פרשת תצוה

כשאני לא כותבת פה, אתם יכולים לעקוב אחריי בעמודי הפייסבוק המוקדשים ליהדות. פעם פרסמתי פה את הקישור. יש עכשיו עמודים כאלה גם באיטלקית ובצרפתית, חוץ מאנגלית ויפנית.

את דבר-התורה הזה אני מפרסמת בקבוצות וואטסאפ שונות. שבוע טוב...

 פרשת תצווה היא הפרשה היחידה בתורה שבה אינו מופיע שמו של משה רבנו מאז הופעתו על במת ההיסטוריה. חז"ל אומרים, כי חסרון שמו של מושיען של ישראל בפרשה זו הגיע בעקבות דרישתו מהקב"ה לסלוח לעם ישראל לאחר חטא העגל: "וְעַתָּה, אִם-תִּשָּׂא חַטָּאתָם; וְאִם-אַיִן, מְחֵנִי נָא, מִסִּפְרְךָ אֲשֶׁר כָּתָבְתָּ". חכמינו מציינים זאת כדוגמה לכוחו העצום של הדיבור האנושי, ולכוחה של מילה – שברגע שנאמרה, גם אם רק על תנאי (שבסוף לא התקיים) - מותירה חותם בעולם. הקב"ה אכן סלח לעם ישראל, אך מילותיו של משה, "מחני נא מספרך...", עדיין מהדהדות אלפי שנים לאחר מכן ומוצאות את ביטויין גם בפרשה זו. 

בגמרא מופיע הביטוי "ברית כרותה לשפתיים" – שמשמעו, שמרגע שמילה יוצאת מן הפה, היא משפיעה על המציאות, ולכן חז"ל מצדדים בנו להימנע מדיבור שלילי, כדי לא ליצור מציאות שלילית. הרב קוק כותב בספרו "אגרות הקודש" (פרק ל"ח), שככל שהאדם דבק בקב"ה ומקיים את מצוותיו באהבה ובשמחה, כך הוא מזדכך יותר, וכך למילה שלו יש יותר משקל, והרושם שהיא יוצרת במציאות גדול יותר, "וְתִגְזַר-אֹמֶר, וְיָקָם לָךְ" (איוב כ"ב, כ"ח), או בפירוש חז"ל על פסוק זה, "צדיק גוזר, והקב"ה מקיים". 

ישנו סיפור ידוע על בית העלמין סגולה, שהיה הראשון בפתח תקווה (הוקם בשנת תרמ"ט, 1888). כשהוקם, התלוצצו אנשי המושבה אלה עם אלה ותהו בקול, "נו, מי יהיה הראשון בבית הקברות הזה?". אחד מן הנוכחים אמר בצחוק, "לא הייתי מתנגד". כעבור עשרה ימים הוא נפטר. על מצבתו נכתב דבר המעשה, כדי להעביר לציבור את המסר אודות כוחו של דיבור: "הנפטר הראשון בבית הקברות הזה... הישיש ר' ניסן ליב בן חיים גמזו ז"ל... התבטא עשרה ימים לפני פטירתו, בהיותו בריא ושלם, ואמר שהוא לא היה מתנגד להיות הראשון בבית הקברות הזה, ונפטר לבית עולמו ביום י"ט בתשרי תרמ"ט". מצמרר. 

אותו העקרון עובד גם להיפך: כל תפילותינו במשך אלפיים שנות גלות לשוב לארצנו ולירושלים, נושאות פרי ואנו רואים את תוצאותיהן היום במציאות. ארצנו השוממה הפכה לגן פורח וקולטת עולים חדשים למדינתנו הריבונית שנות דור לאחר שהתחלנו להתפלל על כך. 

שנזכה לבחור את מילותינו בקפידה, לנצור לשוננו מרע, ולהרבות טוב בעולם הן במעשה והן בדיבור. 

In the south

I haven't written in a long time. 

A few weeks ago I went again to the south, this time to another moshav, to volunteer in agriculture. I was picking oranges, which is much easier than cutting celery. I worked for many hours, following which I also worked in a food and rest station for our soldiers. It was fun and meaningful. The next day I was refreshed and up on my feet, not spent and exhausted like I was after picking celery. 

I'm learning. Even though I grew up in that region of the country and was surrounded by citrus fruit orchards, I realized that working in oranges is not like growing up near them :-) I don't know if you know (I didn't), but citrus trees are actually thorny! They have thorns and if you are not careful, you get cut. 

I joined some other volunteers. I was given gloves, but discarded them, because it was a warm day and it was getting hot. I had long sleeves but lifted them, because it was getting hot. We were spontaneously divided into small groups of 3 to 4 people, and each group worked on a different tree. When we finished it, we moved on to another tree and so on. After picking oranges from the outside surface of the tree, we started picking them from the inside branches. I did it for 8 hours, while most other volunteers did it for 2-3 hours and left. When we finished, I realized I was very hungry... and I realized that my hands and arms were cut all over. I have these cut marks even now, and I know they will stay for a long time, months or even years... At a certain point, I felt that I was cut by a small thorny branch in my face (in my forehead). I didn't have water to wash it and my hands were full of dirt, so I prayed to God that it won't leave a mark on my skin. When I returned home, the next day I checked in the mirror and didn't see not even a faintest trace of that cut!! I wish I had prayed the same for my hands and arms... :-)

But I don't care about it too much. I know it will go away at a certain point. 

