Wonders of Wonders, Miracles of Miracles

Miracles happen everyday, change your perception of what a miracle is and you'll see them all around you. 
-Jon Bon Jovi

The miracle is this - the more we share, the more we have.
-Leonard Nimoy

I've always loved the holiday of Chanuka, even as a kid back in the Old Country, surrounded by snow, and cold, and frost. I loved Chanuka, long before I was introduced to Brownie Cheesecake sufganiyot with cheesecake cream filling, topped with chocolate ganache and a mound of edible glitter-dusted brownie bits.

While Chanuka has been annually celebrated for over 2000 years, it was only in the mid-20th century that it became the most popular and publicly celebrated Jewish holiday in the Western World. 

It's really quite a phenomenon; what we are celebrating is the occurrence of miracles in the time of the Second Temple, but the real miracle today is that—despite the eventual destruction of the Temple; despite our exile from our Land; despite the persecutions and the forced conversions and the pogroms; despite pervasive assimilation, all of which were the result of our exile—we are still celebrating more than 2000 years later.

Albert Einstein once said "there are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle." 

I, personally, see miracles every day: 
light traffic so I get to work on time after a late start;
a parking spot opens up right in front of my house even though my neighbors own five cars;
exact change suddenly appears in my wallet to buy that coffee I desperately need; 
despite the coffee, my shirt isn't stained; 
even though I hate wearing shoes, sometimes they are actually comfortable;
a friend I haven't heard from in a long time gets in touch just when I'm feeling most down; 

273 different flavours of sufganiyot.

And last night, I was privileged to be blessed with another miracle - a first ever family Chanuka party. 

For most people, a family Chanuka party is not a big deal - in fact, I've heard that it is often a thing to be dreaded. 

For the first few years after I came to the HolyLand, there wasn't any family at all with whom to party. After I got married and had kids, I lived with all the family I had, and every day was a party.
Little by little, however, the family has expanded: my kids began to have families of their own, and other family members have come to live in the HolyLand, and have families of their own, and today, we number almost three dozen. Which is two dozen and 11 people more than I had when I came. 

I've had the idea of having some sort of family get-together for a while now, but getting everyone in the same room proved to be challenging. Over the years, whenever I broached the subject, my kids would roll their eyes, while other family members out of eye-rolling range would basically tell me that they had to wash their hair on whatever night I might be thinking of. And NOBODY was willing to come to the wilds of the northern Negev, not even for an apple vanilla sufganiya with cinnamon, which I wasn't going to serve anyway because they are like 11 shekel each. 
But this year, everything seemed to come together. My sister and brother-in-law are here visiting, which gave added value to a family event. My daughter offered to host it in her apartment in Jerusalem, so most of the guests did not have to travel as far (except, of course, for us. But everyone knows that Jerusalem is closer to Beer Sheva than Beer Sheva is to Jerusalem). We picked a day. After an initial reaction of eye rolls and 'well, I'll see if there's nothing better happening' and 'you don't expect me to come, do you', invited guests began to ask what they could bring. 
And everybody came. 
The older generation (me and the husband, and two sisters [one from each side] and their husbands), the second generation (the kids), and, by heavens, a third generation (nine[!!!] various grandkids aged six and under). 

It was chaos. 

The little ones played with balloons that went flying into the soup, and into the chanukiot, and under any chair anyone was sitting on. There were secular family members, religious family members, charedi family members, and a couple of guests who are like family members. There were two active soldiers (one even arrived in uniform, but, as is standard procedure, changed before anyone noticed). Both soldiers, by the way, are girls and are 'lone soldiers', i.e., their parents don't live in the country. There were engineers and artists, a doctor, hi-tech people, a couple of high school kids, an architect, a tour guide, a fireman, a couple of nurses, students and teachers, and a retired lawyer. There were Canadians, Brits, Israelis, an Argentinian, one lone American, and a lizard. 
There was soup and bourekas and humous and mushrooms and coleslaw and pizza and home-made donuts. And a surpise cake. 
There were dreidels that have a 'pei' on them and not a 'shin' and were called sivivonim.  

We took pictures. I insisted on getting the nine little ones together to take a picture. 'Good luck with that!' I was told over and over again, mostly by their parents. And indeed, my best efforts were less than successful. 
We did, however, with much cajoling, direction, choreography, and bullying manage to get the second and third generation, more or less, together, . 

There were jokes and laughter. There were pizza crumbs in the bed. There were poopy babies, and problems parking the cars. 
We had a truly Israeli experience. 

We had a miracle. 

This is how we got our money out of the Old Country

Just waiting

Patience is not simply the ability to wait - it's how we behave while we're waiting. 

-Joyce Meyer

My soul waits for the Lord, more than watchmen for the morning; yea, more than watchmen for the morning.

-Psalms 13;6

Some habits die hard.
On my drive to work this morning, I kept a check on where I could take cover if a siren - signalling an incoming rocket - would sound; behind a wall, inside a building, lying flat on the street. I must say, the roads were pretty quiet today. 

Despite an unprecedented 400 (and counting) rockets and projectiles that have been fired on Southern Israel in the last 20 or so hours, none have been directed at Beer Sheva.
The waiting is excruciating.

There's waiting for the news to be updated. How many rockets have been fired; how many were shot down? How many Israelis have been hurt; how many have we hurt? How are the people who have been hurt over the last two days doing?

There's waiting for the announcements. Will there be school tomorrow? Will I have to go to work? Are the public shelters open? Libraries, community centers, and the zoo are closed. Buses are running.  

There's waiting for the complaints. Why did they cancel school? Why didn't they cancel my work? Why isn't the government doing anything? Why is the government doing anything? Why didn't Iron Dome shoot down all 400 missiles? Why aren't there more Iron Domes? Why hasn't the city put in a safe room into my house? What am I supposed to do with my kids all day? How can I blame Trump/Bibi/Trudeau? (It wasn't a long wait.) 

There's waiting for the siren. As I've said, here in Beer Sheva, it's been quiet. But we're waiting. Should I take a shower now, or wait until after the siren, which is sure to come when I'm in the shower? Should I go to bed now, and get what sleep I can get before the sirens go off, or should I wait until after the siren, which is sure to come the minute I fall asleep. If I am cooking something, I must remind myself that I have to remember to shut off the gas or the oven if there is a siren (luckily, I, personally, don't have to actually worry about that scenario).

