Back to School

Sunday was Day 1 for Penina and Ilana.  In Israel, some schools start on September 1 and some schools start on the first day of the Hebrew month of Elul.  This year, the days coincided and the whole city went back to school on the same day.  It was great to see kids in every sort of school stressed excited at the same time about school starting.

how did they get to be in 8th and 11th grades?!

Today, Cousin Sela arrived for a year of seminary, which has everyone here very happy about seeing her a lot (no pressure, Sela).  I was able to meet her and her friends at the airport and give them a proper welcome.  (The sign says "welcome" and their seminary name)

Tomorrow I start back at work.  This year, I will be going to on-site clinics in seminaries twice a week and being on-call two other days a week on the new health hotline that 500 students will be using.  It's a new service, so we'll see what happens!

Glad to be back home after our big US trip and wishing my parents a hearty Mazal Tov on their 60th wedding anniversary!

Guest Blog Post by Damon/AKA "Ayn Rand and Me"

Every time I come across, say, the garbage man who wears a kippah, or the plumber, librarian, police officer, etc etc who are religious, I have this weird moment of feeling that I'm living in some Ayn Rand-esque alternate universe.  So when our old friends Damon and Manny came for a weekend visit, I (rather belatedly, I admit) asked Damon to take a stab at writing a blog post about what it was like to be here as someone other than a religious Jew, and give me (and you!) the chance to see our city, and our life, through his eyes.  Thank you, Damon, for more-than rising to the occasion!!!!  And now, without further ado:
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I had visited The Goldbergs the first time they lived in Israel…in Jerusalem, 1999.  Though it was an abbreviated visit at the tail end of a group tour, the impact was indelible.  Haunting, at times, really. In addition to being an intense time in my life, it was still…at its core…JERUSALEM.  I can still hear Ellen’s voice as we sat in their living room: “This isn’t just another city one visits”. That was, and is, incredibly true.

Why it took me another 20 years to return, I’m not quite sure, but Israel was always on my radar for a return visit.  This Spring, it worked out that my friend Manny and I would be taking part in a small group tour to Jordan. Naturally, as one does (or does NOT…EVER…), we were so close geographically, we figured “as long as we’re in Jordan, how can we NOT visit Beit Shemesh?”  I’ll spare the gory details of the potential “bus…to border…to walk over the border…to bus…to…oblivion???”, which we never really considered anyway since…arriving on a Friday…it was all about being IN ISRAEL as early as possible so as not to be stranded in a situation where no engine-running vehicle would dare enter Beit Shemesh (and reasonably so).  Given this, we chose the one-way flight that cost more than a roundtrip flight between almost any two cities in the United States. Because, well, this was the opportunity to not only VISIT The Goldbergs, but share Shabbos with them. Done deal.

Ellen had “gently forewarned me” about the traditions and customs regarding men and women in a more Orthodox setting, and that Manny and I shouldn’t feel slighted if we were not to hug/embrace her when we arrived at Ben Gurion.  Of course, this set off all sorts of visions in my head of scenes from DANCES WITH WOLVES, where Manny and I would cavort about Ellen in a circle, as if she were a campfire in the wilderness, singing joyously before hunting Titonka in the hills of Beit Shemesh.  BTW, we didn’t do either of those things, so The Buffalo continue to roam the hills of Beit Shemesh…at least in my mind.

Ellen arrived just as we were departing the terminal, aptly driving her Jazz.  I wondered to myself if she might feel pressured to drive the car with jazz hands, and if we might be in any danger as a result, but I chose to keep that one as “inside voice”.  Our first stop on the way home was to the local bakery. Swoon-worthy, at worst, the aromas battering our olfactory senses were delightful, and when Ellen asked “anything in particular you might like?”…my initial thought was “can’t we just bring it all home?”.  We didn’t, but what WAS brought home was ridiculously heavenly.

We ventured out to the local caves, which were fascinating and radiant (and remarkably good for our breathing).  Just a lovely afternoon strolling and marveling at what time can produce with a little (OK, a lot of) help from Mother Nature.  Some of it was like a game of “clouds”, where you could see…well… whatever you wanted to see, really…but in some cases, there were distinct caricatures and outlines to the stalactites and stalagmites.  Up close, a face, or a dragon, or a cat. From farther away, a concoction of shapes and colors with radiant lights cascading from one surface to another. Like underground fireworks without the sound (and, honestly, I don’t think ANY of us were hoping for the sound of fireworks down there).

