tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4858328021050268952024-03-14T06:15:53.174+02:00Journey to the Holy LandRachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-4082674136349580182014-06-19T13:11:00.000+03:002014-06-19T18:02:04.246+03:00For The First Time...<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It's 2:11 AM and I'm sitting at my computer with freshly polished nails and the umpteenth Grey’s Anatomy re-run playing in the background. I should be asleep but the urge to put my head full of swirling thoughts down on paper is much too pressing. Since the kidnapping of <span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/BringBackOurBoysNow">Eyal Yifrach, Naftali Frenkel, and Gilad Shaar</a> </span>a week ago, stress has taken on a life of its own. I try not to dwell on what may be happening to them, but tonight I realized that my emotions run far deeper and are more complex than I wanted to believe. I have found myself self-medicating with food, having an extra glass of wine before bed, not getting enough sleep, feeling like I’m in a constant state of angst, and entirely too frustrated at news sites that don't give me the information I want, when I want it. Where are the updates, I wonder. Is it good that none have been published? Is it bad? Are any coming out today? All that said, I get to experience these things within the confines of my home, my family, my stuff, and the place I deem safe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It's 2:11 AM for the IDF and the young men kidnapped out of seemingly thin air as well. While I sit and type at my dining room table, the Israeli Air Force is bombing the hell out of Gaza. Tonight's mission exposed a "terror infrastructure" and rocket launcher. Within the past week <b><i>since</i></b> the kidnapping, over a dozen rockets have torpedoed their way into Israel proper, hitting open fields, a home, and causing various levels of destruction. It’s almost laughable that the world is angry at us for wanting to defend ourselves but at least they're consistent, seeing as how they're usually angry at us for something! Show restraint, the US says. There's no evidence the boys were actually kidnapped, the UN says. At 2:11 AM in the US all those big talkers and policy makers will likely be in their comfy beds, on their comfy sheets, in the safety of their comfy homes. Eyal, Naftali, and Gilad will be somewhere unspeakable, as yet unknowable, but not in the warmth of their parents’ arms. The soldiers looking for them and defending us will be in caves, under rocks, hiking through deserts. They too, will be anything less than comfortable. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I attended a <a href="http://www.mechon-mamre.org/p/pt/pt26c1.htm"><span style="color: blue;">tehillim</span></a> gathering earlier in the week with the hopes that my voice, along with the voices and tears of others, would pierce the Heavens. As I walked towards the gathering of people my eyes fell upon a teen literally weeping on her mom. One look at her and I was done for. We exchanged knowing, tearful glances as if to say, "Let's hurt together." At the gathering, fliers with pictures of the three young men stolen off a roadside were distributed, and I couldn't help thinking that days earlier, HOURS earlier, they were living their lives, perhaps thinking about where they were going to hang out Erev Shabbat. Instead, they've become the symbol of a country at constant battle for its very survival, their survival. These kids are in the middle of exams and determining the course of their army service, and now they are ... somewhere. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I understood the reason for my tears at the prayer session because, well, this whole thing is sad. Sad beyond words and inescapably painful. And then it hit me. Slowly at first, but then WHAM! When I lived in the US and bad things happened in Israel, I hurt, I got angry, I reacted intensely, and sometimes I could feel the reactions in the pit of my stomach. I remember watching the news, watching the gatherings of people who came together to pray for who- knows- what- victim as if they were crying into the cameras, for the cameras. What made this week's gathering so different? Well, it was the first time I was on the <b><i>other</i></b> side of the camera lens. I wasn't watching a tearful face in the crowd; I <b><i>was </i></b>a tearful face in the crowd. There’s a different kind of visceral reaction to knowing not only <b><i>of</i></b> the place from where the boys were stolen, but having driven past it. Everything happening in the Middle East is now metaphorically and sometimes literally in my backyard. No longer a spectator, a "tsk- tsk- er," a "wow I feel sad, but I'm all the way over here- er," I realize that for the first time, I am an Israeli. Not an Israeli who grew up here, has a coarsely melodic Hebrew accent and physical roots in the Land. But an Israeli, as in one who's lived here for three years, and is part of the fabric this Land is made of. No longer an outsider to what the media blasts, I realize that I am now one of those tearful faces in the crowd, hoping and praying and begging G-D for them to come home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I looked around at the teens in the crowd and understood that the terrorists could have taken this kid, that kid, or any kid. And then I thought about my kids, and couldn't so much as hear the thought through; If the Yifrach’s, Shaar’s, and Frenkel’s sons are ours, then mine are theirs too. What clicked and came together in my mind is that the problems in the Middle East somehow went from "stuff that happens over there" to "stuff that is happening HERE!” It's a frightening, humbling, downright crazy thought that is so very real.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For the first time, I get it. Of course folks outside of Israel want these boys to come home. Of course they understand the terms being thrown around and how dangerous this all is. What they cannot realize unless they are physically here is what it’s like to be PHYSICALLY HERE while this is happening. Driving down a street, hoping no one throws a rock at your car. Anticipating war updates that may or may not come. Being in the same spots where attacks have taken place. Talking to strangers in any store in any city and being engaged in conversation about the current situation. I could never have fully understood the experience until now. The feeling is profound and has stolen many an hour of sleep with nary an end in sight. The not knowing is hard, I mean really, really hard. That said, I get to "not know" with my dog asleep beside me, the whir of the fan nearby, and a set of pillows screaming my name. A set of comfortable, thank- G-D- I- know- where- my- kids- are pillows, screaming my name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Its 2:45AM now. It's time for me to go to sleep; it’s </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>been</b></i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> time for a long time. Before I do though, I want to thank our soldiers for their bravery, expertise and dedication. Here's hoping that you too get some sleep. It's 2:45AM and we still don’t know where Eyal, Naftali, and Gilad are. I wonder if they have beds, a place to sleep, each other. G-D speed young men. You are loved, you are missed, and I am so sorry this has happened to you. We pray for your safe return for you, your families, and our people. Od lo avda tikvateinu, we have not lost hope.</span><br />
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-66409190534116373802013-09-17T16:12:00.001+03:002013-09-17T18:13:52.708+03:00Residual Aching.... <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My
mom was alive a month ago today. She was in a hospital bed with enough
tubes to play Double Dutch with, but she was most definitely alive. Her
absence doesn’t feel real yet, but I know that it is. And I know that at
some point in time her non- presence is gonna hit me like a Mack truck.
The beauty of living 6,000 miles away from family is that distance can at times
at least, make the heart grow fonder. I’m not sure how many miles away
her soul is now, but I am certain this greater distance between us is having a
powerful effect.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Grief
is a funny thing. I am technically “grieving” but I am, in full
disclosure truth, sitting at my computer with my chirping cell phone and hot
cappuccino nearby. Odds and ends of my life, my husband’s, and our kids’,
are on the table at which I’m typing. I’m surrounded by pale yellow
walls, our son’s bright artwork, a blue bowl, my own multi colored nails, and a
bright red <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krav_maga"><span style="color: blue;">Krav Maga</span></a> T-shirt. Nothing around me
screams GRIEF. Everything inside me does.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The
last almost 6 months were so amazingly “mom- centric,” which is funny since so
much of my life was, too. Crisis after crisis turned my thoughts inside
and out in a way I can only compare to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bSxuXQCEC7M"><span style="color: blue;">that
scene in The Exorcist</span></a>. You know the one where Linda Blair’s
head spins around and you wonder how her head hasn't actually fallen off? Yeah,
that one. It seemed like every time I turned around, despite the brief periods
of calm, a doctor was calling, I was authorizing a procedure, or something life
threatening was happening- or was about to. My mom’s blood pressure would
frequently drop so low that doctors and nurses alike wondered how anyone with
those numbers could be talking. There was respiratory distress,
necrotizing fasciitis, a strangulated hernia, a couple of rounds on a
ventilator, a heart attack, infections with minds of their own, and a feeding
tube that simply refused to stay put. As always, mom kept me on my toes,
making me wonder when the next “thing” would occur and when I’d be able to find
a modicum of sanity. I know now that no more “things” will happen but I’m
still searching, more desperately now than before, for my sanity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I
am left with tears and a sadness that runs deeper than my soul. <i><b>M</b></i><b><i>y</i></b> parents
weren’t supposed to die and <b><i>my</i></b> parents were just going
to get sick, and then better, like they’d always done. Well, someone
rewrote the script because <b><i>my</i></b> parents are now gone.
For a time I was fixated on the term “orphan” seeing as how it’s what
I’ve become. Yes, yes, I’m much more than that and I’ve accomplished
things and have a beautiful family, but the brass tacks of it is that I’m
parent-less and that stinks the big one. In fact, it stinks the biggest
one there is and I’m not too grown up to admit it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So
many times during the year people said, “Wow, it must be so much harder for you
with you being here while she’s in New York.” I tried to poo-poo that a
lot and I think that there were indeed times when it <i>was </i>harder.
But in no one’s and everyone's defense I have to say, losing a parent isn’t
easy no matter where you live, how close you live, or how many miles and oceans
separate you. The pain knows no boundaries, and my complicated grief
seems to know how to find me. What makes it really hard? The fact
that my mom and I didn’t share a warm and fuzzy kind of relationship. We
enjoyed that when I was younger, but as life happened, and it does tend to do
that, our differences became more evident and our sensitivities, ironically
enough, worlds apart. As I got older I learned to do a lot of “uh huh-
ing” instead of asking her why she didn’t listen for my answer after she’d
asked me something. I learned to avoid as much confrontation as I could,
listening to her tell me about what she had for dinner, the movies she’d seen,
the work she did with a disabled boy she’d worked with for what seemed like
forever, and all the things that existed in her universe. I learned not
to tell her about my ailments, all thankfully minor in the grand scheme of
life, because I knew that hers were worse. I stopped telling her when the
kids got sick because she’d call day after day, sometimes more than once a day,
as if what they really had was The Plague. We often spoke around each
other, though we occasionally enjoyed talking about family lore and silly
stuff. Her tone would change when we discussed easier times and I liked
that. I miss that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My
mother was not an ogre, but she was a frightened woman who let life break so
much of her spirit. I understand more of what happened and how she
reacted to it, and I hurt differently than I used to; now I hurt for both of
us. And I’m not talking about some drippy, self-indulgent, woe- is- me kinda’
pain, but a pain that lets me know that I see both of us as more human, more
real, and more fragile than I did before. My mother hid her torment in
food, a habit that became a condition that became an illness that ultimately
led to her demise. She hid her fear in anger and her love in apathy and
self- loathing. She was abandoned by her dad when she was 10, verbally
and emotionally abused by others, and her first husband beat the bejeebers out
of her. A survivor? No doubt about it. A confused little girl
who wanted and deserved to be taken care of? No doubt about that either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My
grandmother had a signature chuckle that I recognized as such only after I
started to hear it from my mom. I remember noticing it one day and telling
her, “You have the laugh! You do the laugh!” She laughed again and
said, “What laugh, Rachel??” I tried to describe it, explain it even, but
couldn’t until she did it again and heard it too. I started to hear that chuckle within the past year, except it wasn’t from my grandmother or my mom-
it was from me. It’s a strange heirloom to describe, but I do like
sharing it. I feel like I’m the Keeper of The Laugh, and I like
that. When I hear it, I feel like the best parts of my mom and grandma
are within me. It’s one of the more comforting lessons I've been
afforded. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I’ve
made an officially unofficial decision to let my grief take me wherever I need
to go. I’ve felt anger over missed opportunities, pain, jealousy, and
fear. That fear by the way, is a heartbreaking kind of thing. When
it strikes I feel like a lost little girl whose mommy and daddy are nowhere to
be found. As a parent, I feel terribly for that little girl and want her
to understand that she’s not lost at all- but I can’t get to her to tell her
that. My grief is so different from what I experienced with my dad for
many reasons. Some of those reasons are obvious, and some are becoming
more so as time moves on. When I lost my dad 16 years ago, we had two
kids and their biggest issues in life were being fed, clothed, and having clean
diapers. This time, there are four of ‘em and I have to remain cognizant
of their grief, too. I hate seeing them in pain and I hate that they’ve
seen me in so much of mine. It’s hard for them to understand, despite the
fact that they’re not babies, that I’m still grieving. Yes, grandma’s
gone, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shiva_(Judaism)"><span style="color: blue;">Shiva</span></a> is over, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shloshim#Shloshim_.E2.80.93_Thirty_days"><span style="color: blue;">Shloshim</span></a> is over, but I’m still grieving.
And while they won't generally find me huddled in a corner crying my eyes out,
I feel like I’m moving slower, listening slower, doing everything slower.
I find that grief hits at weird and unexpected moments; some days the
fog’s there and some days it's not. It’s a nagging, soul- sucking,
draining feeling that has planted itself in every cell of my body. Some
days it physically hurts and others, it just hangs out and stays quiet. I
don’t know how else to explain the feeling especially since I'm certain my
“Look, today’s she’s happy… Uh oh- now she’s not” shifts must be
maddening. For whatever its worth, I’m not a fan of them either.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Life
will go on and I know that time and love really do help. I know that I’ll
think about my mother every day, just as I’ve thought of my dad every day
for the last 16 years, and that I’ll carry them within me always. I'm
grateful that the ability to forgive my mom has started so early on in this
process and that I’m doing what I can to be kind to myself. We are
on the cusp of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sukkot"><span style="color: blue;">Sukkot</span></a> and like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yom_kippur"><span style="color: blue;">Yom
Kippur</span></a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosh_Hashanah"><span style="color: blue;">Rosh
Hashanah</span></a> before it, the holiday feels like it’s happening
around me, at me. The emotions are still too raw, the energy too
lacking. I have a year and a lifetime beyond it to process my grief. And
when I’m ready, the residual aching will free itself so it too, can be
healed. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-80639568403251203292013-05-12T16:01:00.000+03:002013-09-17T16:06:24.907+03:00Mother's Day 2013<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 10.2pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm sitting at my mother’s bedside in Maimonides Medical Center
in Brooklyn, not remotely liking Mother's Day or the fact that today *IS*
Mother's Day, as she moans and makes noises while awaiting a nebulizer and
chest X-ray. I'm not sure if this is worse or better than hearing her talk to
folks that aren't in the room, including old neighbors and former relatives.
