Table of Contents
I’m not particularly one for flowers. I’ve got nothing against them but I’ve never been one for lighting up when presented with a bunch. Indeed, to all those considering buying me some greenery atopped with colorful petals, make sure you follow some rules: are you going to get down the vase; arrange them nicely; place them on my table and then when they’re dying remove them and clean up? Simply put, I can take them or leave them.
Also, you know those people who simply have to stop to watch a sun set? Not me. Quite the opposite in fact. Which ends up being most irritating to those who love these things, such as my husband and no doubt billions of other people in the world. For example, a couple of years ago when we were taking what is meant to be a dream road trip between LA and San Francisco, Daniel was shocked that I was more interested in the little box of mixed raisins, cranberries and blueberries his mother had given me than any of the “vista” stops made.
So what exactly happened to make me stop and take a picture of a sunflower on the way back to work the other day? So unlike me.
Here’s what I think could have transpired. I live in Efrat and work in Alon Shvut. Since the swimming pool is in Alon Shvut and only open certain hours I made an arrangement with my boss a couple of years ago that I would come to work at 7 45, leave at 8 30 for a swim, return at 9 20 to the office and make up the time missed at home after taking a nap with my indefatigable soon-to-be-three-year-old son.
In other words, I have done this 5-minute journey from work to the pool and vice versa over 500 times. So one would think I would notice something, well, noticeable. Apparently not.
Last week was particularly trying for me. We had to make two shiva (grieving for the dead) calls. Then I heard my best friend Lynda – simply one of the world’s “goodest” people in the world – had shingles and then on Shabbat the kids were in a rotten mood (no doubt picking up on my emotions). Interestingly when mentioning one of the losses our community encountered, my husband noted that the three weeks (of mourning) had just started. Apparently it took me a bit longer to connect the dots.
So come Sunday I pass the same roundabout I’ve passed many many times on the way back from the pool and all of a sudden am like “whoa!!! Where did that come from?” as I see not just a sunflower, but a single, large, long-stemmed flower standing tall and proud. Too shocked to do anything but gawp, I simply went back to work. “Did anyone ever see that sunflower on the roundabout (I used the term traffic circle so the Americans could understand) up the road?” Other than a few blank stares I got no response.
Close to thinking I’d possibly imagined it, the following day I put on my mental checklist to take another look. And I found that indeed it was there! Well I simply couldn’t just drive past without capturing this almost-exotic beauty in the little hic town of Alon Shvut. So, approaching the roundabout I somewhat obnoxiously stopped the car – blocking any other cars from driving past – put the hazard warning lights on in that Israeli manner of “I’m stopping here and could care less about anyone else,” and jumped out the car to snap a picture.
As I ran back to the car (having not taken a brilliant shot – as seen here) I see a guy in a car behind me trying to get past by my obnoxious sitting-in-the-middle-of-the-road-parking spot I'd created for myself. I felt a bit bad and then as I drove off I thought, “hey, that looks like Shlomo Katz…Wonder if it’s him. Hope he doesn’t think I was being really rude by blocking his way.”
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not naïve enough to say that this sunflower and its consequences that day totally changed how I had been feeling until then. It didn't take away the deaths and grieving or the bad mood and misery I was encountering. But it did go some way to put a smile on a smile-less few days.
When I returned to work I showed my colleagues - most who walk past this roundabout daily - the photo. Other than the dismissive “oh nice” response, there wasn't much interest. Except from one colleague. After I'd told her about it the day before, when she drove past it later that day, she noticed it too. She then asked me to send it to her as Anna Greenberg z”l who passed away at the age of 28 following a battle with cancer “told her family that butterflies and sunflowers would be signs that she is with them. So the family is hoping to help create a healing garden that will incorporate metalwork images of butterflies and sunflowers." So that was kinda nice.
But then I started contemplating the sunflower incident further. Maybe the sunflower had been there all this time but I’d only noticed it at that moment because of all the recent grieving I’d witnessed along with that of centuries of Jewish suffering most notably at this time. Or, perhaps someone had just decided – because we’re a Jewish country so fully aware of the calendar and its ups and downs – to implant this large flower for the three weeks. Indeed, in the midst of all the devastation, this larger-than-life flower is standing so tall, at the edge of life – aka the traffic circle – saying “hey sunshine, I know it’s tough but I’m still here.” No matter what crap is going on, simple randomness can take place and force out the smile from even the most-downward-turned lips.
When I got home and saw Shlomo Katz online I figured I should use the opportunity to apologize if it was him I had held up in the morning. So I wrote to him, “did I block you in A. Shvut when I stopped to take a photo? Sorry if I did L” There I’d made amends. I was absolutely flabbergasted to receive his reply some time later, “you’ll never believe it – I have been preparing a whole shiur based on seeing u take that picture this morning – u can’t begin to imagine how inspiring to me it was to see someone who notices the beauty of the world in the middle of a busy day. Thank u!”
Well I wasn’t expecting that. So then I started considering the sunflower scene again and set out to figure out what the episode taught me. Here’s what I came up with:
1. You don’t have to fall in love with sunsets or the crookedest roads in the world if you’d prefer eating a raisin mix; it doesn’t mean you’re superficial.
2. No matter what events in life put you in a bad mood somehow (and I’m really not a spiritual/religious person so much) G-d is there, lurking, whether you like it or not.
3. Sometimes it can take a while for the pieces of the puzzle to fit into place and only occasionally – as in this case – are we zocheh to enjoy some hashgacha pratis. Even when this isn’t the case it doesn’t mean it doesn’t there.
4. If someone passes on from this world and says they are watching down at you…chances are they are.
5. If you have to take a picture in the middle of a busy road make sure you’re blocking in someone holy who will see it as a lesson not as an annoyance.
My message to everyone is go out there and find your sunflower. It doesn’t have to be what everyone else is apparently admiring. It just has to speak to you in your own language. And just remember that there will be painful moments in life – hey we all know that too well unfortunately – but as our Bear of Little Brain once astutely pointed out, “how lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” A few days ago the sunflower became that for me.
3rd July, 2013
Also, you know those people who simply have to stop to watch a sun set? Not me. Quite the opposite in fact. Which ends up being most irritating to those who love these things, such as my husband and no doubt billions of other people in the world. For example, a couple of years ago when we were taking what is meant to be a dream road trip between LA and San Francisco, Daniel was shocked that I was more interested in the little box of mixed raisins, cranberries and blueberries his mother had given me than any of the “vista” stops made.
So what exactly happened to make me stop and take a picture of a sunflower on the way back to work the other day? So unlike me.
Here’s what I think could have transpired. I live in Efrat and work in Alon Shvut. Since the swimming pool is in Alon Shvut and only open certain hours I made an arrangement with my boss a couple of years ago that I would come to work at 7 45, leave at 8 30 for a swim, return at 9 20 to the office and make up the time missed at home after taking a nap with my indefatigable soon-to-be-three-year-old son.
In other words, I have done this 5-minute journey from work to the pool and vice versa over 500 times. So one would think I would notice something, well, noticeable. Apparently not.
Last week was particularly trying for me. We had to make two shiva (grieving for the dead) calls. Then I heard my best friend Lynda – simply one of the world’s “goodest” people in the world – had shingles and then on Shabbat the kids were in a rotten mood (no doubt picking up on my emotions). Interestingly when mentioning one of the losses our community encountered, my husband noted that the three weeks (of mourning) had just started. Apparently it took me a bit longer to connect the dots.
So come Sunday I pass the same roundabout I’ve passed many many times on the way back from the pool and all of a sudden am like “whoa!!! Where did that come from?” as I see not just a sunflower, but a single, large, long-stemmed flower standing tall and proud. Too shocked to do anything but gawp, I simply went back to work. “Did anyone ever see that sunflower on the roundabout (I used the term traffic circle so the Americans could understand) up the road?” Other than a few blank stares I got no response.
Close to thinking I’d possibly imagined it, the following day I put on my mental checklist to take another look. And I found that indeed it was there! Well I simply couldn’t just drive past without capturing this almost-exotic beauty in the little hic town of Alon Shvut. So, approaching the roundabout I somewhat obnoxiously stopped the car – blocking any other cars from driving past – put the hazard warning lights on in that Israeli manner of “I’m stopping here and could care less about anyone else,” and jumped out the car to snap a picture.
As I ran back to the car (having not taken a brilliant shot – as seen here) I see a guy in a car behind me trying to get past by my obnoxious sitting-in-the-middle-of-the-road-parking spot I'd created for myself. I felt a bit bad and then as I drove off I thought, “hey, that looks like Shlomo Katz…Wonder if it’s him. Hope he doesn’t think I was being really rude by blocking his way.”
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not naïve enough to say that this sunflower and its consequences that day totally changed how I had been feeling until then. It didn't take away the deaths and grieving or the bad mood and misery I was encountering. But it did go some way to put a smile on a smile-less few days.
When I returned to work I showed my colleagues - most who walk past this roundabout daily - the photo. Other than the dismissive “oh nice” response, there wasn't much interest. Except from one colleague. After I'd told her about it the day before, when she drove past it later that day, she noticed it too. She then asked me to send it to her as Anna Greenberg z”l who passed away at the age of 28 following a battle with cancer “told her family that butterflies and sunflowers would be signs that she is with them. So the family is hoping to help create a healing garden that will incorporate metalwork images of butterflies and sunflowers." So that was kinda nice.
But then I started contemplating the sunflower incident further. Maybe the sunflower had been there all this time but I’d only noticed it at that moment because of all the recent grieving I’d witnessed along with that of centuries of Jewish suffering most notably at this time. Or, perhaps someone had just decided – because we’re a Jewish country so fully aware of the calendar and its ups and downs – to implant this large flower for the three weeks. Indeed, in the midst of all the devastation, this larger-than-life flower is standing so tall, at the edge of life – aka the traffic circle – saying “hey sunshine, I know it’s tough but I’m still here.” No matter what crap is going on, simple randomness can take place and force out the smile from even the most-downward-turned lips.
