-fuh" (upside down coffee), sitting on a bench and watching the children play, tourists walk by, the cloud formations, the stars.

It's not an American life, it's a simple life and it's a Jewish life.

And that, my friends, is what it is like to live in Israel …. A land that HaShem your G-d cares for constantly…(His) eye is on it from the beginning of the year and until the end of the year"

Our parnassa was decided yesterday. Now, our job is to creatively and energetically address the opportunities that Hashem sends our way, and the result we entrust to Him.

May you be blessed with "parnassa kalla v'nikiya" (an easy and clean- so you don't have to sweat too much- livelihood) in the new year. In any effort you expend, may you merit to see Hashem's hand in the reward. And of course, may you all come home soon.

Love,
Renee and David

9 Recommendations for Making a Living in Israel

1-Get a Degree

In Israel they like degrees-if you are a college graduate, in almost any area-jobs are here. If you are young enough, you can attend university for free.

The younger you are, the easier it is to snag those jobs. Over 40, it's more difficult. However, the entrepreneurial spirit is alive and well here, and expertise is valued, especially in new companies.

2-Teach

English teachers are in high demand http://www.eslemployment.com/esl-articles/english-teaching-in-israel.htm

Teachers in the school system are required to get an Israeli teaching certificate. To get a certificate requires a 1-2 year program of courses and apprenticeship.

3-Professions

Accountants can provide local financial services or international financial services. To provide local services they must get local certification.

Lawyers who wish to practice Israeli law in Israel must also receive local certification. You must have a reasonable level of Hebrew proficiency and perform an apprentice program with a local lawyer and pass the Israeli bar. Many Israeli companies require the services of American and European lawyers for doing business internationally. They do not need Israeli certification.

Medical professionals must receive Israeli certification. The certification process requires validation of credentials, a reasonable level of Hebrew proficiency and passing Israeli licensing exams (in Hebrew). Nefesh b'Nefesh has an incentive package for doctors that you should check out. http://www.nbn.org.il/news_2008/_january/01.14.08.ynet.htm

4-Sell Abroad

-To sell anything to Israelis requires an excellent understanding of Israeli culture. Don't plan on making a living in sales here.
-However, Israeli entrepreneurs are in need of experienced people to sell their products abroad. If you have expertise and contacts in any area, especially hi tech and medical, there are companies that need your services.

5-Construction, Renovation

Construction in Israel is booming. The workers get paid poorly and are usually either foreigners or Arabs and the business end requires many inside contacts to tread through tricky bureaucracy. Therefore, it's important to have an Israeli partner with protexia.

There is a need for those who can do "shiputzim," small to medium renovation work at American standards, even better if using only Jewish labor. This is a good starter business; plus with your truck, and a few strong men, you could be a mover (always needed) on the side.

6-Hi-Tech

Programmers, web specialists, electrical engineers are in demand. Experienced applicants can receive salaries in the top 15% of the country. Even applicants right out of college can receive in the top 40% of the country. Weekly newsletter with computer jobs: http://www.cji.co.il/index.html

7-A new career

Consider re-training, it's subsidized for olim.

http://www.esek.com/jobsii.html
http://www.aliyahjobcenter.org/index.php

8-Network

the OU is having a Job Fair in November: click here

Join yahoo groups in the areas you are considering living. You'll see job postings regularly. I can give you those links if you want.

9-Good to know:
-Learn Hebrew as soon as you get here.
-Do research in your field before you come, but don't expect to find a job while you are still in America. When employers are hiring, they usually needed you yesterday.
(We did neither.)

-Salaries are considerably less, which can be shocking at first. We discovered that a top, top salary is $50,000-$60,0000. Unless you are supporting kids in America, (traveling there a lot or maintaining an American lifestyle here) you can really make it just fine on less than that.

-Now that there is tax relief for 10 years on income earned in America, and in the light of the projected long term downturn there, the economic barriers to aliya are diminishing.

We have seen time and again that the only way to make it-- is through honest, well planned hishtadlus plus a heavy dose of bitachon, trust that the Almighty, who created the world and can do anything He wants-will be the source of our help.

No RSVP Required

2008-10-19T08:50:00.012+02:00

B"H

Tammuz 19, 5768
July 22, 2008

As we enter the three weeks, it just gets hotter and hotter. I’ve been tagging along in the heat with friends on vacation Israel as they are committed to learning while they are here. We’ve heard from a half a dozen teachers, all interesting and articulate, some pushing us through text and some dangling esoteric ideas above our heads, and some spoon feeding us practical information that we can use every day. On Monday in Rehavia, we were privileged to learn Shoftim with Aviva Feiner and Mrs. Shira Smiles, a surprise speaker on parsha hashavua. Two days later we went to Neve in Har Nof to hear their all-star lineup including Rabbi Brown and Rebbetzin Heller.

We learned Parsha, Navi, Chumash and Jewish thought. Every amazing teacher taught different topics. Yet in every class, each teacher worked in the same idea. What a privilege and a responsibility to be living in Eretz Yisrael at this time in history. We are witnessing pivotal changes, as many believe the end of one era and the beginning of a new one is happening right now on the world stage. All eyes are on Israel and the Jews.

This is a theme we live with every day, more and more, as we watch banks fail, natural disasters multiply, and anti-semitism rise.

Knowing this, we still have to go on with the business of every day life. And take in a simcha every now and again.

David and I have been privileged to witness several pivotal changes in the past few weeks. Weddings. Weddings are pivotal on a personal level; each new home created begins a new era in the history of these families. We have so much hope as our eyes turn to the bride and groom.

The first thing I noticed about a wedding invitation in Jerusalem is that it doesn’t have an RSVP card. Sometimes there’s an email address for reply, but that is rare. Often before we open the envelope there’s something unusual. No postage stamp. Hand delivered invitations are preferred whenever feasible. A simple map might be printed on the back of the envelope; invitations are often supplied by the catering hall. If we do show up at the wedding, we can stay for as long as we want and wear whatever we want.

There is an air of simple elegance whether the setting is a rustic kibbutz in the hills around Jerusalem or by the lighted swimming pool of a five star hotel. The ruchnius is palpable. We have danced in the heimeshe heart of Ezras Torah; gathered next to the kever of Dovid HaMelech on Har Tzion, shivered in December on the balcony of Aish HaTorah and stood in a strong breeze on the Hass Promenade overlooking the Old City walls, where Avraham Avinu is said to have stood with his son, Yitzchak before the akieda.

Summer weddings begin in the evening when the air is cool. Guests show up wearing anything from clean blue jeans to shimmering ball gowns, but most of us wear a simple Shabbos suit. Those in the know arrive just in time for the chuppa, which is usually well past the time printed on the invitation.….tell me, how do they know?