Throughout that time we were hearing explosions - the IDF bombing in Gaza. I hope our hostages will be released soon by the IDF and that all IDF soldiers will be safe and return to their families victorious. 

I ate some oranges when I realized I was hungry, but it didn't satisfy me. When I reached the nearby food and rest station for soldiers, I ate to my heart's satisfaction and then started making sandwiches for our soldiers, and washing a lot of dishes, including huge pots and pans. It was fun. 

Around 7 pm (I started the day at 9 am), I felt it was enough. I asked the farmer to take me to Netivot, the nearby town, so that I could catch a bus to Jerusalem, but he told me that there were two American volunteers who were traveling to Jerusalem soon. He said he would ask them if they could take me. I asked him not to do that, I didn't feel any affinity to these girls and didn't want to impose on them. But he asked them anyway and they said yes, they will take me with them to Jeursalem. It turned out it was an amazing blessing - for them, and for me as well, perhaps. 

First, because they stayed there a bit longer, I had to stay there and wait for them. As I did, someone made a bonfire in the rest and food station and I was playing my recorder. People were so happy with it and it brought people together. It led to some nice conversations and warmed the hearts a bit. A German volunteer was so excited by the music and encouraged me to play more and more. He was really happy.

Then, when it was time for us to really leave, the American girls and I were a bit more acquainted with each other and less estranged from each other. We were leaving the moshav and the food and rest station. As we did, I soon recognized to our right hand side a kibbutz that I have known from my childhood, a religious kibbutz to which the terrorists tried to enter but failed. I mentioned it to the girls and they exclaimed: "Yes! It is the famous kibbutz! We've seen lots of WhatsApp videos about what happened there! We recognize the gate!!". And they asked if we could go in. We stopped next to the gate. A watchman went out to us and asked us who we were and what we wanted. He was an older American man. They told him the whole story and he said that we should get in and talk with the young shomrim (watchmen), because they were involved in the battle. 

We excitedly went in. The two young watchmen eagerly spoke to us, telling us all the details of what had happened in the kibbutz on October 7th and how miraculously no one was hurt while all the terrorists were killed. They showed us a close-up picture of a dead terrorist. I couldn't watch, but the two American girls said: "We're nurses, we can watch it, no worries!" and they did. I caught a fleeting glimpse of that picture and I feel like throwing up still when I think about it. Seeing a human being dead, even if he was a brutal terrorist, is difficult. 

Anyway, then another friend of them went to a nearby moshav to buy Cholent, a traditional Jewish food eaten on Shabbat. Except that it was a Thursday. But we have this custom that on Thursday night, many places serve cholent. It is fun. He asked us if we wanted to have any. We all said unanimously, YES!! When he returned with the cholent, he served us a hot, tasty dish. It was amazing! 

They then told us the whole story and the girls recorded it while I was translating from Hebrew to English for them in the background (the shomrim didn't speak enough English to do it in English). They then asked us if we wanted to "pray in a synagogue that was hit by a missile". We said yes... Just as we were about to go there, I saw a round light in the sky. Growing up in that region, I was used to seeing "light bombs" that the IDF used for lighting the area. I thought it was an innocent light bomb. But it was moving horizontally, not vertically... and it was coming at us, with a slight angle away from us. I asked the shomrim innocently, "What is it?". They looked up and screamed, "Get into the shelter, it is a rocket!!!" Gladly, the shelter was just a few feet away. As we were running, the red alert alarm sounded "Tzeva Adom, Tzeva Adom". It sounded only after we saw the missile. A couple of seconds later, when we were in the shelter with our cholent in hand, there was a huge explosion. They said it didn't fall in the kibbutz. I don't know how they knew, but they were right. It fell outside of the kibbutz. We were laughing hard in the shelter. It is such a strange situation... I've never seen a missile flying my way, and so near! It wasn't that high up in the sky. The shomrim took a picture of the three of us in the shelter with cholent plates in our hands... I'll find the picture and post it here. You won't see me, because I was hiding behind one of the nurses, but you'll get the feeling. 

A couple of minutes later, we left the shelter and went with the shomrim to the synagogue. It is not the formal synagogue of the kibbutz but one that is used for youth movement activities. A miracle story surrounding it is that just a few moments before the missile landed there, a 70 year old lady wanted to get into it to take cover, as the red alert sounded. She changed her mind, for some reason, and then the missile hit the place. She was saved. 

We finally left the kibbutz, so excited from all of these experiences, and drove to the Baba Sali's grave in Netivot. I don't like visiting graves, but they wanted to go there, so we did. It was good, because I had a package of many Shabbat pamphlets and didn't know where to distribute it. So when we got to the grave, there were many people and I distributed it there. 

Finally, when we were approaching Jerusalem, WAZE (an online GPS system) directed the girls to enter Jerusalem from such a weired place. I wondered why. It prolonged our trip. But later I realized why. In the extra time it took us to drive, the girls changed their minds about going straight to where they were staying (in the Jewish Quarter) and instead decided to take me home first. God made WAZE give them some extra time after entering Jerusalem, so that they could think and change their minds. I didn't ask them to take me home, and when they offered, I objected, but they did it anyway, which was a blessing, because at that point it was already very late at night and I was very sleepy. I fell asleep in the car when we left Netivot.

I felt throughout that adventure that God's hand was in everything that happened. If not for me driving with them, they would have never noticed that religious kibbutz. Everything was orchestrated so that they would have a once in a life time experience in Israel and I also served as an interpreter between them and the shomrim. It is important because these girls do not live here. They live in America, and only came here for a week to volunteer in different places around the country. 