When I got home and saw Shlomo Katz online I figured I should use the opportunity to apologize if it was him I had held up in the morning. So I wrote to him, “did I block you in A. Shvut when I stopped to take a photo? Sorry if I did L” There I’d made amends. I was absolutely flabbergasted to receive his reply some time later, “you’ll never believe it – I have been preparing a whole shiur based on seeing u take that picture this morning – u can’t begin to imagine how inspiring to me it was to see someone who notices the beauty of the world in the middle of a busy day. Thank u!”
Well I wasn’t expecting that. So then I started considering the sunflower scene again and set out to figure out what the episode taught me. Here’s what I came up with:
1. You don’t have to fall in love with sunsets or the crookedest roads in the world if you’d prefer eating a raisin mix; it doesn’t mean you’re superficial.
2. No matter what events in life put you in a bad mood somehow (and I’m really not a spiritual/religious person so much) G-d is there, lurking, whether you like it or not.
3. Sometimes it can take a while for the pieces of the puzzle to fit into place and only occasionally – as in this case – are we zocheh to enjoy some hashgacha pratis. Even when this isn’t the case it doesn’t mean it doesn’t there.
4. If someone passes on from this world and says they are watching down at you…chances are they are.
5. If you have to take a picture in the middle of a busy road make sure you’re blocking in someone holy who will see it as a lesson not as an annoyance.
My message to everyone is go out there and find your sunflower. It doesn’t have to be what everyone else is apparently admiring. It just has to speak to you in your own language. And just remember that there will be painful moments in life – hey we all know that too well unfortunately – but as our Bear of Little Brain once astutely pointed out, “how lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” A few days ago the sunflower became that for me.
3rd July, 2013
Since landing in Israel nearly 17 years ago to begin what was to be quite a life adventure, I’ve heard many “only in Israel” stories. Yet I’ve never come across an “only in Eilat” one; not until this week where I experienced it first-hand.
I’ve been reading so much in the press recently about the totally crazy, over-the-top “religious” women in this country going to all sorts of extremes in the way they live their lives in the name of “modesty.” They look more like Arabs now, covering everything but their eyes and their overall behavior seems to be becoming detrimental to every part of Israeli society, simultaneously giving lots of very good, warm, giving haredim a bad name.
As soon as I learned about these women, try as I might, I couldn’t for the life of me work out how they could in any way be described as “religious.” Is this really what G-d was thinking when He gave us the Torah?
I wouldn’t exactly call myself learned but over my many years of Jewish education – both at home and school – I feel I may have picked up a thing or two. One of the first questions G-d asks us on reaching olam haba is “did you enjoy my world?” We are also unable to ask G-d for His forgiveness before we have gained it from those in His world whom we have hurt. These two idioms give me the impression that we need to live in the world in a real way; work in the world; go shopping in the world; and do everything that requires us to interact properly, appropriately and kindly in the world He so kindly bestowed upon us.
Which is why it just makes no sense to me that these women are living in this way and spitting at people who are not dressing in the way they want them to dress. That is Judaism? That is orthodoxy?
Actually I think it was in Eilat this week that I experienced true Jewish orthodoxy for the first time in a very long while. I was zocheh to encounter some truly passionate individuals, entertainers, who were breathing and living Judaism in the most accurate sense of the word.
Behind the backdrop of a screen that read in Hebrew, “Then Samson called to the L-rd and said, ‘O L-rd G-d, remember me, I pray thee, and strengthen me, I pray thee…’”, women were singing, dancing and telling the Biblical story of Samson. True, they weren’t totally covered up and yes indeed, they probably were giving the men in the audience something to smile about. But at the same time, they were neither pole-dancing nor trying to sell their bodies for cash or any other horrific degradation to a woman’s body the Bet Shemesh crowd insinuate with their over-the-top expressions of disgust. And guess what? They were living G-d’s true will; they were enabling people to truly enjoy His world.
The following night the same somewhat scantily-clad women were up on stage singing and dancing to songs including: Adon Olam, Moshiach and Avinu Shebashamayim (forget the title of that song). What were they saying? How were they encouraging the audience to enjoy the evening’s entertainment and at the same time on some level, realize Who controls the world? By coming out onto the dance floor and encouraging little kids to do some circle-dancing to the dulcet tones of “Master of the world; we want Moshiach now and our G-d is in Heaven.” Yes, oh heaven above, it was boys and girls together! But guess what? These kids who sit in day school and learn about Judaism who may not go home and keep all the intricate laws of Shabbat, to me are way more religious and have a far deeper understanding of what G-d wants in the world than the bossy Bet Shemesh spitters.
We are so privileged to live in the land of Israel. So let’s try doing that. Let’s try living and stop criticizing. Let’s try doing what Hashem originally set out for us to do – to live, love and truly enjoy in his world. Because that is what any kind of Judaism is truly all about. And maybe in the near future I’ll be able to widen the spectrum of the “only in Eilat” story to an “only in Israel” one.
30 December, 2011
I’ve been reading so much in the press recently about the totally crazy, over-the-top “religious” women in this country going to all sorts of extremes in the way they live their lives in the name of “modesty.” They look more like Arabs now, covering everything but their eyes and their overall behavior seems to be becoming detrimental to every part of Israeli society, simultaneously giving lots of very good, warm, giving haredim a bad name.
As soon as I learned about these women, try as I might, I couldn’t for the life of me work out how they could in any way be described as “religious.” Is this really what G-d was thinking when He gave us the Torah?
I wouldn’t exactly call myself learned but over my many years of Jewish education – both at home and school – I feel I may have picked up a thing or two. One of the first questions G-d asks us on reaching olam haba is “did you enjoy my world?” We are also unable to ask G-d for His forgiveness before we have gained it from those in His world whom we have hurt. These two idioms give me the impression that we need to live in the world in a real way; work in the world; go shopping in the world; and do everything that requires us to interact properly, appropriately and kindly in the world He so kindly bestowed upon us.
Which is why it just makes no sense to me that these women are living in this way and spitting at people who are not dressing in the way they want them to dress. That is Judaism? That is orthodoxy?
Actually I think it was in Eilat this week that I experienced true Jewish orthodoxy for the first time in a very long while. I was zocheh to encounter some truly passionate individuals, entertainers, who were breathing and living Judaism in the most accurate sense of the word.
Behind the backdrop of a screen that read in Hebrew, “Then Samson called to the L-rd and said, ‘O L-rd G-d, remember me, I pray thee, and strengthen me, I pray thee…’”, women were singing, dancing and telling the Biblical story of Samson. True, they weren’t totally covered up and yes indeed, they probably were giving the men in the audience something to smile about. But at the same time, they were neither pole-dancing nor trying to sell their bodies for cash or any other horrific degradation to a woman’s body the Bet Shemesh crowd insinuate with their over-the-top expressions of disgust. And guess what? They were living G-d’s true will; they were enabling people to truly enjoy His world.
The following night the same somewhat scantily-clad women were up on stage singing and dancing to songs including: Adon Olam, Moshiach and Avinu Shebashamayim (forget the title of that song). What were they saying? How were they encouraging the audience to enjoy the evening’s entertainment and at the same time on some level, realize Who controls the world? By coming out onto the dance floor and encouraging little kids to do some circle-dancing to the dulcet tones of “Master of the world; we want Moshiach now and our G-d is in Heaven.” Yes, oh heaven above, it was boys and girls together! But guess what? These kids who sit in day school and learn about Judaism who may not go home and keep all the intricate laws of Shabbat, to me are way more religious and have a far deeper understanding of what G-d wants in the world than the bossy Bet Shemesh spitters.
We are so privileged to live in the land of Israel. So let’s try doing that. Let’s try living and stop criticizing. Let’s try doing what Hashem originally set out for us to do – to live, love and truly enjoy in his world. Because that is what any kind of Judaism is truly all about. And maybe in the near future I’ll be able to widen the spectrum of the “only in Eilat” story to an “only in Israel” one.
30 December, 2011
We just spent two weeks in the West Coast. We were in sunny LA, where the temperature is pretty perfect almost all year around; Oxnard, a stunning part of California on the beach with a perfect kosher winery and restaurant, and Las Vegas, "sin city" in every which way. For the first time since having made aliya (13 1/2 years ago), I was thrilled that I live in none other than Israel.
Why? Everything is apparently so easy in America. Every time you go to the supermarket it is a pleasant experience. There are more types of orange juices to choose from than fingers on my hands; more colours of tomatoes than hours we spent on the plane, and indeed, even the bananas appear less stressed. Contrast that to Israel (or indeed Efrat), where when you go in to the supermarket maybe they'll have orange juice stocked in; at times there will be ripe tomatoes, and getting a readily edible banana can often be a challenge.
So what happened this time? Don't get me wrong...there were parts of the trip that were fantastic. It is nice to know that each item you're buying in the supermarket (super being the operative word) is going to be top quality; and that even if you show total chutzpa on the roads you won't get honked at until you go deaf. And of course the wonderful weather in August, coupled with the space just to walk on the streets really makes for pleasant living. But I felt anxious. I didn't feel as relaxed as I thought I would. And it was only when I got home, to eretz Yisrael, to Efrat, the Gush, my small street where it takes 15 minutes to get to the nearest store to even attempt to buy a yellow banana, that I realized why.
Following our 16-hour flight with a toddler, on arriving in Century City, we stopped off at the supermarket for a few basics. My mother in law asked what I'd like, and I (thinking I was responding to an innocent enough question) said orange juice. I didn't realize a whole slew of questions – akin to being at a speeddating event – would follow. 1) What size would you like? -Medium; 2) What colour oranges? -Orange; 3) With pulp or without pulp? -With; 4) How much pulp? By this point I almost yelled, "just get me a ***ing carton of orange juice already," but I realized in time thankfully, she is still my mother in law...