And the main announcement everyone is waiting for: Will there be a call-up? If so, how many? Will the army actually enter in full force? Will we finish it this time? (nope.)

We're waiting. 
In the meantime:

שיר למַּעֲלוֹת:

עֶזְרִי, מֵעִם יְהוָה-- עֹשֵׂה, שָׁמַיִם וָאָרֶץ.

אַל-יִתֵּן לַמּוֹט רַגְלֶךָ; אַל-יָנוּם, שֹׁמְרֶךָ.

הִנֵּה לֹא-יָנוּם, וְלֹא יִישָׁן-- שׁוֹמֵר, יִשְׂרָאֵל.

יְהוָה שֹׁמְרֶךָ; יְהוָה צִלְּךָ, עַל-יַד יְמִינֶךָ.

יומָם, הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ לֹא-יַכֶּכָּה; וְיָרֵחַ בַּלָּיְלָה.

יְהוָה, יִשְׁמָרְךָ מִכָּל-רָע: יִשְׁמֹר, אֶת-נַפְשֶׁךָ.

יְהוָה, יִשְׁמָר-צֵאתְךָ וּבוֹאֶךָ-- מֵעַתָּה, וְעַד-עוֹלָם.

A Song of Ascents.
I will lift up mine eyes unto the mountains: from whence shall my help come?
My help cometh from the LORD, who made heaven and earth.
He will not suffer thy foot to be moved; He that keepeth thee will not slumber.
Behold, He that keepeth Israel doth neither slumber nor sleep.
The LORD is thy keeper; the LORD is thy shade upon thy right hand.
The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.
The LORD shall keep thee from all evil; He shall keep thy soul.
The LORD shall guard thy going out and thy coming in, from this time forth and for ever. 

I Knew You Were Coming, so I Baked a Cake

Let's face it, a nice creamy chocolate cake does a lot for a lot of people; it does for me.
-Audrey Hepburn

I had a cake party yesterday. It was actually my second cake party. I had a cake party last year too. 

Before and after last year’s successful cake party, many people have asked what exactly is and why a cake party.

I will get to that answer shortly. But because the cake party was held in my house, I first decided to say a few words about the Parsha: 

Last Shabbat we read Chayai Sarah, and this week (tomorrow) we read Toldot. Tthe first Parsha deals with the death of Sarah, and her burial in Chevron – for which Avraham has to buy a gravesite. After Sarah is buried, Avraham sends out a servant to find a suitable wife for his son Yitzhak. Parshat Toldot tells us of the marriage of Yitzhak and Rivka, how they have to fight to stay in the Land, of their childlessness, of finally the birth – after a difficult pregnancy – of twins, Esav selling his birthright, and Yitzhak giving blessings to his sons.

Avraham spends a great deal of time and money buying a gravesite in Chevron. He rejects an offer of a free grave so as to ensure that his ownership of the Land is legal and lasting. Indeed, the Maarat HaMachpela is the only bit of Land that Avraham owns. And the marriage of Itzhak to a good Jewish girl takes on a certain urgency when we realize that of Avraham’s eight sons, at the end of the day, he has only two Jewish grandchildren, one of whom leaves the path.

In Toldot, we are told how Yitzhak and Rivka settle and work the land and of their difficulties. There is a famine; Rivka is almost kidnapped by the locals; they dig wells, only to have them stopped up in a show of ecological terrorism. The local residents are jealous of Yitzhak’s wealth, of his wife, of his standing, and make his life relatively miserable. A peace treaty is finally secured only after God promises Yitzhak that He will never leave him and that the Land is Yitzhak’s. Avimelech, the King of the Philistines, finally realizes that Yitzhak is here to stay. No amount of cutting his water supply, or burning his fields, or stoning his cars are going to make him leave. Rivka and Yitzhak secure their presence in the Land.

And then we come to Yitzhak’s kids. Rivka realizes what Yitzhak has not; that Esav will not be following in his father’s or grandfather’s footsteps. She therefore arranges that the correct blessing go to the correct child. There is no point in forcing a child to be what he is not, nor withholding from a child that which is his. By so doing this, Rivka ensures physical Jewish continuity. Her efforts secure her 13 (at least) Jewish grandchildren.

We see two themes running through these parshiot: 1. Securing a Jewish presence in the Land of Israel, and 2) Jewish Continuity. These are the same two themes that have concerned Jews over the years: Next year in Jerusalem, and will my grandchildren be Jewish. 

Oy. 

It’s not a new concern.

Because, despite God’s promise to both Avraham and Yitzhak that He will make their descendants into a great nation, both of them had to work hard to stay in the Land and have Jewish grandchildren. They had to buy land and dig wells and look for brides. They did not simply sit back and rely on God’s promise. Because the promise wasn’t exactly a promise in the way we understand the word. It was a brit, a covenant, an agreement. “You do this, and I’ll give you that”. Only with the total commitment and participation on the part of Avraham would G-d’s promises come into being. Only with devotion, sweat and sometimes against almost unbeatable odds was Yitzhak successful in settling in the Land. This is true not only for Avraham and Yitzhak, but also for their descendants.

Let that sink in a moment.

All of us who were in the room last night have chosen to live to Israel (with the glaring exception of my two daughters who were not given the choice as they were born here)  and by that we are preserving our rights to this Land. And by living here, despite the language difficulties, and the sirens, and the lack of graham crackers, we have a better chance of having Jewish grandchildren.

So, I can say we’re doing pretty good, and we’re following in the footsteps of our ancestors. And in Beer Sheva, which is actually where Avraham and Sara and Yitzhak and Rivka lived.

Which brings me to a cake party.

And what is its relevance?

I first heard of a cake party when I was in the year of mourning for my mother.

I decided that this is the way I wanted to commemorate her and my father, because it’s how I remember them.

It’s a weird way, I know, but an evening of prayers and learning would have bored them.

And I wanted to do something to show that I was, in my own way, paying attention, and try and ensure their continuity.

My parents concerned themselves very much with a specific attribute of Avraham Avinu.

Like Avraham, they liked company, and they liked feeding company.

My mother was the proud owner of two fridges (each with its small freezer) and two very large freezers. And they were all always full. She did buy and stock Empire chickens, so there would be enough for the neighborhood for 20 years if there were a nuclear war, but she also filled them with baked goods. Cakes, and pies, and cookies.