BTW, if we're already talking about volunteering, in the orchard I met a family from Romania. They are not Jewish and they did not speak any Hebrew. I asked them why they came now of all times. They said that a friend in need is a friend in deed and that they are friends of Israel. I asked them if it has anything to do with Genesis 12: 3. They smiled, laughed and admitted that this was it. This was the reason they came here.

Some other day in Jerusalem I saw some tourists on the street and they  looked kind of lost. I asked them if they needed any help and walked with them some of the distance to where they were heading. On the way, I asked them why they came here now of all times. They said that precisely now it is important to come, to take pictures, to post on social media and show all of their friends and community that life goes on in Israel and that it is safe for everybody to come. I was impressed. The father of the family is a pastor, so his circles of influence are wide. 

That's it, these are all the technical details of that crazy adventure we've had. The girls later sent me the pictures from that night. I'll find them and post them here some time, bli neder. 

12/2/24: Here are some of the pictures - we're in cholents in our hands, in the shelter. I'm in the back, hiding behind one of the girls:

Comfort ?

I wrote it, posted it, but then reverted it to draft. I post it again. Written Jan. 1.

I started listening to music today. I feel starved for it. I feel guilty for enjoying music while the soldiers are fighting in the battle field. But I need my music to live. I hope Hashem does not judge me for it. 

I feel so comforted by the music. 

I still fast from time to time, and still sleep on the floor (the carpet) from time to time, to sympathize with them. My desktop picture is of Shiri Bibas and her two children. I chose it so as not to forget that while my life goes on, for others it doesn't. Whenever I open my computer and see this picture I get a shock. I can't get used to it. 

I've met the family of some hostages. The family members live their lives. They eat, they sleep in their beds, they listen to music, they laugh, despite the pain. So perhaps I can too. 

I run a page with Jewish content. I get so many hateful comments from people with Muslim names. They "bless" the creator, they "bless" the Bible. It is so sad. I'm sad for them. They are completely and totally in the wrong side of history. They are full of hatred. 

Fortunately and gladly, I know some Arabs and Muslims who are not like that. Who are kind, humane, good people. But they are the silent types. It is always like this. You never hear the good ones. The bad ones make a lot of noise. Sorry for the simplistic dichotomy. 

I feel like a hypocrite. I say that I feel guilty, but I keep listening to music... what kind of guilt is it... 

Just as I was writing it, the music stopped and did not resume. As if Hashem is telling me I'm correct in feeling hypocritical... I'm starved for music. I know that some of the hostages listen to Israeli radio, so perhaps they too listen to music.

I still feel that this is going to be the beginning of something much greater (Ezekiel 38, G-d forbid). I'm not afraid, but I know we're in the middle of something unusual. 

Good night.

In the field...

So my day of work in the fields near Gaza is over. It was a nice, interesting experience, but the best part of it was when I went off the bus tonight and found myself in Jerusalem. Oh, the air here - I need it like oxygen. The air here is like the air in no other place. I felt embraced by a Presence, and thanked Hashem in my heart for the huge privilege to be living here, however partial and lacking this 'life' is. It is funny. On my way to the south, I told myself that if I like it, perhaps I can even stay there for several days, perhaps even weeks or months. But after just one day, coming back here to my holy, beautiful city, makes me feel like it is not a good idea to leave it. Not even for volunteering in the south. So now I am already after shower, drinking hot tea and eating dates and nuts. Yummy. Grateful!

I woke up before 6 am, said my morning prayers, ate some pita bread with hummus and went out with the farmer to the field. He said that the houses we see a couple of km away are the houses of Kibbutz Be'eri... We were the first in the field, with one Thai worker. Later another Thai worker came. So now I know that not all of the Thai workers left. Most of them did, but not all of them. This specific farmer used to have 9 or 10 Thais, but now he has only 3. In the nearby moshav the Arabs butchered 16 Thai workers, not 40 as I wrote last time. Still, 16 people who are not even Jewish and who have nothing to do with the reasons Arabs hate us, and they pay with their lives... I feel so sorry for their families. 

Anyway, we picked celery today, not beets. I took off my shoes and worked barefoot the whole day, enjoying the feel of the wet soil under my feet. It is very healthy! We worked for 8 hours. There was no toilet there, so I made an effort to drink very little water, so as not to need the bathroom. I'm a heavy drinker of water. Every morning I drink one litter or more. It was hard not to drink, but I was too busy to think about it.

Later, 4 more volunteers joined us, all older than me: one university professor (national religious man), his friend, and two foreign ladies, one of them came especially from Europe for a week to volunteer in Israel. There was some nice chit-chat between us as we were working, and some times of quiet when each was focused on the work and on their inner world. We each received a knife and taught how to cut and clean. Of course (of course!) I cut my hands several times. If I ever volunteer in fields again, I should remember to take gloves. I was bleeding, but the wounds were very superficial, so not a lot of blood. Anyway, I let two drops of my blood fall to the earth. I thought that it is a symbolic act - in the region where blood was spilled in a cruel, barbaric way by the Arabs, the soil gets two drops of blood from the exact opposite pole - as a result of a charitable act, an act whose purpose is to help and build, not to murder and destroy. 

We didn't hear the news for the whole day, but we didn't have to. The news were audible from nearby Gaza. I knew there was supposed to be a ceasefire around 10 am, but the bombing continued. We learned to ignore the booms.  