What I really like is the seamless way the wedding party moves from bedeken to ceremony. When the groom arrives to place the veil over his always beautiful bride’s shining face, the voices that accompany him from the swell of his family and friends are sweet, refined and calming. After the bride receives the blessings from her father and soon to be father in law, the chosson is escorted away by his parents and the entourage of men. Then, the parents of the bride take their daughter in their arms and regally exit to the chuppa, attended by the women.

By the time we arrive, she has just begun her seven circles. There are only a few chairs near the front. Since the chosson and kallah are king and queen, it is only natural that we stand during the chuppa, for when one is in the presence of royalty, one stands.

In an awesomely short amount of time, we have witnessed the establishment of another new bayis ne’eman b’Yisrael. We dance our hearts out. I have never seen such joy as the dancing at a wedding in Yerushalyim. In that hour of dancing passion bordering on mania, you’d think Moshiach had already come.

Weddings bring all sorts of people together. Being so new, we don’t know so many guests, but we’re often pleasantly surprised to see someone from another part of our lives who also know the host families. I danced with a woman from my ulpan at one wedding, shared a table with a woman from a class I took years ago at another, and our regular Friday tzedeka collector and David sat together at a simcha in Har Nof.

Every wedding is a miracle happening before our eyes-especially when we know the couple and all that transpired to bring them to this day. If we allow ourselves to see the unfolding of G-d’s plan in this union, our natural response is to sing and dance with all our heart. “Od yishama b’arei Yehudah u’vechutzos Yerushalayim... kol sasson vekol simcha, kol chosson vekol kallah…”

The thing is, every one of us has a hand delivered invitation to the ultimate unfolding of G-d’s plan in history. No RSVP required, just show up-you’ll know when the time is right. You won’t need a map, you’ll know where you are going. Wear your best blue jeans or sequined skirt. Our Father will bless us and the nations will escort us to our rightful place. You’ll see all your old friends and family. And boy, will we ever dance!

All eyes will be on the Jews and Israel , the Bride and Groom.

Come home soon.
Please.

Love Renee & David

12 to 120

2008-10-19T08:47:00.006+02:00

B”H

17 Sivan 5768
Erev Shabbos, Parashas Shelach
June 20, 2008

Dear Friends and Family,

This coming Shabbos we read the Torah portion Shelach, recalling the sin of the spies. These were the 12 men that Moshe sent to scout out the Land of Israel before entering. When they returned, their distorted and negative reports caused the b’nai Yisrael to despair. As a result of speaking and believing this slander about the land, Hashem decreed a 40 year delay before they could enter the Land.

Today we are witness to all that is good and special about living here and we have the ability, and perhaps the obligation, to tell our family, friends and neighbors abroad what those things are.

Nefesh B'Nefesh is again this year promoting their "12 to 12" project. They requested that every Oleh compose a list of 12 things we appreciate and love about living in Israel and email our message to 12 (or 120) friends abroad. Last year David and I sent out a letter called “12+1” (if you’d like it, let me know). Here are our 12 for this year:

1. The education-yes, you read correctly. The Jewish education here is excellent. Secular, too. Our graduates become Nobel Prize winners, develop companies that attract a disproportionate amount of foreign business investment and Israel is depended upon for the next great medical breakthrough. Educating children anywhere is difficult. Look in any bookstore in the states; there are shelves of guides to help both parent and child overcome obstacles and get the most out of their schooling. In what other place do Jewish parents have so many opportunities to educate their children al pi darko, according to their ways? Here, parents tell me they love that they can choose the school and educational system that most suits their child. They do struggle with the decisions, but they have a decision to make. (And notice, I did not even mention tuition.)

2. We are surrounded by enemies who want us wiped off the face of the earth, and the best thing is that we know exactly who, and often where, they are. Random acts of violence are rare. Terrorist attacks are devised and planned, but before they are executed, they are usually thwarted. Baruch Hashem.

3. Tourists are everywhere, crowding the alleyways and thoroughfares, littering and talking loudly in the streets. They fill up the restaurants, empty the shops, and give parnassa to the street cleaners. We wake up every morning in their once-in-a-lifetime destination.

4. The government of Israel wants us to be a nation like all other nations. Besrat Hashem it WILL be. --despite what we “see in the news,” we are witness to a Divine Plan that will end when we are deserving of a leadership that represents the highest of ethical standards. Those which emanate from our eternal constitution, the Torah. Then we will be the nation that all other nations want to be like.

5. The kids have to serve in the army. We recently had the zechus of having a Shabbat meal with 18, 19 and 20 year old chayalim, soldiers, from both observant and non-observant homes. They exhibited more character, maturity, focus, dedication and wisdom than any young person to whom I have spoken in my life. Our children would do well to have these middos surrounding them.

6. Little kids run around without any supervision. And most of them are very well behaved. They look after younger siblings, they scoot out to the makolet to get milk for breakfast in the morning, and teens don’t spend hours on cellphones because they are always with their friends.

7. The buses rule the roads. They roar around, twisting, zooming, making impossible turns. They take us anywhere and everywhere. Those standing, stumble as the bus careens, and someone catches them. Mothers give their babies over to “strangers” as they fold their strollers and walk away to pay the driver. Young girls get up and tell not so young women to take their seat. Men move next to other men so women can sit together; this is so that everyone’s dignity is preserved. Simply put, the passengers on any bus in Israel are sharing the ride of their life.

8. Not knowing the language well is an opportunity to make someone’s day. I often find myself waiting for a bus with an elderly woman who knows not a syllable of English but wants a little connection to another Jewish woman. I try my hardest to tell her, using the 50 or so words I know, what I can about my life. When she helps me with my Ivrit, she feels needed, it’s the best. I met an ancient wrinkled beauty from Iraq, a sweet toothy woman from Russia and a 6th generation Israeli and her 88 year old younger sister that way. Plus, I picked up a few new words in the process.

9. The best jobs and special deals are discovered through the good ‘ol boy network and that is hard to get into. To break in, you have to be--an olah. We help each other find jobs, tutors, movers, doctors, ulpans, lawyers. We find a bargain or or hit upon a good idea and we share it on our local anglo yahoogroups. We promote olah business on http://www.nbnbusiness.co.il/ ,give recommendations on http://israeleasy.blogspot.com/ and list resources with maps on http://israelataclick.com/ All in English. It’s a great club, and no secret handshake.