She just prepared lox and bagels for someone and has been fixated on the
laundry. Suffice it to say these moments are anything but 'Downy soft.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My children have wished me a Happy Mother's Day from Israel,
where we now live, and I so appreciate that. Truth is, Mother's Day is the
penultimate Hallmark holiday which is why there is no such day, that I know of
anyway, in Israel. I think my kids know that while I'm grateful for their
Mother's Day greetings, it’s the care, concern, and devotion those greetings
encapsulate that speak volumes to me. They know how much I am struggling and
hurting and doing everything they can to keep me smiling. When we lived in
America, I was not the day's biggest fan. It's nice to be celebrated, but
that's what my birthday is for. I remember telling my husband awhile back that
I didn't want to go out to eat on Mother's Day because sitting in a crowded
restaurant listening to other families celebrate, while others pretended to
celebrate, hardly made it a fun day for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Today's cards and greetings and Facebook posts are all about the
positive; for the best moms in the world, the ones who would do anything for
their kids, the ones who are amazing grandmothers and save the planet in a
single bound, capeless. There are no celebrations or cards for moms who have
been hurt or hurtful, moms who have been beaten down and never learned that
they didn't have to relive the pain. Nobody gives flowers to the most stubborn
mom or the one who hasn't always chosen her words carefully. Hallmark hasn't
figured out how to celebrate those moms.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Life with my mother wasn't always a picnic. In the last few days
and weeks though, I've acknowledged that there are things I will forever be
grateful to her for. Her artistic rendition of a pigeon in the second grade,
her ability to pull me onto dance floors at weddings to get me to boogie even
when I thought I didn't want to. Her love of books and pretty jewelry, her
strong sense of identity as a Jewish woman. Her advocacy when I was bullied in
elementary school and her pride when I won an award, got a good grade, and
became religious. Our relationship has very much been on her terms because she
could not understand or even try to understand mine. Ours has not been a
relationship of listening and sharing and respect. I have grieved that for
years, but more so recently. We have argued and fought and I have often
wondered if it was even worth it. Disagreements that result in little more than
promises to never do "it" again leave one feeling truly unheard and
disrespected. They leave you breathless in all the wrong ways.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Though I've been a mother for almost 18 years, today I feel very much like a daughter. Feeling like a daughter at this moment, in this place, hurts. My mother's roommate's amazingly loving and attendant daughter is primping over her as I type. She keeps telling her mom, who lay in bed contracted, with mitts on her hands and the inability to speak after suffering multiple strokes, that she's gonna get better. This adoring daughter is telling her mom that as soon as she gets better, they can go shopping again. That mom will be able to tell her what she likes and what she doesn't when they hit the stores the way they used to. This daughter is praying for her mom's strength, assuring her that she is right by her side. She is crying and telling mom not to worry and that all will be alright, though it is pretty clear that she is trying to convince herself of that. There are even moments when it seems she believes her own words. All of their moments, especially the ones I've been given access to, make me hurt for all of us. Two elderly, ill, frail moms, with their tired, emotional daughters at bedside. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">I guess I hate Mother's Day because I can't stand all those cards and flowers and balloons and sales that are seemingly in my face. I don't begrudge those who are happy, most of the time anyway. But the constant reminder that today is a day to celebrate moms seems almost cruel right now. It hurts because I can't celebrate my mother- celebrate that she's laid up in bed with an increasing amount of bed sores, congestion, confusion, and irritability? Celebrate the mom she was before her health went down the drain? Celebrate the mom in the next bed who is trying desperately to communicate with her children? I guess I don't have much celebration in me right now. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">I love being a mom. My husband and I have four children who make me cherish being a mom more than life itself; their birthdays are my real Mother's Day. Each celebration of their lives reminds me of when I became a mother for the first, second, third, and fourth time. They are my life and soul, beings who turned two young marrieds into two young marrieds- turned-parents. I adore watching them develop into the extraordinary individuals they're becoming. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As for Mother's Day? I'm still not a big fan. Somehow though,
I'm grateful my mother's here today, still breathing life that is
celebrate-able. The fact that she is here despite the ailments that plague her
is pretty miraculous. In that sense, I guess today is noteworthy. Any day where
life is present is a good one. Any day where death is not ready to swoop in can
be considered a good one. So mom, today, in some sense or another, is a happy
day. Happy day to you, mom. Happy Mother's Day to you.</span></div>
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-89075189142732337532013-04-08T19:17:00.000+03:002013-04-08T19:19:31.504+03:00Remembering...<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Today is Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My Facebook feed is teeming with sad, despair-filled,
morbid images and writings about the Shoah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There are also pictures that depict strength, both physical and mental,
that are infrequently showcased in Holocaust collages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year I find myself focusing on both
survival and strength, as opposed to the misery and pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Truth be told, there aren’t enough pages in
enough books or Kindles to hold all the images of the death, destruction, darkness,
and horror that occurred during that time. But sometimes, and may I not be
struck by lightning for saying it, the pictures become too much for my weary
head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a while, I feel like I’ve
seen so much bad, that my brain tunes out, shuts off, and might as well
announce, “Rachel is on standby.” This year I told myself I wouldn’t read every
story or article featured, watch every movie shown, or immerse myself beyond reason
in all things Holocaust.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe that
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<br /></div>
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Let me clearly state that I am NOT, N-O-T, comparing my life
to the Holocaust.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I am certain
that I lost relatives in the Shoah, I know of no survivors in my family personally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there is something about the collision of
today and recent family events and discoveries that have made me feel like I
survived something and have received way more than say, a lousy T-shirt. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Families are very, very funny things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They provide endless hours of amusement,
entertainment, stories for upcoming wedding videos (kids, you have been
forewarned), insanity, pain, incredulity of the highest order, and a ginormous
mix thereof.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of us, OK- most of us,
do not come from cookie-cutter, sitcom-like families.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t know about you, but my challenges growing
up were never solved in 30 minute intervals accompanied by background music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no laugh track, no scripted
silences, and life continued without anyone ever reminding me that it was to be
continued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My childhood was not
necessarily a nightmare, though there were times it looked a lot like a
battlefield.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To quote one of my favorite
people in the world, my awesome friend Orin Hahn, “<span class="usercontent">I
used to have a great deal of anger and resentment abou</span><span class="textexposedshow">t the lack of normality and care I got. I realize now as
I engage with so many people …. [that] I was receiving training. For how to be
with myself and how to be there for others. To face the fires and frailty of
being human. Sometimes we get a gift when we think we're cursed.” </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span class="textexposedshow">And yet, some of those gifts
came with rather large price tags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
thought I’d dealt with most of them, yet some seem to have recently cropped up
like weeds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will not go into the minutiae
of what’s going on, but I can best describe it as the makings of one heck of a
reality show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A reality show so unreal,
that I presume ratings would be sky high and my family, millionaires.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing screams business opportunities like
family stories I suppose. I’ll try not to think of the money I could make off
of our secrets, despair, fragmentation, and pain that sometimes feels like it
could fill a bottomless gulf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
spent an inordinate amount of time obsessing about my mother’s health and,
hopefully, short stay in a nursing home, family I’ve never met but hope to be
able to one day, and the generations who have changed and I pray can change,
their personal legacies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realize that
I haven’t just cried, but mourned, grieved, over missed opportunities,
relationships, and the things that could have been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I came across a meme that reads, “Don’t look
back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re not going that way.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those are wise words, ones I must keep in the
fore. </span><br />
<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="textexposedshow">I cannot change what has
happened and anyone who judges me on the trials of my past has no place in my
present or future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dwelling on why
things happened, why they were orchestrated by the players involved, and why
the stage was set for so much unnecessary grief,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>does me no good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I reflect on these instances though, I
find myself, sometimes despite myself, understanding that maybe the conditions
I’ve rallied against weren’t unnecessary; perhaps there is a purpose to
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And perhaps one day I’ll find out
what that purpose is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had my past been different, the foundation on
which I’ve based my future would have been too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I might’ve chosen a different husband, had different kids, lived in
places I have not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a price we
pay for the things we hold dear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I
already know some of the why’s of my youth. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="textexposedshow">All this remembering, reliving…
it’s not easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lots of feelings have
been stirred and many have led me to a place of gratitude for being in
Israel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Living here not only connects me
to my Judaism, but my personal, spiritual, and existential roots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a powerful place. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="textexposedshow">I came across a quote by Viktor
Frankl, an Austrian neurologist, psychiatrist, and Holocaust survivor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His words speak to me deeply for reasons I think
I understand. These words describe what I hope to accomplish in my personal
life as well as a member of the Jewish People; to take responsibility for knowing
what has happened so I can propel myself forward. The soul endures what G-d
bestows upon it, even if the burden seems like more than we can bear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps if G-D has that much faith in me, I
should too. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="textexposedshow">Here are his words… </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We had to learn ourselves and, furthermore, we had to teach
the despairing men, that it did not really matter what we expected from life,
but rather what life expected from us. We need to stop asking about the meaning
of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned
by life—hourly and daily. Our answer must consist not in talk and meditation,
but in right action and in right conduct. Life ultimately means taking the
responsibility to find the right answers to its problems and to fulfill the
task which it constantly sets for each individual.” <br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
May the memory of the 6 million serve as a blessing and may
we all go forward with the strength that has always lay within us.</div>
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-1999849864771946822013-03-11T13:43:00.000+02:002013-03-11T13:55:03.549+02:00Denial- It Ain’t Just a River South of the Border!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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go, “Denial- it ain’t just a river in Egypt!” but now that I live closer to it,
I figure describing it as “south of the border” is in fact more accurate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Denial, related
to the act of denying what is really happening, though perhaps the river as
well, can be really comforting. </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">When we moved I
banked on a few things, which is what, in part, lead to my denial. When I
worked for an American company, I was in denial about our finances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good money, for a (new) Israeli family
anyway, was coming in and we didn’t have to worry <i>too much</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband and I have three degrees between
us so I figured we had our “smarts” to fall back on as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, who wouldn’t want two adorable,
stubborn, sharp tongued (mostly in a good way) Americans to work for them- who
weren’t too shabby in the brains department, either?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And for a long time I was in denial about my
health.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d been fat for so long, that
another candy, treat, Shabbos meal, or half a cake couldn’t possibly do any
damage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I have always
been a dreamer, though sometimes to my detriment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I occasionally find myself believing in
things that even I think are crazy, but acknowledge that I need to believe because
it’s what’ll get me through that moment, that crisis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think my religious and spiritual beliefs
are pretty grounded, though on occasion they’ve been known to dance that fine
line between <i>TRUTH</i> and <i>Seriously Rach?</i> Long story short, I
believe in G-D, that He is guiding all of us, that things do not happen by
coincidence, and that there is a purpose and a plan and a reason for
everything, from birth and death to why the leaves on the trees blow in one
direction vs. the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Some of the
things I once believed have proven to be less-than-true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot say that life has come crashing
down, because in reality, it has not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
believe strongly that living in Israel, having the merit to live here, raise my
kids here, and be connected with everything that IS Judaism, is a far cry from
a bad life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But naiveté has worn thin
and life’s realities have, in some significant ways, smacked me in the face and
not-so-nicely told me to wake up. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Financially,
we’re not in a great spot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps
that’s not something one should say aloud, but there, I said it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, we’re not paupers, but we're not rakin' it in either. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband and I are trying hard to make our
way here, to establish ourselves in fields that are new, as well as those that
are familiar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The trek to financial
security is a tough one, particularly since financial security was perhaps
taken for granted when we had it in the States.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And like Dorothy when she and Toto find themselves in Oz, I know that we are
most definitely not in Kansas (or Chicago) anymore. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this very moment, it simply is what it is, but
it is our mission is to make it much more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And not necessarily to be gazillionaires, but to get to a place where we
don’t have to worry as much. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">And then there’s
health.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have, thank G-D, been in good
health most of my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
a string of chronic-but-not-terminal-or progressive conditions, but I’m pretty healthy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, being in <i>better
</i>health has become a family mission, especially since I learned that three
of the six of us have high cholesterol, one has a fatty liver, and four of us
need to lose weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have reached that wonderful moment on the
great journey we call aging where my body’s needs and my mind’s smugness can
no longer afford to ignore each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
days of “just one bite, lick, nibble, taste, etc.” need to stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My focus has become, because it had to
become, “choose what will keep me alive longer” vs. “this tastes good right
now."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is it a struggle?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, some days I dream about chocolate
covered anything, but I feel better, my waist line has come back, and most of
the time my spirit feels stronger, too. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">My health choices and need to keep making
good ones have hit me </span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">like a ton of bricks, much like the reality of my mom's poor health.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My mother is in the hospital as I write. When I called her room yesterday to
find out how she was, I was met with a nurse who told me they were in the
middle of an emergency, that the doctor was on his way, and that they’d call me
back ASAP.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing makes your heart sink
quite as much as intercontinental panic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After a small forever, I called the hospital back and learned that my
mother’s blood pressure had dropped to an all- time low of 60/ 35.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if you don’t know what “good” or “bad”
blood pressures are, trust me when I tell you that her numbers were BAD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the reasons this happened?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother was retaining fluid and didn’t know
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And why did she not know it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because she is morbidly obese and was unaware
that the increased bigness in her tummy was anything different than the bigness
she feels on any given day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In short,
her weight was starting to kill her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
hospital staff did what they needed to remove the fluid and within a somewhat
short amount of time, her blood pressure started to climb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She went into the hospital because of back
pain, but hasn’t walked or moved in nearly a week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She now requires physical and occupational
therapies as well monitoring for skin breakdown, range of motion, and cardiac
function. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing screams REALITY like
this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I’m not sharing
this to embarrass my mother, to make fun of her, or anything of the sort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a
way, I hope this tale makes someone, anyone, really think about their health
and the folks who depend on them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See, denial is no longer an option.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother is a cautionary tale; being bigger
than your body can maintain taxes your heart, your lungs, your digestive
system, your urinary system, your skin, and every organ in between.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can no longer afford to dream about losing weight “one day.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can dream about
being a tall, blond, rich, stiletto’d model, but <i>healthy</i> and <i>fit</i>
simply have to be my priorities, my realities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I owe that much to myself, to my children, and to my husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I can also no
longer deny the need to hit the ground running -hard- when it comes to
improving our financial situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
not like we’re getting massages and eating (low-fat, high fiber, miraculously tasty) bon-bons all day, but my anxieties have to give way to greater action, and
ultimately greater success.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, yeah,
Israeli society is tough and I already know this is gonna be yet another
challenge to face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the point is that I need to put my big girl (but shrinking) undies on and move