We were supposed to stop working after 6 hours, but I felt I wanted to work more, because I don't know if and when the next time would be. After 8 hours, my hands were black with mud, even under the fingernails. It took a lot of water to partially clean it, and then some soap. My feet were covered with mud. My clothes were covered with mud. I felt I couldn't go back to "civilization" like this. I took a shower in the family's house,  changed my clothes, ate another pita, drank some tea, fell asleep exhausted beyond measure on their sofa (again, no one was in the house...) until their son came to take me to the nearby city, to the bus going to Jerusalem. 

So glad to be home. And yes, we did a lot of work and this makes me happy too. 

5 kms from the border

 I'm sitting now in a big, beautiful house in a Moshav around 5 kms from the border with the Gaza strip. I "landed" here about 40 minutes ago. I took the bus from Jerusalem, and a family from this Moshav came to take me from there. This family's next-door neighbors and good friends need volunteers to work in agriculture. I saw the ad they posted, answered it, and decided to come here for one day, tomorrow. Since they start working in the fields very early, and the first bus from Jerusalem will only bring me here 3 hours later than the start of work, I decided to come here tonight, sleep here and start working with them in the fields early, at the same time they do. 

Their neighbors brought me to their house, but the house is empty, no body is here. Their door was open. Their neighbors pleaded me to stay with them until the farmer's family is back, but I really prefer being here, relaxing, reading some and writing. It is very late in the evening (11 pm as I write these lines) and I know they must be very tired. I don't want to burden them. 

The farmer is asking for volunteers, because all of their Thai workers, who used to work in the fields here, fled. The reason is the Simchat Torah massacre, of course. In the nearby Moshav, just 2 kms away from here, the Arabs from Gaza butchered around 40 Thai workers, so no foreign worker wants to work here. But if the farmers here lose their farms, they won't be able to stay here, therefore it is very important to help them. It is my first time. Many Israelis have done this many days already since the massacre. I'll see how it goes and see whether I can do it again or not. The last time I volunteered in agriculture was at the age of 16 and 17, in a kibbutz near Eilat, where I picked mangoes and worked in the dairy industry. It would be nice to experience it again, this time as an adult. 

Just as we arrived in the Moshav, the farmer's neighbors, who were bringing me here, asked me in to their home. A nice family. They pleaded me to stay with them, but I really preferred to let them be, let them rest. So they walked me to the farmer's house. And the farmer is not here. The  house is empty... As they were walking me to the farmer's house, I heard a big "boom". They seemed to not hear it. Then there was an even bigger "boom". I asked them in alarm what it is. They said off handedly, "Oh, that?", as if they didn't even notice it. "Don't worry about it. This is the IDF bombing, don't worry". I asked, "but you hear it so loudly from here?", and they replied: "yes, we are just 5 kms from the border". 

So now I'm sitting in the farmer's house. His daughter called me to say that they will be back late. Their neighbor showed me my room in the house (sort of a separate unit), but I prefer to sit in the livingroom and write. Such a nice house. As I write, I hear those big "booms" again and again, and every time, the window glasses here shake fiercely. But since it's been almost an hour that I'm here, I noticed that I notice them less and less now. I learn to ignore them. Soon I won't even "hear" them. 

In the couch next to me there is a book, "A Jewish Community in Gaza", "קהילה יהודית בעזה", a book released in 2020 by Hagai Hobermann. I really want to read it. It details the history of Jewish presence and life in Gaza. Our soldiers found a Torah scroll in Gaza, that was passed down the generations in one of the families there. I'm not sure what was the history of that Torah scroll. But there was a big Jewish community in Gaza until the massacres and pogroms of 1929, and it stayed there ever since, I believe. 

Anyway, I'll go to sleep, I have a hard work day tomorrow, in the fields, picking beets :)

I'll update here later how it went. 

Pray for us. 

Kislev and guilt

So today is the beginning of a new month, the month of Kislev. It is a month during which we expect rain, it is a month in which we expect more light. The festival of Hannukah takes place in Kislev.

Now, just as I'm writing these lines, rain has started falling. It makes me happy. Rain feels like home to me. There is nothing better in the world than to be sitting at home, with a cup of hot tea in the hand, a book (or a computer to write on) in hand, and the sounds and sights of rain falling all around. I thank Hashem for the rain. We've been praying for it. We don't want the rain to fall on our soldiers in the south, only where they are not situated, but I think it falls also in the "Gaza envelope". 

I've realized that for the past month or so, since Oct. 7th, since Simchat Torah, my body tells me that I'm affected by the situation more than my mind would confess. Innocent objects that I see on the street make my heart miss a beat and when I think of this physical reaction, I realize it is because these objects remind me of things from that day. For example, seeing a young Haredi man riding an electric bicycle caused this reaction in me. A second later I realized that this image reminded me of the terrorists on motorcycles, taking civilians of all ages hostages into Gaza. A white tender gives me the same reaction, for the same reasons. Today I was riding home on the light rail, and saw a shade above a play ground. The shade reminded me of the tent that was in that crazy party near Kibbutz Re'im, and made my heart miss a beat. Many things like this still happen and I realize that the trauma is still there. My mind is already thinking forward, but my body reminds me that the trauma is still inside of me. Probably for a long time from now on as well. 