Why a cake party in honor of my parents? Because cake, in my parents’ house, represented the hospitality, and generosity, and friendship of Avraham Avinu.

That was my parents – generous, hospitable, good people, who always had cake for everyone.

Zero to Hero (in 45 seconds)

A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.
-Christopher Reeve

A week ago, Beer Sheva was once again targeted by the terrorist organization/government Hamas, rulers of Gaza. There have been clashes/altercations/skirmishes/battles at the Gaza border for months and months now, with half of the northern Negev burnt to a crisp by terrorist fires. The situation is insane, to say the least.
Last week, however, Hamas took the situation to a new level by firing a new and improved Grad missile on a city of over 210,000 people. Because this is Israel, and the government has spent millions protecting its citizens, a siren went off at 3:41 AM, warning over 350,000 Negev inhabitants of an incoming strike. The Grad hit a house that belonged to a single mother and her three young sons. The mother, awakened by the siren, grabbed her sons one by one, and raced to the safe room, closing the door seconds before the missile hit. They were unhurt, but their house was destroyed.

The nation of Israel – while incensed that, again, Hamas is firing missiles at a civilian population – rejoiced that this mother of Israel and her sons were saved.

Without question, this mother is a hero.

And so is my young friend, mother of three babies, who woke from her hard-earned sleep, gathered them up and raced to the safe room. Luckily, her house was not hit.

So is my 60-year old friend, who woke up her 25 year old son, already traumatized from army experiences and battling his own demons, wrestled him out of the apartment and down a flight of stairs to the shelter in the basement of the building. Their building wasn't hit either.

And my other friend, who, without a safe room or a shelter, ran out of her apartment in her jammies, into the stairwell of her building, and waited for the boom with all the other neighbors who were in their jammies.

Or my friends without safe rooms or shelters or stairwells, who gather up all their family members in 45 seconds in the middle of the night and find a room without windows (a hallway, under stairs, the bathroom) and huddle there. They are heroes, too.
As are all the other 350,000 people I don't know who do the same.

Luckily, miraculously, their houses weren't hit.

I'm going to include all those people who didn't sleep again after the boom echoed throughout the city, yet got up the next morning and went to work, or went to school, or went to the shops, or raced around arranging donations to the family who had lost everything. because that's what they do, thanking God that this time their houses weren't destroyed. They carried on.

And all those people who lay awake and wondered if their sons, or husband, or brothers, or fathers, or cousins, or neighbors, were going to be called up, again, to defend our Land and our People; wondering when it's going to stop, knowing that it's not. They are definitely heroes.

And the thousands and thousands of Negev residents, living closer the Gaza, who have been living this way for over 15 years, who deal with stress, shock, trauma, fear, and sleepless nights on a daily basis, and are still here. They are truly heroes.

Here in Israel, we have lots of heroes who dress up as heroes: our soldiers and our firefighters for example.

But there are all those other heroes, who we see every day: in the shops picking out bananas, and in the streets taking up three parking spots, and at work talking on the phone - checking up on their kids, on their parents, on their neighbors, making sure everyone is ok.

All those sleepless, capeless heroes.
Dressed up as ordinary people.

 

Grumpy is as Grumpy Does

...I will survive
Oh, as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive
I've got all my life to live, I've got all my love to give
And I'll survive, I will survive, I will survive
-Gloria Gaynor

I don't know exactly what it is, but the yearly 'chagim' season has become harder and harder for me to handle. I suppose one of the reasons is that I'm older now, and much much grumpier than I used to be. 
Hard to imagine, I know.

I made a list of the things that bug me (I like lists).

1. Supermarkets, throughout September, hike up their prices on staples such as potatoes and lettuce. 
2. Supermarkets run out of eggs and carrots. 
3. Supermarkets turn into circuses with crazy people running around looking for cheap potatoes and eggs. 
4. My house is full of people who want to be fed, constantly.
5. For some reason, the house is also full of Lego pieces that arrange themselves so that I step on them (in my bare feet) no matter how many times I pick them up and put them away. 
6. It's hot.
7. Shabbat, Chag, Shabbat, Chag.   Shabbat, Chag.
8. I never know what day it is.  
9. But it's always shopping day. Or cooking day. Or both.

    10. I hate cooking.

Just because I've been blessed to live in a country where the majority are celebrating the same holidays I am, and I don't have to take extra time off of work because vacation time is automatic, and everyone has to go to the supermarket and stock up because, in accordance to both the Law of the Land and the Law of God, those supermarkets are closed on the holidays that I and most other citizens are celebrating and everyone has to eat a lot of food all the time (because, you know), and the farmers cannot keep up with carrot production for all the soup, and tzimmis, and kugel that is being made, or the chickens with their needed eggs for the thousands of cakes that are being made across the Land, because, after all, we're all in this together. 

Where was I?

Oh yes, my house. Which is full of people. Why is it full of people? Who need to eat. Like three meals a day. Which seems unreasonable.

Just because I'm blessed to have all my kids and their cousins and family and things relatively close by, and they bring cake or ice cream when they come, and they all get along relatively well, and there is lots of laughing and teasing going on, and the big kids play football on the grass with the little kids because the weather is warm and it's not raining or snowing (which can happen you know) or when it is too warm outside (that can happen too), they all play with Lego on the big dining room table, (with or without the little kids), and we think about taking pictures because it's not often that all the kids are together anymore, but nobody does because everyone groans when the cameras come out, and the teasing begins again, and they all pose for silly mug shots, and my eyes tear because seeing them all together does that. 

Oof. 

 And shopping!!!! I understand that I live in a Land of Plenty, which has been blessed to grow its own food, and that there are huge amounts of produce available: pomegranates, and fresh dates, and quinces (I don't actually know anyone who likes quinces, but hey, they are there if you want), and avocados, and spinach, and basil, and cherry tomatoes by the ton, and pineapples (fresh!!!!!!! who knew they didn't grow in a can?), and figs, and olives (which also, apparently, don't grow in a can), and melon, and peaches, and 14 kinds of apples, and plums, and 42 new kinds of yogurt, and ice cream, and I never bring enough carrying bags to take home all the stuff from the supermarket even without carrots, and I have enough eggs in the house because I did a lot of baking before the chag because I'm lucky that I have an extra freezer and enough room to store enough for food for a dozen meals for two dozen people in my home.

