reflections on a trip to Israel

I came back from Israel from Women's Reconnection trip. It was a trip designed for all of us (nebachs) who did not qualify or otherwise were not able to go on JWRP. In a nutshell, it was an amazing trip and I do recommend it to open-minded seekers. Here are some more of my jumbled jet-lagged thoughts before they escape and become not important.

I was the youngest of the group, by a decade at least. However, I had no problem connecting and participating and interacting with other women. I know that we were a self-selecting bunch of those open to new experiences and new connections. I also know that being in the presence of so much wisdom acquired through age and trial and error was humbling. Also, I noticed how many women were divorced or on their second marriages. I wondered how many of them needed this trip at a different, earlier point in their lives. I was grateful to take it now instead of waiting another twenty years to "focus on myself".

The trip and the participants made me feel normal, like I belong, that there is no problem with being myself, feeling what I am feeling, observing what I am observing, learning Torah and practicing the way that I do. There was no sense that there is a need to investigate anyone's kashrut or check anyone's tzitzit. I marveled at that because the trip included a few rebbitzins and I even noted it to them explicitly. We were all just Jewish women, enjoying the hospitality of other Jews.

I got a confirmation that my connection to Hashem is intact. I davened at the Kotel and kever Rachel and at Shiloh, and had no problem pouring my heart out in heartfelt prayer. G-d's presence (shechina) was there, and I could feel approaching it, focusing my thoughts, letting whatever burdened me to flow from my lips. I was not ashamed to cry. I was not limiting my thoughts, wondering if I am asking for too much, or whether it is my place to ask. I am not mad at G-d, or questioning his existence or ability to influence the events. I am mad at the people on the ground, who are committing evil in his name, denying me access to the Divine by their hypocrisy.

I was truly happy and content in Israel. Maybe it had to do with the lack of responsibilities. Maybe it had to do with a distance from my children and being able to be defined by something other than an overwhelmed mother of five. Maybe it's because the caregiving for my extra-needy child was not in my hands. Maybe it was because everything was simpler. Maybe it had to do with being able to move, walk a lot, not have to spend hours sitting in the car driving carpool, driving to activities. Perhaps it had to with having a loosely set schedule, where at any given time there was only one place I was supposed to be and only one thing I was supposed to focus on instead of the constant barrage of preparations and anticipations and things that I forgot to do that I experience in the States. Maybe it was being physically removed from the trauma that is my current shul and rabbi and alleged child molester and no ability to bring this all to light. Maybe it was being surrounded by so many women who simply bearing no ill will towards me.

I am a self-defining introvert, normally hanging back, reserved, not social, not seeking to reach out, needing my own space and craving peace and quiet. In Israel, due to the nature of the trip and the comfortable supportive atmosphere, I found myself seeking the company of others, reaching out, disclosing personal details, volunteering answers, and being "out there". Yet that felt like a very authentic part of me. There were a few times that I did feel overwhelmed and overstimulated, but nowhere near as much as I feel in the States on any given day. I wonder whether I am not just an introvert, but I simply try to minimize draining and cursory interactions so that I do not end up with extra pain.

Finally, as far as the learning aspect of the trip, I felt that the bigger messages of gratitude, recognizing and acknowledging the Divine, being G-d like in my actions, and being vulnerable with our pain and with the pain of others made me feel like I am on the right track. It took me many years and many uncomfortable twists and turns to arrive at the place where I stand but to find the classes that reinforced and deepened those themes was affirming.

From the very first time I went to Israel to this trip (my third), I felt that in Israel there is a continuum of observances and beliefs rather than discrete groupings that are taking place in America. Some of them are way out there, and some of them appear to be most like familiar American divisions, but the unity of the Jewish people somehow trumps over everything. We had a kabbalat Shabbat at the Kotel (my first Shabbat in Jerusalem) and, as we were signing with our small group, we formed a circle. All of a sudden, other women joined in: frum, not frum, in skirts, in pants, with hair covered and not, and even quite a few tourists who I am pretty sure were not Jewish. Somebody was recording the whole spontaneous scene with a cellphone and nobody was waiving for her to stop. A few days before we explored the theme of feeling a touch of the Divine. Joint experiences in the multitude of others came up. At this moment, singing and dancing together, like one person with one voice and one heart, I felt G-d's fingerprint in the world. I am not a mystical person, I am very rational and logical by nature. However, the way that this trip spoke to me was mystical and mysterious. For some reason, this is what I needed to take away.

