But I Don't Want to Spend Summer on a Sand Dune... part 2

My friend Roni Sokol of the hilarious www.mommyinlaw.com is smack in the middle of telling her Israel story... here's the long awaited part 2 - just in time for she and me to travel to Israel in 10 days.  Thank you Roni!

Send money, I'm not coming back.

 

After I cancelled my flight back to the states, my Israeli family unilaterally decided that I would sleep on Great Aunt Rivka's couch for the duration. This ended up being 6 months. The tricky part was that, although she allegedly spoke fluent English, Rivka could not understand my "American accent." Accordingly, we had to communicate with a writing tablet for the entire time I lived with her (and her numerous pet cockroaches).

 

It didn't help matters that at 3:00 in the morning the first night, my friends from LA called to inquire whether I was being held hostage, or even worse, joined a cult. They demanded explanations to the following questions: "What are you doing there?," "Why are you staying there?," "Did you meet a boy or something?"  Yes, they were all convinced that I met a boy and that is what was keeping me there. When I told them they were wrong, they would not believe me. So, I decided to go along with it. Yes, I had met a nice Israeli soldier boy who only came home from the army base on weekends, and I decided to hang around and wait for him. Interestingly, that answer actually satisfied them more than my previous answer--that I just liked it there.

 

The truth was, I had no idea why I was there or what I was going to do. I just wanted to stay. I was intrigued by the people. They were blunt and honest and real. They sort of reminded me of myself. I knew I wouldn't be able to get away with sunning myself on the beach all day everyday (or would I?), so I decided that the first thing I needed to do was learn the language. I mean, if I was going to stay there indefinitely, it would be a good idea to know how to properly ask for my burgers well done.

 

So, I went to this place called an" Ulpan".  This is where people go to learn conversational Hebrew in a hurry (reading and writing optional). This is where my grandparents met when they came over before the war. I went there every single day for months. And you know what? I learned the language pretty well. I was able to communicate fluently with 4 year olds and the elderly. I made lots of friends from all over the world at that Ulpan. I became friends with a German boy named "Ari." I decided that when I had a son, that would be his name (not because I liked the guy that much, but because I liked the name). I still love the name (and my son, Ari, of course).

 

Well, I needed to do something else besides study Hebrew day in and day out. My parents were asking a lot of questions and the money was drying up. Fortunately, my Great Uncle Aaron would slip me some sheckles here and there. He was pretty cool for an old guy who didn't speak one word of English. Not one word! He grew fond of me, though (thanks to my cousin who would translate).

 

Aside from Uncle Aaron, everyone kept asking me what I was going to do next and I got tired of not having an answer. So, I took Bus No. 4 over to Tel Aviv University and walked in the office marked "Overseas Student Program." I filled out an application right then and there. They wanted money. I gave them some. I was accepted for the coming semester. What did I tell you? Israel is AWESOME!

 

I moved into the dorms and became a student. When we started, some University officials took the women aside and told us to beware of the Israeli men. They would flatter us and wine and dine us in order to get to the US of A.  They warned that our hearts would be broken in a million little pieces. They also warned us to expect to get mighty chunky, as the women always tended to get fat on this program, while the men wasted away to nothing. This could have something to do with the falafel, but I'm not entirely sure.

 

The semester was incredible--an experience like no other. I learned more about the history of Judaism and the culture than I'd ever known. And then June came. The best year of my life was over. I had become a different person. I had matured tremendously, and yes, met an ivy league boy (or 3).  I was pumped up, motivated, ready to take on anything. But now, it was time to fish or cut bait. Would I go back to the U.S., back to college, back to life as I knew it? Or stay there, bum around, sleep on that lady's couch, get a job?

 

I decided to return home. One year had passed since I left. I needed to finish college and get on with my life. My Israeli family took me to the airport. We were all sullen. As I got ready to board the plane and was giving all my hugs, Great Uncle Aaron said in Hebrew that he did not want me to go. I told him in my broken Hebrew that I would be back. I promised. He responded that no one ever comes back when they leave for America. By then, he had tears flowing down his face. I told him I'd be different.

 

But, I wasn't. Although the country always held a place in my heart, I did not return until 20 years later, when I visited with my husband in 2005. My Great Uncle had already passed. So had the aunt whose couch I slept on. But, the memories all came rushing back. Although the country had changed substantially since I left, so much was the same. It took me right back to when I was 19.