But, oof. I hate cooking. Nothing is going to change that. Even the grandkids who come and ask for Savta's challah, and Savta's chicken, and Savta's soup, and good lord, I'm a SAVTA????!!!, where has the time gone?

Probably wasted most of it in the supermarket looking for carrots. 

In the end, of course, I survived. 

And today, when I went shopping, there were lots of carrots in the stores, right in time to make soup for Shabbat. 

Ooooooof. 

Goodness Graciousness

Life is measured in love and positive contributions and moments of grace
-Carly Fiorina

If you are not a better person tomorrow than you are today, what need have you for a tomorrow?
– Rebbe Nachman of Breslov

You are only young once, but you can stay immature indefinitely
-Ogden Nash

One of the more lovely aspects of living in Israel, besides having only one Pesach seder, is the ability to celebrate one's birthday, not only twice (once by the Hebrew calendar, and once by the Gregorian calendar) but throughout the entire stretch of time between  the two days.
This period has aptly been named the Birthday Chol HaMoed, and can range in time from zero days (every 19 years the two calendars match up again) to up to three weeks.
Birthday greetings, balloons, presents, and, most importantly, Birthday Cake can be enjoyed every day of the Birthday Chol HaMoed without guilt (or calories), and with much glee.

Because my birthday (both Hebrew and Gregorian) falls sometime within the Chagim period, it often got overlooked when I was growing up. Sometimes birthday cake was served at the adjacent holiday dinner, sometimes on the birthday itself, and sometimes, not at all. It depended on how stressed my mother was. To be honest, I never cared. There was always a lot of cake in my house, whether it was for a birthday or not.

And so I grew up with little regard for birthdays. It was only as an adult that I understood how important they were to some other people, and how hurt someone would get if you didn't make a Very Big Deal out of their birthday. It amused me, as if the birthday person had done ANYTHING, besides, of course, cause his or her mother a great deal of pain, to deserve being made a big deal of.

But so it is; birthdays, it turns out, can be a Big Deal.

This year, I have a relatively long Birthday Chol HaMoed, almost two weeks. And I've decided to turn it into a Big Deal.

I decided this because of gematriya.
Gematriya is the practice of giving numerical value to Hebrew letters, and thereby giving meaning to certain numbers, or to words with the same gematriya.

A prime example of how gematriya is used in the Jewish world (without anyone even realizing it) is the word 'chai' (חי). In gematriya, chai, which means life, has the numerical value of  18 . It is standard practice in Jewish households, especially in North America - less so in Israel and Europe - to give gifts in multiples of 18, i.e., 18, 36 or 52 dollars. This symbolizes that the recipient should be blessed with life - chai.

I looked up my age in gematriya, i.e., what words, in Hebrew, add up to the numerical value of my age.
The first word to come up was  madig (מדאיג), which means worrisome.
Hmmm. I don't need reminders to worry, thank you.

Another word with the same numerical value is halevai!! (and yes, with exclamation marks, it can only be said with exclamation marks). Halevai!! means 'if only', as in:
Neighbor: "Are you going to Hawaii this year for the Chagim?
Me: Halevai!!!  But I have to host 267 people and stay home and wash dishes.
or
Friend: "Let's go out for coffee".
Me: "Halevai!!! But I have to wash dishes."

I don't think I want my year to be a Halevai!!!! year.

Then it came to me that this year is my 'chen' (חן) birthday. The letters of the word chen, in gematriya, have the numerical value of my age, as of this week.

A direct translation of  chen from Hebrew into English would be grace, or charm, or graciousness but, in fact, chen, like so many other Hebrew words, has no real English equivalent.

In the book of Proverbs we find:

Grace (chen) is deceitful, and beauty is vain; but a woman who fears God, she shall be praised.  

שֶׁקֶר הַחֵן, וְהֶבֶל הַיֹּפִי: אִשָּׁה יִרְאַת-ה', הִיא תִתְהַלָּל.  (Proverbs 31;30)

It seems from this that chen is not necessarily something positive.

On the other hand, the book of Genesis tells us that

Noah found grace (chen) in the eyes of God.

 'וְנֹחַ מָצָא חֵן בְּעֵינֵי ה (Genesis 6:8)

Here, Noah clearly has some je ne s'ais quoi that God saw, which allows him to be saved. 

The Kabbalah defines chen as kindness, gentleness, pleasantness, and beauty—qualities that are not only attractive, but desirable.

So it seems that Proverbs is taking the grace/charm definition, while Genesis is taking the Kabbalistic definition.

Even on my best days, I decidedly do not possess grace or charm or graciousness, and, unfortunately, am often not kind or gentle or pleasant, and certainly not when I have to wash 267 dishes.

But a girl can try.

Over the years, as Hebrew has evolved, chen has come to mean both a physical beauty and an inner beauty, one that is not so easily recognized. It also means the ability to recognize another's inner beauty, and the beauty in all situations even, or especially, when that beauty is not so discernable.

Here's another thing about a birthday in Israel. The birthday person has the ability to bless others with good wishes. (Of course, everyone has this ability every day, but it's more, shall we say, potent on one's birthday.)

So, yes, in this coming year, I'm going to make a decided effort to be more pleasant (smiles don't cost money), more gentle (we never know what people are going through - it's always best to speak and behave with gentleness), and kinder (the world can only be improved through random acts of kindness).  Please remind me of this.

In addition – this is where the Big Deal comes in, because I usually don't do things like this – I am going to use my birthday Chol HaMoed to bless/pray/wish/hope that we all encounter only beauty, and kindness, and graciousness – that all of Am Yisrael should all have a year of Chen.

And birthday cake. Let's not forget birthday cake.

Much To Do About Nothing

Don't worry...the world won't end today.
I've put it on my 'To Do' list for tomorrow.
― Anthony T. Hincks

Every day, I begin my workday by checking my emails.  And, every workday, after I have checked them, I ignore them until I have checked my Facebook page, my private emails, how many likes I received on previous blogposts, read my horoscope, messaged my kids, chatted to everyone in the office, and drank a couple of pots of coffee. (In fact, I have a whole list of things to do at work before I actually do any work.)
The other day, having just returned from the long weekend of Rosh HaShana, and even though there were five days worth of emails, there was nothing pressing, so after I checked everything I needed to check and drank three pots of coffee, I began writing out my TO-DO list for the coming days.