10. I love that there are no long thin lines in Israel. If you expect to be waited on first come first serve, you are mistaken. Once we got here we realized it was best just to get over it. My take on it is that we are like a family; it really is not rudeness. It’s a cultural thing--like no personal space. Because we are family, there is no “alone space,” either. People care enough to tell us how to dress, how take care of our kids, our health and our relationship with our spouse. And if one is ever in need of help, lo aleinu, the shoving stops and our family is right there to take care of us.

11. Yes, there are indeed giants here. Giants of Torah. And we have the opportunity to gaze upon them every day.

12. Finally, the only best thing about living in Israel is that we are home, where every Jew belongs, where our Loving Father longs for our return.

Well, those are our 12 for this year. You might not agree that all of these are good reasons to live here, but please, as a tikkun for the spies don’t say anything. Life in Israel, like anywhere has its trials. Within our trials lies the opportunity for our greatness. Doing mitzvot with joy, being kind and merciful to one another and judging every Jew favorably will end this exile, the most difficult trial of all. Then the best thing about living in Israel will be that all of YOU will get to come home soon.

Love,
Renee and David

Smitten With Shmitta

2008-10-19T08:45:00.004+02:00

B"H

18 Iyar 5768
Lag b'Omer
May 23, 2008

Dear Friends and Family,

One never knows what the day will hold around here. Just before the official Pesach holiday season ended, we joined our friends the Millers on a spontaneous trip to the North. Up Highway 90 to the western shore of the Kineret, we picnicked by the water's edge then wound our way into mountainous vistas and past Tsefat. The drive itself was stunning but our destination was to a beautiful tzimmer near the kever of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai.

A tzimmer, Yiddish for "room," is actually a 1-2 room cabin with kitchenette and always, always, a jacuzzi (sometimes in the living room!). They dot the country on moshavim and farms where each usually provides a unique amenity. These particular tzimmerim are nestled on the side of a hill on a family farm with a wonderful view of the valleys below. Originally owned by a real Israeli pioneer and bequeathed to his four sons, the farm is flourishing with orchards, vineyards, cattle and a new winery. Each brother contributes his own area of expertise in the running of the farm.

The four tzimmerim are run by Hillel, the only son we've met, and his wife, Elana. Hillel's brother built them, and the furniture, inside with interestingly hewn wood. A talented ironworker, too, he appointed the doors with hand forged handles, framed the mirrors, and fashioned iron furniture. Another brother is the vintner and yet another cares for the cattle. Hillel oversees the orchards.

Besides vineyards for their winery, they have pear, apple, nectarine, apricot, olive and cherry trees. The morning of our visit, the cherries were anxious to be picked. That day in the orchard overlooking a valley of trees still promising fruit, I discovered what the color "cherry red" really is. Bright jewels hanging on branch after branch, tree after tree, their leaves whispered in the warm breeze, enticing us. Hillel encouraged us to pick as many as we wanted. And so we did.

But first, we tasted: We said the bracha with so much more awareness than usual, "pri ha etz" —yes, right off an etz in Israel! And the Shechechiyanu that encapsulated more than our gratitude to taste a season's new fruit: this new experience, fruit of the Land eaten on the Land, fruit with kedusha. This was shmitta fruit; it has an inherent holiness. We had to treat the entire cherry properly according to the halacha. But oops, after relishing a half a dozen warm sweet cherries, what where we supposed to do with the stems and little pits collecting in our hands?

Back in Elul, tshuva was in the air but shmitta was on everyone's tongue. Tshuva is a private process, but shmitta…well, once in seven years many experts arise, qualified or not, invited or not, to answer our questions. And provoke more questions. Restaurants, caterers, florists and gardeners make their stand on observance known to their customers. Classes abounded, books and articles circulated and were discussed. I learned many new terms such as kedusha sh'vis and sefichim. I was told how the Bais Yosef and the Chazon Ish rule on buying fruit of arab owned land within the borders of Israel, and what the minhag in Jerusalem is. Do we buy Otzar Beis Din? Heter Mechira? Nochri?

What I really wanted to know was, could I continue to nurture my baby houseplant, bought in July just to liven up the place a bit? (yes) And can I water the large outdoor potted plants and pick David's peppers growing in the courtyard? (yes and yes, with rules) Besides that, just tell me where to shop and I'll be fine. But it was not so simple. After being here four months, I was finally forced to become fluent in the various Hechsherim-a daunting task.

Produce planted and cultivated in Israel on land belonging to a Jew during the seventh year is not kosher. And produce not cultivated on the Land during the shmitta year, but harvested according to halacha, has kedusha. Not only did I have to figure out where and what to buy, but I had to figure out what could have its peel and core discarded in the trash and what I needed to dispose organically. Once I figured out which shops in the shuk I could patronize, the bananas came in season and threw me for a loop.

During the shmitta year, the landowner lets his fields lie fallow. He also unlocks his gates and allows anyone to enter, relinquishing his ownership to the One Above who really owns everything we "have." Those of us who are not farmers can also observe this long-desired mitzvah. Many of us have flowers, fruit trees and peppers that we cannot fertilize or prune to encourage growth; we post signs allowing entry to our property for anyone to come and pick (but we can specify hours and ban anyone who abuses the system). It seems like we are loosing, but truly, we gain so much.

It's awe-inspiring to be living here in a shmitta year. So many people: farmers, restaurateurs and vegetable stand owners simply volunteer to take a potential financial loss to observe this Sabbath for the Land. Consumers, too. Our selection is limited, food costs more and the quality is markedly diminished. Among those intent on observing shmitta properly, there is a shared sense of sacrifice for this mitzvah. A shared love of Torah, a shared surrender to Hashem.

Especially for the farmers. Stories of Shmitta miracles abound. One banana farmer had fields, adjacent to non-shmitta observing banana farms, which were the only ones in the area undamaged after a hard freeze last January. While 80% of this year's potato crop was wiped out due to the freeze, most shmitta farmers, who planted their potatoes earlier than usual in order to get them in before Rosh Hashanna, had heartier, more mature plants that were able to survive the cold. Another farmer observes shmitta for the first time this year after his crop was wiped out with a rare disease 7 years ago, when he refused to refrain from planting. But the farmers do not do this counting on miracles.

They walk away from export contracts, pay their released workers a stipend, and honor their debts on farming equipment. This is huge. For farmers like Hillel, profit margins are small. Their work is fixed in time: sow and plant, pray and irrigate, spray and cultivate. Harvest. Shmitta. As connected as Hillel is to his father's land, he is connected first to the Borei Olam. You see it in his very countenance, in his intelligent and humble smile. Farming his Land is how he serves Hashem. Not observing Shmitta is no more of an option for him than not observing Shabbat.

The holiness of Shmitta, like the holiness of Shabbat, is fixed in time whether we tap into it or not.