I feel guilty. Why was I spared. After all, it could have been anyone of us. Why am I alive when young children, babies and people in their early 20's are either dead, injured or kidnapped, G-d forbid. I feel guilty because I feel I don't do enough. I don't fight in the battle field, while young soldiers barely 20 years old lose their young lives there. I feel guilty because I don't do enough volunteering. I try. But whenever a message is posted that they need volunteers for this or for that, and I answer, they say they're already full. People are volunteering in masses, and there's no more need in more hands. I feel guilty because recently I started listening to music again. I didn't for a long while after the mass massacre. I couldn't. And now I suddenly find myself listening to music, while the dead bodies of those who were murdered slowly decay in their graves. I feel guilty because I feel anger at those brethren of mine, Jews, Israeli citizens like myself, who oppose a Jewish identity for my country and instead want it to be another nation like all other nations. I am furious at them at the same time that my heart is breaking for them. I pray for them. Am I doing enough? I want to live to be 120 and serve G-d. I hope it will happen. 

I feel guilty because I find a voice in me, who tells those who speak the language of "peace" (the kind of "peace" that means giving away our lands to another nation) - "now you see? now you realize the truth?". A lady, one of the activists of such organizations working for this kind of submissive "peace", was found dead today. Until now they thought she was captive in Gaza, but today they managed to identify her body, more than one month after her death by the hands of those to whom she wanted to give our sacred lands. I feel guilty for telling her in my heart, "Are these the people you wanted to give our lands to?". I want peace, more than anything else. I pray for peace. But peace should be for peace, not for giving away our G-d given land. 

And if you think that Gaza is not included in the area that G-d has given us, think again. This week's portion is that of Toldot. In it we read how Isaac goes down to the area of Gerar, where the Philistine king, Avimelech, lives. It is more or less the area near Gaza. G-d is revealed to Isaac and tells him: "גּוּר בָּאָרֶץ הַזֹּאת וְאֶהְיֶה עִמְּךָ וַאֲבָרְכֶךָּ כִּי לְךָ וּלְזַרְעֲךָ אֶתֵּן אֶת כָּל הָאֲרָצֹת הָאֵל וַהֲקִמֹתִי אֶת הַשְּׁבֻעָה אֲשֶׁר נִשְׁבַּעְתִּי לְאַבְרָהָם אָבִיךָ. In English: "Sojourn in this land, and I will be with you and will bless you, for to you and to your offspring I will give all these lands, and I will establish the oath that I swore to Abraham your father." (Genesis 26: 3). We are not entitled to give away any lands to other nations, and especially not to our enemies. 

I don't feel guilty for what the IDF is doing in Gaza now. It is clearing the northern part of the Gaza strip. It allows a humanitarian corridor and pleads civilians to pass through it and go to the south. Hamas makes it difficult for them to actually go south. I feel sorry for them, but the guilt is on Hamas. We have no other choice. We don't want another massacre. Plus, many of them support Hamas and celebrate their "success" in massacring Jews. They teach their children to hate, to want to be murderers. I feel sorry for these children, but the terrorists who performed the horrible massacre, who killed, wounded, raped, took hostages, were themselves kids just 20 years ago. We felt sorry for them back then, we tried to spare their lives when we fought in Gaza, and the cost is now the lives of our children, women, soldiers, and elderly people, those who constantly chant "peace, peace"... 

 I feel guilty for not thanking G-d enough for the beautiful land He has given us and for all the incredible miracles He has performed for us. I love Hashem more than anything in the world. He is my rock and my shelter, my best friend. He knows me much better than I know myself. 

I'll write more.

October 7th - some more...

The massacre of October 7th was not the end of it. It was just the beginning. There is a war now, and soldiers give their lives for the war effort. It is tragic that such fine, young lives are lost. More and more families join the circle of bereavement. But that's not the end of it. We get missiles from the south and from the north. People are evacuated from these areas and are currently lodged in hotels in Jerusalem and other areas on the government's expense. It is 'funny' (however inadequate this word is) to see 5 star luxurious hotels with many dogs in the lobby (yes, the people who were evacuated brought their pets with them, obviously). These people are lodged in very expensive hotels, for free - they are being fed hotel food three times a day. The hotels bring them lecturers, singers and other performers to entertain them. And still, they are uncomfortable. All they want is to go back home. One can understand. It's been 5 weeks already that they've been in hotels. It may be nice for a couple of days, but when it lingers on and on with no specific date in which it is to end, it becomes difficult. 

There are many volunteering intiatives all over Israeli society. People volunteer for everything. Because of the situation, the Thai and Chinese workers, who worked in the fields in Israel, ran away from Israel, and the farmers were left without working hands. Many Israelis from all ages and backgrounds now volunteer to work in the fields. It's been 5 weeks, and there are so many volunteers still. Others volunteer to work with the children of the evacuees from the south, who lodge in hotels. They volunteer to play with them, to teach them, to entertain them. Still others volunteer to organize sweets and snacks and fancy foods and bring it to the soldiers. In the supermarkets there are carts with a sign saying "everything you put here will go to our soldiers in the south" and people leave dry foods there before they exit the supermarket. There were even volunteers to bring the pets who were left behind in the south to their owners in hotels in Jerusalem and other parts of the country. One sweet initiative was to get guitars from civilians and send them to army bases in the south. Over 20 years ago, friends of a friend of mine, a couple with a baby, gave me their guitar before leaving Israel for their country. I had the guitar with me ever since. But I felt that a better use for it would be to donate it to the soldiers in the south, and so I did. It feels great to know that it now brings joy and increases the morale of our soldiers down south. 