A few days later, recalling our fun-loving date in a small water park in Tiberias, my husband thought he would recreate the experience by taking me to Hurricane Harbor. Apart from the fact that we spent over an hour-and-a-half lining up for each ride, there were about 2 things we could do that were – in my opinion – nice. I wasn't interested in going down a dark hole, completely enclosed, up and down, round and round, tossed against the tin tube for about 40 seconds, alone. I wouldn't be able to see anything; my arms would have to be behind my head and I knew I'd just be saying as much of tefillat haderech as I could recall while panic-stricken. Of course, hubbie loves all that kind of thing, but what was special for me in Tiberias was that we did a few mellow rides together, he did one or two slightly "bigger" ones on his own (that didn't take forever to line up for) and the rest of the day we spent hanging out. Not so in America. You have to get all these experiences, whether you like them or not. It's just all "part of the adventure."
Next my husband took me to a bookstore. He for sure thought I'd love that (as did I). But at Barnes and Noble with their 3 floors of books, I felt so overwhelmed, that I just sat at the Starbucks inside the store and drank a frappaccino (which took a good 5 minutes to order too, based on the above orange juice experience).
Coming home has indeed been wonderful. I guess people here need to spend more time making the rent, trying to do a chessed for a friend or family member, finding yet another new job, or just going for a walk with a neighbour which leaves less time for selecting the perfect orange juice and ordering coffee. And while my first visit to my local supermarket back home felt a bit flat as I eyed yet another green banana that I knew would take 5 days to potentially become edible, I'll take that any day over the overwhelming choice offered by the West Coast.
August 2, 2008
Why? Everything is apparently so easy in America. Every time you go to the supermarket it is a pleasant experience. There are more types of orange juices to choose from than fingers on my hands; more colours of tomatoes than hours we spent on the plane, and indeed, even the bananas appear less stressed. Contrast that to Israel (or indeed Efrat), where when you go in to the supermarket maybe they'll have orange juice stocked in; at times there will be ripe tomatoes, and getting a readily edible banana can often be a challenge.
So what happened this time? Don't get me wrong...there were parts of the trip that were fantastic. It is nice to know that each item you're buying in the supermarket (super being the operative word) is going to be top quality; and that even if you show total chutzpa on the roads you won't get honked at until you go deaf. And of course the wonderful weather in August, coupled with the space just to walk on the streets really makes for pleasant living. But I felt anxious. I didn't feel as relaxed as I thought I would. And it was only when I got home, to eretz Yisrael, to Efrat, the Gush, my small street where it takes 15 minutes to get to the nearest store to even attempt to buy a yellow banana, that I realized why.
Following our 16-hour flight with a toddler, on arriving in Century City, we stopped off at the supermarket for a few basics. My mother in law asked what I'd like, and I (thinking I was responding to an innocent enough question) said orange juice. I didn't realize a whole slew of questions – akin to being at a speeddating event – would follow. 1) What size would you like? -Medium; 2) What colour oranges? -Orange; 3) With pulp or without pulp? -With; 4) How much pulp? By this point I almost yelled, "just get me a ***ing carton of orange juice already," but I realized in time thankfully, she is still my mother in law...
A few days later, recalling our fun-loving date in a small water park in Tiberias, my husband thought he would recreate the experience by taking me to Hurricane Harbor. Apart from the fact that we spent over an hour-and-a-half lining up for each ride, there were about 2 things we could do that were – in my opinion – nice. I wasn't interested in going down a dark hole, completely enclosed, up and down, round and round, tossed against the tin tube for about 40 seconds, alone. I wouldn't be able to see anything; my arms would have to be behind my head and I knew I'd just be saying as much of tefillat haderech as I could recall while panic-stricken. Of course, hubbie loves all that kind of thing, but what was special for me in Tiberias was that we did a few mellow rides together, he did one or two slightly "bigger" ones on his own (that didn't take forever to line up for) and the rest of the day we spent hanging out. Not so in America. You have to get all these experiences, whether you like them or not. It's just all "part of the adventure."
Next my husband took me to a bookstore. He for sure thought I'd love that (as did I). But at Barnes and Noble with their 3 floors of books, I felt so overwhelmed, that I just sat at the Starbucks inside the store and drank a frappaccino (which took a good 5 minutes to order too, based on the above orange juice experience).
Coming home has indeed been wonderful. I guess people here need to spend more time making the rent, trying to do a chessed for a friend or family member, finding yet another new job, or just going for a walk with a neighbour which leaves less time for selecting the perfect orange juice and ordering coffee. And while my first visit to my local supermarket back home felt a bit flat as I eyed yet another green banana that I knew would take 5 days to potentially become edible, I'll take that any day over the overwhelming choice offered by the West Coast.
August 2, 2008
It's about a year since I went to Kibbutz Almog with a bunch of other soul searchers on a 4-day spiritual retreat. I was in a pretty good place at the time – I was growing up and no longer fighting it.
Probably everyone on that retreat had a different experience and came seeking something slightly unique. What the group did have in common though – that I saw – was they were all looking for the "wow." Obviously, what was wow to one, wasn't to another, so again we all took different angles.
About a month before embarking the coach at the Pardes Institute following a spaghetti lunch, I found an article by Oprah Winfrey, on the back page of one of her monthly magazines, the series of which is entitled, "What I know for sure." The particularly one I found almost deafened me, the words being so in tune with what I'd been feeling for sometime but couldn't express.
Oprah spoke about all the years she'd spent trying to find the answers in life: to lose weight; get the best career; find the perfect relationship, etc. Throughout this time of struggle she'd experienced frustration. Finally, she'd found the answer to life's big secret...It was as simple in theory as it was complicated in practice: "What I know for sure is this," she said: "The big secret in life is that there is no big secret... There are no back doors, no free rides. There's just you, this moment and a choice."
In all the years I'd spent being analyzed by either another or self; the endless chats with like-minded souls on how to battle life's perturbing struggles; the nights spent staring at the ceiling seeking an answer, it'd never been so clear as it was then in Oprah Winfrey-icon-chat-show-host print. Yet it was something no-one else had quite clarified. "Guess what?" she'd dared to ask in so many words, "you know the 'big secret' everyone raves about? Well... it doesn't exist!"
That was my first step. My second was the spiritual retreat. And my third is one that continues today, and will G-d-willing, form a thread throughout my life hereon out. Retreating in the desert, alongside perturbed souls seeking new, all-encompassing answers, made me realize how "on the money" Oprah really had it. It may be fun in your 20s to soul-search and there's always a place for it in some way up until the day you die, but maturing – in my experience – requires an acceptance of living life peacefully and with humility and gratitude. When you come to that place, you can start understanding that life's big secret doesn't exist and how great that fact is.
When I began that road, it was with immense pleasure my "Wow!" moment became internalized. G-d has since graced me, enabling this sense of wow! To remain intact... not that life is boring Heaven forbid, but that all the little miracles in life we so take for granted comprise that wow! The 5 year old "big brother" escorting his 2 1/2 year old "little sister" to school in the streets of Jerusalem; the old man who grunts to everyone who passes his way but pets your fluffy puppy; the fact that everyone can be Jewish in Israel without having to explain Friday afternoon sunsets and Sabbath onsets; grandparents; Israeli taxi drivers; and random butterflies, to name but a few.
These moments need to be cherished in life; it's those everyday occurrences that should become the center of one's soul-searching as one begins to mature and those minor miracles that should never be seen as such, but should be appreciated as a gift from our Creator as the truly wondrous acts they are.
The culmination to date of my understanding of "Wow!" has of course been brought by my own personal shaliach [messenger from G-d], Daniel. The personification of what it means to have truly enjoyed every prayer from above, I have been blessed with a daily reminder of what life is really about and how many "Wow!" moments we experience continuously.
So thank you to everyone; to Oprah; the spiritual retreaters, and finally to my daily grateful receptors of G-d's prayers, my new husband Daniel, mentor Jeanne and my nearest and dearest, you know who you are.
Probably everyone on that retreat had a different experience and came seeking something slightly unique. What the group did have in common though – that I saw – was they were all looking for the "wow." Obviously, what was wow to one, wasn't to another, so again we all took different angles.
About a month before embarking the coach at the Pardes Institute following a spaghetti lunch, I found an article by Oprah Winfrey, on the back page of one of her monthly magazines, the series of which is entitled, "What I know for sure." The particularly one I found almost deafened me, the words being so in tune with what I'd been feeling for sometime but couldn't express.
Oprah spoke about all the years she'd spent trying to find the answers in life: to lose weight; get the best career; find the perfect relationship, etc. Throughout this time of struggle she'd experienced frustration. Finally, she'd found the answer to life's big secret...It was as simple in theory as it was complicated in practice: "What I know for sure is this," she said: "The big secret in life is that there is no big secret... There are no back doors, no free rides. There's just you, this moment and a choice."
In all the years I'd spent being analyzed by either another or self; the endless chats with like-minded souls on how to battle life's perturbing struggles; the nights spent staring at the ceiling seeking an answer, it'd never been so clear as it was then in Oprah Winfrey-icon-chat-show-host print. Yet it was something no-one else had quite clarified. "Guess what?" she'd dared to ask in so many words, "you know the 'big secret' everyone raves about? Well... it doesn't exist!"
That was my first step. My second was the spiritual retreat. And my third is one that continues today, and will G-d-willing, form a thread throughout my life hereon out. Retreating in the desert, alongside perturbed souls seeking new, all-encompassing answers, made me realize how "on the money" Oprah really had it. It may be fun in your 20s to soul-search and there's always a place for it in some way up until the day you die, but maturing – in my experience – requires an acceptance of living life peacefully and with humility and gratitude. When you come to that place, you can start understanding that life's big secret doesn't exist and how great that fact is.
When I began that road, it was with immense pleasure my "Wow!" moment became internalized. G-d has since graced me, enabling this sense of wow! To remain intact... not that life is boring Heaven forbid, but that all the little miracles in life we so take for granted comprise that wow! The 5 year old "big brother" escorting his 2 1/2 year old "little sister" to school in the streets of Jerusalem; the old man who grunts to everyone who passes his way but pets your fluffy puppy; the fact that everyone can be Jewish in Israel without having to explain Friday afternoon sunsets and Sabbath onsets; grandparents; Israeli taxi drivers; and random butterflies, to name but a few.
These moments need to be cherished in life; it's those everyday occurrences that should become the center of one's soul-searching as one begins to mature and those minor miracles that should never be seen as such, but should be appreciated as a gift from our Creator as the truly wondrous acts they are.