forward.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I will always be
a dreamer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not an ethereal, <i>life- is-
like- the- wind- and–the-planets-now- light- some- candles- kum- baya- m’ lord,</i>
kind of dreamer, but a dreamer who tries desperately to stay positive and see
things from others' perspectives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Learning
to choose hope over despair, humor over angst, progress over rumination
generally serves me well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And while these
don’t always come easy they do eventually come, because I've decided that I'm gonna be
happy even if it kills me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">About 3 years
ago, and I can’t believe it’s been that long, I dreamed of a life in Israel, a
place where I knew I <u>needed</u> to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
liked, oh heck, I LOVED, the nice things we had in Chicago, but my <i>kishkies</i> kept asking me
why I was waking up to the view of Sacramento Avenue instead of the Judean
hills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve learned that you really
shouldn’t fight your <i>kishkies</i> because they always win.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if you try to pull a fast one on them and
don’t listen, they'll torment you for the rest of your days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ultimately I decided that I didn’t want to be
tormented and so eventually, my ego was told to shut up and listen to my heart,
soul, and the dreamer inside. Once upon a time, I dreamed a dreamed in time
gone by, but hope <i>still</i> remains high and life, certainly worth living.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I continue to dream that love, and hope, and goodness, and positivity will never die,
and that is something, like the beauty of Les Miserables, that I simply cannot
deny. </span></div>
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-8405528137049463272012-08-05T17:52:00.001+03:002012-08-05T17:58:41.014+03:00On Being Humbled...We have been here for a little over a year and I still love this Land. I still love the fact that I don't have to explain "being Jewish." I love the fact that Shabbat is not just Saturday, but a holy and blessed day that is recognized as such. I'm quite aware that while Israel is not a panacea for Judaism (some might say its the exact opposite), I know that this is where I am supposed to be and that it is through G-d's miraculous grace that I get to live my history and be part of its continued existence. And I say all of that with my feet planted on the ground, and my head nowhere near the clouds. <br />
<br />
Mostly. I've decided to embrace my "inner dreamer" rather than fight it 'cause it usually wins anyway. Leaving the States took a lot of dreaming, so I've simply decided to run with it. But dreams need a firm foundation from which to grow... and ours is still being nourished and cared for. The seeds have taken root and an occasional leaf or bud have been spotted, but I realize that we have kilometers and kilometers to go before we sleep. And the fact that I didn't write "miles and miles" took a level of restraint you cannot even imagine.<br />
<br />
I left the States with a secured telecommuting job. For reasons that are not important here, I am no longer employed. I was with the company for almost 10 years, so not being there caused me to feel grief, sadness, and yes, to mourn; all ironic feelings considering I worked for a hospice. I am grateful for everything I learned and the people I worked with. But alas, I was no longer meant to be where I was, and though sad, I am grateful for what lies ahead. See, I knew "it" was coming and believe that "it" was G-D's way of saying, "Rachel, you weren't gonna leave, so I made it happen!" A clever One, indeed.<br />
<br />
Though my job was not what I'd call an easy one (Entertaining? Often... but not always easy), I feel now like I took the easy way out. I had a job, I had a paycheck, I had familiarity in the face of tremendous change, and I stuck with what and whom I knew. You may agree, or not, but I know myself and that not being professionally challenged was not always the wisest choice. I also know that the somewhat faux sense of security I allowed myself was not so smart either. I am *now* taking care of getting my social work credentials recognized by the State of Israel, which is something I should've done months ago. I've also officially joined the Israeli job search market, to which I can only say, "oh goodie." <br />
<br />
Folks don't choose social work because they think they'll get rich. That's sort of like saying teachers go into their profession for the respect, and garbage men for the unique fragrance. I do not think that all poorly paid professions are full of 'angels on earth' though. I've met some mean social workers who give all of us a REALLY bad name, nurses who don't care about patients in pain, and teachers who should never be allowed near children. The vast majority of folks though *are* good people with good intentions, good skills and a true desire to fulfill a professional and personal mission. I chose social work because I was kind of born into it. Assorted life events shaped my desire to want to help others and I can't think of anything that speaks to me as strongly. I love, LOVE, to sing and crochet (and might I add have become one heckuva snood maker), but my passion is in working with people. Israel better look out, 'cause I'm gonna help you process your feelings till the flock-of-the-season comes home. Now how does THAT make ya' feel!<br />
<br />
I have learned that social workers in Israel make even less money than they do in the States. That makes me want to cry, laugh, and shake my head in that "Oh dear G-D...Are you SERIOUS??" kind of way. But I knew going into social work anywhere wasn't about the bucks, er... shekels. Still, the notion that once you reach a "certain age (and I'm not all that sure what that age is)," you shouldn't have to start from scratch or prove yourself, lingers in my mind. I grew up with old school notions about work, work ethics, and establishing oneself with a "good job." But what comes to mind as I type that is the image of the 60+ year old woman who enrolled in graduate school the same year as I. While everyone 'poo-poo'd' her and how amazing it was that she was starting a new career at "her age," she treated it as her time to grow. She'd raised 9 kids, had a multitude of grandkids, and though she'd given so much to the world, she wanted professionally to give that much more. She might have thought she was no big deal, but to many of us she was. <br />
<br />
I am, I guess one could say, in the midst of getting over myself. I rely heavily on my ability to communicate and am still restricted by my ability to do so in Hebrew. I am "the mom" and believe that my job as an "educator" to my kids is crucial. And yet, it was my 17 year old who taught me how to say "traffic light" and "bubble" this weekend. Basic, basic things that I still have yet to learn. And though I'm pretty sure no one's life has ever hung in the balance because of those two words, it was humbling to learn them from one of my children nonetheless. I love hospice social work and dare I say, I think I'm pretty good at it. I know that I can command a team of professionals in serving a patient's needs, coordinate with the best of 'em, and walk away knowing I did the very best I could. As I enter the world of Israeli social work, I'll have to assess feelings and pain in Hebrew and pray that I do so in a way that doesn't alienate folks who can hear my American accent even before I open my mouth. Quite humbling indeed. <br />
<br />
I'm up for the challenges of re-establishing myself, or more aptly, re-re-establishing myself. Truth be told, I don't have much of a choice, but that's because I refuse to pack my life up again and move it across the water; I think having my couches in a crate on the Mediterranean once is more than enough! I cannot work off the professional reputation I built in Chicago, and must create one anew. I cannot rely, yet, at least, upon my ability to articulate my thoughts with the urgency they deserve. This process isn't only about learning to adapt to change, but digging deeper into who I am and who I am supposed to be <em>here</em>. <br />
<br />
I am excited, I am nervous, and I'm working hard at pushing all the "what-ifs" aside. Because what if I make an even better life for myself and my family here? And what if I contribute to a part of the world that needs compassion and understanding? And what if I learn to love all this uncharted territory and become healthier for it? Time will tell for sure, but as I journey forward I know that I'll continue to be greatly humbled by the challenges I face.<br />
<br />
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-35595985206879012782012-02-16T13:33:00.001+02:002012-02-16T13:40:21.584+02:00This One's For the Kids...<div dir="ltr"><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">There were a gazillion things, at least, to consider and plan for when we made Aliyah</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">. One of those things, or four of those things to be specific, were our kids. We visited schools, discussed special needs issues, medical stuff, where they'd be able to, hopefully, make friends, and then went for it. There's</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> only so much you can plan for and only so much you can hope and pray will fall into place before you just close your eyes, leap into the great unknown, and live your new life. <br />
<br />
We're 7+ months</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> in now and it dawned on me that we have 3 and a half teens (Our 10 year old has his days, thus</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> the half) whose lives were in flux BEFORE they ever</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> got on that plane! All the ups, downs and sideways' adolescence brings are enough to make anyone wonder if, on some days, they can actually</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> flush their head in the nearest toilet. The highs are higher than the</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> moon, and the lows supersede</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> even the worst Kinneret</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> water levels. Yet, here they are, all four traipsing</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> through our dream and doing so at the most change-filled periods of their lives. If they haven't already thought it I'll just say it. Guys, your parents are NUTS!<br />
<br />
When I go back to the grand time that was my adolescence, I'm brought back</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> to a statement my dad, <span id="misspelled" s="12" t="0" tabindex="-1">Z"L</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, made many times over; "[Your teen years] will be some of the best and some of the worst in your life." <span fr="0" id="misspelled" s="13" t="0" tabindex="-1">'Twas</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> a lovely sentiment at times, but bore itself out as truth more times than I can count. While my children's teen years are not fraught</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> with the same types of drama mine were, they are drama-filled still. From rumor mills, to untimely deaths, to fizzled friendships</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, to expected transitions, each experience they've gone through is meaningful in some way. I always hated, and still do, when people told me that what I was feeling was 'no big deal,' or that I'd simply 'get over it.' That may have ultimately happened, but acknowledging the feeling in that moment would've been far more appropriate. That said, I can't help but wonder how my kids are dealing with each of those types of moments- and Aliyah</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">. <br />
<br />
We've tried passionately to teach them about</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> what Israel means to us as Jews, individuals, a family</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> and a people. I think, and pray, that we've done a fairly</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> good job there. But let's be real, OK? If one of the kids had said "I'm not going," would we have actually left</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> them in Chicago with sufficient food, clothing and stamps? Would we have actually</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> left them and said we'd call when we got here? Of course not! And I know this for fact because a certain then 12 year old needed to be pushed down the foyer to the El Al plane in New York after he, quite literally, dug his heels into the</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> ground, shook his head no, and said he wasn't moving. Yeah, he's sitting in school in Ramat <span id="misspelled" s="25" t="0" tabindex="-1">Beit</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> <span id="misspelled" s="26" t="0" tabindex="-1">Shemesh</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> right now, so clearly that was a battle he wasn't going to win. <br />
<br />
Through thick, thin, and everything in between, we have tried to demonstrate</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> to our kids that they are valuable simply because</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> they breathe. They don't have to be the best at any thing because they're being</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> on the planet speaks for itself. They</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> are each imperfectly perfect, unique, and really, quite awesome. That doesn't mean that they don't have particular skills we're proud of them for and others that they need to develop, but our love is not contingent on either. <br />
<br />
So my valuable little ones, who are all as tall if not taller than me, I offer these words to you. Yes, we're proud of you, and yes, we love you more than it is</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> possible to ever adequately describe. But we are also in true awe of you. I don't know how you do it, really. You're in a different country, a different culture with rules that often defy logic, or at least the logic we were all used to, and yet, I see each of you smile at least once a day. I see you grow and mature (yes, EACH of you!) consistently. I see you grabbing a hold of a language that scares some of us (me and Abba included), and I see you persevere every single day. You know it hasn't</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> been sunshine and roses all the time and that we have many more mountains to climb before our lives here feel normal, or as close as possible. I respect you for your ability to express your homesickness (guess who gets it too...), your ability to tell us what you love and what you can't stand about Israel, and above all, that you're willing to stick it out for the long haul.<br />
<br />
I don't think I could have withstood the challenge</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> of Aliyah</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> when I was 10, 13, 15 or 16, but then again, I wasn't given the opportunity to know. I was given lots</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> of other opportunities, but learning how to live in</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> the Middle East was</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> not part</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> of my bouquet of teen experiences. You have each demonstrated a level</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> of courage, appropriate chutzpah, and growing pains. Folks give Abba and I a ton of credit</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> for making Aliyah</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, for leaving</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> the comforts of Chicago, our family, our friends, and the lives we worked hard to create. But we're the grown ups (on most days anyway...) and while change is hard, we're old enough to pull on past experiences to help us navigate the waters. You guys are so blessedly young and have</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> trusted us through out the process. While I'll admit that getting credit for making Aliyah</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> feels nice, I think that you guys ought to get a lot of credit too. Being a kid at any age can be tough, but you're imperfectly perfecting the ability to do so in this Holiest of Lands. In short, I am in awe- simple, unrequited awe, of your willingness to adapt. Of course I'm also blown away by the amazing inheritabilty of our tenacity. Perhaps your ability to make your parents look not-so-stubborn at all has finally found its place!</span></span></div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-49434389336625510422012-01-08T16:32:00.009+02:002012-02-16T14:34:07.771+02:00I am Woman- HEAR ME!<div dir="ltr"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">No matter where you look, what you read, and or what website you happen upon, Beit</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Shemesh</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> is just everywhere! I really like this town, but I'm reasonably sure I never read about Chicago or NYC as much as I read about this place! Honestly, the reports are starting to meld in my brain and it amazes me how self-righteous indignation can twist and turn the same narrative. Such an "easy" fix, y'know</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">- you respect me, I'll respect you, you don't shove your version of Judaism down my throat, and I won't shove my version down yours. See? Simple! Its a good thing the Brooklyn Bridge is for sale because it looks like I'm gonna</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> finally get to cash in...<br />
<br />
The issues surrounding Orot</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Banot</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> and bus service have received a lot of very well deserved, MUCH needed air time. I could talk about those issues here, but it's not like you don't know where I firmly stand in regards to both. I participated in the Beit</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Shemesh</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> flash mob</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><a href="https://webmail.seasons.org/owa/redir.aspx?C=1655b4fde803474894453e3b425f7f81&URL=http%3a%2f%2fwww.youtube.com%2fwatch%3fv%3dpZd0kLWP01c" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pZd0kLWP01c</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> a few days ago, which was an act both of protestation and solidarity. It hit me, as I watched the amazing variety of women gathered for dance practice, that the "we" that's been spoken about for months and months is so much larger than I properly tended to. All these "women's issues" are not about secular or religious women- they're about WOMEN. GIRLS. FEMALES. Those carrying a double X chromosome. I fancy myself a relatively enlightened gal, but I must admit I felt naive when I realized that I was not enlightened enough. One of the coolest, nicest things about being part of the mob (I will NEVER be able to say THAT again) was that women from every walk of Jewish religiosity (yes, I just made that up) were there. There were heads covered, heads not covered, heads relatively covered, pants, skirts, gauchos, jeans, sleeveless tops,<span class="text_exposed_show"> turtlenecks, and so many other flavors of what make up our dress code diversity. Participation wasn't just about Beit<a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a> Shemesh<a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a> or our collective desire not to be bullied. We stood, and danced, together as proud Jewish women. And it ROCKED!</span><br />
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<span class="text_exposed_show">I've overheard, read, and been part of conversations where folks have debated and discussed with whom we, as the Dati<a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a> Leumi<a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a> community, are closest to- the Chareidim<a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a> or the Chilonim<a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a>. Frankly, I am not a fan of the question. My husband and I discussed the issue this past Shabbat and we agreed that we don't want to be a part of any group who professes disgust of another- and yes, it really is that simple. See, I was once part of a different "we" and spent the first 15 or so years of my life as "them." No, I was not born an alien, but I was born into a non-religious family. I was the chick in the pants and sleeveless shirt. I was the "chiloni<a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a>" who was looked at sometimes disparagingly because I looked "other." I joined the wild and wacky ranks of the religious world only after meeting people who were more interested in speaking with me about Judaism versus all the ways I was messing mine up. When I was truly accepted for the questioning, persistent bugger of a teen that I was, I was able to say, "OK- I'll hear what you have to say." One husband, four babies, several snoods, multiple treifed<a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a> up pieces of cutlery, and an Aliyah<a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a> later, I credit that turning point in my life to folks who gave a dang and really meant it- folks who saw me as Jewish and not less-than because of how I dressed, what I ate, or the music I liked. </span><br />