After a brief rest at the house, it was time for Shabbos Dinner.  It’s difficult to put into words the feeling of being invited into a friend’s home, and to share a meal with their family, but it is entirely another level to share such a special experience such as this.  My initial feeling while standing at the table before we were all seated was one of reverence. Of complete gratitude. Of safety, comfort, and acceptance. At the heart of it all, of friendship. Though I have known Ellen since we were…oy…12 years old (?) (!!!), I have also know Shalom Shachne (hereinafter to be known in this particular blog entry as “SS” for carpal tunnel reasons) for well over two decades.  I have known him to be a Man of great wisdom, humility, confidence, affection, and understanding. To stand to his right at the family dinner table was an honor for me. To stand at that family dinner table, at all, felt monumental. At that moment, it was silent outside. The cars had stopped. There were no cell phones. For someone who has lived in NYC for the past 17+ years, this was beyond bliss.

As we sat, and SS recited the blessings and cut/salted the challah, my secular American alarm went off when he ate the challah first.  “But…what about the WOMEN?”. Such nonsense, we secular Americans. I understood, so it was only a momentary lapse in traveling sanity, to which I also thought “how brave…if the challah is poison, or…even worse…STALE…SS gets it first”.  Lo and behold, the challah was just as delicious as it looked, and dinner was off and running, and completely delicious.

What I may remember most from this entire trip, beyond Petra, beyond the Western Wall, beyond lunch at Machneyuda (if you’re in Jerusalem, just GO!), was a moment of extreme peace.  The moment during the Shabbos ceremony when the parents bless their children. I never had children of my own, and I suspect that will not change, but I remember what it used to feel like when my Mother and Father would hold me, or comfort me.  There is a unique calm. A protection. A fortress of invincibility, that someone loves me SO MUCH that I cannot help but feel it. Standing in the living room as SS and Ellen held the heads of Penina and Ilana close…heads touching…eyes closed…breathing slowed.  It’s as if someone reached into my chest and took hold of my heart to turn the eyes of my heart around to truly SEE this. To feel it. To bear witness to one of the most amazing, moving, personal experiences one human being can have with another. The bond between parent and child.  In the Holiest Land on Earth, here was something even more holy than The Land, or its People. This was G-d standing directly in front of me. I have said many times before: You cannot teach “Mom” or “Dad”; You simply are.

At that point, we were ready to head out to Shul.  I had attended Shul in Jerusalem in 1999 during Shabbos, but I could tell this was going to be different.  And it was. Manny and I stood next to SS during the ceremony. There was a buzz throughout the ceremony, which I’m not sure had an official beginning nor end, as it seemed as though The Community sort of decided how long, how focused, and how jovial the evening might be.  There were prayers being uttered up front, and smaller “ceremonies” within the service, the hum of men’s voices, the sound of hands clasping as neighbors met one another, smiles gleaming, little boys running from place to place, and some pretty ornate yarmulke and prayer shawls that might garner some attention during NYC Fashion Week.  Most of all, especially for Manny and me, it was welcoming. Handshakes, smiles, and even an invitation to dance in the circle (I don’t know WHY we didn’t enter the circle, perhaps out of fear or respect or sheer stupidity, but it was still such an uplifting sight to see the Men dance in a circle). Songs were sung. More prayers were uttered.  Davening to the left, right, forward, and aft. It was a cacophony of sensory overload of only the most enjoyable degree.  

And through this all…dinner, Shul, post-Shul…I would glance at SS, and saw the same joy and peace on his face that I remember from my visit in 1999.  There is something to be said about the most striking moments of a visit involving sheer observation of emotions that cannot be falsified on a person’s face.  

We returned to the house for a wonderful evening of conversation, MORE food, and rest.  Much of Saturday held these blessings as well, including a stroll around town. Children playing and talking, couples walking with their children and strollers, more smiles.  I’ve never been one to believe in Utopia, but it was pretty inspiring to be in a town where, essentially, so much is “aligned”. People sharing the same religion (even if somewhat varying intensities), family values (where SS mentioned to me that having ONLY four children was on the smaller end for Beit Shemesh), multiple spaces for prayer and observation…a true Community.  After our walk, another sumptuous feast that evening and…of course…SS, Manny, and I going out to play billiards. I mean, what else does one do in Israel after Shabbos? Now, when I say “play billiards”, I mean “hold a stick in our hands and NOT sink too many shots”. This, once again, was SS’s domain, and his humility once again burst through as Manny and I missed shot after shot.  But, hey, it was still a total blast. Even if SS somehow hustled 142 Israeli Shekels from us.