The culmination to date of my understanding of "Wow!" has of course been brought by my own personal shaliach [messenger from G-d], Daniel. The personification of what it means to have truly enjoyed every prayer from above, I have been blessed with a daily reminder of what life is really about and how many "Wow!" moments we experience continuously.
So thank you to everyone; to Oprah; the spiritual retreaters, and finally to my daily grateful receptors of G-d's prayers, my new husband Daniel, mentor Jeanne and my nearest and dearest, you know who you are.
25 July, 2007
A year has passed. It’s been an entire year since we moved into our beautiful home amidst the scenery of the Judean hills, in Efrat’s newest neighborhood, Zayit. On the 10th Tevet, the temple was still burning all those years ago. This year on the 10th Tevet, our brothers and sisters in Gush Katif are still homeless, as they mark the 2nd “anniversary” of their displacement. And this year on the 10th Tevet, our brothers and sisters in Sderot are still dodging one bullet after another as they attempt in some small way to retain a semblance of their once “normal” lives.
For us personally, thank G-d, we’ve only experienced the good. True, we don’t know what will be tomorrow, so we try to take each day as it comes and enjoy all that our Creator has bestowed upon us. We arrived in this neighbourhood not knowing a soul, and within a year have established ourselves. We joined the local synagogue as well as the pool (tradeoffs!); buy flowers we don’t want every week from young entrepreneurs to “support the local economy;” and have most recently acquired a whole slew of new “friends” (whose average age is 9) because of Gal – the most loved and spoiled dog on the block.
It’s for sure a different way of life in Efrat. None of the non-stop transience of our city life is at all apparent here. You don’t just suddenly find a whole load of people have left without word, but rather might find a regular influx of new people, either from abroad or other parts of the city. It’s a neighbourhood in which people want to come and raise their families, and since consistency is good for children, people make their homes here and they stay. There is definitely a sense of permanence; continuity; commitment, no matter what our government and other left wing activists might say or do.
It’s a quieter way of life too. Not that I ever had such a raging hi-flying life in my old neighbourhood, but somehow I don’t even miss going out for coffee in an evening with my old friends. The ones who are committed to the friendship I’m still very much in touch with and the others – the stragglers – would have faded with time no matter where we were.
Because at the end of the day, what can make one more content than sitting in a stunning home, enjoying their cute dog, knowing that their husband is just downstairs in his super cool studio (he doesn’t have to commute to work either), giving us that amazing amount of time together? And if we need anything at all, we have a whole street full of families willing and eager to help out at any time of day or night, because they care, because that is how real communities are built and sustained. Isn’t that the true meaning of a great life? And that’s why despite the incredible dangers, the people of Gush Katif were so reluctant to leave, and why 2 years down the line, without the sustainable support of a community, many have suffered terribly, even fatalistic, from a broken heart of such a loss. One who has never lived in one of these settlements can’t possibly imagine what it’s like to exist without it…for better and for worse.
Because when I take our much-loved dog for walks, practically every car slows down to wave at us, and we are followed by a miniature army of little children – who themselves will no doubt be serving our country as real soldiers in about 10 years’ time – just to give him a kiss good morning. The children here are being raised with a sense of what it means to be living, active Zionists, but at the same time, have such a strong sense of a good, solid, and happy childhood, being part of this community. The combination of the two is what makes this neighbourhood so popular and that’s why we settled here…
A year has passed. It’s been an entire year since we moved into our beautiful home amidst the scenery of the Judean hills, in Efrat’s newest neighborhood, Zayit. On the 10th Tevet, the temple was still burning all those years ago. This year on the 10th Tevet, our brothers and sisters in Gush Katif are still homeless, as they mark the 2nd “anniversary” of their displacement. And this year on the 10th Tevet, our brothers and sisters in Sderot are still dodging one bullet after another as they attempt in some small way to retain a semblance of their once “normal” lives.
For us personally, thank G-d, we’ve only experienced the good. True, we don’t know what will be tomorrow, so we try to take each day as it comes and enjoy all that our Creator has bestowed upon us. We arrived in this neighbourhood not knowing a soul, and within a year have established ourselves. We joined the local synagogue as well as the pool (tradeoffs!); buy flowers we don’t want every week from young entrepreneurs to “support the local economy;” and have most recently acquired a whole slew of new “friends” (whose average age is 9) because of Gal – the most loved and spoiled dog on the block.
It’s for sure a different way of life in Efrat. None of the non-stop transience of our city life is at all apparent here. You don’t just suddenly find a whole load of people have left without word, but rather might find a regular influx of new people, either from abroad or other parts of the city. It’s a neighbourhood in which people want to come and raise their families, and since consistency is good for children, people make their homes here and they stay. There is definitely a sense of permanence; continuity; commitment, no matter what our government and other left wing activists might say or do.
It’s a quieter way of life too. Not that I ever had such a raging hi-flying life in my old neighbourhood, but somehow I don’t even miss going out for coffee in an evening with my old friends. The ones who are committed to the friendship I’m still very much in touch with and the others – the stragglers – would have faded with time no matter where we were.
Because at the end of the day, what can make one more content than sitting in a stunning home, enjoying their cute dog, knowing that their husband is just downstairs in his super cool studio (he doesn’t have to commute to work either), giving us that amazing amount of time together? And if we need anything at all, we have a whole street full of families willing and eager to help out at any time of day or night, because they care, because that is how real communities are built and sustained. Isn’t that the true meaning of a great life? And that’s why despite the incredible dangers, the people of Gush Katif were so reluctant to leave, and why 2 years down the line, without the sustainable support of a community, many have suffered terribly, even fatalistic, from a broken heart of such a loss. One who has never lived in one of these settlements can’t possibly imagine what it’s like to exist without it…for better and for worse.
Because when I take our much-loved dog for walks, practically every car slows down to wave at us, and we are followed by a miniature army of little children – who themselves will no doubt be serving our country as real soldiers in about 10 years’ time – just to give him a kiss good morning. The children here are being raised with a sense of what it means to be living, active Zionists, but at the same time, have such a strong sense of a good, solid, and happy childhood, being part of this community. The combination of the two is what makes this neighbourhood so popular and that’s why we settled here…
Avraham Fried is due to play there August 16th; colourful banners attached to high-standing posts mark the beginning of a festival; Dudu Fisher sang there in concert last night.
Little children play in their parks; couples stroll along their sandy white beaches; the economy is booming from their amazing agricultural advancement and their calendars are filled with smachot ranging from britot to bar-mitzvot; weddings, birthday parties and landmark anniversaries.
Where? Gush Katif – where we went yesterday to show support for the Jews who are being evicted from their homes on August 15th by other Jews in their homeland.
Despite this unfathomable decree, life incredibly continues. There are no gloomy faces or preparation for departure. You don't see boxes or vans; no-one's packing up. The only feel of this is the military assessors who come by to measure their fellow Jews homes. As far as the residents are concerned, Eretz Yisrael – the land many of their fathers died for – is home. And home is where they shall stay. They're not in denial, but they do possess an enviably strong belief in G-d's control over man's. Perhaps it's this same emuna that enabled them to become pioneers in a barren land, some 30 years ago.
The Jews of Yamit who were expelled some years ago and resettled in the area were promised it would never happen again, but there again Ariel Sharon was elected under a right-wing banner ensuring Jews would be treated as Israeli citizens. The Supreme Court ruling two weeks ago said that it was okay to move them out, as since they live there they're not citizens and therefore the law about taking land away from citizens doesn't apply to them.
Strange really. Because it was the same Ariel Sharon who 30 years ago as Housing Minister encouraged Jews to build up land there. Perhaps he had some agreement with the Arabs back then; "listen mate," they may have said "we're not so smart at building up land, developing agriculture, cleaning up the streets and constructing beautiful homes. Why don't you bring your men in for 30 odd years, let them develop families and communities, make employable places for us lot and then we'll come back, hey? In the meantime we'll slaughter them as much as we can so there's not as many to move in the end. Sounds like a great plan, hey… Arik!"
Until a few weeks ago, there were about 35 families living in Kfar Darom. There are far more since other families moved from throughout Israel came to live there and show support. Likewise, in the last few months, approximately 5 families have left Gush Katif and 200 have joined.
There's certainly no love lost between Arik and the Jews of Gush Katif, but the sense of Am Yisrael among Israelis prevails despite Arik's clear expression of being a self-hating Jew. The guy is no better than Hitler who transported Jews out of their homes 60 years ago.
The beautiful city of Neve Dekalim – barren until the Jews moved in over two decades ago – today houses some 500 families, alongside white sandy beaches. Their infamous "bug-free" vegetables are worth millions as a business, the majority of which are exported.
We met a great grandmother who moved in 14 years ago from Har Nof. "Well," she explained, "whilst living in Har Nof, one of our children who already had one baby was expecting triplets and living in Atzmona. I said to my husband 'that's going to be more babies than hands; let's go there.'" Sounds like what any grandparent would do; my own parents came to Netanya so that they wouldn't miss out on their grandchildren's ballet performances, pre-school birthday parties and escorts to the park when their mum had a dentist appointment.
On August 16th neither the residents nor our greatly undemocratic government will be able to tell you whether these families will remain together. Who knows? Maybe the men and labour-able children will be led at gunpoint in one direction and women and babies in the other… Perhaps that's why Sharon's keeping so quiet about his plans.
August, 2005, Eretz Yisrael
Little children play in their parks; couples stroll along their sandy white beaches; the economy is booming from their amazing agricultural advancement and their calendars are filled with smachot ranging from britot to bar-mitzvot; weddings, birthday parties and landmark anniversaries.
Where? Gush Katif – where we went yesterday to show support for the Jews who are being evicted from their homes on August 15th by other Jews in their homeland.
Despite this unfathomable decree, life incredibly continues. There are no gloomy faces or preparation for departure. You don't see boxes or vans; no-one's packing up. The only feel of this is the military assessors who come by to measure their fellow Jews homes. As far as the residents are concerned, Eretz Yisrael – the land many of their fathers died for – is home. And home is where they shall stay. They're not in denial, but they do possess an enviably strong belief in G-d's control over man's. Perhaps it's this same emuna that enabled them to become pioneers in a barren land, some 30 years ago.