This is where it all falls apart.

When there is a great deal of work to do around the house, as there is during the 'Chagim' (the Jewish holidays that fall, one after another, during the early autumn) the only way I can cope is by writing out lists. There is nothing more satisfying than crossing things off the daily to-do lists.
Therefore, I write separate lists for everything: things to clean (divided into rooms); food to buy (by groupings - fruits, vegetables, dry goods, spices, drinks, meat, cocktails), tasks to complete (listed in order of dislike - ironing is always last).

But despite all these lists, somehow, I always forget something.

I go to the supermarket with a list as long as a Stephen King novel (but scarier), and conscientiously tick things off the list as I take items off the shelves. But when I get home, I find I forgot to list mayonnaise. Or paprika. Or a can of mini corn. Or fabric softener. (Which would make 3,467 days in a row that I forgot to buy fabric softener.)
I send a kid to the local corner store, where prices are, on average, 6.8 times higher than the supermarket I just left, to buy the missing item.
The kid asks "What else do you need?" I answer, "Just steak spice, I have everything else I need." The kid comes back with the steak spice just as the next kid is leaving to go buy the vanilla pudding I need to put in the gluten-free cookies that I put on my What to Bake list, but forgot to put on the Gluten-Free Ingredients I Need to Buy' list.
By coincidence, just as the second kid has left,  the out-of-town kid  phones to ask what she should bring. I tell her "oh I have everything I need!! But if you happen to come across, in your travels, some fresh oregano, I would be grateful."

I begin a new list: Things I've Forgotten To Buy. This list can sometimes get quite lengthy, but usually, I forget exactly what it is I've forgotten.

In the midst of all the shopping and meal planning, the house has to be cleaned. This area of housework does not faze me. I write out - usually on the backs of printed recipes of dishes I will never make (what was I thinking??? Also, I forgot to buy pesto) - lengthy, detailed lists of tasks to be done. Then I leave the lists in public places around the house where other people will find them.

Back in the kitchen, after all the ingredients have been sorted, next comes the task of baking/cooking. I first have to put things in order; which pots are needed for what dish, which baking pans I will need, in what order to cook each dish. I glance through my lists: What to Bake, Which Chicken/Schnitzel/Meat is the Easiest to Make, Vegetables Kids Like and Vegetables Kids Don't Like (the second part of that list took me quite a chunk of my workday to complete), Desserts (a surprisingly short list consisting of ice cream [bought - I must remember to put that on the Things I've Forgotten To Buy list] and canned fruit salad [which I, in fact, remembered ticking off my list with great satisfaction]).
But all my plans come to a screeching halt as I left my What Pots and Pans I Have list at work.
Which is good. Because I forgot to buy balsamic vinegar.

And I've run out of kids.

How Do You Like It So Far?

And the Lord said to Abram," Go forth from your land and from your birthplace and from your father's house, to the Land that I will show you; 
And I will make you into a great nation, and I will bless you, and I will aggrandize your name, and you shall be a blessing; 
and I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse, and all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you." 
-Genesis 12:1-3

As long as the Jewish spirit is yearning deep in the heart, 
With eyes turned toward the East, looking toward Zion,
Then our hope - the two-thousand-year-old hope - will not be lost;
To be a free people in our Land,
The Land of Zion and Jerusalem
- HaTikva (The Hope) National Anthem of Israel

Once again, over the past 4 months, it looked like Israel was facing another summer war. It's now late in the summer, so we seemed to have staved it off for now, and are facing, instead another winter war...

I would like to say that this would have been my 3rd war, or 4th war, or 10th war since I came to live in Israel, but the truth is, I've lost count. It's also very hard to define an Israeli war.

I've been in Israel a long time.
I was just thinking about it - how long I've been here. I wrote a blog post a while ago about the last March for Israel I attended in the Old Country. It was a long time ago.

Forty years to be exact.

I am celebrating my 40-year aliyahversary.
Aliyahversary was not even a word when I made Aliyah.
I didn't even make Aliyah. I just came.

Also, because I still act like I'm 17 (or 12 - depending on the day), it couldn't possibly be so many years.

Some say that 40 years isn't really a long time. 

That's true, if you're a tree.

14,610 days.
350,640 hours (more or less, let's not be OCD).

I honestly don't know where the time has gone. I can, however, clearly recall that first plane ride (which, in itself, seemed 40 years long).

Our sages tell us that the Children of Israel wandered the desert for 40 years until they reached the Land of Israel partly so that the transition from slavery to freedom could be made. The old generation needed to die off so the younger - born into freedom - could take over. I can relate. My kids are Israeli (though they can, if they want, pass), my grandkids even more so. I still haven't quite finished making that transition.
Sorry aboot that.

When I think about it, my aliyah has been a dismal failure. I get lost on buses. I don't know how to pay for a train ride. I'm sent home from government offices because I don't have the correct paperwork. And EVERYONE tries to speak to me in English the minute I open my mouth to speak. (I also still practice what I'm going to say before I say it - but so do a lot of people I know. I think it's a  thing.) In a crowd of Israelis, I sometimes still feel like an outsider.

I still get annoyed when I'm pushed aside by a man or a teenager or a woman to get on the bus first. Or when someone takes up two or even three parking spots, or worse, doubles and triple parks so they don't have to walk the extra 23 centimetres; I'm even more annoyed when someone leaves their shopping trolley on the diagonal in the middle of an aisle, making it impossible to get by without pushing aside their trolley. And when I do, they get annoyed. It aggravates me no end when people talk out loud to each other in the movie theatre; shout to each other across streets; play loud music on the bus; refuse to turn the music down in a store. I still don't understand how store owners can advertise items for sale that are not actually available.

Most of these 40 years have been spent simply living my life; floundering my way; making friends; making mistakes; having and raising my kids; making more mistakes; making dinner; having fun; not having fun; learning; doing laundry; playing in the park; spending money; saving money; reading books; reading newspapers; watching movies; watching the news; making more mistakes; complaining about the heat; complaining about the cold; complaining about the neighbors; complaining about the other drivers; complaining about the kids; worrying about the kids; celebrating simchas; crying in the bathroom; watching fireworks; attending siddur parties, chumash parties, graduations, swearing-in ceremonies; baking cake; eating cake; going on vacation; recovering from going on vacation; laughing; praying.