That evening, probably a bit TOO late that evening, SS brought out his guitar, and we fumbled through a few Beatles tunes before settling on a full-on rendition of The Eagles’ “Hotel California”.  I had never sung the song full-voice, so I figured this may be my only shot. I know Chez Goldberg is three stories tall, but I’m pretty sure the sounds of SS and I just MAY have made it to the second floor.  I wondered if the kids might come down and join us, or simply come down the stairs to throw jagged, solid objects at us. They did neither, though I did hear a rumor that Ellen may have said something the next morning to the effect of “sing that loudly that late again, and I’ll send you BOTH to the Hotel California!”.  Nah. Just a rumor. Ellen would never say THAT. ;-)

On Sunday, we were escorted us to the Friends of Zion Museum in Jerusalem.  A very cool exhibition, should you have the chance to visit. We followed that up with dinner near the village, and one final evening taking Manny to the airport for his flight back to Boston.  In one of the greatest gifts I received during my travel this Spring, it was just SS and I in the car driving back to Beit Shemesh from Ben Gurion. During this drive home, we talked as we often talk.  About life. About love. About family and religion and culture and respect. This time, we also talked about travel. I was at the very end of having traveled for about 35 of the past 40 days (stopping in NYC to do laundry and re-pack between trips to France/Spain and, now, Jordan/Israel), and we spoke about places SS might like to visit with the family.  However, what came out of this conversation was illuminating. SS spoke of how much he loves his life in Israel. It’s not difficult to notice when one is in his presence, but there is such serenity and joy in his day, from getting up in the morning, to praying, to work, to spending time with the Community and his family. It’s all here. That’s most likely one of the strongest reasons The Goldbergs chose to move back to Israel.  This is Home. This is where they feel the most “in-pocket”. This is where they belong. As I listened to SS basically say “sure, I’d like to visit XYZ, but what I give up here to do so has such an overwhelmingly positive effect on me”. I’m paraphrasing, perhaps erroneously, but once again, SS was on to something. He understands how important the foundations of Home and Community are, and I loved hearing the story of how, when they traveled to Florida, they found a group of people who were celebrating Shabbos, so that they could join in the tradition/celebration, even away from home.  Food for the Soul.

Ellen would drive me to Jerusalem Monday morning for the final few days of my journey, of course offering a ride to a friend whose wife had just given birth, and who needed a ride to the hospital to visit her and their new child.  Because that’s what Community does. That’s what friends do.

I’m not much for purchasing souvenirs when overseas, but a refrigerator magnet (well, I guess it’s only a refrigerator magnet because I put the magnet on my refrigerator) with a scene from the Western Wall caught my eye at the FOZ gift shop.  I didn’t think much of it at the time I bought it, but as it sits on my somewhat empty single dude’s refrigerator here in NYC, it makes me think. I see the Western Wall on this magnet, and I think about 1999, as well as 2019. I think of the journey The Goldbergs have made to come Home.  To live where it feels the most comfortable, and to live a life full of powerful beliefs and customs, of love and connection…to their Community, to Each Other, to their Family and Friends, and to G-d. Most of all, I remember what I felt while I was with them. Maya Angelou said it best: “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel”.  At a time in my life when I really craved a Home away from Home…when I needed my heart to be reminded of what love and happiness feel like…that is what my visit with The Goldbergs gave to me. Toda, indeed…

Shabbos Shopping

For me, Shabbos shopping starts Tuesday night, when our vegetable box (aka THE BOX) gets delivered.  Similar to a CSA box in the US (and a big shout-out to my former CSA buddies over the years--Rhona, Denise and Anne), this box gives you no choice about what you get inside.  The twist with this box is that although it's not organic, when I signed up for a subscription, a low-income family got a subscription for half-price.

This week's box had green grapes, peaches, red apples, zucchini, tomatoes, cucumbers, beets, eggplant, carrot, cucumbers, potatoes and onions.  Including delivery it's the equivalent of $19/week.  This is the base for our Shabbos cooking.  Or, as Penina says, it's like we're on a cooking show and we make whatever we can with what's in THE BOX.  (If anyone has ideas for what to do with tons of cucumbers aside from eating them or making cucumber salad/quick pickles, please let me know.  Each week we get about 11 cucumbers and it's just waaay too much for us).

But delicious as my cucumber salad and roasted vegetables are, there's more that needs to be purchased in order to make our Shabbos meals, and that means heading out to one of the local supermarkets.  The pre-Shabbos throngs start on Wednesday afternoon/evening and it gets busier and busier, until Friday when all supermarkets are jam-packed.  Here is a typical Thursday picture:

My guess is that this scene shows one family returning the last shopping cart and another family (who has been waiting) clarifying whether or not they need to give the first family the 5 shekel deposit or not.