The Jews of Yamit who were expelled some years ago and resettled in the area were promised it would never happen again, but there again Ariel Sharon was elected under a right-wing banner ensuring Jews would be treated as Israeli citizens. The Supreme Court ruling two weeks ago said that it was okay to move them out, as since they live there they're not citizens and therefore the law about taking land away from citizens doesn't apply to them.
Strange really. Because it was the same Ariel Sharon who 30 years ago as Housing Minister encouraged Jews to build up land there. Perhaps he had some agreement with the Arabs back then; "listen mate," they may have said "we're not so smart at building up land, developing agriculture, cleaning up the streets and constructing beautiful homes. Why don't you bring your men in for 30 odd years, let them develop families and communities, make employable places for us lot and then we'll come back, hey? In the meantime we'll slaughter them as much as we can so there's not as many to move in the end. Sounds like a great plan, hey… Arik!"
Until a few weeks ago, there were about 35 families living in Kfar Darom. There are far more since other families moved from throughout Israel came to live there and show support. Likewise, in the last few months, approximately 5 families have left Gush Katif and 200 have joined.
There's certainly no love lost between Arik and the Jews of Gush Katif, but the sense of Am Yisrael among Israelis prevails despite Arik's clear expression of being a self-hating Jew. The guy is no better than Hitler who transported Jews out of their homes 60 years ago.
The beautiful city of Neve Dekalim – barren until the Jews moved in over two decades ago – today houses some 500 families, alongside white sandy beaches. Their infamous "bug-free" vegetables are worth millions as a business, the majority of which are exported.
We met a great grandmother who moved in 14 years ago from Har Nof. "Well," she explained, "whilst living in Har Nof, one of our children who already had one baby was expecting triplets and living in Atzmona. I said to my husband 'that's going to be more babies than hands; let's go there.'" Sounds like what any grandparent would do; my own parents came to Netanya so that they wouldn't miss out on their grandchildren's ballet performances, pre-school birthday parties and escorts to the park when their mum had a dentist appointment.
On August 16th neither the residents nor our greatly undemocratic government will be able to tell you whether these families will remain together. Who knows? Maybe the men and labour-able children will be led at gunpoint in one direction and women and babies in the other… Perhaps that's why Sharon's keeping so quiet about his plans.
August, 2005, Eretz Yisrael
Today is the 8th August, the heart of summer here in Jerusalem's Middle East. In fact, just two days ago my husband and I were in Netanya with my parents when the air conditioner broke. We both felt like we couldn’t breathe, it was so hot. Hot it may have been, but it was certainly no great surprise. This kind of weather is typical for the entire country from about June until November. Unlike un-sunny England, Israelis are free to plan outdoor day trips months in advance throughout the long summer spell. One is about as sure of the hot sunshine in this season in Israel, as one is of the two other sureties in life: death and taxes.
What we thus tend to forget with such a "certainty" is the main player in the world: our creator, G-d. What we tend to gloss over on a day-to-day basis, despite "ordinary" miracles of sunsets, breathing and waking from sleep, is that it is not us who is running the world at all, but G-d Who we can count on to pull all the strings. We hear the news and believe every word of it and it so seems that our undemocratic government is calling all the shots, making all the decisions. Well why shouldn't it seem like that? One man alone has the power to decide on the fate of thousands of individuals, from taking away their homes to legalizing the use of violence. This one individual has all the power and is in complete control… so it seems.
Yes, indeed it seems that way. But so many things are not what they seem… for good and for bad. It seems the baby struggling for life in an incubator will not survive, but look at me now! It seems life is extremely safe and no-one will come to harm by living in un-sunny England, but hey, that little bubble was burst too. And it seems like from about June until November a cloud will not appear throughout the whole Middle East. Indeed.
But today, at about 8am, throughout the country, G-d came and said "good morning." Not exactly good morning, but rather, "wake up you sleepyheads. Wake up and stop sleeping." As our Creator turned on the taps of water in the miraculous way only known unto Him, other miracles around my city were at work. Orange and blue-stripped carriers forgot their sentiments over the political situation momentarily and did something perhaps they have never done. They acknowledged each other. I came out of the pool and a woman with a blue strip smiled at me, communicating at what an awesome miracle had just befallen us. She had to share it and only I – with my orange strip – was close enough for that instant communication. It was a miracle that had to be discussed immediately.
That for me was a miracle in itself. That for however short a time it was, there wasn't the sinat chinam (groundless hatred) that has been accompanying all right versus left arguments since time immemorial. While there may not have been a direct understanding that it was our G-d Who was calling the shots, there was certainly an incomprehensible aura that we are just small players in His world. It was almost like a surrender. It was like "okay, I do not know what is going on; this has totally thrown me and reminded me – if only for just now – that the whole world and its inhabitants are dependent on miracles, miracles that I am privileged to only observe and enjoy but not create myself."
This morning's rain certainly reminded me that I absolutely have no right to give up on the "seemingly" impending fate of my brethren in Gush Katif. That if it can rain on August 8th, Hebrew date 3rd Av (during which traditionally only tough challenges have hindered the Jewish people) then the possibilities are endless and additional miracles probable at any time.
I for one will certainly be hoping and praying for that miracle next week.
August 8, 2005
What we thus tend to forget with such a "certainty" is the main player in the world: our creator, G-d. What we tend to gloss over on a day-to-day basis, despite "ordinary" miracles of sunsets, breathing and waking from sleep, is that it is not us who is running the world at all, but G-d Who we can count on to pull all the strings. We hear the news and believe every word of it and it so seems that our undemocratic government is calling all the shots, making all the decisions. Well why shouldn't it seem like that? One man alone has the power to decide on the fate of thousands of individuals, from taking away their homes to legalizing the use of violence. This one individual has all the power and is in complete control… so it seems.
Yes, indeed it seems that way. But so many things are not what they seem… for good and for bad. It seems the baby struggling for life in an incubator will not survive, but look at me now! It seems life is extremely safe and no-one will come to harm by living in un-sunny England, but hey, that little bubble was burst too. And it seems like from about June until November a cloud will not appear throughout the whole Middle East. Indeed.
But today, at about 8am, throughout the country, G-d came and said "good morning." Not exactly good morning, but rather, "wake up you sleepyheads. Wake up and stop sleeping." As our Creator turned on the taps of water in the miraculous way only known unto Him, other miracles around my city were at work. Orange and blue-stripped carriers forgot their sentiments over the political situation momentarily and did something perhaps they have never done. They acknowledged each other. I came out of the pool and a woman with a blue strip smiled at me, communicating at what an awesome miracle had just befallen us. She had to share it and only I – with my orange strip – was close enough for that instant communication. It was a miracle that had to be discussed immediately.
That for me was a miracle in itself. That for however short a time it was, there wasn't the sinat chinam (groundless hatred) that has been accompanying all right versus left arguments since time immemorial. While there may not have been a direct understanding that it was our G-d Who was calling the shots, there was certainly an incomprehensible aura that we are just small players in His world. It was almost like a surrender. It was like "okay, I do not know what is going on; this has totally thrown me and reminded me – if only for just now – that the whole world and its inhabitants are dependent on miracles, miracles that I am privileged to only observe and enjoy but not create myself."
This morning's rain certainly reminded me that I absolutely have no right to give up on the "seemingly" impending fate of my brethren in Gush Katif. That if it can rain on August 8th, Hebrew date 3rd Av (during which traditionally only tough challenges have hindered the Jewish people) then the possibilities are endless and additional miracles probable at any time.
I for one will certainly be hoping and praying for that miracle next week.
August 8, 2005
I went to Ben-Gurion airport last night to greet Gal Fridman and our other super heroes from their wins in Athens, Olympics 2004. I got to touch Arik (the judo bronze medalist)'s medal and personally wish him mazal tov.
Also there, was a blue-and-white clad dance group of early-teens from Pardes Hanna, the neighbourhood Tzofim, family, friends and other excited well-wishers. It wasn't as mobbed as I'd imagined, but that too was fitting with what I've learnt so far of Gal and the other “superheroes.”
Daniel said Olympians often have these characteristics – they have to work hard for their dreams so are self-disciplined, hard working and non-arrogant. With Israelis this is even more so as the country simply doesn't have the resources readily available to potential Olympians in wealthier, more established countries.
It brought me back to passages from Shmuley Boteach's book, The Private Adam: Becoming a Hero in a Selfish Age in which he talks about the greatness of striving to be a Biblical hero (the good guy, like Avraham the water carrier) rather than a classical hero (great movie star who never sees his kids). Such heroism is “based not on attention-grabbing but soul-searching.” Why? Because the classical heroes that were – such as Napoleon, Stalin, Hitler and Hussein – are in hindsight dismissed as thugs. “If I’m correct,” Boteach adds, “then the secret to a fulfilling life, and the first step toward heroism, is to master the art of goodness.” That's our Olympians' personalities.
It's not something I'd ordinarily do – bother to go to the airport to “see it live.” Indeed all other such historic events I've been happy to watch on TV, eating chocolate, lying comfortably on my sofa, because quite simply, “I get a better view on TV.”
True – aesthetically the cameramen would've bought me something “sharper,” but I gained something else by going…something so much more.
I don't think that “something more” was the champagne that sprayed over my hair as the Carmel (kosher) bottle popped open, milimiters away from me, nor the sense of being crushed as excited expectants broke through the police barrier when our heroes stood facing us. Rather, it was witnessing firsthand – being in spitting distance of all our Biblical heroes.
Gal for me, made waves when he returned home to his teeny-bopping blue and white clad local dancers, his 4-year-old, overwhelmed ginger-haired, blue-eyed, cousin, and most importantly, his parents to whom he gave so much thanks. I'm sure he enjoyed the champagne bottle-opening in his honour, but standing by his family and showing us he will never forget where he comes from and to where he is returning, was the “something more.”