40 years =
Several hundred planted trees and flowers (all in the first year)
1 degree from a real university
1 husband
5 kids
2 daughters-in-law
2 grandkids
4 cars
2 refrigerators
3 stove tops
7 washing machines(!!!)
2 apartments
2 houses
a dozen or so addresses
several jobs
scores of wars and elections
countless friends
several (but not enough!!) family members who have  made aliyah or, at least, come to visit

I wish I had made a greater contribution to society, made my presence felt more.

I do have one daily goal. I try, at least once a day, to get one person to smile. Then I feel my day has not been wasted. And if, every once in a while, I get someone to pee their pants a little - that's a bonus. 

I always remember that nothing in Israel is simple, or straightforward. For every shove on the bus, there are five kids who will give up their seat for me. For every bad parking spot there were dozens of offered lifts.
For each diagonally placed supermarket trolley, I could see 10 people who would give up their place in line to someone with kids or to the handicapped or elderly.
For every missed movie line due to someone talking at full volume, there are hundreds of people reciting psalms for the ill, the injured, the poor, the childless, the unmarried.

There might be what would be perceived by these Old Country-born eyes as universal rudeness, but there is also universal concern and universal joy.
What some might call nosiness is really a strong sense of community.
I have been the recipient of and observed inumerable acts of kindness - to loved ones, to friends, to complete strangers.
But nobody is a stranger, because we're all family, despite it all.
I've witnessed bravery, courage, kindness, loyalty, faith, great joy - and all in my own living room.
I've been blessed to witness miracles.

40 years =
Saying goodbye
but welcoming the new.
Endless problems and worries
but constant laughter and joy.
Incessant fear, and worry, and dread,
Everlasting pride and honor and delight.

I am profoundly grateful, Every. Single. Day. that I was born, after so many generations, into a world where Israel existed and that I have been able to live my life here.
I still wonder at the miracle that is Israel.
And I still cry when I sing HaTikva.

Please take a moment, and thank G-d for the State of Israel, diagonal trolleys and all.

אָבִינוּ שֶׁבַּשָּׁמַיִם, צוּר יִשְׂרָאֵל וְגוֹאֲלוֹ, בָּרֵךְ אֶת מְדִינַת יִשְׂרָאֵל, רֵאשִׁית צְמִיחַת גְּאֻלָּתֵנוּ.

הָגֵן עָלֶיהָ בְּאֶבְרַת חַסְדֶּךָ, וּפְרֹשׁ עָלֶיהָ סֻכַּת שְׁלוֹמֶךָ, וּשְׁלַח אוֹרְךָ וַאֲמִתְּךָ לְרָאשֶׁיהָ, שָׂרֶיהָ וְיוֹעֲצֶיהָ, וְתַקְּנֵם בְּעֵצָה טוֹבָה מִלְּפָנֶיךָ.

חַזֵּק אֶת יְדֵי מְגִנֵּי אֶרֶץ קָדְשֵׁנוּ, וְהַנְחִילֵם אֱלֹהֵינוּ יְשׁוּעָה וַעֲטֶרֶת נִצָּחוֹן תְּעַטְּרֵם, וְנָתַתָּ שָׁלוֹם בָּאָרֶץוְשִׂמְחַת עוֹלָם לְיוֹשְׁבֶיהָ.

וְאֶת אַחֵינוּ כָּל בֵּית יִשְׂרָאֵל פְּקָד־נָאבְּכָל אַרְצוֹת פְּזוּרֵיהֶם, וְתוֹלִיכֵם מְהֵרָה קוֹמְמִיּוּת לְצִיּוֹן עִירֶךָ וְלִירוּשָׁלַיִם מִשְׁכַּן שְׁמֶךָ, כַּכָּתוּב בְּתוֹרַת משֶׁה עַבְדֶּךָ: ”אִם יִהְיֶה נִדַּחֲךָ בִּקְצֵה הַשָּׁמַיִם, מִשָּׁם יְקַבֶּצְךָ ה׳ אֱלֹהֶיךָ וּמִשָּׁם יִקָּחֶךָ. וֶהֱבִיאֲךָ ה׳ אֱלֹהֶיךָ אֶל הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר יָרְשׁוּ אֲבֹתֶיךָוִירִשְׁתָּהּ, וְהֵיטִבְךָ וְהִרְבְּךָ מֵאֲבֹתֶיךָ.“(דברים ל:ד-ה)

וְיַחֵד לְבָבֵנוּ לְאַהֲבָה וּלְיִרְאָה אֶת שְׁמֶךָ, וְלִשְׁמֹר אֶת כָּל דִּבְרֵי תּוֹרָתֶךָ. וּשְׁלַח לָנוּ מְהֵרָה בֶּן דָּוִד מְשִׁיחַ צִדְקֶךָ, לִפְדּות מְחַכֵּי קֵץ יְשׁוּעָתֶךָ. הוֹפַע בַּהֲדַר גְּאוֹן עֻזֶּךָ עַל כָּל יוֹשְׁבֵי תֵּבֵל אַרְצֶךָ, וְיֹאמַר כֹּל אֲשֶׁר נְשָׁמָה בְּאַפּוֹ: יהוה אֱלֹהֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל מֶלֶךְ,”וּ֝מַלְכוּת֗וֹ בַּכֹּ֥ל מָשָֽׁלָה.“(תהלים קג:יט) אָמֵן סֶלָה.

Our Father who is in heaven, Protector and Redeemer of Israel, bless the State of Israel, the dawn of our deliverance. Shield it beneath the wings of Your love; spread over it Your canopy of peace; send Your light and Your truth to its leaders, officers, and counselors, and direct them with Your good counsel.

Strengthen the defenders of our Holy Land; grant them, our God, salvation and crown them with victory. Establish peace in the land, and everlasting joy for its inhabitants. Remember our brethren, the whole house of Israel, in all the lands of their dispersion. Speedily bring them to Zion, Your city, to Jerusalem Your dwelling-place, as it is written in the  of Your servant Moses:

“Even if you are dispersed in the uttermost parts of the world, from there the Lord your God will gather and fetch you. The Lord your God will bring you into the land which your ancestors possessed, and you shall possess it; and God will make you more prosperous and more numerous than your ancestors.”