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<span class="text_exposed_show">I know first hand that being looked at as an 'other' hurts in a visceral way. I also know that being accepted into the fold feels right. I know that dancing with women who shared a common purpose felt right because none of us was 'other' though an entire group of misguided individuals sees us collectively as such. There was something amazingly girl power-y about dancing in a public square. And I will admit that I was concerned about that public-ness<a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a> but ultimately determined it was OK to be a part of. See, there is a lot, and I mean A LOT, of awesomeness that goes into being a religious Jewish woman. I love lighting Shabbat candles. I enjoy covering my hair on most days (though good hair days are just a nasty, nasty tease). I relish being a Jewish mommy, with all the Yiddishisms<a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a>, Shabbos<a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a> soup, and deliciousness that it comes with. And I bet that every single woman at that dance has perhaps the same, or different, things she loves as much. Being part of something that vital, that empowering, and that example- setting, resonated deeply. And apart of my love of dance and self-expression, I was profoundly struck, in that 'I could've had a V-8' kinda' way, by this: if I don't stand up for my rights as a Jewish woman, then my daughter and daughters-in-law will have to fight the same, ugly battle. Why *not* stand up for my rights as a Jewish woman, in my homeland no less, only to leave the dirty work for the next generation? </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show">I participated in the flash mob for me and for the women who've been made to feel less-than because they are women. If I'm not for myself -and my progeny- then who will be? And if I can't show solidarity with all types of women seeking nothing more than the respect the Torah Itself affords us, then I can be sure that this battle will linger well into my children's and <em>their </em>children's lives. </span></span></span></div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-36457510411253999142011-12-29T13:42:00.000+02:002011-12-29T13:42:14.331+02:00Connections...Too much, much too much, time has passed since I last wrote. Of course much too much stuff has happened since my last entry, but that's life no matter where you live. I've written blog entries (in my head, anyway) about the immigrant experience, how everything, down to where to buy toilet paper, has changed, and the love I feel for this land, but for reasons I'm not sure of, the words in my head never made it to my laptop. Clearly, that changed today. <br />
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Life has certainly been exciting 'round here. I live in this great little city (when you're from NY and Chicago, 80,000 people makes it a 'little' city) that has managed to get air time in Switzerland, Iran, India, New Zealand, across the US, and I'm certain everywhere else on the map- maybe even Antarctica! I so don't want to belabor the issues (and they seem to keep growing like a fungus) about my new home of Beit Shemesh, since anyone who can read knows a little something about the insanity that's unfolded here. <br />
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So I was thinking. The "I do Judaism better than you" war re-broke out at the same time my youngest contracted pneumonia, my puppy contracted tick fever, I started taking a more intense interest in my health, we had our first Chanukah in Israel, and I visited an army base with a group that seeks to remind our beloved soldiers that they are valued and not forgotten. I tried to see if there was any common denominator amongst these things and came up flat as a pancake. If I got really creative I suppose I could link the pneumonia and tick fever; I mean they both looked like crud, both became very needy, and both need medicine, but that doesn't cut it. And I suppose I could connect visiting an army base to Chanukah and our perseverance over the Greeks who tried to destroy us and anything Jewish. And then I could probably make a case for the yin yang-ness of fighting for Judaism while watching others unintentionally- or not- seek to destroy it. But none of these connections worked for me. <br />
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Until, I realized, they're ALL about connectedness. We all want to feel valued, loved. We all want to know that we have something to look forward to when we open our eyes in the morning, and that opening our eyes is in and of itself a very hopeful thing. We all want to be held, to be cared for, to be pampered occasionally, to be part of a cause that is much bigger than us. Maybe "all" of us don't feel "all" those things, but I do. Stroking my son's cheek and making him his umpteenth cup of hot cocoa, holding my shivering puppy and calling the vet- those are things that made me feel quite connected. No parent relishes seeing their child sick (or making so much cocoa that I'm convinced I should just grow cocoa beans in the backyard), crying in pain, or coughing uncontrollably. And no matter how much of a pain-in-the-rear that fluff ball can be, seeing our pup shiver and crawl into spots we didn't know she could crawl in to while doing her best impersonation (indogination?) of a catatonic patient, connected my ability to love and nurture. Lighting Chanukah candles for the first time as a family in this beautiful Land connected us to our history- geographically, religiously, spiritually. Taking greater interest in my health reminds me that I'm connected to my husband and children and that if I don't take care of myself, exactly who do I expect will? And while I know that my family would, they don't deserve extra burdens that I could have prevented. Like that old New York telephone commercial reminds us, we are ALL connected. <br />
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And what of the trip to the army base and the religion wars taking place in what is otherwise the lovely city of Beit Shemesh. The army base visit on the last day of Chanukah allowed me to realize that the young men and women of the IDF are one of the reasons I can sleep soundly at night. They risk their lives on a daily basis to ensure the safety and security of this Land and the people fortunate to live within. It was clear that the soldiers valued our desire to connect with them and in turn, each other. They strengthened me and us, them. That connectedness is something I feel seeping through my pores and energizing my soul. And that connection will help me in my self-care journey and G-D willing, help create a domino effect of kindness and giving. <br />
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And the religion wars. What is there to say, seeing as how every news outlet has an opinion, every resident of Beit Shemesh has an opinion, and Jews round the world are formulating theirs. I think that somewhere along the way, connections were lost, broken. We forgot that we are all one people who were given one Torah by one G-d. We also forgot that there are so many different ways to be Jewish and that despite those differences, we're still one people. Tzniut (modesty) is seen as one of the key issues of the war in our city and dare I say, in the Jewish and secular worlds. Tzniut is a driving force of how we dress, how we interact with the opposite gender, and how we feel about ourselves and the world around us. Our sexuality is closely tied to all these things and in the proper settings, connects us with our spouses and in turn the generations G-D allows us to create. I think that greater connectedness in the proper realms is one of the issues that lay at the heart of the matter. And, I think, the focus on women and girls as provocateurs on buses and ads and on our way to school and work, highlights the lack of intimate connectedness in the proper, Torah sanctioned, settings. Connecting with your spouse and being physically present are hugely important matters that I believe play a significant behind-the-scenes part in the recent goings on.<br />
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I also believe that there's been a tremendous internal disconnect. When I'm happy with who I am and what I represent to myself and the world, I have no need to prove who I am. That positive energy will radiate from my smile, my stance, my presence. When I know who I am I don't need to tell anyone else who (I think)<em><strong> they</strong></em> are. And when I'm connected to myself and my true essence, I'm that much more connected to my family, puppy included, and the world at large. When we know who we are, we don't have to hurl insults, or assault people in the name of what we've determined is the "right" way. We don't have to hide behind cloaks, real and imagined, or yell and scream at others who don't believe I am who I purport to be. <br />
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Our connection to our true G-Dliness needs repair. If I respect you and you respect me, we connect and that brings us closer to each other, to our community, and to G-D. Get a whole lot of that connection stuff going and the world really becomes a better place. I don't live in a fantasy world, though I've been told often that I do. I am choosing to be positive and see a future for myself and my family. And when I encounter folks, and I know that I will in many forms as not everyone will get my little "get connected" memo, who seek to tell me I'm less- than because I'm a Jew, a woman, a Zionist, an American, a Social Worker, or anything else I strongly identify with, I must remember that under it all, I know who I am. That's not to say I won't get angry and that's not to say that my abilities to reign in my own upset will be at their max. But it also doesn't mean that I need to try to prove to them who I am. And for better or worse, I am connected to them, and them, me. <br />
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I choose to stay positive but I will also choose to defend my children and others should attacks become violent or exploitative. Hell hath no fury like this momma when her babies are threatened or harmed. And frankly, hell hath no fury like a community who feels attacked and abused because they look, act, or practice differently. Perhaps we can take that energy and invest it into actual respect and zero tolerance for anything less. We must always stand up for what we believe in and who we are- no doormats allowed! But I believe in my heart of hearts that we have to remember that we are ALL connected; and that if we don't see it, those who seek to destroy the Jewish people surely will. When the Jew haters of the world unite, they won't care who's yelling about Tzniut or women's issues, how any of us are dressed or what we think of each other. A little connectedness and recognition of the ties that bind could go miles... if we let them. Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-65691021976141308652011-09-27T13:26:00.004+03:002011-09-27T17:34:30.166+03:00Israel's Allure....<div dir="ltr"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">There's something very 'Billy Joel' about this Land. I have a feeling we all know why She goes to extremes and like the lyricist sings, there seem to be no in-betweens. I told someone earlier that Israel can be the most amazing place on the planet or make me <span id="misspelled" s="0" t="0" tabindex="-1">wanna</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> kill myself; the timing is the only thing that separates the two! Enigmatic, seductive, full of profundity, simplicity, and sometimes Itself, Israel is in so many ways, a place unto its own.<br />
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I said once before that I don't know how a physical space can be so utterly magnetic. Living here is sometimes akin to being a religious voyeur or a masochist</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">. There's always a fight or a struggle, always something to keep us entertained and give us reason to grab our chests. We're always in the news, whether its because of another political tragedy, technological advancement, or latest holy battle. New York may think It's the city that never</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> sleeps, but this <span id="misspelled" s="3" t="0" tabindex="-1">li'l</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> country gives NYC some stiff competition for that title. <br />
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A few people have told me they think I'm sad, upset about</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> being here. I like to think I'm insightful, but no, I'm not sad. If there are those who wear their hearts on their sleeve, I tend to wear mine as a full outfit; anyone who knows me well knows that's my standard modus operandi. So when I share my thoughts and feelings, even admit that I cry like a big '<span id="misspelled" s="5" t="0" tabindex="-1">ol</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> baby, it doesn't always indicate sadness. <br />
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Before we moved, many asked me why. Why now, why there, why, given how established you are, the friends and family you'll leave behind, <span id="misspelled" s="6" t="0" tabindex="-1">yadda</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, <span id="misspelled" s="7" t="0" tabindex="-1">yadda</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, <span id="misspelled" s="8" t="0" tabindex="-1">yadda</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">. I was, frankly, embarrassed</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> that I could never seem to articulate THE reason for our move. I wondered, "Am I faking it? Do I not *have* a real reason? Am I being pretentious? Do I even know why we're leaving? Should we just be committed, medicated, and call it a day?" And particularly for someone as ever-so-slightly verbose as I (Oh, I can hear the laughter</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> from here...), not being able to tell someone THE REASON was a little scary. <br />
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In discussing this with one of my trusted and beloved co-workers, for whom moving to Israel is probably as likely as say, moving to Timbuktu, I learned why I was leaving. She listened as I spoke dreamily and said, "Its because you want to live an authentic [Jewish] life." And there it was. Boom! No fuss, no muss, no need for a thesaurus</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> (I wasn't planning on making that rhyme, but I like the Dr. Seuss flow). I'm going to live in Israel so I can live my life as an authentic Jewish woman, mother, and wife. Ta-<span id="misspelled" s="14" t="0" tabindex="-1">da</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">! The reason was born. <br />
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There have been moments since we landed at Ben <span fr="0" id="misspelled" s="15" t="0" tabindex="-1">Gurion</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> that I have loved beyond words, as well as those I loathe to give voice to. But let me clear, THIS is where I belong, where my family belongs, where my soul and heart belong. When you're at peace</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> within yourself, everything, and I do mean everything, falls into place. They may not fall where you thought they would, or land in the spot you prepared, but when your <span end="3002" id="misspelled" s="17" st="2994" t="0" tabindex="-1">kishkies</span> ('guts') are at peace, so is the rest of you and all you're a part of. Living in Israel, as an old time <span id="misspelled" s="18" t="0" tabindex="-1">Olah</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> (someone who made Aliyah</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">) told me all of 5 days after our arrival, is a privilege. Seems funny to think about living in a place where you can find Jews who hate other Jews and Arabs who insist we stole their land in this way. But to be a part of our authentic history, to be able to go on a tour of biblical sights that make the Torah come alive, to be in a Land where you're wished a Happy New Year on soda bottles, where the words "holiday season" do not mean "we're trying to be PC but you know we're talking about Christmas," IS a privilege. There's no panacea here or in the States or Timbuktu (I should tell my friend in case she somehow does decide to head there). But Israel is as close as I can get to G-D and with that, I offer a prayer, a very Rachel-<span id="misspelled" s="20" t="0" tabindex="-1">esque</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> prayer.<br />
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Dearest G-D in the heavens, my heart, my soul and my home.... <br />
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Please watch over all Your people, no matter where they live, the name they give You, the color of their skin, their past, their present, or their future. Please help us keep our intentions pure as we interact with the world You've allowed us to be a part of, so that we may know You in the most blessed of senses. Please watch over our children and our spouses and help each of us be the best 'us' we can be for all of them. Please allow us to flourish and not flounder, to seek You and find You even when we don't know how much we need You. Please help us unite for causes</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> that are good and not destroy ourselves from within. Please encourage us to use the brains</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> You've given</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> us so we may think for ourselves</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> but also know when we simply can't do it alone. On this Rosh Hashanah, please help us get over ourselves so we can do what is right in Your eyes and not everyone else's. Please help us be a Light unto to the nations</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">- including our own. Please help us be the 'stand up' people we have the potential to be and let all egos, power trips, hatred, and sheer stupidity be alleviated from this world. Thank You for all that You are and all that You continue to do for us, including giving us the ability to create tangible peace and true respect. Dear G-D, thank You for being in my life and holding the lantern by my side particularly when it feels a bit heavy. Thank You for being You and encouraging me to do the same."<br />
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May we all have a <span id="misspelled" s="28" t="0" tabindex="-1">Shanah</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> <span id="misspelled" s="29" t="0" tabindex="-1">Tova</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> (a Good Year) in all the ways we ho<span id="misspelled" s="30" t="0" tabindex="-1">pe</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> and pray it to be. <span id="misspelled" s="31" t="0" tabindex="-1">Chag</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> <span id="misspelled" s="32" t="0" tabindex="-1">Sameach</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> <span id="misspelled" s="33" t="0" tabindex="-1">L'Kulam</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> (Happy Holiday to all)!</span></span></div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-90472677165756690872011-09-26T01:27:00.002+03:002011-09-26T08:39:24.969+03:00Evolution of a Dream...<div dir="ltr"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In the past few days I've asked myself why I'm here. I came to this country with a whole lot of dreams, some wishful thinking, and tremendous</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> intent. But its hard to live day in and day out missing your loved ones, your creature comforts, and not, say, wake up to this week's version of "As the Hafganah</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> (protest) Turns." Factor in the energy it takes to communicate in Hebrew (Oh, how I long for the day when I can skim an article and understand it), and you've got yourself a fairly large, international headache.<br />
<br />
I do a fair share of crying. I'm lying; I do *everybody's* fair share of crying. I'm a mush on a good day, so the taxing ones, difficult ones, and downright painful ones pry open the flood gates like Niagara</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Falls. I find myself crying about different things- missing Chicago, missing my friends, missing walls with colors other than the very safe yellow and</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> eggshell the <span id="misspelled" s="0" t="0" tabindex="-1">kablan</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> (builder) used on our rented home. Then there's the sheer volume of everything going on in my life, not to mention the amount of Goliath-like strength we need to raise 4 children, 3 of whom are teenagers. The phrase "G-D give me strength" is uttered quite often 'round here.<br />
<br />
But as I sat on our <span id="misspelled" s="1" t="0" tabindex="-1">mirpeset</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> (porch) this past Shabbat reading a rather good book about a murderous child (how's that for relaxing content?), I realized that the lines that divide my life before and after Aliyah</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> are blurring in a big, and relatively surprising, way. I'm a big believer in boundaries, as in, please respect my space and I'll respect yours, but this is one of those rare times when blurry lines are not a bad thing. There are times I find myself pining for the things I miss (my kingdom for a car!), but I find myself kind of enjoying the life we're creating here. I don't relish the reenactment of the bumpy bus rides of my youth, I'm still not entirely sure why skim milk, in a land working towards a cure for Alzheimer's, is such a big deal, and I have a hard time wrapping my head around why every surface needs to be on a slant. Does no one else in Israel enjoy walking on flat surfaces? Geez....<br />
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Ironically, I can't necessarily say I love this, that, or the other thing, about Israel. I find that I'm back to that rather comfortable place of simply knowing and sensing the intangible. Israel is, I believe with my heart and soul, a sensory playground</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">. I feel it, I see it, I hear it- but please don't ask me to explain it. Though I really get, now that I'm no longer in the States, just how connected and attached I was to the customs of my youth and the routines of my adulthood, what I understand more is that, for me at least, the US contained a tangible absence of everything I feel here. My cup <span fr="0" id="misspelled" s="2" t="0" tabindex="-1">overfloweth</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> with the amount of spiritual fulfillment I have here.<br />
<br />
Tonight's unity rally in Beit</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Shemesh</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, despite the fact that we've had rally after rally, after protest after rally, strengthened</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> me in ways that I needed. Being here for not even 3 months is, in my estimation, way too soon to feel the passion burn out. But dealing with folks who protest the existence of the Jews I most identify with, gets really old really fast. I credit this group of extremists with raining on my Aliyah</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> parade and frankly, resent them for it. Perhaps they didn't get the memo, but the first year post-move involves backbreaking labor and thusly, does not need additional junk added to it. I mean, what's a little misguided hatred in the name of G-D added to the adjustment to a new country, new schools, and a new language</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">? <br />