I read this majestic thought from the 16th century Torah sage Rabbi Moshe Alshich, who said that Shmitta is a time when "holiness is reflected like a light from Above and settles in the ground. It is the strength of this holiness that produces the fruit and not the natural energy of the ground. Therefore you are not the owner of the fruit. It belongs to all of Israel, since they all share equally this Heavenly Holiness."

This is our home. And the Jew is its fruit.

We brought those precious cherries home with us and served them at our Shabbos table for dessert. They became a source of extra brachos and fed a lively discussion. Having food with kedusha shviis for Shabbos added to the kedusha of the table.

Several months ago, I harvested David's peppers and stashed them in the freezer, too awed with the responsibility of their kedusha to make zchug as I would usually have. Now that I feel initiated, I'm excited about the prospect.

So, once again I am off to the shuk to get some cilantro and garlic for zchug along with the rest of the vegetables for Shabbos. It's a beautiful morning, who knows what will happen.

Come home soon,
Renee and David

In The Blink of an Eye

2008-10-19T08:43:00.006+02:00

B”H

22 Nissan 5768
Isru Chag shel Pesach
April 27, 2008

Dear Friends and Family,

As the first year anniversary date of our aliya approaches we want to acknowledge our gratitude to Hashem for all He did to bring us here. For ten years we talked of living in Eretz Yisrael. It was our dream. Until the day David said that if we did not set a date to work towards, it would remain just a dream. So we looked at our life and set our date for three years into the future: May 7, 2007. We started to plan. Of course, G-d laughed.

Our aliya story is a megilla of hidden and revealed miracles.

December 2006. Five months before our projected aliya date, things were not coming into focus. David felt he could not responsibly leave his position until the company he worked with, could hire medical sales professionals. He was trapped. They had no present plan to make this hire and we had no parnassa plan for Israel. However, David said things could change in the blink of an eye, so we started filling out the Nefesh b’Nefesh paperwork.

By February it was time for us to renew our lease at the apartment we’d rented as part of our aliya plan, which had included selling our house. We had a decision to make. Renew for a year, six months or three? We calculated the costs to sign at a lower rent for year and break it when things hopefully fell into place. Would it be wiser to commit to staying 6 months at a bit higher rent? It was quite pricey to sign for three months, yet that would bring us almost exactly to May 7, the date we’d chosen three years earlier. It had seemed so, so far away then. Now May 7, 2007 would be here in the blink of an eye. We decided to show Hashem that we wanted to come and we meant it. We signed for three. If He wanted us, we’d be ready.

The next week, David was somewhere he’d not been in 3 years: home in the middle of the day during the workweek. He was between appointments and decided since he was closeby, that eating his packed lunch on a table at home was nicer than eating in his car. On that day at that time, his cellphone rang. It was Rabbi Solomon who wanted to know if he’d be interested in working for HaRosh Yeshiva Noach Weinberg, may he have a refuah sheleima. This amazing opportunity came in the blink of an eye-after 10 years of prayer and effort.

An interview in Jerusalem was arranged for mid-March. David and I both felt that this position with Aish was a long shot, besides he still had that commitment to the company he was with. But the chance to spend a week with Rav Noach, shlita, was worth the trip alone and if that was not working out, then maybe another opportunity would arise while he was there. Just a few days after he booked his flight, David came home in the middle of the day again. This time he had news: management had finally decided to put on a medical sales team! In the blink of an eye, he was free...and we were jobless as well as homeless.

The interview in Jerusalem at Aish headquarters lasted a week and after a few days, all thought it was a match made in heaven. The compensation they offered was considerably less than a US salary but plenty to live on here, and the position was irresistible because it would, number one: be an exciting employment of David’s talents and energies on behalf on k’lal Yisrael and number two: get us to Israel: start date may 20.

I began a serious apartment search. Before David left, I had posted our desire for a 3BR 2 BA apartment with A/C on yahoogroups, luach, and flathunting. David was going to work in just 8 weeks, we needed a place soon and we preferred to live in, or at least near the Old City. I spent hours combing real estate listings, emailing agents and calling potential landlords. Nothing. Then, in the blink of an eye, that very week David was in Jerusalem, an apartment suddenly appeared on luach.com. David looked at it immediately. It was the apartment of our dreams, and still is...less one bathroom.

After a gracious outpouring of kindness and well wishes from our Atlanta community and mesiras nefesh, self sacrifice by our family who had to say good bye, we flew New York to catch our free El Al flight on May 7, 2007. But without David’s passport. It had vanished, and we weren’t going over the ocean without it! It was a tense, trying two days in New York to obtain another passport and aliya visa. The overnight passport agent charged $500 for his services, miraculously, I had stashed exactly five $100 bills –for emergency-in the same envelope that I thought held both our passports. On the afternoon of May 9, we stood in the consulate lobby with the Israeli guard who cried with us when our aliya shaliach exited the elevator, brand new passport and visa in hand.

David’s tenure at Aish HaTorah lasted about as long as the blink of an eye: only 6 weeks—it was a wonderful experience but not a good fit. However, that job gave our aliya a practical basis and was very meaningful work, exactly what he needed at the time. A month ago, David began working for Rabbi Berel Wein-also great lover of k’lal Yisrael who has dedicated his life to teaching all Jews about their heritage. This position promises to be an exciting challenge, too. Those nine months between jobs afforded David the once in a lifetime opportunity to learn Torah full time. He loves learning at Yeshiva Rabbi Akiva, it is tailor made for him. Rabbi Gold is kind and serious, and understands both the limitations and aspirations of his talmidim. They work hard to earn their share in Torah.

Now it is bein hazmanim. Yeshivas have been on vacation since Rosh Chodesh Nisan, and this week the whole country is on vacation from work. Everyone is free. Free to be with family, free to travel this outrageously beautiful Land. But first, we cleaned and planned, purchased and prepared. We made our one, pure Seder.

In the Hagaddah, we said “...He took us out from there in order to bring us to Eretz Yisrael and to give us the land that He promised to our ancestors.” The ultimate purpose for which Hashem took us out of Egypt was to make us a nation, to give us His Torah and to bring us to the Land so that we can serve Him here. He did it in the blink of an eye-after centuries of suffering and yearning.

And miraculously, here we are. Our aliya anniversary lands squarely between Yom Ha’atzmaut, the day commemorating the miracle of the modern state of Israel and Yom Yerushalyim, the day of the miracle of a unified Jerusalem. Since we know that there are no coincidences, we’ve wondered about the message in this juxtaposition.

Jews began coming home en masse just 60 years ago. Untrained farmers and poorly armed fighters, with help from Above, built this country into a world economic power on a foundation of hope. It happened in the blink of an eye- after a long, dark disastrous decade...and Hashem’s promise to our forebears over 3,600 years ago. Then Jerusalem was given into our hands in 1967- in the blink of an eye-after 6 miraculous days and 2000 years of our longing.