skipping a step

We have lived in this new house for six months. There are two stories, so I spend plenty of time going up and down the stairs and I've noticed something interesting: I keep tripping when going up the staircase. I trip daily, sometimes every single time I go up. It's the fifth step usually that trips me, although sometimes it's the fourth and sometimes I make it higher up before tripping. The shoes that I am wearing, the slippers, the bare feet: none of these seem to make a difference. I have not done a full face plant yet, but I had to catch myself numerous times either by landing on my hands or grabbing the railing.

I asked my husband whether he shares a similar experience and he shrugged, saying that it does not happen to him, so there is most likely no inherent defect with the steps.

After reading "At Home" by Bill Bryson I appreciate a bit more what it takes to make a functional staircase. There are rules for making steps not too steep, not too high, not too shallow yet elevated enough to bring one up in elevation. I have no reason to suspect that I have an unusual staircase in my house. Stairs are made to be uniform so that one does not have to think about how to place one's feet going up. One is supposed to establish a rhythm and follow it and the steps are specifically uniform so that one does not trip and fall.

So what is going on?

The original steps, used by pilgrims

When we were in Israel, in Jerusalem, we were taken to the side area of the Kotel. (Forgive me for not recalling its proper name: I had a hot sleeping two year old on my back). There was an expanse of stone steps, most likely from the time of the Second Beis Hamikdash. The first and most noticeable fact is that they are not uniform: each one is different in size. The purpose of this was to grab attention of all those approaching and remind them: be mindful of where you place your feet, you are about to rendezvous with the Divine and that can only be done by making every step count.

Why can't I fall into an easy rhythm while going up a regular staircase in my house? Why are my feet not on autopilot? Why do they seek novelty around that fifth step? Am I subconsciously bored with the routine of climbing up and I make my own diversion? Or am I too mindless in climbing those stairs and I need to pay more attention where my feet land?

7 yo and 4 yo descending. The closer up steps are a recent renovation.

I keep thinking how so much of what brings pleasure in life is the balance between familiarity and novelty, between routine and excitement. Yet often I wish for normalcy when life hands me adventure and vice versa. I am not sure how much of this is my ingrained dissatisfaction with status quo, whatever it happens to be, and how much of it is not having control over which period of life I will be in.

In the meanwhile, I'll watch my step.

Freedom of speech?

I did not grow up religious. I also grew up without any Jewish pride or Jewish symbolism. Maybe that's the reason that publicly, overtly displaying Jewish symbols always felt over-the-top to me. Those Chabad people with their menorahs, the Chassidim screaming in their clothing that they are from some other era: all of those seemed just a bit too pretentious and ostentatious. It probably sounds funny coming out of a mouth of a woman who dresses in long sleeves and long skirts in hot weather, and always covers her hair in ethnic fashion and whose kids always sport kipas and tzitzis, but in my head, the way that WE look walking down the street fits into the average American diversity, while what THEY are doing is too much.

A friend's family recently moved to Germany. Right before her move, we discussed how she is not planning on hiding her family's Jewishness away: her kids will wear tzitzis out, and kipas without baseball caps. I sort of counseled her on being careful, asking around, finding out what the local Orthodox Jews do. "We are what we are", she said, "and we will not hide it."

This was all just a few short months ago.

How the world had changed!

My oldest on Daddy's shoulders

Last week we went to a pro-Israel rally. It was organized through Jewish federation, and, from attending a previous rally two years ago, I knew they will have high security. Therefore I was not hesitating to bring the boys. I wanted them to see how we Jews come together to support our brothers and sisters in Israel. I wanted them to be aware of what's going on, and I wanted them to understand that it is important to show up and listen up. I wanted them to see what a peaceful demonstration looks like. Still, I prepped them that there might be anti-Israel protesters screaming mean things. I told them to make sure to stick close to me and if they would get separated, they should look for a policeman.