Also there, was a blue-and-white clad dance group of early-teens from Pardes Hanna, the neighbourhood Tzofim, family, friends and other excited well-wishers. It wasn't as mobbed as I'd imagined, but that too was fitting with what I've learnt so far of Gal and the other “superheroes.”
Daniel said Olympians often have these characteristics – they have to work hard for their dreams so are self-disciplined, hard working and non-arrogant. With Israelis this is even more so as the country simply doesn't have the resources readily available to potential Olympians in wealthier, more established countries.
It brought me back to passages from Shmuley Boteach's book, The Private Adam: Becoming a Hero in a Selfish Age in which he talks about the greatness of striving to be a Biblical hero (the good guy, like Avraham the water carrier) rather than a classical hero (great movie star who never sees his kids). Such heroism is “based not on attention-grabbing but soul-searching.” Why? Because the classical heroes that were – such as Napoleon, Stalin, Hitler and Hussein – are in hindsight dismissed as thugs. “If I’m correct,” Boteach adds, “then the secret to a fulfilling life, and the first step toward heroism, is to master the art of goodness.” That's our Olympians' personalities.
It's not something I'd ordinarily do – bother to go to the airport to “see it live.” Indeed all other such historic events I've been happy to watch on TV, eating chocolate, lying comfortably on my sofa, because quite simply, “I get a better view on TV.”
True – aesthetically the cameramen would've bought me something “sharper,” but I gained something else by going…something so much more.
I don't think that “something more” was the champagne that sprayed over my hair as the Carmel (kosher) bottle popped open, milimiters away from me, nor the sense of being crushed as excited expectants broke through the police barrier when our heroes stood facing us. Rather, it was witnessing firsthand – being in spitting distance of all our Biblical heroes.
Gal for me, made waves when he returned home to his teeny-bopping blue and white clad local dancers, his 4-year-old, overwhelmed ginger-haired, blue-eyed, cousin, and most importantly, his parents to whom he gave so much thanks. I'm sure he enjoyed the champagne bottle-opening in his honour, but standing by his family and showing us he will never forget where he comes from and to where he is returning, was the “something more.”
It's not the fact that I still can't even pick up a newspaper here or follow the TV news without the photos (c'mon lets be honest!), it's more those little daily events that curl my lips into a chuckle when thinking of my obvious incompetence.
But rather than seeing that negatively, I'd prefer to term it a "humbling experience." I'm meant to be leaving my apartment in a few weeks time, Baruch Hashem to live with a pool table…oh I mean with my fiancé (who'll then G-d-willing be my husband) and I'm trying to find a mover. I got a phone number of a reliable one from a friend (who told me he doesn't have a cell phone but you leave a message on his landline and he calls you back; "he'll probably," she added somewhat matter-of-factly "bless your new home too when he drops off your stuff" as if she was telling me he'd give me a receipt for using his service).
I set out to call said-guy Shmulik (what else would he be called?) and tried to sound as un-Anglo as possible (fearful of all those if-they-know-you're-not Israeli-they'll-screw-you types). "Shalom, medaberet [rolling the resh] Emma; kibalti et mispar telephone shelcha [quickly remembering male-female thingy]…" going well until…"ratziti leda'at [I wanted to know, still okay] im ata yachol lazuz oti"….if you could… move me…? Well, correct me if I'm wrong but I was always led to believe that was to be Daniel – future husband's – job… Like I said, a humbling experience.
Even more humbling because I'm still not sure what I should have said, i.e. the correct use of language. Still! Great. 34-years old; 2 degrees from UK universities; quick off the mark in so many things and end up asking Shlomi (probably Shmulik's brother; c'mon they're all having a giggle at us!) in the shuk a few weeks ago, "yesh lecha sprinkles?" Can you imagine being in a shop in England and asking "do you sell cadorim?" They'd probably ignore you; in New York though at least one staff member would know what you're talking about, push away other customers in the shop to give you a hug, and thereafter ask you if you want to join him for the best humus in town.
But I digress…So then why not live in New York? Do we really need these lessons to humble us? Yes. In a world in which we're so caught up in being right and having all the answers and being convinced – each one of us – of possessing absolute truth, we need to take, nay grab on to, any opportunity to be humbled.
And Baruch Hashem in a place where you take your wedding invitation – the one of Pooh and Piglet you designed with such pride and joy – and are asked by Yossi (Shlomi and Shmulik's father no doubt) "Beseder; zeh chatul v'jook?" (is that a cat and a cockroach?), you can turn round, smile at your fiancé and schep nachas that when you turn to Mizrach to daven the next morning, you can probably actually see the kotel in your midst.
That's why we came and that's why we'll stay; to be humbled; to remember who we are and why we were put on this earth; to understand that there is something greater and higher than me as an individual and us as a couple (Hakadosh Baruch Hu) and that the spirit that will never die in Israel, nestling among the Shechina we hope we're enveloping, that spirit amongst Jews can never, ever be replicated in any other country.
Thank You Hashem for bringing me home.
March 17, 2005
But rather than seeing that negatively, I'd prefer to term it a "humbling experience." I'm meant to be leaving my apartment in a few weeks time, Baruch Hashem to live with a pool table…oh I mean with my fiancé (who'll then G-d-willing be my husband) and I'm trying to find a mover. I got a phone number of a reliable one from a friend (who told me he doesn't have a cell phone but you leave a message on his landline and he calls you back; "he'll probably," she added somewhat matter-of-factly "bless your new home too when he drops off your stuff" as if she was telling me he'd give me a receipt for using his service).
I set out to call said-guy Shmulik (what else would he be called?) and tried to sound as un-Anglo as possible (fearful of all those if-they-know-you're-not Israeli-they'll-screw-you types). "Shalom, medaberet [rolling the resh] Emma; kibalti et mispar telephone shelcha [quickly remembering male-female thingy]…" going well until…"ratziti leda'at [I wanted to know, still okay] im ata yachol lazuz oti"….if you could… move me…? Well, correct me if I'm wrong but I was always led to believe that was to be Daniel – future husband's – job… Like I said, a humbling experience.
Even more humbling because I'm still not sure what I should have said, i.e. the correct use of language. Still! Great. 34-years old; 2 degrees from UK universities; quick off the mark in so many things and end up asking Shlomi (probably Shmulik's brother; c'mon they're all having a giggle at us!) in the shuk a few weeks ago, "yesh lecha sprinkles?" Can you imagine being in a shop in England and asking "do you sell cadorim?" They'd probably ignore you; in New York though at least one staff member would know what you're talking about, push away other customers in the shop to give you a hug, and thereafter ask you if you want to join him for the best humus in town.
But I digress…So then why not live in New York? Do we really need these lessons to humble us? Yes. In a world in which we're so caught up in being right and having all the answers and being convinced – each one of us – of possessing absolute truth, we need to take, nay grab on to, any opportunity to be humbled.
And Baruch Hashem in a place where you take your wedding invitation – the one of Pooh and Piglet you designed with such pride and joy – and are asked by Yossi (Shlomi and Shmulik's father no doubt) "Beseder; zeh chatul v'jook?" (is that a cat and a cockroach?), you can turn round, smile at your fiancé and schep nachas that when you turn to Mizrach to daven the next morning, you can probably actually see the kotel in your midst.
That's why we came and that's why we'll stay; to be humbled; to remember who we are and why we were put on this earth; to understand that there is something greater and higher than me as an individual and us as a couple (Hakadosh Baruch Hu) and that the spirit that will never die in Israel, nestling among the Shechina we hope we're enveloping, that spirit amongst Jews can never, ever be replicated in any other country.
Thank You Hashem for bringing me home.
March 17, 2005
Hineni? ...
Perhaps Now
There's nothing to miss from the evilness of one who enmeshed me in his sickness for so long, promising me time and again the cancer had come from me and was within me.
Neither of us could ever say "hineni."
What was loud and clear was "ayeka." But I ran away from this with such speed, in my desperate 'quick fix' attempt to get him to reach "hineni" – a place almost as foreign to him as truth.
Ironically, the closest I ever got myself to "hineni" was "mi ani?" The basic question I mostly shied away from daring to ask, was who am I to be treated so poorly; what gives me the right to destroy myself – the same self created in the image of G-d – and become a part of his sickness, devoid of my essence and my G-dliness? What gives me the right to judge myself so poorly; the same self G-d decided was worthy of life?
I didn't want to answer the question then and I'm scared to face it now. But, c'mon already, where am I? Where am I when I'm not within and without of Emma; when I'm trying to run toward "hineni" without giving cause to my geographical and emotional location? Is there anI at all?
I need to accept that running away from "ayeka" does not render me evil and certainly won't warrant anger from G-d; frustration perhaps, but in a gentle, probing kind of way; not with the fury with which he terrorized me.
The burning bush is terrifying to most to confront in the correct, moderate form, G-d appreciates that, but it is to those who refuse to acknowledge it at whom G-d reels. I acknowledged it, was intrigued by it and then got sucked into it so deeply I couldn't escape. I was so burnt, my essence so charred, that the prospect of escaping it completely shattered, was simply too overwhelming. So I chose to let myself be convinced that remaining as a bunch of ashes was okay.
"Ayeka" – I was in the bush too afraid to respond. "Hineni" – I didn't want to know. "Mi ani?" – I apologize to my Creator for not trusting in His creation of me.
July 2004
Perhaps Now
There's nothing to miss from the evilness of one who enmeshed me in his sickness for so long, promising me time and again the cancer had come from me and was within me.
Neither of us could ever say "hineni."
What was loud and clear was "ayeka." But I ran away from this with such speed, in my desperate 'quick fix' attempt to get him to reach "hineni" – a place almost as foreign to him as truth.
Ironically, the closest I ever got myself to "hineni" was "mi ani?" The basic question I mostly shied away from daring to ask, was who am I to be treated so poorly; what gives me the right to destroy myself – the same self created in the image of G-d – and become a part of his sickness, devoid of my essence and my G-dliness? What gives me the right to judge myself so poorly; the same self G-d decided was worthy of life?
I didn't want to answer the question then and I'm scared to face it now. But, c'mon already, where am I? Where am I when I'm not within and without of Emma; when I'm trying to run toward "hineni" without giving cause to my geographical and emotional location? Is there anI at all?