 

In two weeks, I will return to Israel. It will be 25 years since I pleaded with my mother not to send me to a sand dune. I expect (and hope) that this two week trip is just as magical as that unplanned, impulsive, and completely incredible year in 1985 which changed me forever.

 

Sukkos and Buh-Bye For a Couple Weeks

Sukkos arriveth.

I just love Sukkos!!  The relief after the intensity of the high holidays.

The most spectacular season of the whole year.

My Sukkah!  Wow, I just love my Sukkah.

Sitting in the Sukkah at night... sipping butternut squash soup... wrapped in a wool pashmina... talking and laughing with family and guests... hearing the neighbors singing holiday songs in their Sukkahs around us... it's a magical time.

Wishing all of my readers a beautiful holiday, if you celebrate.  If you don't, try to visit a Sukkah over the holiday - seeing is believing.



And this, friends, will be my last post till November 6th, as I fly away to the most Holy Land the day after the holiday ends - October 23rd.

Can't wait to celebrate, can't wait for Israel, see you all on the other side.

Shalom, Chag Sameach (happy holiday).

Respect Your Elders

One of the hugest things I was raised with is the very important concept of respecting one's elders.

Yes, I know we all are, but it was like in technicolor, 24/7. 

There's a grandparent in the room?  They get the best seat and the most attention.

A parent says something?  You hop to it, pronto.

The younger you are, the less honor and veneration you get.

The older you are, the closer you are to the Sinai experience, and therefore, the holier you are - by definition.

Yes, I was a normal child, and didn't always agree or like the things my parents did.  But boy, did I know to be careful with how I expressed that.  Not because I was angelic, and not because I was punished or intimidated or anything unhealthy like that, but it was part of the air I breathed that this was a core and central part of being a Jew and a mentsch.

Now I'm trying to raise my kids this way.  It's not always easy, or guaranteed.  But the results are priceless.  And the only reason it works is because it's a third party - God.  He made up these rules, not me.

There's the rub, right there.

Points Along the Ortho-Spectrum

One of the biggest mistakes people make about the "Orthodox" is that we're all the same.  Or all Hasidic.  Or all Joseph Liebermans.  Well, just like lots of other things in life, it's all about a continuum.  Points along the spectrum.

I will not attempt to speak for any of these groups, since I do not reside in all of them, but will instead offer very superficial distinctions between them.  What I would love is to have members of these various groups speak for themselves, so if you identify as one of them, give me a holler and perhaps you would guest-blog for me. It may be anonymous, if you'd like.

For example:

1. The most intense form of Orthodoxy is Hasidism.  Also called Chassidism.  Chasidim wear special clothing that makes them immediately visible as such, and believe in a tremendous warmth and passion in Judaism as well as insularity - sheltering themselves from external influences and secular culture as much as possible.  Many speak Yiddish as a first language.  Here's where you'll find the fur hats, called "shtreimlach" and the curly sidelocks, called "peyos."



2. Together with and separate from Hasidism is Chabad-Lubavitch.  Chabad is a form of Hasidism, but their primary focus is outreach to fellow Jews to inspire them in Judaism, as opposed to insularity.  Chabad is famous for stopping people on the street to perform a mitzvah such as laying tefilling or shaking a lulav and is incredibly idealistic, self-effacing, and devoted in their mission, even moving to far-flung areas such as (famously) Mumbai, Shanghai, or Chile to be there for fellow Jews searching for meaning, inspiration, or just a warm hello and some home-cooked kosher food.

3. We now arrive at the "yeshivish" community.  They are easily spotted by the black hats, suits and white shirts at all occasions.  More on the yeshivish community here.

4. The next group would be "regular" Orthodox. They don't wear the black hats.  They don't only dress in "black-and-white" either.  The guys might wear khakis, colored shirts, and jeans while in casual mode.  The women are harder to distinguish from category #3. Good luck with that.  Some people find themselves fluctuating between various groups, too, or living somewhere between.  They may have a TV or allow moderate forms of secular culture in their homes and lives.

5. Modern Orthodoxy is a group that believes passionately in Religious Zionism, in embracing secular culture and being a part of the larger world for the purpose of creating a "kiddush Hashem" - showing the world that you can do both.  Senator Lieberman, I believe, identifies as Modern Orthodox.

What do you say, readers?  Would you agree with my breakdown?  Offer your own?  Have something to add or subtract?  Would love to hear about it!  Per the nature of my blog, if there is disparaging or rude comment made about another group, it will not be published.