Over 2000 people gathered to support Israel

I need not worry: the rally was very calm, very sedate, and there were no counter protesters that I saw. I printed out signs for the boys to hold:

8 yo

They held them, waved them and then, when the rally was done, I was left with a few of them. A thought occurred: maybe I should place one in my car, on the dashboard, make a statement like a bumper sticker? Immediately another thought occurred: but is it safe? Is it too much? Is it "asking for it"?

Before you think that I overreact, I will cite the instances in Paris and Berlin from the past month where just being Jewish was enough incitement for violent anti-Semitic acts. Too far from home? I will cite Chicago and New York this past week. So I believe that there is a reason to worry.

Yet, just as these thoughts were occurring, another thought was running through my mind: don't I have freedom of speech and freedom of expression? Am I not entitled to my views? Am I not entitled to make a point on my car, just as millions of Americans do with their bumper stickers? I am not infringing on anyone else, I am not doing anything illegal by displaying this very pro-Israel sign. Will I not be protected by the law? Why am I finding myself in a position of fear? Are we not living in a democracy?

So what's the worst that will happen? Somebody will put a rock through my windshield and I will have to call the cops. Somebody might stand by my car, itching for an altercation. Somebody might start up with me. I will handle it. And then it might be time to start packing bags for the only place where people drive around waving Israeli flags without worrying what others think of them.

I hate myself for the fact that I even have to worry what displaying Israeli flag might mean to me.

My flag is on my dashboard.
I stand with Israel!

May their memory be a blessing

It's all over my newsfeed.

It's on everyone's mind.

The three poor boys whose bodies were found today. The three teens who were hurriedly murdered and not even disposed of or buried, just dumped in the field.

The three families who ended up in the spotlight and now must show us all how to grieve. The three families where life will never be the same, where there will always be an empty place setting for Shabbos, where brothers will be missed, kaddish will be said and the life as they knew it ended a bit over two weeks ago.

I feel incredibly sad and very angry. I am waiting for wails of revenge from Israel, diplomatic mumbling from the US, indifference from the rest of the world. (There must be some celebrity getting into mischief now, so that the world can shrug and move on). But what will happen? What will all the other mothers in Israel do now? How will they go to sleep, knowing that the murderers are at large, supported and praised directly by Hamas and indirectly by sympathizing hordes?

I have a humble suggestion: let's kidnap the kids of the kidnappers. We know exactly who they are. No, we will not murder them nor hurt them (that will be inhumane, perpetuating the violence and giving a cause to Hamas to proclaim them as martyrs). We will resettle them anonymously in Israel, in ardent Zionist communities, in peace-loving liberal communities, in Dati-Leumi communities, so that these kids will grow up to be moral upstanding citizens, valuing human life. They will be supporters of Israel. They will forget who they were before. They will forget their roots. They will move on.

 I cannot think of a better way to take revenge and avenge the innocent blood.

If a place can make you cry

This morning I finally got around to reading Jewish Action, rather browse through it. I was browsing during breakfast, quite lightly, and then I opened to this page.

I did not even look at the article, but I immediately recognized this place as the synagogue in Katzrin, Israel. It is located in Golan Heights.

This summer, I visited Israel for the first time. My husband and I had a short trip, only 6 days. We rented a car and drove everywhere. I have a friend living in the Golan, and she recommended for us to visit a talmudic village in Katzrin, as we were making our trek toward Karmiel, where my grandmother used to live and is buried. Here is our image of the same shul, taken from the outside.

I saw the image in the article, and tears sprung from my eyes. I am an emotional person, but I usually do not experience nostalgia for a place which I only visited once, where nobody I know lives. But this is different...

When I left Kishinev, I managed to leave in a manner different from most other immigrants: I got to go back. I left for highschool, but my parents stayed behind, so three times, over the course of the next 6 years, I went back to visit. Those visits fully cured any nostalgia I might have had. It is very trendy among Russians ( Russian Jews?) to pine to go back, walk down the same street, see the school they attended, places they visited. Some do manage to go back, while for many others it remains this kind of a dream, best fulfilled by eating salted herring, drinking compote, and teaching your kids to speak Russian. Now, having gone back myself, I saw quite different images: here is a place where I had to make a sharp turn not to bump into a drunk with his pants down, here is where my classmates rubbed my face with snow, here is a neighbor hoisting her son onto me to "remember our youth", here is a pile of cr*p in the corner because there are no public bathrooms, here is a bureaucrat eager to paw my back to "straighten my posture because a girl should be slender, like a birch", and I cannot say much because he is supposed to give us some vital piece of paper... Ok, it was not all bad, but you get to see the place as it is, not as you remember it through hazy fog of longing.