I need to accept that running away from "ayeka" does not render me evil and certainly won't warrant anger from G-d; frustration perhaps, but in a gentle, probing kind of way; not with the fury with which he terrorized me.
The burning bush is terrifying to most to confront in the correct, moderate form, G-d appreciates that, but it is to those who refuse to acknowledge it at whom G-d reels. I acknowledged it, was intrigued by it and then got sucked into it so deeply I couldn't escape. I was so burnt, my essence so charred, that the prospect of escaping it completely shattered, was simply too overwhelming. So I chose to let myself be convinced that remaining as a bunch of ashes was okay.
"Ayeka" – I was in the bush too afraid to respond. "Hineni" – I didn't want to know. "Mi ani?" – I apologize to my Creator for not trusting in His creation of me.
July 2004
“Sometimes,” a famous UK rabbi once said, “you get to see a piece of G-d’s puzzle.”
I did. It happened to me just a few long weeks ago. Following a stressful month both personally and professionally, I dragged my exhausted, pain-ridden body to my local GP. Having trouble moving my neck, the GP ensured me it wasn’t meningitis and sent me home to rest for a couple of days. A high fever followed that night but by the next day I felt well enough to go swimming and so returned to work, despite feeling somewhat nauseous.
What happened during the next month has perhaps changed my entire outlook on life and deeply affected – for the better I hope – my behaviour and attitude toward other people, G-d my gracious saviour and life’s everyday obstacles and ‘disappointments,’ which I now see as brachot beyond belief. Because to encounter a difficulty means you’re still in the world. And as G-d said to Yaakov, the next world only is where we’ll find tranquility and now I understand what He meant.
During this time I was privileged to meet a 93-year old woman, still married after 69 years to her 94-year old husband. “You know for me,” she said smiling, “every day is a bonus.” Perhaps – her positive outlook and her appreciation of G-d’s world – renders her zocheh to be living to this age; because I have now realized that she speaks for us all with these words.
To cut a long and rather traumatic story short, the pains in my neck and lower head didn’t subside for long enough periods of time for me or my doctors to cease worrying. This was accompanied by fatigue and, along with the fact that I only seemed to be reading magazine articles about the onset of terrible diseases, I became solely focused on my life, my possible premature demise and the consequences of both.
Along with this I became suddenly aware of the significance of Emma; how much I had affected so many people and rather than thinking I was irrelevant because I hadn’t married, I grew increasingly devastated that there had been so many people I had touched who would sink into depression if I didn’t make it. I couldn’t stop crying at that. My parents during this time were too wonderful; to write about them would simply minimize their chessed (loving kindness) and commitment.
For the first time in my life I completely understood the fragility and wonder of what it means to not only be alive and live in G-d’s wonderful world but to do so without physical pain; without spending time in surgery waiting rooms and without worrying about what part of the body would next give way. It truly is nothing short of a miracle and something I had so taken for granted.
In short, I was terrified. The drash of this manifested itself – and continues to do so – in a total acceptance of my complete lack of control of anything in life along with
G-d’s sole operation of the world. I thought about tzaddikim (righteous individuals) who have been prematurely taken from us, good people who suffer on a daily basis from illness and wondered what I could possibly bring to my Maker to encourage Him to save me and allow me to continue to be a part of His world.
The timing of this was perfect, too much to be termed ‘coincidence’ – Ellul and Tishrei. I stood, during the aseret yemai teshuva and balled by eyes out during the final avinu malkeynu – “because I am nothing….” And meant every syllable that trickled from my tear-choked lips.
The doctors were doing a job. A 32-year old crying hysterically before a CT-scan was pretty forgettable to them. Someone coming to a neurologist with pains in the head wasn’t anything to write home about. A patient complaining to a local doctor about fatigue wouldn’t make the headlines. And so it went. I saw one cold doctor after another.
Until the nurse from Hadassah Ein Kerem. Until my angel dropped down from heaven for my personal salvation. Until someone smiled.
And that’s when I got to see a piece of G-d’s puzzle. That’s when I understood what I’ve never quite fathomed before. Why is it, that at 32, I still get mistaken for a 14-year old? Because I was perhaps behaving like one, and that angel from heaven could thus be sympathetic.
“Are you scared?” she asked, smiling, as she went to infuse my body with iodine.
“Very much so,” I tearfully responded, suddenly relaxing at her presence.
“What of, me?” she grinned tenderly.
And then I smiled. And I felt okay. Not great, but calm. And for that I will be forever grateful.
I don’t know who she was; I didn’t even ask her name, but I intend to see her again, G-d willing and tell her what an impact she had on me and how her being in the world is so crucial, so comforting and so needed.
I feel I have nothing to complain about these days and that all my worries until now have been selfish and childish. And while indeed G-d blessed me with looking 14 so that the nurse could be sympathetic toward me, my experiences have hopefully matured me to appreciate how miraculous and what a bracha it is to live in this world.
Life is too precious to be wasted on griping. The world is too beautiful to not be appreciated. G-d is too good to us all. There is so much I have to be thankful for. And I pray my attitude will remain so and I won’t be called upon to prove this again.
Amen.
May 2004
I did. It happened to me just a few long weeks ago. Following a stressful month both personally and professionally, I dragged my exhausted, pain-ridden body to my local GP. Having trouble moving my neck, the GP ensured me it wasn’t meningitis and sent me home to rest for a couple of days. A high fever followed that night but by the next day I felt well enough to go swimming and so returned to work, despite feeling somewhat nauseous.
What happened during the next month has perhaps changed my entire outlook on life and deeply affected – for the better I hope – my behaviour and attitude toward other people, G-d my gracious saviour and life’s everyday obstacles and ‘disappointments,’ which I now see as brachot beyond belief. Because to encounter a difficulty means you’re still in the world. And as G-d said to Yaakov, the next world only is where we’ll find tranquility and now I understand what He meant.
During this time I was privileged to meet a 93-year old woman, still married after 69 years to her 94-year old husband. “You know for me,” she said smiling, “every day is a bonus.” Perhaps – her positive outlook and her appreciation of G-d’s world – renders her zocheh to be living to this age; because I have now realized that she speaks for us all with these words.
To cut a long and rather traumatic story short, the pains in my neck and lower head didn’t subside for long enough periods of time for me or my doctors to cease worrying. This was accompanied by fatigue and, along with the fact that I only seemed to be reading magazine articles about the onset of terrible diseases, I became solely focused on my life, my possible premature demise and the consequences of both.
Along with this I became suddenly aware of the significance of Emma; how much I had affected so many people and rather than thinking I was irrelevant because I hadn’t married, I grew increasingly devastated that there had been so many people I had touched who would sink into depression if I didn’t make it. I couldn’t stop crying at that. My parents during this time were too wonderful; to write about them would simply minimize their chessed (loving kindness) and commitment.
For the first time in my life I completely understood the fragility and wonder of what it means to not only be alive and live in G-d’s wonderful world but to do so without physical pain; without spending time in surgery waiting rooms and without worrying about what part of the body would next give way. It truly is nothing short of a miracle and something I had so taken for granted.
In short, I was terrified. The drash of this manifested itself – and continues to do so – in a total acceptance of my complete lack of control of anything in life along with
G-d’s sole operation of the world. I thought about tzaddikim (righteous individuals) who have been prematurely taken from us, good people who suffer on a daily basis from illness and wondered what I could possibly bring to my Maker to encourage Him to save me and allow me to continue to be a part of His world.
The timing of this was perfect, too much to be termed ‘coincidence’ – Ellul and Tishrei. I stood, during the aseret yemai teshuva and balled by eyes out during the final avinu malkeynu – “because I am nothing….” And meant every syllable that trickled from my tear-choked lips.
The doctors were doing a job. A 32-year old crying hysterically before a CT-scan was pretty forgettable to them. Someone coming to a neurologist with pains in the head wasn’t anything to write home about. A patient complaining to a local doctor about fatigue wouldn’t make the headlines. And so it went. I saw one cold doctor after another.
Until the nurse from Hadassah Ein Kerem. Until my angel dropped down from heaven for my personal salvation. Until someone smiled.
And that’s when I got to see a piece of G-d’s puzzle. That’s when I understood what I’ve never quite fathomed before. Why is it, that at 32, I still get mistaken for a 14-year old? Because I was perhaps behaving like one, and that angel from heaven could thus be sympathetic.
“Are you scared?” she asked, smiling, as she went to infuse my body with iodine.
“Very much so,” I tearfully responded, suddenly relaxing at her presence.
“What of, me?” she grinned tenderly.
And then I smiled. And I felt okay. Not great, but calm. And for that I will be forever grateful.
I don’t know who she was; I didn’t even ask her name, but I intend to see her again, G-d willing and tell her what an impact she had on me and how her being in the world is so crucial, so comforting and so needed.
I feel I have nothing to complain about these days and that all my worries until now have been selfish and childish. And while indeed G-d blessed me with looking 14 so that the nurse could be sympathetic toward me, my experiences have hopefully matured me to appreciate how miraculous and what a bracha it is to live in this world.
Life is too precious to be wasted on griping. The world is too beautiful to not be appreciated. G-d is too good to us all. There is so much I have to be thankful for. And I pray my attitude will remain so and I won’t be called upon to prove this again.
Amen.
May 2004
My dear friends and family,
I cannot believe we're approaching the new year in this shattered state.
I cannot believe we're ending an 'old year' in desperation for a less traumatic one.
I cannot believe those of us who remain know why we have been so spared.
I wish I had something encouraging to say.
I wish I had the authority, strength and belief to bless you all for normalcy.
I wish I could control the world.
Cafe Hillel was too devastating for me on a personal level.
It was indeed a perfect place. Their iced-coffee, not content with being delicious enough on its own, had the option of a chocolate injection. Drunk with a cheaply-priced chocolate mercazit thingy the combination was indescribable. It wasn't a cake, it wasn't a cookie; it wasn't raw, wasn't cooked. It just was. And it was a perfect reflection of that cafe: comfortable for old and young; religious and secular; intellectual and bum; rich and poor. Indeed in its food and ambience Hillel was for me what society and the world seems can only dream of being - am emulation of its Tzaddik namesake; the rodef shalom who welcomed everyone.