Yom Kippur, Day of White

There are 6 fast days on the Jewish calendar:

The man, the woman, the long, the short, the black, the white.

Man: Fast of Gedalya (day after Rosh Hashanah)
Woman: Fast of Esther (day before Purim)
Long: Shiva Asar B'Tammuz - longest because of the number of daylight hours (it's in July)
Short: Asara B'Teves - fewest daylight hours (January)
Black: Tisha B'Av - blackest, most mournful day on our calendar
White: Yom Kippur - white for purity, cleansing, and repentance

Do you dread Yom Kippur?  I do too, sometimes.  In my immature moments I dread the fasting and high expectations of prayer.  In my more mature moments, I welcome the opportunity to truly dust off the cobwebs and stand bravely to face my demons.

And in my most mature moments, I dread it again, wondering if I've overestimated myself.

Yom Kippur looks white.  It's quiet.  People walking to services, from services, dressed simply.  They're quiet. It's a serious day.  Nothing else matters.

It smells fresh, like after a good rain.

It tastes metallic, from fasting.

It sounds like a rush of the ocean in prayer, the melody swelling and falling like the tide.

It feels like the pages of my machzor (holiday prayerbook).   Turning, turning, turning.  I'm cold, from not eating.  I pull my sweater close around me.

That was in my youth.

Now, I care for my kids.  Teach at JFX.  Run to catch a small morsel of the service at shul (synagogue).  I grab it like the hungry woman I am.  Try not to kvetch about the fasting; that's SO not what it's about.

Hope I'm using the hours well, as they tick, tick, tick away...

Is Your Dog Orthodox?

Why are Orthodox kids scared of dogs?

I have a better question:  Why do dog-owners get offended when Orthodox kids are scared of their dogs?

Here's the answer to the first question; dog owners will have to supply the answer to the second:

Orthodox kids typically do not grow up with dogs as pets.  Their relatives and classmates typically do not either.  Therefore, they are not used to them.  Therefore, they don't know how to read their signals or distinguish from pit pull to golden retriever (did I get that right?).  When a huge doggie leaps up and is larger than said child (or not), it can be frightening.

Which begs an even better question:  Why don't Orthodox people typically own dogs?

Some hypotheses:

1. They have more kids instead of pets.  Me, if I ever thought I had the time and mental energy to handle caring for an animal, I'd say to myself: Self!  What is stopping you from bringing another child into this world?

2. For kids of Holocaust survivors, dogs were a no-no, as the Germans used them for crowd control, and worse.

3. There are some Halachic issues with caring for a pet on Shabbat and holidays.  Yes, yes, I know that they can all be surmounted, but some people would prefer to avoid this issue in the first place.

4. Part of Jewish philosophy is the stressing of the distinction between human and animal.  I don't know if or how that relates, but I sure find it interesting, especially as society as a whole tends to humanize animals and animalize humans.  Think Curious George all the way down to the Berenstein Bears, to the zoo telling us we are simply cooler primates.  Jewish philosophy disagrees.

5. Due to the above and possibly reasons I've never thought of, it has become culturally unusual for Orthodox people to own dogs - which drives its own resistance.

Nevertheless, I want to stress that it is not AGAINST Halacha (Jewish law) to own a dog, and if an Orthodox person wants to, he most certainly can, and all the power to him, and that's awesome.

And if it could please not lick my face, I'd be decidedly grateful.

Any other hypotheses out there?

Growing up Faithful

Taught a class this week on the concept of Torah from Sinai.  The issue at hand was did, indeed, the Revelation at Sinai take place exactly as described in the Torah?

But before the conversation progressed very far, one of the women asked:

"Were you told this growing up?  That the Torah was given at Sinai in this miraculous way?  What was that like?  Because this was not a conversation we ever had in MY family."

I tried to answer her question without the curse of knowledge.

And said:

I wasn't told that it happened.  It was like the oxygen in our air.
I wasn't told "my grandparents" were at Sinai - I was told WE, our very souls, were at Sinai.
It wasn't A Conversation.  It was multiple conversations, off-the-cuff comments, references to faith, belief in miracles, and hope for the future, replaying infinitely and exponentially.
It wasn't blind faith.  I challenged, asked, insisted on consistency and cohesion and synchronicity and order.  And got it.

What were you told?