Here, in Katzrin, the Jews left a village and a synagogue. They are both dated to 4-7th CE. We can go back and visit those remains and say, this used to be ours, and now it is ours again. What did Jews live in Kishinev? If I am lucky, there is a plaque hanging somewhere commemorating the pogrom of 1905. I do not feel that is something I want to go back to. 

A few days ago, my husband and I watched an aliyah video made by a family moving to Israel. It is honest, emotional, painful at times. What really got me are the people greeting the plane. The signs, the hugs, the friends who traveled from all over to meet new arrivals. I looked at my husband and said: Which other country will greet new immigrants like that? Where else do they roll out the red carpet? Oh, I know, this is just the first day, and then there are years of learning the language, the ropes, finding your place, heartaches, regrets. But what is different about moving to Israel is that "coming home" feeling.

On our very brief trip, we were asked repeatedly when are we moving to Israel. The American response is: none of your business! But that is not true: it is your business. Same way as you would want to know whether a close relative is moving in nearby, so do all these nosy Israelis want to know: when are you coming?

baseless hatred

We are currently in the period of time known as "three weeks" or "between the straits". This is the time of mourning between two fasts, the 17th of Tamuz and the 9th of Av. On the 9th of Av, both of the Batei Mikdash were destroyed and countless multitudes of Jews were murdered, enslaved and exiled. Traditionally, G-d's punishments follow the pattern of mida keneged mida, or measure for measure. As long as the sin for which we are exiled is not rectified, it is still necessary to remove us from the land of our forefathers and the Third Beit haMikdash is withheld from us.

The reason for this second prolonged exile is sinat chinam, baseless hatred. As a nation, as a whole, we must still be exhibiting this to the degree that prevents us from going back.

Over the years, I wondered about this: do we really hate each other so much? Do we hate people for no reason? I understand that one can hear slander about others and form false opinions. But would you despise your fellow Jew without knowing anything about him?

I had a painful reality call yesterday. I shared the following picture on FB (it's been making rounds):

The sign says: secular, religious, ultra-religious (Jews) are one nation. I thought it was beautiful, especially held by a guy who obviously can belong only to one of those groups. I have been promptly informed that this sign is part of a rally to get orthodox people to serve in the Israel Defense Force (army), who do not serve otherwise. I was a bit confused by that: I have plenty of friends who either did serve, whose husbands serve, or who volunteered to serve. And all these friends are orthodox, practicing Jews. As my friends were waking up in Israel, person by person, they stated as much. The whole conversation was weird, as, on one hand, they were called not orthodox, and, on the other hand, they could not be serving.

I said that if we move to Israel, my two orthodox boys would most definitely serve in the army and work, not even a question. I was told that my kids are not orthodox....

I thought about all of this for a while. I realized that what I brushed against was not a call for unity--let all nation share the joint burden of army service, but against baseless hatred based on false assumptions. The assumption went something like this: if you are calling yourself orthodox, then you must sit in kollel, mooch off the government, avoid serving in the army, have many kids so you can mooch off the government some more, pay no taxes... I am sure that there are people like this. I am sure there are plenty of people like this. I am sure there are many loud-mouthed people like this who like it and want everyone else to like it, too.

But I also know that there are many people who are NOT like this. I know that I bristle every time I have to define myself: I am Jewish, I am Russian, but not really, I am from Moldova, but that is not my defining characteristic, I am a baalat teshuva, but I do not need beginner's minyan, I am orthodox, but not yeshivish, or modern or machmir or whatever else. ( I am so glad that I do not have to fill lout those inane shidduch website forms!)

I wonder how people in Israel would call themselves Charedi ( ultra-orthodox), but do not think like Charedi. How many are secular but deeply traditional. How many are religious, with mystical streaks? One of the things I saw and liked about Israel is that there seemed to be a continuum of observance instead of discrete groups like in America. Is that just an illusion?

I have a feeling when we start hating each other less than others hate us, we will be redeemed.

If you would like to hear what some Charedim have to say about status quo, click here.