Unite our hearts to love and revere Your name, and to observe all the precepts of Your Torah. Speedily send us Your righteous Messiah of the House of David, to redeem those waiting for Your salvation. Shine forth in Your glorious majesty over all the inhabitants of Your world. Let everything that breathes proclaim: “The Lord God of Israel is King; His majesty rules over all.” Amen. Selah.

Pay it Forward

You have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you. 

- John Bunyan

Be kind whenever possible. It's always possible

- the Dalai Lama

Today started like any other day. I woke up early, threw some laundry into the machine, drank some coffee, played soduka while drinking coffee, and then got into my car to go to work at the local University. The earlier I get to work, the earlier I can leave, so I like to get there nice and early.

It's about a twelve minute drive. Three minutes in, I noticed that the side mirror on the passenger side of the car was pushed in, and I couldn't see behind me. At the next traffic light, I pulled up the handbrakes, undid my seatbelt, rolled down the passenger window, leaned over, and fixed the mirror. All before the light changed back to green. Yay me! But (there's always a but, isn't there....) before I could get my seatbelt back on, and get the handbrakes down, the light changed to green, and within a nanosecond the hooting began. It's possible that the hooting began even before the light changed.

This is Israel, the land of prophecy, and it's entirely possible that the guy behind me knew in advance that the light was about to change.
But I digress.

Ignoring the hooting, seatbelt secured, I grabbed the handbrakes and pulled.
And pulled.
And pulled.

And the handbrakes wouldn't budge.

I was stuck, the guy behind me furiously hooting away until he eventually wised up and scooted around me.
The light changed back to red, and the handbrakes wouldn't move.
When the light turned back green, handbrakes up, I drove slowly, with much screeching, across the street and managed to pull over. There, out of traffic, I wrestled with the stupid handbrakes for several minutes until I finally got them down.

Swearing, sweating from the exertion (I mean, I wrestled!!!), I drove to work, not arriving particularly early.

I figured that, while at the traffic light,  I had pulled up the handbrakes too fast, and something caught wrong, and it was stuck. So when I parked in the parking lot at work, I – mostly out of habit – pulled up the handbrakes again. I looked at that black piece of T-shaped plastic, and decided not to think it until I finished my six hours of duty. 
Which, of course, came none too quickly and I all but forgot about the early morning's episode.

Until, of course, I started the car, and couldn't get the handbrakes down. At least I wasn't in traffic, and nobody was hooting me.
Still, I had to get home.
I struggled for about fifteen minutes. It was hot, I was out of breath, and I had long run out of swear words.

Nothing.

I took a breath and tried again.

Nada.

I finally broke down, and called my son, who studies at the University. Maybe he was there and could come and help me.
He wasn't.
But he did offer to come and get me. I said no, I would try a few minutes longer and then take a bus. I really didn't want to leave the car at work, so I struggled, in vain, a while longer.
I felt helpless.

My son called me back.
"Are you still there? I asked my friend to come and help you. He'll be there in a minute".

Indeed, a few minutes later, a tall, blonde young man waved at me.
"I don't know what I can do," said the mechanical engineering student to me. "I don't know anything about cars."

The first hurdle was pushing the seat back because Yaniv is about twice my height. That accomplished, he got in and began fighting with the handbrakes.

Zip.

I told the kid to forget it, I'd manage. He just looked at me, and said "It's no big deal, I have nothing better to do. Hold on, I'll call my dad. He knows everything."

I just stared. This was getting ridiculous. I hadn't wanted to bother my son, let alone this stranger's dad.

"Hi Dad!! What's up? Everything ok? Listen, there's this lady here who can't get her handbrakes down. Do you know what to do?"

Dad advised him to try and move the car a bit forward (with the brakes on), maybe there was something catching them. Or perhaps rocking the car a bit. Or try... The two chatted a few minutes.

We started the car, and Yaniv tried driving back and forth a few centimeters in the hope of releasing the brakes.

Zilch.

He got out of the car, slipped his sandals off, and lay down on his stomach first in front of the car, and then on the side to see if there was something stuck underneath.

Diddly.

Still barefoot, he got back in the car and tried again.

This is Israel and miracles do indeed happen.

Yaniv released the handbrakes.

Wide grin on his face, he got out of the car, put his sandals back on and told me I don't need to use the handbrakes at all. Beer Sheva is pretty flat.

"Are you here tomorrow? Ice cream on me, " I told him.

"It's a date," he laughed. "But really, it was nothing."
"Nothing for you, a whole weekend of headaches for me".

I got in the car, careful not to touch the handbrakes, and called my son to thank him.
"All's good," I said.

And then, I burst into tears.

Random Kindness from strangers and family does that to me.
It's how the world will be saved.

Lamrot HaKol - Despite it all

and here you are living despite it all
-Rupi Kaur

 למרות הכל נשארנו פה, למרות כל מה שהם עשו כדי שניפול 

-נתן גושן
(Despite it all, we stayed here, depite all they did to make us fall
- Natan Goshen)

When I was young and in school back in the Old Country, about a week after Chanuka and until Tu B’Shvat, the teachers would hang a small JNF poster in the classroom. It was a bit bigger than a piece of A4 paper, and it had a picture of a tree with spaces on the branches to put stickers of leaves.

A sticker of a leaf cost five cents. There were 20 spots for leaves, so a whole tree cost one dollar (!!!). But 7-year-olds didn’t have dollars, so we would bring our nickels in whenever we had one. Sometimes, we had ten cents to spend, so we could buy two leaves. What excitment!! It was quite a ceremony giving the teacher the money, receiving the sticker and sticking it on the poster. Sometimes, but rarely, a parent would send in a whole dollar to buy a whole tree. Cheers of joy could be heard up and down the halls of the school!! There was a mini-contest between the classes to see which class would buy the most trees.

It was in this way that we learned, very effectively, about the Zionist enterprise, and understood the importance of buying lands and planting trees to hold down the ground. We learned the history of the Land, how it had been undeveloped for so many years, and how the Nation of Israel was coming back to repair the damage done by centuries of neglect. We were so proud that, even in this small way, with our nickels and dimes, we could contribute to the building of the Land, even from so far away.

 We kids joked that one day, when we went to visit Israel, we would go to visit our trees.