Salvation comes in the blink of an eye. I thought of this over Chol haMoed when crowds came to pray at the Kotel at sunrise. While the night sky still hovered, we covered our eyes and said Shema, thousands of Jews together. Suddenly the black peeled away and revealed a sky turned that true Jerusalem blue. The Shema left us with clarity that, G-d who is merciful, is the true Judge, the same One who loves us.

Here we stand again –arab armies and world opinion a wall of ill will surrounding us. The only place to look is up. It may seem that we are alone in the black night, but dawn will soon break and we’ll then see that Hashem’s love and mercy have been surrounding us the whole time.

The great Chassidic rabbi, Rabbi Elimelech of Lizhensk says that in times of trouble we should talk of the miracles that Hashem performed in Egypt, and through this, He will continue to perform great miracles of salvation. At our Seder we talked about how the miracles of Pesach story are the paradigm for the future salvation. Those miracles will be even greater than we can imagine! We also said that even though it is a miracle that we are a distinct nation with the living Torah and our home is Israel, without the Bais haMikdash, the ultimate purpose of our nationhood and Torah are not realized. And so, our Seder here in the Old City of Jerusalem ended just like yours did: “l’shana haba b’Yerushalyim.”

May we merit to see the Almighty’s miracles. May we speak about them throughout the year, and may all of His children-in the blink of an eye- come home soon.

Love,
Renee and David

Buses & Flowers

2008-10-19T08:41:00.007+02:00

B”H

29 Shevat 5768
Erev Rosh Chodesh Adar
March 5, 2008

I question if I should be writing you about this. I don’t want to worry my family or friends. I know I could scare off potential tourists and stir up doubt for potential olim. G-d forbid, I risk bolstering the case of those who have no desire to be here at all. It happened on the afternoon on March 4.

My bus was shot at and it was terrifying.

I was on the Number One, settled into a seat somewhere in the middle of the bus. As we trundled through Mea Shaarim, I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes and rested. It’s been a busy week, lots of details, lots of running around and little sleep, so I took advantage of these quiet moments. I felt the bus slow down, making its left turn onto Rechov Sultan Suleiman through a distinctly arab shopping district alongside the Old City walls. There was, as usual, lots of traffic and I continued to relax as we inched along. Suddenly, screaming and yelling that shook me to the bones bolted me into consciousness.

The screams were from inside the bus. Loud pops pierced the air outside. A wave of panicked fellow passengers poured into the aisles, pushed toward me, then, at the command of the driver, fell to the floor. At first I panicked, too. I thought there was a bomber on the bus, so I ran to the door-which did not open, and crouched there. Then I realized there was a shooter outside. A woman, kneeling on the floor with Tehillim in her hand, told me to get away from the glass door. I realized I was an easy target. I crawled back toward the seats and folded myself into the flattest smallest target I could, my head to the floor. Like bowing on Yom Kippur during Aleinu, I thought. Eyes shut tight, I joined the cries to Hashem with pesukim from the only Tehillim I could think of, number 23-when I got to “lo’ira ra, ki ata imodi”-”I will not be afraid, for You are with me,” I said that over and over again.

Terrified screaming and yells from the passengers to move the bus, and from the driver for us to stay down continued. There were more shots. The bus honked franticly. One tall chassid remained upright while everyone I could see stayed close to the floor. Dressed immaculately with perfectly curled reddish peyos, the chassid in his long coat and stockings kept weaving up and down the aisle, bobbing back and forth between seats, monitoring the scene outside the windows while speaking on his cellphone like a commander in battle, obviously calling for help. Eventually, the bus driver, bless him, picked up speed and rambled past the action, speedily turning to safety along the southern wall.

Shaken, we climbed back into our seats, looking around into each others eyes in relief. A elderly woman needed mayim and a large bottle was passed to her from several rows back. Young people whipped out cellphones to call home and say they were ok in case their loved ones had heard about the pigua, but they had not... this incident never made it into the news. In fact, my search of stories the Jerusalem Post stated just the opposite scene: “on the streets of east Jerusalem on Tuesday, there were no reports of major violence in the city. ...Vendors sold their wares on streets packed tight with shoppers and several tourist groups heading to the Old City's Damascus Gate...”

There were dozens of underreported provocations early this week, my bus was simply one of them. In truth, we may not have been a target; if one really wants to shoot a bus, one could probably hit it. However, from the reactions of the driver and passengers, there was enough reason to believe danger was eminent.

The doors finally flung open at the Dung Gate, crowded with trinket kiosks, tourists and armed guards. Our commander-chassid spotted a police jeep and without bothering to get out, yelled through a window the details of the attack to the two inside. As the rest of us got off the bus, we looked around at one another, eyes often locked. We seemed both anxious to get away and reluctant to leave each other. It was only then that I noticed everyone was a Jew.

Odd, because, there are always arab men on that bus. They invariably find a way to be subtly offensive. It's the only reason I do not like to take the Number One. Once a young man played obnoxious music on his cellphone and turned up the volume when a Jew gave a disapproving look. Sometimes they talk too loudly or leer at modest girls. Once I saw an arab man purposefully take up two seats so a Jew had to stand. They always get off the bus at exactly the place by Damascus Gate where we were shot at. But no arab was on the bus that day.

Since we went into Gaza last week to damage the infrastructure that has lobbed katushas every day into Sderot and, as the Orange People correctly warned they would, hit near several sensitive areas in Ashkelon, the PR Machine has been twisting the story against us. One method is, like the schoolyard bully, to taunt us to react, then ride high on the wave of anti Israel press. Condeleeza Rice is in town making peace and publicly buying into this. The day before my bus was shot at, two city workers driving through a major Jerusalem thoroughfare in an Arab neighborhood were attacked by a mob with metal bars and glass bottles, barely avoiding getting dragged from their truck and beaten, or worse. There have been more unreported “little” incidents like mine. The attacks are planned-- and their goal is to terrorize us and incite us to retaliate.

Yes, we were terrified. But we were all G-d fearing Jews on that bus, most on their way to pray at the Kotel. After we scraped ourselves off the floor, humbled by that momentary fear, “Baruch Hashem,” were the first words we all said. We were afraid for the moment, but there is a greater fear we share. Fear of the Almighty who loves us and does only good. We know there is a greater plan at work.

Yes, I was incited, too. My retaliation? Gratitude for my life-with all its trial and all its joy-He continues to give me. I am alive, no one was hurt. I am grateful that only words Hashem put on my lips: “I will not be afraid for You are with me,” were the most comforting words I could have said. I knew we were in danger, but He was there with with me, my head on the dirty bus floor, and I felt calmed.