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So you can understand then why I was a little surprised (OK, a lot surprised) to find myself, while still in the midst of resentment and feelings of disgust that follow me like a puppy, a bit grateful to these zealots for the ways in which they've left "the other side" no choice BUT to unify. Trust me, I'm not going to send out personal thank you cards and would have been just fine if they hadn't done some of the despicable things they have. Still, being part of a crowd singing <span id="misspelled" s="3" t="0" tabindex="-1">HaTikva</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> (Israel's national anthem about hope), Am <span id="misspelled" s="4" t="0" tabindex="-1">Yisrael</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> <span id="misspelled" s="5" t="0" tabindex="-1">Chai</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> (The Nation of Israel Lives), and being privileged to hear representatives from assorted parts of our community, made me feel that "<span id="misspelled" s="6" t="0" tabindex="-1">Od</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Lo <span id="misspelled" s="7" t="0" tabindex="-1">Avadeti</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> <span id="misspelled" s="8" t="0" tabindex="-1">Tikvateinu</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">," *I* have still not lost (our) hope." I know why I came to this Land. It is, and dare I sound hokey and American, my Land and was made for (you and) me. It is a gift to all Jews, no matter</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> how they dress, what they look like, or the language they speak. My intentions are to establish myself as a contributing</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> member of the national and religious communities, no- to the JEWISH community. My dream, and when I dream I dream big, is to be part of something that unifies Jews of every shape and color. Real life and I have, once again, become intimately acquainted, but I simply refuse to stop dreaming. I came to Israel to live an authentic Jewish life where <span id="misspelled" s="9" t="0" tabindex="-1">shofar</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> (ram's horn) blowing is the norm, where you have to go out of your</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> way to find non-kosher food, and where Good <span id="misspelled" s="11" t="0" tabindex="-1">Shabbos</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> can be heard from bus drivers and grandmas alike.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Something crystallized for me tonight. See, Beit</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> <span id="misspelled" s="13" t="0" tabindex="-1">Shemesh's</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> fight is MY fight. We all want to be heard and acknowledged and respected, even though sometimes the means to that end are about as backwards as they come. But I can really understand now that I'm part of something so much bigger than</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> myself and my family. I am truly a piece of a very old and very meaningful puzzle. My dreams are no longer just in my head, but what I live every single day. There are more dreams from whence the original</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> batch came, and I'm choosing to savor each one. My blurry lined dreams now lend themselves to a very real, integrated way of living. They helped me get to Israel and will help me ultimately grow into who and what I have</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> the potential to be. </span></span></div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-4866721028672119992011-09-14T13:41:00.004+03:002011-09-14T19:02:36.892+03:00I think I'm gonna like it here....<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'd be lying if I said there haven't been moments that make me wonder what in the world I got myself into. I've seen some pretty ugly things in these parts, and not from the places or people I thought I would. I'd read about some of the stuff I've seen and experienced, but witnessing them always brings me back to the phrase, "Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore." Frankly, I sometimes think we're not even on the same planet anymore! Some folks are able to bring animus and acrimony to new heights. Said folks really need new hobbies.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I maintain that G-D is the best comic around. When I'm feeling like I've landed on Planet of the Apes, somehow, some thing or someone shows up to prove me wrong. After this week's "Get to the back, Rosa" experience, I found myself in a store whose clerk was playing, "Just One <span id="misspelled" s="0" t="0" tabindex="-1">Shabbos</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">," a song about Jewish unity at its best. Earlier this week, my husband and I went into a sporting good store in hot pursuit of an American-style football (we got the last one!) where the cashier welcomed us to Israel. A few weeks ago, while sitting on a bus</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> that's usually crowded but emptied before I'm used to, the Ethiopian bus driver assured me that I was on the right bus and that I'd get more comfortable with the bus lines in time. Today, a phone company representative wished me an easy <span id="misspelled" s="1" t="0" tabindex="-1">klita</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> (absorption</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> into Israeli society). Its funny, 'cause I don't ever remember the phone company in the States doing much more than telling me that <span id="misspelled" s="2" t="0" tabindex="-1">9AM-5PM</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> really was a realistic time frame to wait for a tech. Often, no one seemed to care that real people with real phone</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> problems can't just sit home and pander to the phone company's</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> will-I-or-won't-I-show-up-today tactics. The techs were often rather pleasant, but none ever welcomed me to the 'hood. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I've seen a great many instances of what I call 'Jews behaving badly,' a sitcom idea I hope no one ever picks up. But I've</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> been welcomed in the oddest ways and in the oddest places. I mean really, why did the bank clerk care that I use the Hebrew she could tell I was struggling with? She cared about my linguistic skills as well as where I put my money? Two of my sons encountered a public bus driver who wanted</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> to know why they weren't speaking Hebrew, only to tell</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> them that he's from New Jersey after learning they were right off the boat (<span id="misspelled" s="3" t="0" tabindex="-1">er</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, plane). The cell phone company gal agreed, during what I can only imagine was a relatively</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> painful conversation all the way around, that she'd go easy on us in Hebrew if we agreed to go easy on her in English. A rental car guy, after seeing our not-so-hidden disappointment about not being able to rent a car without our passports (Do you</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> carry your passport everywhere</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">? We don't!), drove Josh home so he could get our passports, and then drove him back so we could rent a car. When I was on an undeniably overcrowded bus, literally laying on a <span id="misspelled" s="4" t="0" tabindex="-1">Charedi</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> woman because there was no where else to go, I knew she had every right</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> to tell me to get off. Instead, she told me that they really need to add more buses to the fleet during school dismissal time</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> so that we don't have children bouncing</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> off the interior</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> like uniformed</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> ping pong balls. I agreed with her, she told me its been like this forever, and we wished each other a good day. Israelis are very particular about having photographs taken in their stores (Really, I don't think I'm <span id="misspelled" s="5" t="0" tabindex="-1">gonna</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> start a war because I have a picture of your</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> merchandise, but hey, its your store, so...), but when I asked a grocery store worker if I could take pictures of a table set for Rosh Hashanah (The Jewish New Year) to show friends in the States, he responded with the world's biggest "<span id="misspelled" s="7" t="0" tabindex="-1">Betach</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> (Absolutely)!!!" Even our <span id="misspelled" s="8" t="0" tabindex="-1">ulpan</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> teacher, whose job it is to shove as much Hebrew into our tired American heads as possible, has shared bits and pieces of her own immigration to Israel.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Honestly, I just <span id="misspelled" s="9" t="0" tabindex="-1">gotta</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> ask... What's with these people??? Why do they care so much? Why have they welcomed us so warmly? And why do they want *us* to teach *them* English? Perhaps, just perhaps, its because this is really how folks are supposed to act. At this moment in our lives, we are very strange strangers</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> in a beyond-description strange land. A friend of ours said once that she believes the possibilities for evil are greater here because the realities of holiness are, too. I suppose its that "you can't hate till you love" or "you don't know what you've got till its gone" kind of thinking. I'm bowled over by the dichotomy in approaches and the full force with which both ways of being come at you here. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I crave consistency, which makes the whole move-out-of-your-literal-comfort-zone a wee bit difficult sometimes. But I'm learning new levels of comfort and that I'll need to employ</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> them when new levels of discomfort rear their head. I'm not on an "Israel's perfect" kick, but I am giving myself permission to appreciate the good that is here, that is evident, and that doesn't require a search party or magnifying glass. I've been called naive, a dreamer, and unrealistic. Ironically, the folks that have used those terms have done so, I think, in the hopes of getting my feet to meet the pavement</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">. I often say that I understand *how* things happen, but can't understand why they</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> really do. I don't get how a people who've gone through every horrific social ill imaginable (and I know that there are other groups and societies</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> and cultures who have as well), can so viciously turn on itself. I think fear of the unknown and worry about</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> what'll happen next drive a lot of that venom. I think a lack of education, a lack of exploration, and the absence of critical thought intensifies those fears. None of these reasons are excuses</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, but I think they are very real forces to be reckoned with. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And yet, you have some of the most opinionated taxi drivers, who I'm convinced would make great politicians in this itty bitty plot of land, that will fearlessly tell you where its at while helping you unpack your groceries, utility company representatives who are glad you're here, and neighbors who often don't know what to do next to help you get adjusted and stay that way. I'm starting to think that the Israeli flag is only two colors as a metaphor for the country's divergent</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> paths. And being Jews, I'm impressed we were even able to agree on which two colors! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm determined to do my fair share of making this work. And not just our <span id="misspelled" s="10" t="0" tabindex="-1">aliyah</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, but being Jews in this wacky little place we call home. I think of the <span id="misspelled" s="11" t="0" tabindex="-1">Kotel</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, the Western Wall, as the great equalizer. Everyone who stands there stands before G-D. You can agree, disagree, wear a skirt, slacks, have a <span id="misspelled" s="12" t="0" tabindex="-1">keepah</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> or not, and think whatever you want. But when you're at that Wall you're in the presence of G-D Himself. No one's bigger nor is anyone better, even if they think they are. Everyone stands as one in the presence of He who is One. Its the most subtle but undeniable way</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> of putting us in our place. We all need to know where we stand within ourselves, our communities, and on this planet. <span id="misspelled" s="13" t="0" tabindex="-1">Mordechai</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Ben David sings, "We’ll sing and dance to the sky, With our spirits so high, We’ll show them all it’s true, Let them come and join us too." May those who welcome, those who isolate, and those who don't even know who they are, join in all that is good. I'm determined to continue</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> making that leap and hope that others join, because you know what? The water's nice and warm on this side of the world. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Just One <span id="misspelled" s="15" t="0" tabindex="-1">Shabbos</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, song: </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cu7TR_VaPPk&feature=related"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cu7TR_VaPPk&feature=related</span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Just One <span id="misspelled" s="16" t="0" tabindex="-1">Shabbos</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, lyrics: </span><a href="http://jewishmusiclyrics.blogspot.com/2007/05/just-one-shabbos.html"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">http://jewishmusiclyrics.blogspot.com/2007/05/just-one-shabbos.html</span></a>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-87220866926274089302011-09-12T20:55:00.003+03:002011-09-15T23:35:08.674+03:00Rosa Parksenstein has arrived...There wasn't much I could really do after learning of my father’s death on a Shabbos (Sabbath) 14 years ago; he died in <state w:st="on">New York</state> and we lived in <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Chicago</place></city>. I wandered aimlessly through our apartment, to the front steps, back and forth, and then back and forth some more, all day long. During one of my "stare into space on the stoop" sessions, I saw what seemed to be the world's largest and slowest caterpillar. That little thing chugged away, centimeter by centimeter and I thought that at some point, it would probably turn into a really large, and hopefully beautiful butterfly. Since that day, I've associated butterflies with my father. I'm not sure when I made the connection, but there is something very special, comforting, and real to me about them. Today I saw two butterflies and I haven't seen many in <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Israel</place></country-region> thus far. I’ve experienced my fair share of infuriatingly persistent buzzing flies, but not butterflies. I’ve also never in my entire life experienced the kind of traumatic morning I did today. I've suffered through trauma, but this, this was beyond belief. And if I allow myself to relive it, it proves to be as traumatic and unbelievable now as it was then. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose the first of the two butterflies I saw today was my father's way of saying, "I'm right here and I have your back." <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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We live in Beit Shemesh, an area that is populated by both Dati-Leumi (religious-national) and Chareidi ("ultra orthodox") Jews. Within the Charedi group of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>not so merry men and women, is a belief that the genders should be separated whenever they can be- during food shopping, eating pizza, or riding a public bus. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'd heard and read about "Mehadrin" buses (loosely translated as the ‘best of the best’) and told myself that I would never take one. One might think that description refers to the bus' navigational system or road handling, but it doesn’t. Some how, someone came up with this nutty idea to have women sit in the back of the bus and men in front, for the purposes of modesty. I don't know whether to laugh or throw up because it's simply unreal. But I learned first hand today that it is very real. And if you know me, and for what its worth, I talk how I type, you know that I don't "do" disrespect, prejudice, or inhumane behavior very well at all. <br />
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My husband and I had no clue that the bus we boarded this morning was a "mehadrin" bus. Bus segregation for the record, is entirely ILLEGAL in <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Israel</place></country-region>, but still practiced by some… my luck! As I scanned the front of the bus for an available spot after paying my fare, a seated gentleman in Charedi garb told my h<span class="textexposedshow">usband that I had to go to the back of the bus. My answer was simple: NO. He told us it was a Mehadrin bus, as if that would make me skip to my 'rightful' place in the back, but his statement was quickly met with, "Lo bishvili (Not for me)!" A woman sitting in the back of the bus threw in her two shekels and INSISTED loudly, and eventually up close and personally while yelling at me in front of the other straphangers, that I move to the back out of "kavod (respect)." She told me, "This isn't the <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">US</place></country-region>... [you]can't just do what [you] want," and then proceeded to call me "chiloni (secular)." Understand that in <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Israel</place></country-region>, being called 'chiloni' is the equivalent of telling someone they're not even Jewish. </span><br />
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<span class="textexposedshow">But these folks were messing with the wrong Jewish lady. I stood my ground and told her that she could be a slave but that I choose not to be. I continued to sit in the front of the bus for the very brief period of time we were even on the dang thing, and maintained my not-so-subtle stance: the back of the bus my foot! It was, indeed, my "Rosa Parksenstein" moment, but I made it very clear to myself and the others on the bus, that I will, frankly, be damned if anyone's going to tell me where I can sit or treat me like a second class citizen. There was no way on this planet that I was going to be made to feel like anything OTHER THAN a proud Jewish woman. I had my kubaton in hand in case things got physical, as I wasn't convinced they wouldn't. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Proud I am, stupid I'm not.</span><br />
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<span class="textexposedshow">After exiting the bus, kubaton in hand and religious litany in ear, the tears started to flow <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>from a visceral place deep inside. I cover my hair, I wear skirts, I wear sleeved shirts, and maintain that my most important jobs in this world are that of being a mother and wife. I know where it’s "at" and I know that public embarrassment and shame are not. When someone asked me why I was crying, a woman who was dressed much like me, she asked if I was told to move to the back because of how I'm dressed. I told her it wasn't because of my dress, but because I have a uterus. I learned, once again, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>just how important it is to stand up for what I am. Moments earlier I was able to calm myself briefly by acknowledging that this was just a test. Of what you ask? Perhaps, of seeing how much I believe the phrase, "Don't judge Judaism by its Jews." Perhaps, of seeing how much insanity I'll put up with before I say, "we are OUTTA here!" </span><br />
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<span class="textexposedshow">I've had my mettle tested before and I don't give up easily. My passion in what I believe in is both my strongest and weakest suits. But today it was the best weapon I had. I know who I am and that being a Jewish woman is something I am extremely proud of. For crying out loud, my kids are Jewish because of ME. I've no intentions of hiding from someone who finds the scent of my estrogen too strong. I will not hide behind my femininity nor, use it destructively. Ironically, I actually LIKE covering my hair (it's like dress-up for grown ups) and clothing myself in a way that speaks to my integrity. One might've thought I was dressed like a... or not dressed at all from the reactions I received today. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even find it a bit amazing that the woman yelling at me was upset enough to enter (cue the Star Wars music) "The Verboten Spot" just to give me a piece of her mind- one that she clearly needs to keep to herself. Perhaps passion is her yin-yang, too.</span><br />
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<span class="textexposedshow">I cried from what seemed like the depths of my soul. The assault hurt in a way that I still can't entirely explain but feel in the pit of my stomach, core of my being, and fabric of my soul. In my opinion at least, I’m one of the most respectful people I know; its part of who I am personally, religiously, and professionally. So to not be given the same due, particularly by a hair covering, skirt wearing, Jewish woman, boggles my mind. Our Torah contains stories about women who led the way, navigated uncharted territory, and still made it home for dinner. Women who dressed modestly but were alluring when they needed to be. Women who stood by their men and stood up for themselves. See, I don't want to be as innovative as much as be like them.</span><br />
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<span class="textexposedshow">I don't want to fight, I don't want to argue, and I don't want to contribute to the divisiveness that is trying to consume us. I don't want to be part of the reason, as my 10 year old so poignantly said, we'll have another Tisha B'Av. I felt undeniably vindicated after sharing this tale with my 16 year old daughter when she said "Good for you!" To me, that means I'm doing something right. It means that my daughter has self respect and like her Mom, won't take these things lying down, or forcefully seated in the back of a bus. I take solace in having done what I feel was the absolute right thing to do, as well as from the butterfly that flew past and then perched itself near me as I cried. </span><br />