Yesterday, my department at work went on a trip to the hills surrounding Jerusalem. For personal reasons (aka laziness), I did not go on the walk down to the Sorek River with the group. Instead, I stayed, with a few others, near the top of a mountain, next to a comforting source of coffee. However, I did take a walk around the area (making sure I first had a good supply of coffee). The view was lovely, and I sat, half in shade, for quite a while staring out at the mountains and valleys. The air was very hot, but it was very quiet, just me and the butterflies. 

And the view from that spot was exactly what I needed. 

It had been a long time since I have visited any of my trees.

Despite the fact that when I came back from my walk into nature and beauty, all my co-workers who had stayed at the coffee shop were on their phones,

And despite the fact that the coffee shop didn’t serve lemon meringue pie,

And despite the fact that when we met up with the rest of the group, they too were all on their phones,

And despite the cinnamon (!!) in the kebbabs we ate at the restaurant where we had lunch,

And despite the endless, oppressive heat, 

And despite the air conditioning  not working,

And despite the occasional rockets, and the awful brown envelopes I keep receiving at home, and the flies and mosquitoes who have set up permanent residence in my bedroom, 

And despite all the tensions, and the bad publicity, and the heartbreak,

Despite it all, למרות הכל*

I was reminded how much I love this country, 

The end.

*Sometimes, Hebrew sounds better than English. למרות הכל (Lamrot HaKol) means despite, or in spite of, but has a more melancholy connotation than the English. 

Kapara Aleinu!

Kapara Aleichem!
-Netta Barzilai - upon winning the Eurovision Song Contest
Kapara Aleich!
-Binyamin Netanyahu to Netta Barzilai

According to Jewish law, Judaism is a matriarchal religion/nationality/ethnicity/whatevertheheckitis. If the mother is Jewish, the child is Jewish; if the mother is not Jewish, her children are not Jewish. Observance, belief, and emotion play no part in passing down being Jewish.

That said, the customs of Judaism are passed down through the father. It doesn't matter how much better the mother's customs are, the kids do what their father and his father before him have done.

Let me explain.

Judaism and Jews have been around for a long time. Jews have lived, and Judaism has been practiced, in just about every country and a great many cities around the world. Jews have moved from place to place also; when they were thrown out of one place, they went to another.

Over the centuries and millennia, while Jewish Law (aka Halacha) has remained the same, many interpretations and customs surrounding those laws have evolved in different ways in different places at different times.
In some areas, customs have taken on the seriousness of actual law, and followers are required to keep the custom in the same manner as keeping the Law itself. How one keeps these serious customs is patriarchal-it goes by how the father and his father and his father kept the customs. (Examples are eating kitniyot on Pesach, and the wording of prayers.)

But in other areas, the customs are rather happy-go-lucky, and one can pick and choose whatever one wants to do!!

I have been aware of many of the differences in customs stemming from different  Old Counties. While Eastern Europeans Jews eat more boiled vegetables and lots of potatoes, North African Jews eat foods fried in honey.
The Ashkenazi Torah scroll is covered in cloth, and read by lying it on a table, while the Sephardic Torah Scroll is housed in a large box-like container made of wood or metal, and read by standing it up on a table. The words, however, are identical.

Ashkenazi Torah scroll

Sephardic Torah Scrolls.

Even our speech is different. Non-European Jews never say 'shmata' or 'gevalt' (though I have heard them say 'oy'), and I, personally, have never used the expression "kapara" (made famous by our Israeli Eurovision winner this week).

There were some customs that I knew were customs - and not laws - but had assumed that they were across the board customs, not limited to a particular ancestry.
For example, I thought everyone used salt water at the Passover Seder, but, no. Apparently, some communities use lemon juice or vinegar.

All this came to light when a close family member married someone whose family was originally from a very very different Old Country than my own family. (Spoiler - it was my son.)

The first time I was taken aback was when my then daughter-in-law-to-be came for Shabbat for the first time. "Why do you light so many candles?" she asked, looking at my seven lit candles.
Now, I'm not stupid or naive, and I knew that lighting a candle for each child was a relatively newly made-up custom, but I thought people did it because it was cute and cool, not because we came from a certain place.  But apparently, I was wrong.

I was completely unable to hide my surprise when I was asked "I suppose you're going to want the bride to walk around the groom seven times," by the bride's mother.
I'm sorry, what? Doesn't everybody do this? But again, no, not everybody.
(For the record, I answered that the couple could decide to do whatever they want, it wasn't up to me. [and they decided she would circle seven times.])

And I was utterly dumbfounded, flabbergasted, and flummoxed when my new daughter-in-law's mother actually lit the Sabbath candles completely differently than I did. I first light the candles, then say the blessing with my eyes covered. She first said the blessing with her eyes opened, then lit the candles. I had to bite my lips to prevent myself from exclaiming "BUT THAT'S WRONG!

It wasn't wrong. It was just different.

So many of us are separated by differences in opinions, in language, in food, in sense of humour, in appearance, in education, in ambitions, in age, in beliefs, in customs, in driving skills. It's so easy to separate, so hard to unite, most especially when they take up two parking spots in a crowded lot.

The Holy State of Israel is made up of a great many different kinds of people.

We recently attended a wedding of a member of our new extended family (my son's in-laws). We sat at a table with the other in-laws, i.e., the parents-in-law of the bride's married sisters. 

Did you know that Hebrew is the only language that has a word for the relationship between the parents of the bride and the parents of the groom ? Mechutanim (or machatunim in Yiddish - same word, different accent) comes from the same root as chatuna (wedding), chatan (groom) and le'hitchaten (to wed), and are the parents of the spouse(s) of your child(ren). It's a very serious relationship - a lifetime commitment. Because there is no such thing as too much family.

Jews, at the end of the day, no matter where they come from, no matter what language they speak, and no matter what foods they eat on Rosh HaShana or Passover, or whether or not they eat chicken soup on Friday night (did you know there are Jews who do not!! Imagine!) are one family, with a shared history and a shared destiny.

We sat at this table with people we had only met a few short weeks before, at our son's wedding. We had no common background, no common friends, our food preferences were very very different. What we did have in common - as we hugged and kissed in true Israeli fashion, one kiss on each cheek, and then a third for good luck - was that we were all mechutanim.

And all our future grandchildren are going to be first cousins.

Kapara Aleihem.