So that's all I can think of to say. May the memory of all those brutally murdered be seen as the perfect personification of all that was good, joyous, nourishing and perfect in Hillel and all that CAN be good in the world and our country.
And may we humbly stand before our Creator and beg Him that the 'new year' somehow begin to imbue us with the normalcy so tragically denied to those tzadikim.
With much love
Emma
May 2004, Jerusalem
I cannot believe we're approaching the new year in this shattered state.
I cannot believe we're ending an 'old year' in desperation for a less traumatic one.
I cannot believe those of us who remain know why we have been so spared.
I wish I had something encouraging to say.
I wish I had the authority, strength and belief to bless you all for normalcy.
I wish I could control the world.
Cafe Hillel was too devastating for me on a personal level.
It was indeed a perfect place. Their iced-coffee, not content with being delicious enough on its own, had the option of a chocolate injection. Drunk with a cheaply-priced chocolate mercazit thingy the combination was indescribable. It wasn't a cake, it wasn't a cookie; it wasn't raw, wasn't cooked. It just was. And it was a perfect reflection of that cafe: comfortable for old and young; religious and secular; intellectual and bum; rich and poor. Indeed in its food and ambience Hillel was for me what society and the world seems can only dream of being - am emulation of its Tzaddik namesake; the rodef shalom who welcomed everyone.
So that's all I can think of to say. May the memory of all those brutally murdered be seen as the perfect personification of all that was good, joyous, nourishing and perfect in Hillel and all that CAN be good in the world and our country.
And may we humbly stand before our Creator and beg Him that the 'new year' somehow begin to imbue us with the normalcy so tragically denied to those tzadikim.
With much love
Emma
May 2004, Jerusalem
וידבר משה כן אל בני ישראל ולא שמעו אל משה מקצר רוח ומעבדה קשה “And Moshe spoke to the Children of Israel and they didn’t hear Moshe from shortness of spirit and from hard work.”
So it’s my birthday tomorrow and I needed some inspiration. I will be saying שהחינו, וקימנו בזמן הזה – and I want to genuinely turn to G-d and thank Him for having brought me to this point in my life. Given the specially difficult circumstances our country is facing right now, I need to find a way to internally accept this statement and praise Him. How? What can I see? What can I find?
For some reason, over שבת, I kept looking at the wording of the above pasuk in the hope that it would inspire my personal struggle and enable me to make the right decision and continue on the path I believe I have correctly chosen. I looked at it and looked at it and hoped I could transform it into a message of hope for my 32nd birthday; a message that would carry me through this test and onto the next.
“And Moshe spoke to the children and they didn’t hear Moshe…” My first question was why does the pasuk feel the need to repeat the word משה? That משה spoke and they heard משה? Why not just say וידבר משה כן אל בני ישראל ולא שמעו אותו – And Moshe spoke to the Children of Israel and they didn’t hear him? My second question therefore becomes, if we’re gonna repeat משה then grammatically and consistently, we should really therefore say וידבר משה כן אל בני ישראל ובני ישראל לא משעו אל משה – And Moshe spoke to the Children of Israel and the Children of Israel didn’t hear Moshe[1].
The title of the parsha is וארה – Appearance. So let’s ask, what ‘appears’ to be going on here? The pasuk appears to be emphasizing משה’s significance and the present non-strength[2] the בני ישראל was encountering. Apparently, the בני ישראל didn’t recognize his greatness and couldn’t heed his advice…at this moment. They had had faith in משה in the past (and would do so again in the future) but here and now, they didn’t listen to him. Today therefore, the pasuk comes to teach us that there is greatness in others; that we’re not G-d; that however well we’re doing in our personal strive for גאולה, there are always others who can help us and leaders can come in many forms to guide us through bad and good times alike. We’re being reminded of the greatness of משה by the apparently unnecessary repetition of his name in the pasuk.
Another idea is that משה blamed himself for his inability to get through to them, and had he been a better leader, they would have listened to him[3]. This would explain the repetition of משה in the pasuk – משה spoke, but they couldn’t listen…to משה; had it have been someone else speaking, perhaps they could have listened.
…Or so it appears. Remember the parsha – entitled וארה – could have something to do with appearances. Moments after reading these pasukim today we then turned to the הלל prayer, in greeting the new month of שבט. We read ה' זכרנו יברך יברך את בית ישראל – “G-d remembered us, He will bless, He will bless the House of Israel. Another repetition…
What did G-d remember? He remembered ‘us’ the Children that He put on earth to carry out His law and He will bless them. And then He will bless the Children that we have become, are striving to become and are often failing to become. He will bless us as successes and as failures; He will bless us when we pass our tests and when we fail them; He will bless us when we trust משה (or any other leader) and when we – for whatever reason – לא שמעו – do not hear – the voice of goodness, the voice of reason, the voice that we have known, trusted, accepted, believed in, strived with and adored.
This answers the first question of the repetition of משה; they couldn’t hear משה then but they accepted משה was still their leader. But our second question, why not repeat בני ישראל ? remains unanswered. One idea is as follows: when you’re feeling not yourself, less than yourself and not in the place you want to be, you don’t want to be reminded of who you are; you crave anonymity. G-d at this point was uniting the בני ישראל by reminding them of their leader, but not repeating the fact that they were meant to be a united group as they had simply lost רוח spirit. When one loses spirit the last thing you want to do is push him and tell him to pick himself up and that he’s better than that and he must strive harder. Further, they were already engaging in עבודה קשה hard work and מ from the two together, they were weakened.
Thus in conclusion, the repetition of משה, the non-repetition of בני ישראל shows us that G-d is always able to know where you are and not only that יברך יברך He will bless, He will bless us wherever we are, wherever we appear to be and whether we are passing or failing a test, as long as we continue to travel on the road with Him.
[1] It should be noted that as I’m writing I have no idea what suggestive answers I will come up with!
[2] I don’t like terms like weakness anymore
[3] This idea is the only one that I stole.
January 2003
So it’s my birthday tomorrow and I needed some inspiration. I will be saying שהחינו, וקימנו בזמן הזה – and I want to genuinely turn to G-d and thank Him for having brought me to this point in my life. Given the specially difficult circumstances our country is facing right now, I need to find a way to internally accept this statement and praise Him. How? What can I see? What can I find?
For some reason, over שבת, I kept looking at the wording of the above pasuk in the hope that it would inspire my personal struggle and enable me to make the right decision and continue on the path I believe I have correctly chosen. I looked at it and looked at it and hoped I could transform it into a message of hope for my 32nd birthday; a message that would carry me through this test and onto the next.
“And Moshe spoke to the children and they didn’t hear Moshe…” My first question was why does the pasuk feel the need to repeat the word משה? That משה spoke and they heard משה? Why not just say וידבר משה כן אל בני ישראל ולא שמעו אותו – And Moshe spoke to the Children of Israel and they didn’t hear him? My second question therefore becomes, if we’re gonna repeat משה then grammatically and consistently, we should really therefore say וידבר משה כן אל בני ישראל ובני ישראל לא משעו אל משה – And Moshe spoke to the Children of Israel and the Children of Israel didn’t hear Moshe[1].
The title of the parsha is וארה – Appearance. So let’s ask, what ‘appears’ to be going on here? The pasuk appears to be emphasizing משה’s significance and the present non-strength[2] the בני ישראל was encountering. Apparently, the בני ישראל didn’t recognize his greatness and couldn’t heed his advice…at this moment. They had had faith in משה in the past (and would do so again in the future) but here and now, they didn’t listen to him. Today therefore, the pasuk comes to teach us that there is greatness in others; that we’re not G-d; that however well we’re doing in our personal strive for גאולה, there are always others who can help us and leaders can come in many forms to guide us through bad and good times alike. We’re being reminded of the greatness of משה by the apparently unnecessary repetition of his name in the pasuk.
Another idea is that משה blamed himself for his inability to get through to them, and had he been a better leader, they would have listened to him[3]. This would explain the repetition of משה in the pasuk – משה spoke, but they couldn’t listen…to משה; had it have been someone else speaking, perhaps they could have listened.
…Or so it appears. Remember the parsha – entitled וארה – could have something to do with appearances. Moments after reading these pasukim today we then turned to the הלל prayer, in greeting the new month of שבט. We read ה' זכרנו יברך יברך את בית ישראל – “G-d remembered us, He will bless, He will bless the House of Israel. Another repetition…
What did G-d remember? He remembered ‘us’ the Children that He put on earth to carry out His law and He will bless them. And then He will bless the Children that we have become, are striving to become and are often failing to become. He will bless us as successes and as failures; He will bless us when we pass our tests and when we fail them; He will bless us when we trust משה (or any other leader) and when we – for whatever reason – לא שמעו – do not hear – the voice of goodness, the voice of reason, the voice that we have known, trusted, accepted, believed in, strived with and adored.
This answers the first question of the repetition of משה; they couldn’t hear משה then but they accepted משה was still their leader. But our second question, why not repeat בני ישראל ? remains unanswered. One idea is as follows: when you’re feeling not yourself, less than yourself and not in the place you want to be, you don’t want to be reminded of who you are; you crave anonymity. G-d at this point was uniting the בני ישראל by reminding them of their leader, but not repeating the fact that they were meant to be a united group as they had simply lost רוח spirit. When one loses spirit the last thing you want to do is push him and tell him to pick himself up and that he’s better than that and he must strive harder. Further, they were already engaging in עבודה קשה hard work and מ from the two together, they were weakened.
Thus in conclusion, the repetition of משה, the non-repetition of בני ישראל shows us that G-d is always able to know where you are and not only that יברך יברך He will bless, He will bless us wherever we are, wherever we appear to be and whether we are passing or failing a test, as long as we continue to travel on the road with Him.
[1] It should be noted that as I’m writing I have no idea what suggestive answers I will come up with!
[2] I don’t like terms like weakness anymore
[3] This idea is the only one that I stole.
January 2003