I feel like I want to do more, to be more meaningful. I can't go south and fight. But I read the Psalms a lot. Many Psalms seem to speak of our situation, especially 83, 79, but not only. Sometimes I feel like this is the beginning of something much larger. I hope it isn't. The prophets speak about the Gog and Magog war, and the more I learn about it, the more I realize Magog may be Russia. They say that Putin was involved in planning and orchestrating the deadly attack on Israel in the south, but I don't know it for a fact. Time will tell, perhaps. It is interesting, perhaps just a coincidece (?) that Putin's birthday is on October 7th. Anyway, it is obvious that Iran is involved in the planning, so in this sense, the beginning of this war may be considered to be in the north... 

There is so much antisemitism world-wide. Strange. If such a massacre had happened in London or Paris from a nearby town, they would have done what needs to be done and the world would have said nothing. When Israel is involved, the standards of judgement shift radically. Hypocrisy at its best. But it is exactly such situations that serve as "tests", to see for every person where their heart is, if it is in the right place, or the wrong place. In a way people who judge us unfavorably in our times of trouble, bring judgement upon themselves. This is a time of a big test for all of humanity.

antisemitism - beirur

Gog? Putin?

October 7th - part 2

On that day I was watching a baby at a hospital. His parents wanted to celebrate shabbat/holiday with their other children, and they needed someone to watch him while they were away. The baby has a very beautiful, but untypical name: Be'eri. It is an uncommon name. 

Shabbat morning I woke up to the sound of a siren. The first thought was, oh, it is probably a mistake, some problem with the siren system. Then someone from an adjacent room shouted: It is an alarm siren (אזעקה עולה ויורדת)! We were all surprised. After saying my morning prayers, I took the baby to my lap and we sat together, as an unrelenting sequence of sirens sounded. I felt serene and peaceful. I was not afraid. And then we heard a big boom, and the glass windows shook. And then another big boom. It was strong and felt very close. Still, I told myself that Hashem is watching - if He wants me to be hurt, I will be. If He doesn't, I will be safe. I gave myself to Him and His will. I listened to the instructions of the hospital staff. Very ironically, most of them were Arab nurses. The male nurse in charge of my room told me that I can go into the safe room. I declined. He excused himself and went into the safe room himself. The next time a siren sounded, it was the same scenario - he came and said I should go to the safe room. But what about the baby, I asked (the baby was connected to a breathing machine and I couldn't take him with me). The nurse went away to consult the staff, then returned and said that they will bring all the patients into the safe room as well. So we all gathered in the crowded safe room, for hours and hours until the end of Shabbat. 

Since I don't use my phone on Shabbat, I had no idea what was going on, but from what the nurse told me, I realized it was something different than usual. Still, I had no idea just how much so. Another nurse, a Jewish lady, was obviously heart broken. She said she didn't want to ruin my Shabbat, so she'll tell me when Shabbat was over. I had no idea what was going on. It was horrible beyond description. Unbelievable atrocities that no human being could ever accept. 

Later, when I learned more of what had happened, I realized that one of the kibbutzim that was ruined was... Be'eri. An interesting coincidence. What was Hashem trying to tell me then? Just as the kibbutz by that name was being destroyed and its inhabitants, including its babies, were murdered, I was watching a baby by the same unusual, rare name, cradling him in my arms, in Jerusalem. I still wonder what the message was, if any. 

Kfar Aza is another kibbutz that was ruined by the murderous Ishmaelites from Gaza. As a 9 year old child, I visited that kibbutz once. I remember it as a beautiful paradise, very green, blooming, sweet, warm place. That kibbutz remained in my memory as a charming, magical place. I always wanted to visit there again, this time as an adult, but haven't. And now it is destroyed. 

It was so ironic to be surrounded by Arab nurses as that was unfolding, and a baby named Be'eri in my arms... The Arabs in the South were murdering babies in Kibbutz Be'eri, and the Arabs around me were taking care of little Be'eri. And I myself am a native of that part of Israel, in the south. The community where I grew up is a mere 14 km away from Gaza... and it still feels like home to me. I'm attracted to that part of Israel. 

After Shabbat was over and the horror became known to me, I felt I wasn't ready to go out to the empty streets and experience the shock. So I stayed one more night at the hospital, with the baby, to his mother's relief. I left only Sunday early afternoon, when another volunteer came to replace me. 

The streets were almost completely empty. The stores were closed. There were very few buses running. There was a mournful silence everywhere. The pain was immense. It felt as if Hashem was hiding His face from us and it was scary. I myself felt engulfed by Him, even on that Shabbat as the sirens were going off and the booms were sounding. This is why I felt no fear. But when I found out what had happened, my heart was shuttered and my sense of reality changed. I felt like we were in danger of losing our country, G-d forbid. 

I suddenly realized in a very visceral way how grateful I was for having this country, and for every day of quiet and safety that Hashem has given us. I was praying fervently that Hashem should redeem us and shine His light upon us once again. What triggered the attack was His fury, and I think many of us here in Israel agree as to why, as to what triggered his fury - a year of baseless hatred to Judaism, to Torah, to religious Jews of all kinds and types. But it made all of us realize in a very real way how every day we survive here, in this Arab region of the world (the Middle East), is a big miracle. I knew it before, of course, but this time I felt it in a very personal way. 