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</div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-67592400811058944472011-09-01T22:10:00.000+03:002011-09-01T23:08:01.325+03:00Emotional Overload...<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Some days are fantabulous, some make me wanna stick my head in the toilet, and others leave me feeling both. Sometimes it feels like so much is going on, as though events are swirling in tornado-like winds with no end in sight. Sometimes, I just need my Auntie M!</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Let’s see. The kids have all started school, making this our very first experience with the Israeli school system. I’m grateful that none of them are entering pivotal school years (like senior year) so there’s an ounce less pressure there. We saw our 8<sup>th</sup> and 10<sup>th</sup> graders off yesterday, our 11<sup>th</sup> grader today, and by the time the hubby and I left our youngest’s 5<sup>th</sup> grade class this morning, I was in tears. Not hysterics, but tears of, well, I don’t know what. My baby is no longer a baby. That cute, curious, dirty blond, curly haired child is taller than I and in the 5<sup>th</sup> grade. By the time we left his class I think the newness of everything had run up and bit me. It was a mother moment I imagine many can relate to. </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Things have settled down some since the protest insanity, but emotions are still running high. We attended the opening ceremony, if you will, of the girls’ school (around the corner from <personname w:st="on">our youngest) today and watched as things remained largely uneventful. I have never seen the military on the first day of school, nor as many little girls it’s-the-first-day-of-school-do-you-like-my-new-shoes giddy faces. A member of the Knesset spoke as well as the Rosh Yeshiva of Shaalei Torah (the head rabbi of this particular school system). There were brief speeches, encouraging words, and an emphasis on venturing through the school year with G-D, Torah, Ahavat Yisrael (respect and love for other Jews), modesty, and faith. It was a beautiful morning topped off by the singing of HaTikva (<place w:st="on"><country-region w:st="on">Israel</country-region></place>’s National Anthem) and positive energy. It still sickens me that all the hoopla happened and that so much reparation continues to be needed, but at least it was a good first day.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And then my work machinery freaked out! The printer it seems, didn’t make it as successfully to <place w:st="on"><country-region w:st="on">Israel</country-region></place> as say, the couches, and that makes me so very sad. And frustrated. And like I need a drink and a truck load of chocolate. The phone keeps losing its VOIP connection and is taking my mind with it. My e-mail receives messages from outside the network but can’t reciprocate. Some times I think the computer gods have a vendetta against me. And sometimes, I lose the energy to fight them. Can I have some more chocolate now? </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Oh yeah, a little more 'bout the kids. Two of four think they like their schools, and the other two think their school is for ‘whack jobs.’ How quaint. They are in a school for kids with ADHD, but not everyone ‘does’ their diagnosis quite the same. And not every parent of children with said diagnosis will demand, despite gender, medication, and very real neuronal issues, that they best act like human beings if they want to enjoy the finer things in life. I don’t do the ‘boys will be boys’ nonsense. My boys will be big boys if they want to continue to be boys in this house, ADHD be damned! I know that some days are really hard for them and that impulse control is not always a barrel of laughs. But it pains me to hear that one of them was mooned today, that the other allowed the worst of his lack of impulse control to run amuck, and that everybody’s favorite four letter word can be heard ad nauseum. Before you say, “But it’s <place w:st="on"><country-region w:st="on">Israel</country-region></place>! But it’s a religious school!” remember that impulse control and bad manners don’t care what religion you are or where you live. I wonder, if our problems can ignore boundaries, perhaps those at the heart of our protests can too? </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And then I realized that 9/11 is around the corner. Like so many, I remember where I was when I heard the news, how I panicked about loved ones, and how I frantically called the East Coast to make sure they were all OK. Occassional bouts of homesickness are now mixed with a pseudo desire to be in the States on 9/11/11, though I’m not at all sure what I think I’m going to miss by being here. I felt the attacks far more as a Jew then an American, but seeing the American flag in the breeze touched my heart immeasurably. I know that <place w:st="on"><country-region w:st="on">Israel</country-region></place> will have footage and its own memorial programming; She certainly understands, all too well in fact, what it’s like to be attacked and exposed in naked vulnerability. I suppose it all reminds me of my personal beliefs about where ’home’ is. My home was “there” for so many years but I always knew that my HOME was ‘here.’ Sometimes my heart cries out for home while my soul convincingly reminds me that the <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">US</place></country-region> was but a path to this Land. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I heard a song a few days ago by Carrie Underwood (WOW, can that girl sing!!) that spoke to (or sang to…) my thoughts about ‘home.’ I think I’ve always known where my home was, but was too afraid to acknowledge it. Now I know… and that gives all the other stresses reasons to suffer through them. There’s no place like HOME. Take a listen.... </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LraOiHUltak">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LraOiHUltak</a></span></div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-53307787127164262382011-08-29T22:11:00.000+03:002011-08-29T22:11:27.786+03:00A nice day for a protest...<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Really, is there EVER a nice day for a protest? Ironically or not, it was atypically cloudy in Beit Shemesh today so perhaps that was our first clue. I have had blog entries swirling in my head for about a week, but nothing crystallized or brought me to that "I MUST tell the world" place. Today's events have. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The very short version of the story is this. Orot Banot (an elementary girls school) is slated to move into a new building this week. Plans for the girls to move into the building adjacent to the boys' school up our block have been contractually agreed upon, given mayoral blessing, and received oodles of supporter money. The Chareidi community near by (Chareidim are what many people refer to as the "ultra Orthodox") has been accepting of this endeavor which is a great step forward in the struggle for Jewish unity, at least 'round here. There are however, a group of Chareidim who have decided to protest the opening of the school by vandalizing it and surrounding property. After the school was broken into this week, the mayor told school reps that he is rescinding his approval for the girls to attend the school because he cannot guarantee their safety. Haaretz.com explains it like this: </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“</span></span><span style="color: #353434; font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #353434; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;">The girls at the national religious “Orot” school had been due to start the new school year at the site, but were relocated due to the protest. Last week, Beit Shemesh Mayor Moshe Abutbul sent a letter to the parents’ association, warning that he had received serious threats from ultra-Orthodox residents of the city, who vowed to cause physical harm to both to the mayor and the students should the school open as planned. Abutbul told the parents that in light of the threats, he could not guarantee the safety of the girls, and had decided not to open the school for the start of the academic year.” </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was at the first of the protests this morning. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m an emotional gal by nature, but it takes a lot to make my stomach LITERALLY turn. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Standing in the courtyard of the school though, I took in the image of men in long black coats with banana-curled payot (side burns) exit the school with their tallitot (prayer shawls) covering their faces and later, engaging in prayer in a football huddle. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched as they told one woman that she is like a “dead body” and “piece of trash.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched as they debated what hatred really means with a gentleman from “the other side” who, G-D bless him, tried so beautifully to engage meaningful discourse. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched angry Dati-Leumi (religious-nationalist) Jews yell in disgust. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One woman, a physician, yelled “We take care of your wives and your children and you try to take away our school?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other people said that they simply couldn’t understand how these men could ask for tzedaka (charity) at one moment and then pull a stunt like this. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One person said ‘if you don’t like it, go to <place w:st="on"><city w:st="on">Gaza</city></place>,’ while another said, “Go join the army!” </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There aren’t enough words to describe how nuts this is. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are not enough ways to describe how wrong this is, how divisive, how foolish, how logic-defying. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was dancing, singing, flag waving, and an amazing display of Jewish and Zionistic pride by Dati-Leumi children and teens who let the Chareidi protesters know that they were both appalled and ready to explain the importance of this school and the Torah education our daughters all deserve. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there were also guards, policemen, the media, border and riot patrol with machine guns, hand guns, and riot gear. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My family saw stink bombs thrown and balloons filled with sewer water tossed at the protesters. I was present for a war of words that started with a shove and a push. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point a wall of women formed after a Chareidi man pushed one of them, and the police told the Chareidim to leave for their own safety when fists, not so surprisingly, flew.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">All of these details almost don’t matter though. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That anyone would want little girls out of a school because of the potential for salacious behavior or sexual allure is criminal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That anyone would publicly state that 6-12 year old girls have the potential to sexually sway ANYBODY is sick, perverse, and pedophilia, plain and simple. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That a political official who was hired (or paid) to equally and loyally represent his ENTIRE constituency would out and out lie is, well, crazy! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The whole situation is insane, reinforces a divide between us and them, creates horrific animosity, makes coexistence painful, and hurts not only us and our children, but I’m guessing, G-D too.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And here’s what really kills me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are ALL Jews.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were ALL at Har Sinai (<place w:st="on">Mount Sinai</place>) when G-D gave ALL of us the ONLY version of His Torah. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Riot gear against other Jews?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jews calling each other Nazis and coming to blows over women’s education? Why would anyone want to deny these girls, or torture them in the process, when they are our future mothers, wives, teachers, and respected, contributing members of the entire world? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve had enough dealings with people who want to kill us. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heck, we have that going on now as rockets blast through the skies from <place w:st="on"><city w:st="on">Gaza</city></place> to Be’er Sheva and runaway cars attempt to plow teens in Tel Aviv. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do we need to turn on ourselves?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do we need to virulently try to kill the spark of Judaism that I squarely believe cannot go out? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How do we get this to stop so that we unify for the good and not because some of our own have clear done lost their minds? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We don’t have to love each other and sing Kumbaya, but we do have to respect the space we each take up on this earth, and here, in this G-D given country that embodies what Judaism REALLY is. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t have to understand why someone wears layers of black in the dead of summer in the desert just as no one has to understand why I like to wear funky mitpachot (head scarves) and sport the world’s ugliest ankle brace. Perhaps I’m naïve; no, I know I’m naïve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I also know that I am now left with the task of carefully discussing this with my kids who have already formed opinions on the matter. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must remind them that not everyone of ANY group is all bad, and that the men in the black hats and coats are not “always” this or that. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must now re-explain that some of the stuff done by “our side” was wrong, too. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are no guidebooks for dealing with stuff like this, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d grab the first copy of “How to cope when your own are out to get you” or, “How not to hate people who sound like you but are nothing like you at all” if I could.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’ve turned and twisted and mulled this over all day and am left with a heart wrenching inner struggle. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sickens me, devastates me, and makes me wonder why we use some of our best skills- negotiating, advocacy, and passion, to destroy who we are. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It simply makes no sense and if it doesn’t end, we will. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Post script:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>News reports now state that the school will open this week as originally planned. While this is surely a success we still have so much to do.</span></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Comic Sans MS; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;"></span></span><br />
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-73027889708807232342011-08-14T19:52:00.000+03:002011-08-14T20:36:47.624+03:00Wherever I go, there I am...I have had moments, hours, even days, where homesickness has bitten me fiercely. Today for example, I dried my hands in a public bathroom under a hot air dryer, read the company address under the manufacturer’s logo, and started to cry- it was made in <place w:st="on"><city w:st="on">Bartlett</city>, <state w:st="on">IL</state></place>. I’ll be the first to admit that that's ridiculous for a variety of reasons. Let’s see, there are probably 15 Jews in all of <city w:st="on">Bartlett</city>, I have no connections to <city w:st="on">Bartlett</city>, and I've never BEEN to <place w:st="on"><city w:st="on">Bartlett</city></place>! But seeing a zip code that started with ‘60’ and an area code of 708 made me mushy. I’m guessing the moral of the story then is that I should’ve used paper to dry my hands. Sigh...<br />
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Things are moving along though and some are starting to feel OK. Milk in a bag is just fine, as are 10 shekel coins vs. 10 dollar bills, the occasional iguana that graces my path, liter and a half bottles of soda, mailmen in shorts, T-shirts, keepah and tzitzit (the four cornered garment with strings worn by men), and kosher Doritos. Hiking to the grocery store, the lack of closets, the inability to understand the writing on my shampoo bottle (I can only assume it says something like ‘hair will grow in thicker, fuller, and just like it was when you were 20’), and Splenda that can be purchased for the low, low sum of half a leg, are things I’m certainly less enamored with. <br />
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I try hard to be realistic though I know I can do my fair share of idolizing when I need and want to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honestly though, <country-region w:st="on">Israel</country-region>, the hum-drum, everyday, go-about-your-business <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Israel</place></country-region>, is a place, to a degree, like every other place. People here buy food, clothing, go to appointments, spend money on non-necessities, like their neighbors but dislike that one guy down the block- just like they do everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So while this is the holiest place on the planet, G-D is not literally standing in aisle 5 of your favorite grocery store ready to wait on you. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I do feel though is a connection to physical land that I don’t think I’ve felt before. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s weird, but I know its there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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<br />
But while there are things that are indeed new BECAUSE of Israel, some would’ve happened here, there, or anywhere. Take my children, for example, all Henny Youngman jokes aside. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been blessed with four bright, feisty, independent, stubborn, creative, thinking children. Two are teens, one’s an almost-teen, one’s got a few years until he’s a teen, and I’m applying for sainthood now. I love my children with my heart and soul, and every cell of my being, even when it feels like I have nothing left to give, or on bad days, like they've taken all I have. Their job is to push boundaries and envelopes and my sanity to the brink and on certain karmic days, I get to do the same to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, I don’t envy them for having to recreate themselves at this stage of their lives because I realize that adolescence mixed with Aliyah can be ever so slightly mind-blowing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its daunting to witness, let alone go through I’m sure. <br />
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The days that feel like good ones, where things are steadily progressing, where I’m not completely overwhelmed by school forms, and where I feel at peace with who I am, give me the courage to wake up the next day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Days that are less-than, make me sad, make me wonder why things don’t seem easier, or feel right. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those are the days I now realize that not only have to give me the courage to wake up, but throw myself on the floor and say, “Get up dang it! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life’s not gonna wait for you!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The days I let other people’s bad behavior get to me, like the man who reached across my face to get a pen in a store that was 5 inches wide at its maximum, are the days I have to remember that people are, as corny as it sounds, people. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are wonderful people in <city w:st="on">Chicago</city> as well as <place w:st="on"><country-region w:st="on">Israel</country-region></place> (I’ll give Mr. Pen-grabber credit for at least wearing deodorant when his armpit came dangerously close). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are rude people in <country-region w:st="on">Israel</country-region> as well as <state w:st="on"><place w:st="on">New York</place></state>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are religious people, people who aren’t religious but dress the part, and people who couldn’t care less about religion, everywhere. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People in most places would do anything to protect their kids, are often in a rush to get somewhere, and hate traffic. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People are who they are no matter where they are and that, quite frankly, also includes me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the end of the day, or any part of the day for that matter, it really isn’t about bags of milk or the lack of closet space. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s about how I handle where I am and what I’m doing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only I can decide when the honeymoon’s over, where reality and imagination converge. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And for now, I’ve decided that I’m not so sure I want to separate them or at the least, determine they have to be separate at all.<br />