So what to do when I arrive "too late" to get a cart and it looks like this:

Well, first off, it's pretty easy to know when you're about to be in trouble at the supermarket.  If you're going shopping Thursday night, you're up the creek.  If you're going shopping Thursday afternoon, then you are also likely to have a cart-less shopping experience.  In these cases, I use my superpowers, aka I make Penina or Ilana come with me and we use the sturdiest cloth shopping bags we own and have a bag on each shoulder.  Since we started getting THE BOX, it's easier to do this, because I'll tell you that shlepping a 2 kilo bag of potatoes on your shoulder along with all your other Shabbos food gets painful after an aisle or two.....

The crowd scene Thursday morning at 11!!! 

I made my life easier a few months ago by getting a store credit card for the supermarket I go to most often.  As a big fan of self-checkout, it was worth the pain of spending an entire hour in the store filling out forms in Hebrew to get the credit card, just to bypass the checkout lines.

On Thursdays and Fridays, though, there is a line even at self-checkout.....(Although I really like how you can see the different types of people who live in my city.  Checking out the headcoverings of the various men and women always helps pass the time in line!)

As does watching the sheer number of children shopping without an adult.  This especially amazes me when it's late at night and I'm struggling to make it through my shopping trip with eyes open, and then I see a kid who looks about 11 with a shopping cart filled to the brim.   Here you see three young girls figuring out the self-checkout.  I especially like the one on the right who climbed up for a better view!  (And I watched them until they left [I was still in line] and they were there on their own).

Overall, it's certainly different than running into Stop & Shop an hour before Shabbos for a couple of last-minute things (starting Friday afternoon, all stores close here), BUT it's truly amazing to be in a place where everyone is on the same schedule, and we're all working on making the most beautiful Shabbos we can!

Good Shabbos, everyone!

Camp

Ilana is at "adventure camp" in the Golan now, and I wanted to share a few things that I find interesting about camps here:

1) sleepover camp is not common.  There are tons of day camps, but very, very few overnight camps. Maybe because such a high percentage of kids while still in their teens will start attending the "ultimate Israeli overnight camp", aka "the army"?  I don't know, but that's the only idea that's come to me.

2) her camp is only 11 days long!  In the US, it's pretty much 4- or 8-week sessions for camps

and

3) Whew--I got the "early bird" discount because I paid by.....June 1!  Those of you who had to pay by January (or is it December now?!) to get your child an early bird discount at a US camp are probably laughing by now.  Or maybe you're crying....

In any case, Ilana returns Thursday and will be buckling down to try to surpass her total of hours read and funds raised for this year's Lema'an Achai Readathon

(Here is Ilana at last year's prize ceremony and, below, me [one of the Readathon volunteer coordinators], giving out a prize.  Want to help Ilana and the incredible Lema'an Achai organization?  Please click here--and thank you!) 

Visiting Day

Most of the schools that I run health clinics at have closed down for the summer.  I'm down to working only two days at week at a seminary that has Southern Hemisphere students at it.  These young women started in February and will finish their sem year in December (sounds so odd to my "summer is June-August" mentality, but in ulpan we also got a "summer" influx of people from Australia and New Zealand in February....).   Anyway, when that school is on a trip, or just full of healthy students who don't have a need to see the nurse, then I get the day off.  Which is what happened one day last week ;)

My plan had been to go to work and then meet up with Barbara, my friend Heidi's mother, who I have known since I was very, very little.  Barbara was here on a 9-day tour around Israel and Jordan and had a brief window of opportunity for a visit Thursday afternoon in Jerusalem (these tours give you precious little time to do anything "off schedule".  Niece Saige was here last week on Birthright [which gives even *less* time off] and, very sadly, we didn't get to see her at all).  

But when my school canceled late in the morning, I suddenly had the whole rest of the day open!  Party!  It meant that I was able to go to one of the big hospitals and visit former Maldener Eliana who was there with her newborn daughter.  Nothing like a little newborn snuggle time to start things off right!  When I called to see if she would be free, she suggested I check when visiting hours were.  It hadn't even occurred to me that there would BE visiting hours (do any hospitals in the US, aside from maybe intensive care units, even have visiting hours any more?!).  Aside from finding out that my proposed visiting time was okay,  I also found out interesting things from the website, such as that "each (mother-baby) ward has spacious rooms, up to three beds per room.  No mother stays in the hall".  Yikes! Sometimes I forget that I am very, very far from the US in many, many ways.....

Then off to see Yehuda Leib, also a former Maldener (for a small community, Malden is pretty well represented here.  At least in my life!).  Yehuda Leib lives in a long-term care facility just outside the Old City walls that has been run by a Christian religious group since the late 1800s .  But, hey, it's Jerusalem, so his roommate also wears a yarmulke and the kitchen of the entire hospital is kosher!  When I arrived, a volunteer was finishing learning Gemara with him, and he told me that every week for Shabbos, a volunteer comes to help him to go shul, since that's the one big thing the facility is lacking--a synagogue (understandably so).