The horror also reminded me of a nocturnal dream that I had had as a student in the dorms. I think I wrote about it here some time long ago. It was a dream I still remember very well. The Arabs living in Israel (not in Gaza) were attacking us from every corner, putting everything to ruins, and I was thinking to myself in alarm, as I was hiding behind a paper recycling bin (or was it a big trash bin?) "they are all over us" (הם עולים עלינו!). I still remember seeing someone around 30 or 40 meters in front of me shouting, running and throwing a block as I was hiding. I think I was one of the only survivors in that dream, which felt so real. I really pray it won't come to that. Israel is a dream country, a dream land, such a beautiful, special place. It would be a cruel tragedy if the forces of destruction will put it to ruins. I believe the kibbutzim in the south will be rebuilt and made even prettier than they were, if prettier is even possible. I think the original population will not want to live there. They suffered tragedy and they are not ideologically motivated enough (they are the kind of people who believe in giving away land for peace - the kind of people who were happy when the disengagement plan from Gaza was executed). I think that the people who will live there now will be national religious young families, who believe in our right to inherit this land. They are ideologically motivated. 

I want to be engaged in my research, but listening to the radio or tv news on my computer takes up a lot of my time now. I feel a need to hear the stories, to watch the people who survived talking. 

A friend from abroad sent me a gruesome video with graphic pictures from the massacre. This was what the title of the video link said. I didn't open it. I couldn't. Just the thought that such images are now all over the world and that people satiate their curiosity with them... It is disheartening. 

I have a lot more to say, but maybe later. 

 

7th of October 2023 - a heart shutter - PART 1

I wanted to write long ago. Here I am.

I teach Torah classes near where I live, to a group of elderly women (and a couple of men too). Sometime in September, I talked about the Yom Kippur war (the war in which my father fought and was badly injured - an injury that eventually killed him, years later, an injury that has affected my life even though I was not even born back then). What I said in that shiur is that I believe that the terrible Yom Kippur war (1973) happened because of our arrogance. Six years earlier, in 1967, there was the famed Six Day War, in which tiny Israel, a nation that was just born by some holocaust survivors and Jewish immigrants from Arab countries, was in war with great and mighty Arab armies, merciless armies who had one goal in mind - annihilate the Jewish state. No one gave us a chance. Not even we did. I was told that back then, people told wryly to each other that when we are defeated and all killed (when, not if), the last one to survive should turn off the lights. It was a dark, dry joke that showed how hopeless everybody was. But - G-d had a different plan. He was fighting for us, and the incredible thing happened - in just six days, we won all the armies that fought against us, and not only that, we released East Jerusalem, and tripled the size of our country. I was told that people all over the world were recognizing G-d's hand in this. There was no other explanation for such a victory. We fought six mighty armies and military delegations (from Syria, Egypt, Jordan, Iraq, Lebanon and Saudi Arabia) and won against every possible odd. 

And then what happened? While some of us acknowledged the great miracle and praised Hashem for it, others didn't. Some voices cried "The IDF is great! The IDF did it!". Some of our leaders "gallantly" gave away parts of the released territories to the Arabs, as if it was their own land to give, not our G-d given land. We were so proud of ourselves. Not enough voices thanked Hashem for long for this incredible miracle and salvation. 

And then what happened? Six years later, a year for every day of the war, a year for every country that fought us in that war, the self-proclaimed "great" Israeli army was caught unprepared and the Yom Kippur war broke. It was very painful. Our intelligence corps and our leaders failed to see the signs for what they were, reached the wrong conclusion, and we were beaten painfully. I myself suffer from the results of that war till today - I practically grew up without a father for most of my childhood as a result, and this has affected my life in a negative way. 

We were proud and arrogant, and God showed us that without Him, we are nothing. This was what I told my group of old ladies in September this year. I felt the message was very relevant because of the increasing arrogance in our society again. I had no idea what was coming just a couple of weeks later. All I knew was that large segments of our society fight the Jewish identity of Israel, fight Judaism, fight the Torah, fight God. Arrogance. Their fear has been that Israel will be a religious state. But this is what Israel should be. This is what Hashem chose us for. And they fight it with all their might. After October 7th, when the IDF captured a Hamas terrorist and interrogated him, he said that what encouraged them to do it was those voices and the unrelenting protests of the left wing within Israel. It was not a surprise to hear it, but it was heart rending. How cruel. Sure enough, when the war broke, they drafted immediately into the army to fight - but what a dear price we paid! The most horrible attack we've ever ever known. 

Oct. 7th was Hashem's hiding his face momentarily from us. To show us what we are worth without him. To show us what our intelligence corps is worth without him, what the Iron Dome anti-missile system is worth without him, what is our army (and police, and Mossad, and Shabbaq) worth without him - not much. Without G-d, we are nothing. Our victories are all from Him. 

I will write more about it and also about my experiences from that Shabbat and more. Stay tuned. I'm available by email as well, if you'd like to write by any improbable chance. 

Yours,

R.

Failure?

Sometimes in life we take a right turn or a left turn, we make a decision and we start doing something, feeling that yes, this may be the right move for us. But then, at times, a failure may occur - something you were so sure of yourself about suddenly proves as the wrong move for you. You fail. 

In such cases, most people take the blame on themselves and some may even fall to depression. However, if you live with the knowledge that G-d is with you and that everything that happens to you is His will, you factor this fact in, and you realize that there's more to the picture than just the thought of 'I failed'. 

I remember times in my life where I was very joyously working in a certain place, sure that this was going to be forever, and then something happened that made me want to leave. And soon afterwards, something so much greater and better happened and I found myself in a job that is so much more like me, like my dreams, like what I've always striven to do. I realized looking back that if not for the unpleasant occurrence that made me want to leave, I would have stayed there forever, slowly stagnating and missing the true road of my life. 