I’ve not been so calm since then, though. I jump at loud sounds and misread at children's happy screams, I did not sleep that night, and I worry too much. The people of Sderot go through this every day, all day, for years. We left Gaza, it was not enough. We supply energy, food and humanitarian needs, but it is not enough. So, they attack our sovereign towns full of unarmed citizens and we retaliate, but then we are told: that is too much.

It's hard to keep my head (in la-la land some will say) focused on the big picture and go on with my day, build my life, set goals for the future-while katushas and falsehood fly around us. But that is my retaliation. To live in Israel if Hashem wills it, feeling gratitude, even if my first pigua is not my last.

Yesterday I found myself in a dilemma. Once again in town, the quickest way home was the Number One. Of course I was going to take it. I was, after all, one of the few mothers who gave my seminary daughter permission to ride the busses several years ago after a wave of bus bombings. Its my right to go wherever, right?

So, I came out of Center One, approached the light to cross the street to the bus stop. The light was red. Before it turned green though, I continued down Jaffa. Past the bus station, past Machane Yehuda, past Café Neeman, Ben Yehuda and Sbarro. I did not stop walking until I reached the light to cross Rechov Shlomo haMelech and home was in sight. Sirens blared in the oncoming traffic. It was not an ambulance, thank G-d. It was Condeleeza Rice’s entourage, back from a day of peacemaking.

Come home soon, we need you here.
-Renee & David

P.S. Thursday, Rosh Chodesh Adar 10 P.M.
I finished this letter just a few hours ago. Tonight a terrorist walked into Yeshiva Merkaz haRav, hatefully gunned down eight pure souls and seriously wounded another eight. While the news changes the count every minute, we hang on to every update hoping the toll will fall. Arabs celebrate in the streets tonight, passing out candy to their children and shooting the guns supplied by Peres, just as we supplied the shooter tonight with a lethal weapon to kill our children.

Erev Shabbos, Rosh Chodesh Adar 12 noon
What is the Jewish response? Chief Sephardic Rabbi Shlomo Amar, ended his heart wrenching eulogy today with this, “Let us arouse to distance ourselves from all hatred and disunity, and let us increase love, brotherhood and Torah study...”

It’s our only recourse.

One victim lived here in the Rova, he was a friend of Mr. Cahan (who helped us in our erev Shabbos flood). Mr. Cahan said Yohai Lifschutz was a budding tamid chacham, a brilliant life with a sweet love of learning. Yohai’s father followed the Mishna Brura and refrained from eulogizing his precious lost son on Rosh Chodesh Adar, a day of simcha. Instead he praised his son for giving them close to Chai-18 years, and praised the Jewish people for doing the will of Hashem, “When the Jewish People sit and involve themselves in the simcha of Torah, Hashem says to His Heavenly entourage "Look, look at my beloved children who forget about their own distress and involve themselves in My simcha." We trust in the Big Picture, even when we are in too much darkness to see it-and we rejoice. That is the retaliation of the Jew.

The oldest, Doron Meherete was 26. Lazer Brody knew him and tells his story: An Ethiopian immigrant, Doron’s background was not solid enough to land him in the caliber of yeshiva he sought. After being rejected from Mercaz HaRav, Doron said, "If you won't let me learn Torah, will you let me wash the dishes in the mess hall?" For a year and a half, Doron washed dishes. But, he spent every spare minute in the study hall. He inquired what the yeshiva boys were learning, and spent most of the nights and all of his Shabbatot with his head in the Gemara learning what they learned. One day, the "dish washer" asked the Rosh Yeshiva to test him, the next day he became a bochur at Yeshiva Mercaz HaRav. We channel our energies to rise above our limitations. That is the greatness of a Jew.

And finally a last story, that can happen only in Israel told by Sharon Milendorf: The number 35 bus from Givat Shaul to Jerusalem passes by the yeshiva Mercaz HaRav. On Sunday morning after the attack, the bus stopped in front of the yeshiva and the driver shut off the engine and stood. With tears in his eyes, he told everyone on the bus that one of the boys killed on Thursday night was his nephew. He asked if we would mind if he spoke for a few minutes in memory of his nephew and the other boys who were killed. After seeing head nods all over the bus he began to speak.

With a clear and proud voice, he spoke beautifully about his nephew and said that he was a person who was constantly on the lookout for how to help out anyone in need. He was always searching for a way to make things better. He loved learning, and had a passion for working out the intricacies of the Gemara. He was excited to join the army in a few years, and wanted to eventually work in informal education.

As he continued to speak, I noticed that the elderly woman sitting next to me was crying. I looked into my bag, reached for a tissue and passed it to her. She looked at me and told me that she too had lost someone she knew in the attack. Her neighbors' child was another one of the boys killed. As she held my hand tightly, she stood up and asked if she too could say a few words in memory of her neighbor. She spoke of a young man filled with a zest for life. Every Friday he would visit her with a few flowers for Shabbat and a short dvar torah [Torah thought] that he had learned that week in Yeshiva. This past Shabbat, she had no flowers...

Eight boys- eight flowers.
may they remain a fragrant reminder of who we are

The Best Shabbos Ever

2008-10-19T08:40:00.002+02:00

B”H

25 Tevet 5768
January 3, 2008

Dear Friends and Family,

Last Friday seemed like a typical frantic erev Shabbos in the winter when there is never enough day. I did not organize myself to cook efficiently on Thursday. To make matters worse, since I let my household chores slide so I that could enjoy the most wonderful visitors that we had here last week, the laundry competed for my attention when I needed to be in the kitchen. I was tired, and although I tried to pull myself out of the mire, I still sank deep into complaining mode. Unsuccessful were my efforts to censure the negative, worrisome thoughts that seeped in between the bright moments of anticipation for the relaxing and radiant Shabbos we had planned. Yet, the day sped on and finally the table was set, the house sparkling and an end was in sight. I just had to shower and dress, then I could sit for a bit before lighting the candles.

As I pulled the last two fragrant challos out of the oven and turned to put them on the counter to cool, I noticed a that a curious puddle of water was seeping into our entryway from under the door to our courtyard. “Uhhhh David, I think we have a problem.” David came into the room as the puddle spread itself past the staircase. All he had time to say before the mass of sludgy water lunged towards the kitchen was, “OH YES WE DO!” We rushed to open the door and find the source, where we saw that the drain, meant only to collect rainwater, was bubbling up raw sewage, and because of the construction of the entry, had only one way to go—inside our house!