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I realize, now that I’m old enough to say I’ve been around the block, that I’ve learned a couple of things about myself. <place w:st="on"><state w:st="on">New York</state></place> is where I grew up and will always have a special place in my heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I accepted being in <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Chicago</place></city> like a cat to water, but eventually, it grew on me and is really where I grew as a person and human being. <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Israel</place></country-region>, this land of mountains that continue to take my breath away, is the keeper of my roots. If you think about those plant projects we all did in elementary school, where you planted a lima bean or whatever was in your parents’ kitchen, you may recall a soggy, soil-filled, messy mush. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bean smelled funny, it looked weird, cracked in half and seemed downright icky before it became what our teacher insisted it would. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then it happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our weird looking bean sprouted… and grew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like Mr. Pen-grabber, I will continue to take the path less-smelly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But much like that lima bean, I’m sure I look a little funny to the natives, and I know that sometimes I feel torn apart, not terribly whole, and like a soggy mush. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But G-D promised us this Land and It’s where I belong. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time I’m planting myself so that I can be more than that bean and let the roots take hold. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-10932292052772752462011-08-03T14:52:00.000+03:002011-08-03T23:24:36.659+03:00The Honeymoon's Over...<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<div style="color: black; direction: ltr; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 13px;"><div></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">I'm tired of bourekas</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> for breakfast, I don't understand the all-in-Hebrew e-mail I received from school, I miss my weekly People magazine fix, it freaks me out when cheese labels say "28% fat," and even iced coffee gets old. I don't have</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> a set of wheels and probably won't for the foreseeable future, have to rack my brains to get a full thought out in Hebrew nearly every time I open my mouth, stare intently when people speak so I can understand what they're saying, don't have a cell phone that consistently works (I'll take credit for dropping mine to its death, but the screen suddenly dying on my Droid is a sick trick Verizon saved just for arrival), and wanna</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> know why the heck skim milk is non existent in this country!! Its my dang pity party and I'll cry if I want to... and I have. A lot. </span></span><br />
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</div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">I love Israel. I love what it means, what it stands for, that actual ancient ruins and holy sites are just 4 short bus rides away. I feel like I belong, and that's not to say that I didn't in the States. The difference is I don't just feel like I belong- I <em>know</em> I do. And I also knew going into</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> this full steam ahead</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">, as I do with most things in life, that it was going to be hard. All that talk about leaving everyone and everything</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">? I get it now. At this very moment as I digest my gazillionth</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> boureka</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">, stare out into a field that is yelping for water, and watch the dog sleep in the sunlight, I really get it. </span><br />
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</div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">I spent all of last year living in two worlds. I always knew what time it was in Israel because our daughter spent the year here. My confusion is magnified now, in a reverse parallel universe kind of way, because I'm working American hours. Add to that the fact that sometimes I really don't know where I am! I keep using the wrong words to describe America and Israel; America was always 'here,' Israel always 'there.' But I'm not 3rd generation American HERE, nor am I going to live OVER THERE. I am here, I'm from there and now I need more iced coffee!</span><br />
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</div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">I find myself struggling immensely with the world in which I now live, or more aptly, how my world view is shaping me and how I'm choosing to shape it. I never believed myself to be a terribly materialistic person, and I still don't know if missing my purple carpet and view of the yard makes me a hypocrite. There are things I can live without, no question, but at this very moment,</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> I miss them. I used to be part of a world where I was different because my hair was covered, because I took off on a bunch of holidays few were familiar with, and because I said it like it was. That last part really put a damper on the whole ladylike thing; much like Popeye, I am who I am. Here though, I'm one of seemingly a million head scarf</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> wearers who say it like it is and that's kinda</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">' cool. I don't have to</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> get ideas about how to wrap my mitpachat</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> (head scarf) from a You tube video any more- I can get them from the lady on the bus or the cashier at the grocery store. I don't have to worry (as much) about kosher food availability or where I can purchase religious items either- they sell kippot</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> (yamulkas</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">) in the grocery store for crying out loud! </span><br />
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</div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">But I also lived in a world where people view each other within the scope of color, race, and religion, both as a statement of what simply is as well as judgmentally</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">. Black, White, Latina, Asian, Jewish, non-Jewish, and the list goes on and on and on. Israel is sadly not above that, but by and large, everyone here, no matter the color of their skin, country of origin, or length of their skirt or payot</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> (side burns/ curls) is Jewish. What I'm not used to in the full throttle way I'm experiencing it now, is the amazingly, painfully, and really sad ways the lines between Jews are drawn. There</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> are disparaging feelings shared between</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> the Modern Orthodox, 'regular' Orthodox, and Chareidim</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> (what many describe as the Ultra Orthodox or Chasidic); its a pathetic mutual non-admiration society. Why on heavens we're debating amongst ourselves</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> who "does" Torah or Judaism right-er</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">, better, or more WITHIN the Orthodox camp boggles my mind. That just means that there's more to get used to and in time, address.</span><br />
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</div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">I haven't had too many breakdown's since the Aliyah</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> ball got rolling. I've cried, L-rd knows I've cried, but actually feeling like I'm going to fall on my face from homesickness has only happened a few times. I understand that my life is no longer about when I move- it's about where to get milk in a bag. It's no longer about how good my Hebrew is or isn't, but how much I'm going to push myself to communicate and understand my environment. And its not about saying goodbye anymore</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">, but embracing every darned new thing in my path. To quote a neighbor and others who've said this, "If [Aliyah</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">] was easy, everybody would do it!" Well, it ain't</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> easy by any stretch of the imagination. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">I'm trying to accept that the kinds of things I miss most are knowing where the post office is, how to get aluminum pans at a good price, and fully understanding the words I overhear in any given public place. The honeymoon, wonderful albeit brief, is really over but I'm not leaving the marriage. And as with my husband, who, on occasion</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> makes me ponder how far he'd fly if I threw him out a window, I will weather the storm of marital discord with Israel. There is no question that this is my homeland and that of my people. But I'm</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> not quite at the point where my physical abode feels like home and that's one of the things driving me batty. Being patient when you are naturally impatient makes for even more fun on this joyride. My seatbelt's on tight though and the ride continues...</span></div></div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-62277730547540493832011-07-21T21:36:00.000+03:002011-07-22T14:40:28.729+03:00I'd like a word with G-D...<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">In an attempt to make sure, or at least try to ensure, that each of our kids feels appreciated, I like to spend time with them, one on one, when I can. We've spent time in the mall, sometimes we spend time without spending money, and sometimes we hang out on the couch watching mind-numbing TV. It’s important I think, to spend quality time with your progeny while coming up with new ideas for reality shows we've yet to see- Are You Smarter Than a Multi-Tasking, Harried, Working Mother? Lifestyles of the Distracted and BUNNY, or The Real Housewives of Aliyah. The possibilities are endless!</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Yesterday was Reuven-Mommy day and Roo chose the <placename w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Old</placename></placename> <placetype w:st="on"><placetype w:st="on">City</placetype></placetype> in <place w:st="on"><city w:st="on"><city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Jerusalem</city></place></place></city> as our hang out/ destination. We ate lunch at the Central Bus Station (where the image of religious girls eating kosher McDonald's burgers enclosed in Kung Fu Panda wrappers is a trip and a half), went to Ben Yehudah street, a hot spot of tourist traps and cool stuff, walked through the <placename w:st="on"><placename w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Jerusalem</placename></placename></placename> <placetype w:st="on"><placetype w:st="on"><placetype w:st="on">Municipality</placetype></placetype></placetype> grounds, and then headed to the <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on"><place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on"><place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Old</placename></placename></placename> <placetype w:st="on"><placetype w:st="on"><placetype w:st="on">City</placetype></place></placetype></place></placetype></place>. A religious experience of note as we walked through the holy grounds included our trip to Zislik, an ice cream/ frozen yogurt/ bakery store that makes our Aliyah worth it all on its own. But fear not, we continued to aspire ever higher. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">We walked towards the Kotel (Western Wall), readied ourselves to walk through security, and I realized that we were spending our "Mommy and me time" at *THE* holiest site on the planet. I mean, I love a good mani/ pedi with Esti, movie with <personname w:st="on"><personname w:st="on">Tzvika</personname></personname>, all around drive with Roo, and trip to the sporting good store with YaYa, but we were <b><i>hanging out</i></b> at the Kotel!! It seemed that the significance of being there was not lost on Roo either, as he kept asking for a pen and paper so he could write, and then place, a note in the Wall. I assured him that while I only had a pen, G-D was a pretty good mind reader and overall communicator. One of the many things I like about G-D is that, much like a far holier E.F. Hutton, when you talk, He <em><span style="font-family: Times;">really</span></em> listens.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times;">Roo and I took pictures in the Kotel plaza and he headed towards the Wall. I was going to head over to the women's side, but instead, chose to observe him as he entered the Site. I watched as my 12 year old, wearing a black Dave and Buster's T-shirt, khaki shorts, knitted keepah, blue Converse sneakers, and overly folded white socks that he’d borrowed from someone's drawer, walked over to the Wall, took in everything around him, placed his hands on the stones, and spoke to G-D. I don't know what he said nor does it matter. But I watched as he seemed to let the holiness of the place and the serenity of where he stood seep into his pores. I watched as he borrowed a siddur (prayer book) from a stand nearby, and prayed. I watched, and stood, and cried. I closed my eyes, thanked G-D for the gift of being in His presence, bringing us Home, and listening to my son. I too, let the holiness seep in as my son stood at the Wall and shared his thoughts. I watched my son, who is named for my father, connect intimately with who and what he really is. And then I cried a little more.</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times;">The Wall has this uncanny ability to equalize everyone and everything in Its presence. No one is more or less religious and it doesn't matter how much or how little, within reason, is covered. We all stand before G-D when we stand at the Wall, which is perhaps why I felt so at peace when we were there. More than that though, I felt a sweetness, a joy, as I watched my son, the one who I'm certain will one day make me pull my hair out, the one who I think may very well drive me to drink, and the one to whom I often contemplate yelling, "DO IT 'CAUSE I SAID SOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" He was a sight to behold as he and G-D shared their moment.</span><span style="color: black;"></span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I went to the women's side to say Mincha, afternoon prayers, & had many a word with G-D. Thank you is overused and often uttered meaninglessly, but I said it anyway. I thanked G-D for His love, compassion, strength, and understanding. I thanked Him for opening my heart and that of my son's and giving us the ability to share our words with Him.</span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-44872839306663361872011-07-15T17:40:00.000+03:002011-07-15T17:54:17.205+03:00Who am I?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ps9DgImtgEQ/TiBIPNTs2DI/AAAAAAAAAB8/jmz0Yueg-9A/s1600/IDENTIFICATION.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" m$="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ps9DgImtgEQ/TiBIPNTs2DI/AAAAAAAAAB8/jmz0Yueg-9A/s320/IDENTIFICATION.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>We did it! We made it across the oceans, left the land of familiarity, and are pseudo-strangers in a very strange homeland.... YAY for Aliyah!!!<br />
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Being part of the Nefesh B' Nefesh ceremony, where an army of people, quite literally I might add, greet and welcome you, is surreal. I felt like I was in one of the NBN welcoming ceremonies I've seen so many times on line. Granted, I *am* now in one of those videos, but I felt like I was experiencing the ceremony as if I'd stepped into my computer screen. Surreally surreal... for real. <br />
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Today is day 3, Erev Shabbat (Sabbath Eve), and I'm now both an American and Israeli. Not totally sure how that happened (yes, I know about the Law of Return and that the second I touched the ground I became a dual citizen) 'cause I was JUST getting the hang of being a New Yorker in Chicago! Wasn't THAT dual citizenship enough? <br />
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Overall, things are going slowly but steadily. We have our תעודת זהות, National ID cards (sorta-kinda, but not really like a Social Security card) and received our תעודת עולה, verification of our Aliyah. We opened a bank account (hugely important if you want to start receiving your Aliyah benefits from the State- they PAY you for moving.. neat, huh?), bought a fridge, have one working cell phone, ordered cable, have internet service, and a toaster oven on loan. My Hebrew comes in waves in that I either know how to clearly say what I mean, or stand there like a deer-in-headlights praying Hebrew will roll off my tongue and make complete sense to my listener. In time, in time. <br />
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After a mini disagreement with my hubby today about the fridge I chose (I SO thought I was getting a good deal that didn't scream, "I'm not from here, please take advantage of me!"), and after experiencing the not so joyous echo of everyone and everything in our still furniture-less house, I teared up. I knew I wasn't crying about a fridge, nor about the echo. We are starting to grow on each other a bit, but it wasn't that either. <br />
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As I meandered around the kitchen, I found myself standing near the sink and little by little it came to me. After being in a grocery store where I discovered that I'm OK bagging my own groceries (it's really not a big deal), noted that the fruit section was missing cherries and blueberries (I'm not real pleased with that though I'm pretty sure no one's gonna get scurvy), and couldn't find my beloved St. Ives Apricot Scrub but reconciled to using whatever *is* here, it dawned on me that nothing is familiar. And more than that, especially since I'd visited these stores before we made Aliyah, is that I'm not yet comfortable in my own skin- I'm not familiar with me. I'm still the rather talkative, friendly, will- say- thank- you- excuse- me- and- I'm- sorry- even- if- many- others- don't gal. But I'm not Rachel who can hop in her car, pick up groceries, and drive around just because. I'm used to helping, not being helped. I'm used to being independent, not dependent on others. I'm a fairly territorial person (ironic since I'm in ISRAEL), too. I like to know where 'my space' is so that I don't infringe on yours and you know where not to infringe on mine. I don't have a sense of space, as it were, just yet. I also really <em>need</em> others' help right now and that is very, very humbling. I'm grateful beyond words, but my ego is taking a hit.<br />
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Its wonderful that so many people speak English in Israel. I could truly 'make it' here without learning how to speak the language, but that's not what I want. I'm in a country of people that came before me. If you can welcome me, the least I can do is speak your language, our language... MY language. And for someone as, um, verbal as me, not being able to use language and words freely is hard, really hard. I've reverted to sign language (as in caveman-speak, not ASL/ ESL) when needed and that's helped in a pinch. Apparently the "I NEED THE BATHROOM NOW" dance is internationally understood. <br />
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My papers say I belong in two places, that I'm welcomed in two places, that I have equal rights in two places. My head says that I'm nowhere and everywhere at the same time. I hope my head, my papers- and my heart- catch up to each other soon.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-42594496256223566012011-07-15T16:27:00.001+03:002011-07-15T16:28:13.100+03:00Living in increments...<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Written July 6<sup>th</sup>, 2011</div><br />
The insanity of moving to <country-region w:st="on">Israel</country-region> is coming to a close, though I know that we are soon to face the insanity of living in <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Israel</place></country-region>. We are trading familiar mayhem for unknown<span style="color: blue;"> </span>chaos, but the family that loses it together eventually comes together. Right? <br />
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Our year has been punctuated by key events. Thank G-D most were positive, anticipated, and kept a flow of sorts going. Our daughter, now 16, left home on August 31<sup>st</sup> to spend her sophomore year in <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Israel</place></country-region>. I will forever remember that day as bittersweet; Esti got to go to <place w:st="on"><country-region w:st="on">Israel</country-region></place> and I got to watch my eldest baby go off, on her own, without us, without me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cried like an overtired baby that day (and the days before and after). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cried <i>so hard</i> while exiting the airport that it took the kindness of a stranger at JFK to bring be back to reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She touched my arm, smiled, and without saying a word, did her best to assure me that all would be OK.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was, in short, a mess.<br />
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As the year progressed, I visited Esti with our youngest in November and scouted out schools in and around Beit Shemesh. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband visited Esti with our second oldest in February and scouted out housing in the same area. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went to <state w:st="on"><place w:st="on">California</place></state> days after my husband’s return to test for Krav Maga certification, and flew to NY for my uncle’s funeral in March. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By April, Esti had come in for Passover break, and the rollercoaster ride sped up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our lift came and went on June 21<sup>st</sup>, Esti returned from <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Israel</place></country-region> days later, and goodbye parties followed in rapid succession. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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We jumped from thing-to-thing all year and here I sit, mentally preparing for the second- to- biggest thing, the trip to NY that will lead us to our trip to <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Israel</place></country-region>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope you can excuse me for taking a blog break, as I’m going to need a few moments to put my head back on. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not picky- <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it doesn’t even have to be on straight, just on, preferably my shoulders. I see smooth skies and simultaneous turbulence ahead and I’m hanging on for dear life!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See you on the other side of the pond….Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-26652859033512258172011-06-26T19:08:00.000+03:002011-06-26T19:10:18.048+03:00Going the distance<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Making Aliyah isn't only, at least for me, about moving to <place w:st="on"><country-region w:st="on">Israel</country-region></place>, living the dream, or living as an authentic Jew in the most authentic of Jewish places. You might think that'd give me plenty of reason to move, but it dawned on me in today’s early hours that there's something else going on- something very emotional, very palpable, and deeply personal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See, not every Aliyah story is filled with tears of joy. And not every Aliyah story is filled with the bittersweet push-pull of wanting to stay and go. Sometimes an Aliyah story tells the tale of doors opening, greater self-awareness, and truth. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aliyah is not about running away, but running towards what is good and right. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s about being honest with yourself, understanding that everyone’s story is different and being ready to move on to the next phase. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its about accepting what you can fix and hoping that you can peacefully accept what is not fixable. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s about truth and love in the realest of senses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><br />
