So I moved again, and I should have done it 4 years ago, but had no courage - failed a test of faith. But I passed the test now, learning from my previous failure. Hashem has "told" me in so many different ways I had to leave and move on, and I finally did. Late, but better late than never. I am now more at peace. I felt in exile in my previous neighborhood. I originally moved there just as a transfer stage before I would move to my current neighborhood, but got stuck there for financial fears. Failed a test of faith. But I am much better now and stronger in my faith.
I now live in a near-by neighborhood, the closest one to the campus. I had always wanted to live in this neighborhood, since I was a young student. I knew that once I finish traveling in the world and living in different places, this would be my final home neighborhood. So I'm finally here. The apartment is not my dream home, but it is bigger, so I'll be able to host people, when they need a place to stay. The part of the neighborhood is not exactly the part that I wanted, but had I moved when time was right, instead of procrastinating, I would have been where I truly wanted to be. Still, God is great, and by focusing on what I want and telling Him that, I believe He would present the opportunity to me again some time. In the meantime, at least I'm in my neighborhood, the closest I could get to Mt. Scopus. I'm so happy with the neighborhood - it is my home. I've always wanted to live here. The atmosphere here is calm and special, a lot of different kinds of people from all corners of the world. Very special.
The scary part is: I had written here previously about a dream I had had as a young student, about our enemies attacking us and wanting to kill us and I'm hiding behind a trash bin. The scary part is that in the dream, it was in this neighborhood, in this part of the neighborhood, on this street, just in a different part of the street some 50 or so meters away from here. Does it mean anything?
On a totally different note:
There's more to tell. Hashem has opened a wonderful, incredible new door for me for a professional path that I could only dream of before, and now it is truly a reality, with all its magnificence. I had tried in the past to make it happen, but all my attempts failed. Now, without me trying anything, it just practically landed in my lap (and had nothing to do with my previous attempts) - it was all God's doing, it happened in such a surprising way, suddenly, and the unfolding of it has been incredible too. Perhaps I'll write about it later. Stay tuned.
A night full of booms and missile interceptions. Missiles and drones directly from Iran. For the first time in our history. Over 300 missiles and drones. 2:40 am - I wake up from the siren. I have no where to hide. I cover my face with my blanket and pray. A lot of noise for a long time. I get up to check the news online. A warm message from a colleague abroad. "The whole world is praying for you. We stand with you". How it warms the heart. If people knew how it helps, they would have written more. Back to bed. Falling asleep unperturbed. How strange. Feeling safe. How not-strange! God has been showing us incredible miracles, so we feel safe. We already expect His miracles and if they do not happen, it is strange. Dreaming that I'm going with an Israeli bus to Gaza, to visit the hostages. It is like a school trip. Everyone is so noisy and "sticky" with each other, and I feel so out of place, I need more depth, more substance. The terrorists in the dream try to show how nice they are. They bring us food - lots of round Yemenite-style pita breads and meat balls with yellow rice. I'm thinking it is not kosher. I won't eat. I am so out of place. We're leaving. One of us decides to stay there and hides away. Crazy. What if one of the hostages came back with us? The others would suffer. We're leaving. I wake up. In the morning, there is no evidence of the drama of the night. Life is back to normal. Crazy. Only in Israel.
On the radio now, עוד דקה את נעלמת / זוהר ארגוב.
Wednesday last week I learned a lesson, one that I had already known, but it was a good reminder. I was waiting for a bus, in a bus stop that had many buses going to where I wanted to go. Normally, it takes about 5 minutes for a bus to arrive there, but this time - none came, and for a long time. I was about to lose my patience, but reminded myself that EVERYTHING is under Hashem's watchful eye, it is all His doing. When the bus came, I then had to get off at another bus stop and wait for another bus. This time, too, I was waiting and waiting, but the bus didn't come. I started wondering, what was the lesson, what was the message, what was the purpose of this waiting, but then again reminded myself that there was a divine reason for everything. And then, as I was still waiting (it was near Hadassah Mt. Scopus hospital), I suddenly heard shouting: "Open it! Open it! She's giving birth!!!!". It was a young religious (dati-leumi) man in an old car. He stopped his car right in front of the electric barrier at the entrance to the hospital and shouted to the guard to open the barrier, because his wife was giving birth at that moment... The guard opened the barrier. The car drove to the area just in front of the entrance to the delivery unit of the hospital. The young man rushed out of the car and summoned the nurses. A whole entourage of nurses and doctors came out, then some went in again, brought out a hospital bed and a tiny carrier for the baby. They opened the back doors of the car and stood there for a few minutes, bending down, their heads inside the car. My bus came, but needless to say, I skipped it. I didn't want to miss this incredible show that was taking place in front of my eyes. It was the first time ever that I was witness to something like this, to a baby being born to the world - and in a car!! After 5 or 10 minutes the tiny carrier was taken into the hospital and a few minutes later, they helped the young mother out and put her on the hospital bed, which was also shuffled into the hospital. The whole time I tried to conceal myself, so they won't feel that their privacy was intruded. Silently, I cried of excitement. It was such an incredible sight to see! I thanked God for bringing this life into the world and for allowing me to witness it. And then I realized why I had to wait for so long in both bus stops. If not for those lengthy delays, I would have missed this incredible experience! Even now I have tears in my eyes as I recall this. Baruch Hashem.