You cannot even imagine how awful this was. We did not know when it would ever cease. I started grabbing towels to stop it from traveling down the hall into our bedroom. David grabbed a board to cover the drain and set a heavy piece of an old column (that we just happened to have lying around in our courtyard) on top of the board to hopefully keep the steady stinky flow in check. It sort of worked, but our house was still filling up like an overflowing toilet. I knew we needed a plumber but didn’t have the wits about me to make the call. I fled the house and ran to the door of a neighbor who had helped us out once before when we blew the electricity-also a couple of hours before Shabbos.

This neighbor, Yechezchel Cahan is gabbi at the Ramban Synagogue where David often goes to pray. He is a modest, serious and very kind man who is sort of the ambassador/mayor of the little street we live on. He knows everyone and their stories, not because he is nosy, but because he cares so much. Mr. Cahan’s English is not great, but it’s much better than my Hebrew. Since I was almost hysterical when he answered the door cellphone to his ear, he could not understand what in the world I was jabbering about. He briefly spoke in Hebrew to the person on the cellphone and then handed it to me with instructions that I tell the person on the other end what was wrong. I blurted that the sewer was overflowing into our home and we needed a plumber ASAP, then handed the cellphone back to Mr Cahan. “OK,” he calmly assured me after hearing from our translator, “I know what to do.”

I ran back to our apartment to find David squeegee-ing the mess out the door towards the drain, which by now had subsided in its overflow. It was a slow process, the stench was unbearable and we were so afraid it would start to back up again at any moment. Yechezchel Cahan came over and told us a plumber was on the way. Chezchi, as David calls him, spent quite an amount of time assuring me that this plumber was a good, honest, reliable man who had done a lot of work on his house, so I should not worry. At some point, I realized the reason he spent so much time praising the plumber, was that it was an Arab. After all, who else could come so close to Shabbos?

Within 20 minutes there was the plumber from Yericho and his young son working on the backup. Lo and behold, they had it cleared in about 15 minutes!

Now we had to contend with the clean up. We did not know when we’d be able to live in our house again, it seemed we’d have to call a professional cleaning company. It was an hour and a half until candle lighting; we were expecting 10 for dinner and another 10 for lunch, all out-of-towners who were counting on us to feed them. We had really been looking forward to these guests. Weeks ago, Dovid Solomon, an extraordinary tour guide and dear friend, asked us to host some of his tour group of American secular high school students. We love having kids like that here, kids who are getting their first taste of Shabbos and first exposure to the air of Yerushalyim. Ron, Yehuda Avraham, Max and Joel Ezoory were also joining us; Ron’s enthusiasm for Eretz Yisrael is always energizing. For lunch, I had been looking forward to visiting with Sydney Rubin Lewis, Rachael, Abby and Josh. Darling Fayge Grossblatt was coming with friends; I know they had to do some juggling to arrange to be with us for the meal. Where were they all going to go?

As David and I tried to decide what we should do about our guests, we poured disinfectant all over the floors, squeegee-ed it out the door and down the now accepting drain. Maybe we’d move the Friday night meal to our generous friends, the Millers’ since they offered. But lunch was going to be a problem. The Millers were having 12 men and yeshiva students and our ten would be just too much. Meanwhile, bad news from the plumber. He went into our neighbor’s courtyard and found their boor was about to overflow as well so he unclogged it. But the source of our clogs was a clog down the line. Way down, about 50 meters; and who knew exactly where, and who was responsible? Everyone (by now, several neighbors were heatedly discussing this, all in Hebrew, of course-and we had no clue...) decided it was the “Iriya’s” -the city’s-responsibility.

By this time the disinfectant bottle was empty, the windows were open and dehumidifiers at full blast. It was now an hour until candle lighting. The stench in the air was beginning to clear. I poured bottles of white and cider vinegar all over the floors, thinking that might help. We squeegeed it into every corner and crevice, and out the door into the drain.

The plumber left, convinced he could do nothing else. When David asked how much money he wanted, he gave the most unbelievable response: he said he could not charge us anything, not a shekel. He said since he did not fix the problem, he could not take money!! Mr. Cahan and David insisted he at least charge for his time and gas, and he only asked for 200 shekel, about $50.00. Amazing. A plumber comes in 20 minutes, works for an hour and refuses to take money.

Mr. Cahan called “the Iriya.” All of the drains in our line in the Old City were certainly going to back up in the next few hours, ours first, if they did not come to unclog the primary source of the problem. Would they come before Shabbos? David & I did not think that was probable.

Even after two liters of disinfectant and four liters of vinegar, we still felt we had to clean more. David said we should pour boiling water on the floors. So I boiled up some pots and made use of the kum-kum (hot pot). We poured many many bucketfuls of steaming water over every square centimeter of the floor, into every crevice, behind the washing machine, and under the refrigerator then squeegeed it out to the drain. Then we did it again. And again. I’d say we ended up kashering our floors about three times.

Still, we were worried that even with our boor and our neighbor’s also being clear, normal plumbing use could cause another overflow, so we resigned ourselves to the horror of a potential repeat, set up dams of towels and with less than an half an hour to Shabbos, we loaded our food into the bubby cart, grabbed some clothing and headed to the Millers. We did not know how we were going to host all our guests or where we were going to sleep, but we had to go into Shabbos b’simcha; that was the ONLY thing we were sure of.

At the Millers, we quickly showered (with lots of soap) and dressed. David ran out to minyan; in our rush he’d forgotten his hat, coat and siddur-and I ran upstairs just in time to light. A moment later we heard a knock at the door. It was Yechezchel Cahan on his way to mincha....with news that the Iriya had miraculously come and cleared the line!!

With trepidation I went home and peeked in the house. It had never sparkled more, it had never smelled cleaner. Our guests came to us after all, and never knew (until now) the utter chaos that had overrun our serene home just a few hours earlier.

That Shabbos turned out to be the best Shabbos ever.

In the city of Jerusalem it is clear that nothing happens without a reason. There is always something to learn from any “random” happenstance. What did I learn?

I cannot know the ways of Hashem, but certainly, He sent this as a test. I think we passed. We thanked Hashem as we poured disinfectant, vinegar, boiling water and squeegee-ed it all away. We said, “I’m so glad this did not happen last week,” (when our guests arrived at 2:00 PM to spend all of Shabbos with us). “It’s a good thing this did not happen when we were sleeping at night, or out for an hour, or away on a trip.” “What bracha that there was a squeegee we could borrow.” “The chesed of Hashem to have placed such a kind Yechezchel Cahan available to help on an erev Shabbos --and on the phone with an English speaker at the very moment I knocked on his door.” And more: how did I happen to purchase, during our first week here, a disinfectant that smelled so bad I almost threw it away several times, but thought...you never know? How did I make a mistake and end up with four bottles of vinegar-all of which we used on the floor? Who would have thought that an Arab and the Iriya would expend such effort? After all, neither are known for their willingness to help a few swamped Shabbos loving Jews.