One of the gazillion questions I've been asked, up there with <i>did you sell the house, where will you live in Israel, and what will you be doing when you're there</i>, is about family- how our families of origin are handling the move. I can tell you that my mother-in-law, though beyond sad, told her son that she can't be angry about our decision because she raised him to want this. I'm not entirely sure who cried more when she uttered those words. Every family has its issues and no one has any right to say that their issues are worse or better than the next person's, but I'll admit to feeling both great respect and a good deal of jealousy when my mother-in-law made that statement. She doesn’t want us to leave but she gets it. <br />
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When I’m asked how *<b>my</b>* family, particularly my mom, is dealing with the move, I’m simply not sure what to say. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the 15 years we’ve been in <place w:st="on"><city w:st="on">Chicago</city></place>, I’ve had many causes d’ célèbre that she’s not been part of physically or emotionally in the ways I wished. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I straddle both reality and wishful thinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know of the internal pain that has shaped her worldview but am disheartened at the ways it has effected mine. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can see different perspectives even when I don’t want to but deep down really wish my mom could understand, amongst many things, what it means to make positive changes, follow your heart genuinely, and move forward. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though I am many things and play many roles in many lives, I started out as someone’s daughter, and still think, for however naïve it may sound, that a girl (or boy for that matter) should be able to lean on her mom particularly when she’s on the cusp of a life changing event. That's not something my mom can provide and its time, truly, that I make peace with that. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that she will miss me, or at least my physical presence in the same contiguous piece of world property, but she doesn’t ‘get’ the significance of the move and the myriad of things its come to mean.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I’ve been an adult, or at least played one on the local stage, for many years. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a grown up and clinician, I find “parent issues” at all ages to be one of the stickiest of the bunch. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not looking to make this post, this period of time, or this point in my life, to be one solely comprised of mother-daughter difficulties. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what I’m learning about this trip, this Aliyah, is that its not just about moving physically or drawing closer spiritually. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s about respectful separation; understanding what really is and what really cannot be and being the person I can be while understanding from whence I come. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not looking to “break up,” as it were, or bash my mother. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This trip, this pilgrimage, this journey, is leading me not only to the <place w:st="on">Holy Land</place> but to a different level of adulthood. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Absence, they say, makes the heart grow fonder, but I also think it can open your heart to greater goodness and empathy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m choosing to open my heart with understanding so that I can be an Oleh by rising up, in every sense of the word. </div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-29790688522590927312011-06-23T04:20:00.000+03:002011-06-23T04:20:31.391+03:00OVERWHELMEDWell folks, it happened today. Haven't been getting solid sleep, my emotions are all over the place, I'm a big 'ol mush, and there's more to do than any one human being can process. Tears gave way to frustration which gave way to panic which gave way to more tears, and on and on it went. I was not at my best and kinda' let 'er rip. I'd like to say that I've handled everything until this point with grace and dignity. Lots of humor? Yes. But grace and dignity? Um, sure. I hear the Brooklyn Bridge is for sale....<br />
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Its not an excuse, but truth be told, this whole moving- across- the- world- while- upending- your- life- to- do- so would drive the sanest person batty. And when you're not starting off as the sanest person, you're REALLY behind the eight ball. The stresses of renting the house, refilling prescriptions, sleeping on couches and praying for an unbroken wi-fi connection got the best of me and it was not pretty. I suppose I should apologize to the pharmacist (even though some of our meds are on manufacturer back order and NO ONE shared that tidbit with me), our real estate agent (sorry, but the thought of our renters doing work on the house while we're still in it is way more than I can handle), my 12 year old (OK, maybe my response to you was a wee bit over the top), and our internet router (tell me though, why do you feel the need to stop- start when I need you to just work??!!). I promise to try to be nicer tomorrow, get a good night's sleep and remember there are worse things in this life. <br />
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I'm gonna chalk it all up to being perceptibly human and pray that these moments don't repeat themselves. Often. OK, too often. OK, not in the next few days. I'm tryin', I'm tryin'.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-28568072789269501402011-06-22T19:26:00.000+03:002011-06-22T19:27:47.824+03:00I know where I am, but um, where am I???<span style="background-color: #f4cccc;">The lift has come and gone, most of my earthly possessions are somewhere between Lake Michigan and the <place w:st="on">Middle East</place>, and as luck would have it, we've experienced the upheaval without scrapes, bruises, or any attempts to kill each other. Yay us!</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f4cccc;">After the lift left I did the requisite house walk-through. There is something overwhelmingly powerful about realizing that the only thing that fills your dining room is your echo. Its downright depressing to want to curl up in your bed and realize that the most you can do is snuggle into the fluffy parts of carpet your bed once covered. I'm a pretty casual gal, but I must admit I'm missing the luxury of back support my chairs, the ones currently going <span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-image: none; background-position: 0% 0%; background-repeat: repeat;">bummpity</span>-bump on some highway, provide. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f4cccc;">I didn't expect to have flashbacks and a flood of memories consume me as I explored my empty home. When I looked in the living room, I remembered the bris (circumcision) we'd had in that room 10+ years ago. I wandered into the dining room, or the Shabbos room as we like to call it, and remembered the meals we've had, the people we've welcomed into our home, and the ways in which our interactions have left an indelible mark on my soul. I went upstairs and realized that the pictures of grandparents and our literal history were stored away. And then I walked into our daughter's room, saw the American Girl doll on the closet floor sitting near a bottle of hand cream, and the remnants of her pre-adolescence. That's when I lost it. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f4cccc;">We have really lived in this house, I mean LIVED in this house. Our kids have grown physically, matured emotionally, driven us crazy (sometimes literally), and loved in this house. Our daughter’s keeping that doll, the one I refused to buy but <span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-image: none; background-position: 0% 0%; background-repeat: repeat;">Bubbe</span> (Josh's mom) wanted her to have, and a lifetime of memories. The Desitin hand prints in my closet remind me of when our now 12 year old decided he wanted to finger paint years ago. I was less-than-thrilled when I found him happy as a, well, kid in cream in my closet, but there's a certain sweetness those little hand prints hold. Our 15 year <span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-image: none; background-position: 0% 0%; background-repeat: repeat;">old's</span> wall etchings have been painted over and our 10 year <span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-image: none; background-position: 0% 0%; background-repeat: repeat;">old's</span> abstract crayon art (I call it 'Themes on a Wall') is no more. We have left our literal mark on this <span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-image: none; background-position: 0% 0%; background-repeat: repeat;">house</span> and I'm grateful to call it my home.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f4cccc;">I know where I'm going, both literally and spiritually and I know where I'm currently sitting. Still, I feel like I'm in two places at once, though the feeling is somehow <span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-image: none; background-position: 0% 0%; background-repeat: repeat;">tempered</span> with direction and purpose. I spent several moments yesterday questioning if I'm an American, an Israeli, neither, or both. There are aspects of Aliyah that no one can prepare you for. I suppose knowing who you are, where you stand, and to where you are headed are things e<span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-image: none; background-position: 0% 0%; background-repeat: repeat;">ach</span> <span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-image: none; background-position: 0% 0%; background-repeat: repeat;">oleh</span> (person moving to <place w:st="on"><country-region w:st="on">Israel</country-region></place>) has to figure out for themselves. I'm in a lot places at the moment. I'm home, I'm headed Home, and preparing to make new memories in the place I belong. Remind me to hide the crayons when we get there!</span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-47319792489298455192011-06-17T05:28:00.000+03:002011-06-17T05:29:33.294+03:00I'll be right here waiting for you....<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLi_osYNsOU">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLi_osYNsOU</a> (To be enjoyed after you read the post. Trust me, it'll be worth it!)<br />
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Many moons ago when Richard Marx was a new and hip artist (wow, I just dated myself...), I heard this song and it resonated deeply. Its a song about a heartbroken man who wonders how he can go on without his love, how he can think and breathe and exist without his love. Oceans separate them and day after day he feels like he's going crazy without her by his side. Somewhere through the song he decides that he's got to take the chance and do what it takes to be near his beloved. Powerful stuff.<br />
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For me, the song has always really been a duet sung by Israel and the Jewish people. We tell Israel that we have to go on though we miss Her terribly, and She says that no matter what, She'll be right there waiting. We realize that our love and passion are too intense to sidestep, and Israel patiently tells us to take our time, to visit when we're ready. At some point in time we realize that the separation is killing us and that we need to be together. Israel sits quietly, knowingly, gratefully. <br />
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I wish I could put my finger on what Her magic is all about, how it is that physical Land draws us in so intently and spiritually. Israel, I'm heeding your call, acknowledging your beckoning. <br />
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If in the end I'm with you, I'll take the chance.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-485832802105026895.post-28313514413925583522011-06-15T00:23:00.000+03:002011-06-15T00:23:06.581+03:00How the journey started….<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">August 16, 2010 </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">How does one describe the myriad of reasons we’re making Aliyah?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are more reasons than I can count but the short version is this- it’s where we’re supposed to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not preaching that to the masses nor will I be adding that as a tag line to my e-mails.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I think it’s where we- me and my family belong?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, that I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I think it’s the most authentic place on the planet for Jews to live?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’m not in your house, in your head, or in your wallet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This kind of decision must be made by each person, each family, individually.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And considering I loathe being preached to or spoken to as if I’ve never thought about the option being preached to me, I’m not gonna start doing it to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So many questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Why there?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, moving to any other country in the Middle East would be fairly ridiculous and <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Canada</place></country-region>, though its very pretty, wasn’t on the list of places to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Why now?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, why NOT now?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could speak to the fears American Jews discuss and harbor, some quite real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the truth of truths is that it’s the right time for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Add to that the fact that sometimes we plan to start things ‘tomorrow,’ or ‘when the time is right.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frankly, there are things you have to *make* happen at the ‘right time’ because they aren’t just gonna happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve never wanted to be the person that sits and waits- for a bus, a call, or my life to happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things don’t magically appear and in the spirit of a phrase we all know well, G-D helps those who help themselves.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Our lives in <city w:st="on">Chicago</city>, and before that in <state w:st="on"><place w:st="on">New York</place></state>, aren’t ‘bad.’ We’ve been blessed with the most devoted of friends and family, so much so that our friends have *become* our family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re not running away from anything and we’re not leaving a place where there are a sum total of 10 other Jews.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are, I suppose, running TO where we need to be and where our hearts and souls are calling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we were in <city w:st="on">Jerusalem</city> nearly 2 years ago, I stood on the balcony of our rented apartment and took in the sight of the <placename w:st="on">Old</placename> <placetype w:st="on">City</placetype>’s stones, the sound of the Muslim call to prayer, and the boing-b-boing of the bouncing basketballs in <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Liberty</placename> <placename w:st="on">Bell</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Park</placetype></place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was, in short, emotional overload.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know that I would’ve necessarily combined all of those stimuli, but what it did was pull me closer to The Land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I distinctly recall thinking that if someone at that moment had told me that they’d lost our tickets back to Chicago and that we had to stay in Israel, I would’ve shrugged and said, “OK.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No fuss, no fight, no tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew, just as I’d known at 16 when I was there for the first time, that I was home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And folks, there really is no place like home.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I had a madricha (a group leader) when I was in <country-region w:st="on">Israel</country-region> so many years ago, whose family had moved to <place w:st="on"><country-region w:st="on">Israel</country-region></place> when she was a teen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her mom told her that there were but three things you need to make the trip; You need the will and desire- check! You need money - thank G-D for Nefesh B’Nefesh and the amazing ways they allow people to make Aliyah- check! And you must be absolutely, unquestionably, without a doubt, off you’re rocker and out of your stinkin’ mind- CHECK! People have asked me what I’m feeling and I can safely tell you that if you can name the emotion, I’m feeling it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I’ve started to mentally say good-bye to things like places I visit infrequently, extra Yom Tov (holiday) days that we won’t have in Israel, and wondering where I can find kosher food in uncommon areas beyond M&M’s and pretzels (There is no kosher food to be found on the West Side of Chicago- who knew?).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I refuse to spend my remaining 11 months in the States referencing everything as “my last this” and “our last that;” we’re not dying- we’re MOVING!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I realize, beneath the humor and excitement, that there will be many “lasts” that I will have to say goodbye to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some, I’d just as soon say goodbye to right now (Kosher restaurants should be open later than 8PM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What, no one else in <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Chicago</place></city> gets hungry AFTER 8PM???!!!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And some, I can’t bear to think of- the tearful hugs, selling our house, and the tears on the faces of those I love as we pretend not to wonder if and when we’ll see each other again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I will miss the home we’ve built in <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Chicago</place></city>. I don’t mean the living space we co-own with the bank, but the home that is always open to guests and stragglers who feel comfortable enough to take naps on our couches, play with our dog, and stop by just because they’re in the mood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m really proud of that house, more than the paint on the walls or the counter tops I chose years back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I will miss this place and the long summer Shabbos (Sabbath) afternoons we sit on the front lawn and people-watch, I know that we will recreate this home in <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Israel</place></country-region>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, it won’t be the same and it’d go beyond denial to think that it would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it will be a home where guests and friends sleep on our couches, share in our simchas (happy occasions), and stay for awhile.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><place w:st="on"><country-region w:st="on">Israel</country-region></place> is really hard to define.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a place, a political hot-bed, the holiest place on earth for many, all consolidated into an itty bitty parcel of land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How in the world does the land ‘call’ to you, how does it welcome you and speak directly to your heart and soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I. DON’T. KNOW.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There it is, in all its blunt honesty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not naive about the challenges- personal, linguistic, financial, or political- we will face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nor do I think that as amazing as Nefesh B’ Nefesh is, that we’ll get off the plane and be presented with keys to a new house and new car; this is REAL life,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>not a game show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think that once you’re home, in whatever place you define that to be, the world’s challenges seem manageable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They don’t always seem less difficult, but the knowledge that you can tackle them is sort of built into the fabric.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are a close-knit family who will continue to be just that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And with the amazing technology that’s out there, we’ll be able to touch base with loved ones across the <place w:st="on">Mediterranean</place> as if they were next door.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Yeah we’re scared, yeah we’re excited, yeah we’re nervous, and yeah, we’re gonna cry like a bunch of babies when its time to board that Israel-bound plane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But y’know, you have to give to get, risk to earn, sacrifice to appreciate what you really have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What we really have is this amazing opportunity to walk the footpaths of our ancestors and connect our children, the next generation and their generations, to who and what they come from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Land has always wanted (the collective) us to come back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re just answering our call to finally come home. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547690894801597056noreply@blogger.com4