I was tested with the same test today. Today was Shushan Purim (Purim in Jerusalem). I finished performing some of the commandments of Purim in the commercial center of Paran st., which is the main street in my neighborhood, and was waiting at a bus stop to take me to a nearby neighborhood (FH) to the Ashkenazi synagogue that was open the whole day. I just felt like I wanted some alone time with Hashem, and not in my apartment, but in a place of worship, and it was perfect. There were only 2-3 people there at the time I was there, and the women's section was empty. Perfect. I prayed there, read a booklet by the Ramchal (Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzato) about trust and faith in God and even... fell asleep for a while. It was so peaceful and I felt recharged. The only thing I was missing was a hot cup of herbal tea, but since I'm not a regular goer of that shul and no body knows me there, I didn't feel comfortable going down and asking for one...
Anyway, back to the bus stop in which I had been waiting to take me to that neighborhood and to that specific shul. As I was approaching the bus stop, my bus passed and went away. I missed it. I started waiting, having no clue that it was going to take a loooong time, much much longer than the normal 7-8 minutes on average that I normally wait. I think it was around 40 minutes or more and there was no digital board there to tell me when the bus was coming. And again, I was wondering... why the wait? And again reminded myself that everything that happens is for a divine reason. And then, slowly and gradually, I got the answers:
1) As I was waiting, I was witness to an incredible flow of people walking on that central street, dressed up in funny costumes of Purim. Many of them adults, some children. It was so funny, and it brought joy to my heart. I told myself - see? God wants you to enjoy this, to have the festive atmosphere of Purim. Not many streets offer such a parade of dressed up adults, this is one of the few, and I had a good time watching and enjoying it. Purim.
2) One of the commandments of Purim is to give food gifts to poor people. However, there are not that many poor people around nowadays, Baruch Hashem... I was looking for one specific beggar who normally stands on that street on Friday mornings, but she wasn't there. So I gave some charity money to Chabad, just to fulfill the Mitzvah (commandment), so that they would give it to the needy. But I felt disappointment for not giving actual food gifts to a poor person. As I was waiting at the bus stop, maybe 15 minutes later, a poor man, a beggar, who is a drug addict, came to the bus stop with his hand stretched out. I told him that I wouldn't give him money (I didn't want him to use if for drugs), but was there anything I could get him to eat? He thought for a moment, and then asked for a croissant. I asked him what type and he said Chocolate croissant. So I went back to the commercial center. Most shops were closed, because it was Purim, but gladly, one that sells croissants and other pastries was open. I bought him a big chocolate croissant and was so happy - I fulfilled the Mitzvah of giving food to the poor. Even though it wasn't essential food and even though he wasn't a classical poor, still... It was another reason why it was worth waiting so long at the bus stop, to be able to do that!
3) And after the episode with the poor person, I still waited... and the bus was not coming, and I wondered - what is it, what else? OK, I've enjoyed the Purim costumes and the joyful atmosphere and even got the merit to give food to a poor person, but now what Why is the bus not coming and I'm still waiting? And then, as I was looking around, my gaze suddenly focused on something small on the sidewalk. A green Rav-Kav bus card... somebody lost it and I could return it to them, perhaps. But wait a minute, could it be mine? I fumbled in my pocket, and realized mine was no longer there... I bent down to pick the card - and sure enough, it was mine... Had the bus arrived even one moment earlier, I would have boarded it, only to realize too late that my pay card was gone, then i'd have had to go back to the bus stop, and wait again, and who knows if I would have found my card, it was so hard to see...! It was worth the wait just to have my pay card back and avoid the dismay at finding out too late that I had lost it somewhere... Thank you, Hashem! A couple of minutes later, the bus arrived.