As David & I worked together to rid our home of the grossest kind of physical impurity, I thought about the spiritual impurity I brought into our home that day. Instead of asking Hashem to carry my worries, I sank deeper into them. I allowed negative thoughts to bubble into my day and did not ask for the koach, the strength, to fight them. I complained under my breath—so that only Hashem could hear-- and did not praise Him: the One Who invited us to live here in Yerushalayim and be His neighbors, so near to His holy home. I did not have simcha, even though I certainly have every reason to overflow with it.

As I finish this letter, it is again a Thursday night, and I still have much to do to get ready. So I’d better go, because I have to prepare my home, and my thoughts, for the next best Shabbos ever.

Come Home Soon,
Rena & David

Coming Home & Back Again

2008-10-19T08:37:00.003+02:00

B”H

17 Kislev 5768
November 27, 2007

Last Wednesday morning, jet lag awakened me before dawn and urged me to the Kotel early. I made my way just as I have done most mornings for the past six months. This time, though, it felt like the first time. The air was damp and chilly with intermittent sprinkles on slippery stones that kept many daybreak daveners snuggled in their warm homes. I love this weather because it holds the very air, the same cloud streaked skies and hovering chance of rain that welcomed and accompanied us throughout ten days in Kislev 1994, the first time we walked these stones and were kissed by the sweet clarity of the winter air.

This morning felt just like it did thirteen years ago, the morning of our first encounter with the remnant of our holy Temple, when our taxi wound its way down the steep road to the Kotel traffic circle and we watched the sky expand in pink and golden light as the sun emerged over the Har HaBayit.

Thirteen years ago David and I had no idea what Jerusalem, and Judaism for that matter, could mean to us. This was to be an adventure, a once in a lifetime vacation. We had guides lined up to take us to historical excavations, side trips planned so we could enjoy Israel’s natural beauty and interesting restaurant recommendations that we wanted to try. The restaurants offered new foods and presentations, our hikes were gorgeous, but it was the guide who gave us Jerusalem to whom we will always be indebted.

We spent three days with Barnea Selevan traipsing around the Old City and visiting every yeshiva (we had never been in one yeshiva, let alone half a dozen in one day). We explored the lives of Jews who came before us in every excavation, and learned about our cherished history in every museum and monument within these walls. We had questions and Barnea had answers. We had concerns, he understood them. We were developing ideas and he had a few of his own.

In the end, we took our lingering questions, nagging concerns and inspiring ideas back to Atlanta with us, but we also had something else to take home. Barnea held out a gift and he challenged us to take it. It was Yerushalyim. It was as if he was saying, “It’s your home, now what are you going to do with it?”

Of course, Atlanta was our home. Our loving family, good friends and supportive community are a reasonable definition of what a home is supposed to be. We had no family in Israel, few friends and no sense of community whatsoever. Our entire adult lives were spent in Atlanta. We’d spent a total of eight days in Jerusalem, yet we knew we’d forever be homesick for her as soon as our return flight lifted its wheels off the runway.

You all know the end of that story. Israel, Jerusalem in particular, is now-miraculously- our home.

Still, our ties remain strong to Atlanta and to everyone in America whom we hold dear, so two weeks ago I flew off for a week of concentrated catching up with my family and friends. Recurring questions settled on me everywhere I went: “What strikes you most about being back?” “Is being in America hard after being in Israel for so long?” “What do you miss most about Atlanta?” “…about Israel?” “What do you think about Annapolis?” “What’s the prevailing attitude in Israel?”

And finally, “It doesn’t seem like anyone cares...” Not a question, but it certainly does beg for an answer.

Of course we care. Every Jew cares.

Of course, I care. I care if our enemies will not only shoot fireworks on Friday night, but aim kassams at my neighbors, making French Hill another Sderot. Of course I care that our corrupt “leaders” think it will benefit our security to hand over to our enemies our security barrier of the Golan and once again exile Jews from their homes. It’s crazy. And I care that my government in America, in search of “signs of progress,” turns to the weakest party--banking on Israel’s capitulation --to save the administration from humiliation. Again.

Annapolis is no different really than Begin, Sadat and Carter; Rabin, Arafat and Clinton; Netanyahu, Arafat and Clinton; Barak, Arafat and Clinton; now its just Olmert, Abbas and Bush. Don’t we get it? It has always been Israel, Ishmael and Eisav. This is a struggle about gaining our inheritance, the Land of Israel.

Each of these leaders will bear responsibility for what he does...but ultimately God decides. He involved in the tiny nuances of our lives and He is running the world according to His plan, taking care to worry us, pain us and distance us only as much as we can bear.

Three things, says the Talmud, are gained only through suffering: Torah, Eretz Yisrael and Olam Haba. But these are our inheritance, why make us suffer? Because suffering forces us to choose. We can choose to distract ourselves with our busy lives to alleviate our pain, or we can choose to look closely at ourselves and see what the Almighty requires of us to alleviate His pain.

Living in this Land, it is so easy to love God. Surrounded by incomplete, broken Jews just like me, I know He is compassionate. Driving through Judea and gazing at His hills dotted with homes filled with Jewish children, I know how much nachas we are able to give Him. Seeing hundreds of tourists each day huddled in dozens of groups around their guides in the Kotel plaza speaking Ivrit, English, Russian, French, German, Spanish, French and perhaps Swahili (really)... I know He wants the whole world to know Him. Talking to the bare headed driver who says Jerusalem is the best city in the world because Jews living here is a fulfillment of God’s Plan, I know every Jew can have an intimate relationship with Him.

We are in a struggle for our Land. God demands that we be worthy of it. That is all.

Be compassionate, give Him nachas, show the world there is a God, and talk to Him all the time.

God alone directs the hand of man. When we realize that we have no one to rely on-not the Prime Minister’s whim, not President Bush’s religion, not Rice’s intellect, not the Congress’ clout and not the IDF’s strength—no one except God, and we step up to the plate and ask Him, with all of our hearts-Bonei b’rchamav Yerushalyim....

Jerusalem is a gift and we are each challenged us to take it. Hashem is saying, “It’s your home, now what are you going to do with it?!”

Most of you aren’t here yet...but you yearn to be here, don’t you? And maybe that causes you pain. We are all suffering in this Galus. Through our suffering, we are acquiring the Land. He is only asking that we use the pain of separation to become the Jew who can inherit the Land that He so badly wants us to be worthy of.

May we all come home soon.

-Renee & David