I recently remembered other such situations - for example, how I left my previous apartment. If not for reality forcing me to make a decision and leave, I would have stayed there forever. And after I left, I realized Hashem had a new plan for me, a much bigger mission to accomplish in my new neighborhood. I thank Hashem so much for this. 

Today, as I was pondering these things somewhat sadly because of a new event that happened, which made me reconsider my last professional steps, I suddenly heard a commercial on YouTube, with a new song by Ariel Silber and Ido Levy, "זכרי שיש" - Remember that there is always Someone who watches over you, whatever road you take, you can always play your song. Tears welled in my eyes. Wow, what timing! What a timely message! I feel this has arrived as an embrace from HaShem, telling me, "I'm here with you, I see everything you go through, don't worry, you're not on your own in this". Baruch Hashem. 

I live my life in this world knowing that I'm not here for my own sake. I'm here as a servant of Hashem, and I want to be where He wants me to be, where He needs me to serve Him. I tell Him in my heart from time to time, 'I'm here for You. I myself am not important, unless as a servant of You. I want to serve you the best I can'. And it helps me take things in proportion - I'm not the center. Hashem is the center, and I revolve around Him. 

This life is short and temporary, but in it we are given our chance to do as much as we can to serve Him and to do good in His world. May we always merit to remember that and to do that. 

 

 20th of Tamuz - OOG

Waiting...

The real-estate market in Israel is boiling. There are not enough apartments to suit everyone and rent fees rise. I see American immigrants asking for apartments to rent in double their market price, which of course causes the rent prices to increase. I want to pray about it, but I feel uncomfortable praying about something like this. It is something material, and I feel embarrassed to pray about something material. However, it is also something basic. Having a decent place to live is very basic. My landlords increased my rent last year. Last week they called me and told me they are going to increase it again this year. And I already know that they will increase it again and again in ever growing numbers. I like the apartment that I live in, it is small and sweet. It is old, not renovated, but it has its own charm. I hear the sounds of prayer from the nearby synagogue, which is charming. I've never felt totally at home here, not sure why. When I lived in my previous neighborhood near the city center, I loved my apartment, I really felt at home there, even though it was less special and beautiful than this apartment. But on my last year there, I felt it was time to leave, I felt my heart was yearning to move closer to Mt. Scopus, and G-d made me do so, by making the landlord increase the rent in that apartment dramatically, suddenly. I'm glad the landlord did it, as it forced me to leave and move here. I like my current neighborhood and I want to continue living here.

The Gemara in the tractate of Sota says that before the anointed king will come, the prices will soar high. As a parable, it says that the wine will be very expensive even though there will be plenty of grapes. Meaning, the reason for the high prices is not shortages of any kind. It will be an unnatural rising of prices, and we already see it here in everything. Everything costs more and more, while salaries remain the same. 

We're waiting for the king, a descendant of King David (from the father side, of course, as this is how kingly and priestly dynasties work in Israel). May He come soon!  

Free riders

On Shabbat, memories flooded me, and I allowed myself to flow with them. As I did, the lyrics of the popular song, 'Say something, I'm giving up on you', entered my mind somehow. I felt as if someone, somewhere, was perhaps feeling this way. 

So here I am.

Friday morning I went out for a morning walk. As I was walking, I saw many bicyclists riding in a long row. When I got closer to them, I realized they were participating in the Nevi'ot Sovev Yerushalayim ride - apparently, it is a 40 km ride across Jerusalem. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of men, women, children and old people, most thin and fit, but some heavy-weight, were riding and enjoying the beauty and special air of this holy city. I was so proud - that they can come here from other places and enjoy the mystery and exquisite beauty of this place. I zoomed-out a bit, to some 80 years ago and tried to see the scene with the eyes of someone who lived at that time: the scene, of sovereign, independent Jews, riding their bicycles in the rebuilt city of Jerusalem, the capital city of sovereign Israel, hit me as surreal. I realized how far-fetched and impossible this scene is. How can this be? For almost 2000 years, the land of Israel was in desolation, changing hands from empire to empire, from ruler to ruler, none being able to take root here. For the same amount of years the Jews were dispersed among the nations, looked at by their neighbors as a hopeless nation forsaken by G-d, ridiculed, persecuted, hated for being who they were. And now, fast-forward almost two millennia, they returned here from all four corners of the world, reestablished Hebrew as their spoken language, rebuilt the ruined cities and towns, made the land blossom, flourish and give of its produce abundantly - and they are sovereigns in their land, children of the land of Israel, riding their bicycles freely at her heart, Jerusalem. 

I was moved beyond words. 

I didn't know what their route was, but I wanted to witness that miracle and the joyful atmosphere longer. So I changed my intended route and walked opposite them, facing them, going to where they were coming from, not knowing where this route will take me. 

After about 30 minutes or so of walking, I found myself near the Hebrew University on Mt. Scopus. They were circling part of it. It was so beautiful. The views of the desert on one side, and the university on top of the mountain on the other, and in the middle these free riders, dressed with colorful clothes, and all in the pristine air of Jerusalem - this was so moving and so beautiful. I am not in the habit of taking pictures, normally. I prefer to experience the moment. But I decided to take a picture at that special place. For me, but also for you. I have an old phone and my camera is not so good, it doesn't capture the vividness of the colors in reality, but I hope you can enjoy it nonetheless.