On the bus, there was a young couple with a baby, and the wife was sour-faced, annoyed and impatient, and I felt sorry for her husband. I don't know how, but we started talking, and I think that some of the things I told her helped. When she got off the bus, she greeted me with a warm smile. It was nice.
And then I arrived into that synagogue and enjoyed some quiet, peaceful, personal time with Hashem. What a blessing!
As I'm thinking of this, I know it sounds incredible, but I also know that things much more incredible than this happen to all people all the time, but - most people don't see the divine fingerprints in it, they don't see the pattern. Someone else would have experienced this story completely differently, being annoyed at the bus company for not sending out more buses, at the bus driver for being so extremely late, at themselves for almost losing their pay card, at the beggar who bothered them, at the sour faced lady in the bus, etc. They would have seen nothing of how Hashem weaved this for them with graceful love. And so they normally miss the divine magic in their lives. They don't see God's loving grace.
One last thought - as I was going back to my neighborhood after the synagogue, I saw the sun in the sky, shining through the clouds and producing what someone once termed "Rembrandt's light rays". It was so soothing for my soul. I then thought that it may be a symbol of God shining His love on us, but it may also be a different symbol. One can make an effort and imagine that the rays of light come from the earth and pierce the heavens (as happens in lightnings - we think that the lightning we see is top-down, but really most of it is bottom up). I thought that this was what our prayers do - they shine bottom up and reach the skies, and that if someone holds onto prayer and hope so fiercely, then surely, sooner or later, their prayer will pierce the heavens. It has much bigger chances of being accepted.
That's it. I'm waiting for shabbat, another secluded time to be with God and bask in His light and love. My favorite time of the week by far.
I don't write often, and perhaps I should write more, but even when I don't, I'm still here... and now with my cup of herbal tea, and mandoline music playing on YouTube from my PC. Why mandoline? I have no idea. I have had some cravings to hear this kind of music recently.
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.
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.
Since the Simkhat Torah massacre, I find that I look back at my own life much less often. I'm trying with all my might to put the past in the past, and to look forward. I'm trying to form an image and cling to it. But I hardly do it. It is so unnatural and so difficult sometimes to do.
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.
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.
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.
The university, in which up until Oct. 7th the walls were covered with signs and ads against the government (and against 60% of our nation), is now empty. The library was closed for a long time, but they reopened it, partially, last week or so. So I go there once every few days. I'm amazed at how now, instead of those inciting signs, the university is covered with flags, Israel flags. It is so moving to see. The flags are hanging on windows, on doors, on ad boards, really everywhere. I only hope that this spirit will continue even when the students return, when the school year starts.
Because of the war, they postponed the beginning of the school year 3 times already, every time in a few more weeks. Now they're thinking of canceling the first semester and having a summer semester instead. The reason? So many of the students (and also some of the teachers) are now soldiers fighting in Gaza.
I'm not directly related to the university now. I can go in because I once studied and taught there. And for me it is home. I like it when the campus is almost empty and that I can sit quietly at the library and study or work or look out the big windows at the views of Jerusalem and dream. I like walking the corridors. Souls from the past are still there in so many ways, and when I'm there, I feel like I'm coming home. I feel like I myself am almost like ghost, walking there, looking for my younger self there, perhaps wanting to help her, direct and guide her. But she is not there, neither is the soul whose presence I feel everywhere there. She is within me, and so is that soul. But they are not there in body. Wouldn't it have been nice if we could go back in time just as we can go back in space to places that were meaningful to us and either change things or just watch or experience some scenes over and over again?
Anyway, regardless of this, I felt at home in that campus the first time I ever set foot there, many years ago. It felt like home from the first moment. Why? Who knows? There is something so special there, so lofty and spiritual. It is ironic, because the lecturers and most of the students are as far as can be from spiritual life. So it is not about them. It is about the place. It feels as if there is something holy there. Something peaceful, beautiful, mysterious. What is it? Why is it? I have no idea. But I was attracted to it since the first time I went there.
It started raining a couple of hours ago, very heavy rain, strong winds. I love this weather. It is the closest to home I can feel. There's nothing better than sitting at home with a hot cup of tea, secure from the elements, and hearing the sounds of winter outside. I love it. And again. So many reminders of our hostages and soldiers. Do they have this luxury? I thank every soldier out there who fights so that I and all the others (minus the 240 hostages and 1400 victims of murder) will be able to have a warm cup of tea at our homes.
I'll pray for them and read the Psalms for them later tonight, Bli neder.
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.