(You can just about feel the history in this building, right?! Before visiting Yehuda Leib, the only thing I knew about this building is that is has bullet holes in the outside of it, a remnant of the 1948 War of Independence between Israel and Jordan)

And then off to my 1.25 hour (did I mention her schedule is jam-packed?!) visit with Barbara.  We had such a nice time walking around the city.  She said she was glad to have the opportunity to see things that weren't on her tour and were more of everyday life (she was surprised to see the lightrail train coming up Yaffo Street--I guess they really hadn't had much of an opportunity to walk around!).

It was certainly interesting going in one afternoon along such a gamut of socioeconomic levels in Jerusalem.  Barbara was staying at one of the nicest hotels in the city (earlier in the day, she asked the people inside the elevator to please hold it for her, only to find out it was Bob Kraft, owner of the Patriots, in town to receive the Genesis Prize--"the Israeli Nobel Prize").  Yehuda Leib was in more of a "historic place" than one with any sort of luxury to it, although the staff seemed truly lovely, which certainly helps make up for not living in the Ritz.

Earthquaaaake(s) (!)

This blog post actually started about two months when Penina's school did a two day earthquake training for the tenth graders (we think it's country-wide for that age, but, hey, like so many things in this country, we really have no idea), since Israel lies on a pretty major earthquake fault line and is supposed to get a "big one" every 100 years or so (and the last one was in 1927, so, yeah, eek).  She described the entire first day as being made up of terrifying videos of earthquakes and their effects, and was not particularly excited for school the next day, assuming it would be more of the same.  She came home totally energized and had had an amazing day learning how to do search-and-rescue, even getting certified as a first responder (with a laminated card that's supposed to actually get her across police barriers [should she so choose/should we so permit]).  The highlight of the day was learning how to use a sledgehammer, after having been taught by the (female) instructors who, with ease, smashed concrete blocks into smithereens.  The upshots were: 1) "using a sledgehammer is a lot of fun" and 2) "don't worry, Israel--if there's a giant earthquake, the tenth graders will save you"😱

Fast forward to last week, when our whole family was woken up smack in the middle of the night by a giant crashing sound.  Half-asleep, we tried to figure out if there was any reason to take action (like go to our "safe room").  Hearing nothing else, we all went back to sleep.  In the morning, I woke up to find this on our balcony:

Which was from the lintel of the doorway to our mirpeset

They sure do build buildings thick around here, eh?!  NOW you see why the tenth graders need to learn to use sledgehammers.

The following night, we were all together in the living/dining room when something odd started happening.  I looked down at my feet, trying to figure out why they were going up and down.  Penina figured it out first and yelled, "EARTHQUAAAAAKE!  EVERYBODY OUTSIDE!" So clearly the training did have its positive effects (and can I mention how proud Nurse Ellen is that her daughter is so safety-oriented?!).  We ran out into the street and discovered that......we were the only ones there.  Because of course the Anglo olim run into the street ;).  Some neighbors didn't even feel it.  Turns out it was only a 4.5 quake, so it counts as one that is felt but not big.

But here's the kicker.  The next day, Penina said, "I wonder if there was an earthquake the night before and THAT'S what made the concrete fall down on the mirpeset?" and Shalom Shachne said he had been wondering the same thing (oops.  Hadn't occurred to me.  I just figured it was shoddy construction).  So we snooped around and found out

Yup, a few minutes before 3 a.m. there had been a 2.7 earthquake.  Not strong enough to be felt, except by our house, I guess!

In sum, Penina seems to have a future as a seismologist.  Or perhaps a gold-medal sledgehammer-ist.  The possibilities are endless!

Passports

Today is the one year anniversary of the US Embassy being moved to Jerusalem.  In honor of that fact (although truthfully it's because I just went to the embassy yesterday), here is my post about renewing US passports.  I didn't think there would be much/anything to say about the process, but I actually found our "quickest trip ever to the US" to be pretty interesting.

First off, the security Jazzy-Our-Car went through was the most intense she's ever undergone since we've owned her.  Two security guards worked her over--running over the outside with explosives-detecting paper, looking under the car with what I would describe as a mirror stuck on a long-handled dust pan, searching the trunk and then searching the engine (having just driven 45 minutes through rush hour traffic, aside from some blatant Wile E. Coyote-type bomb with an alarm clock and a few sticks of dynamite, I wasn't sure what they could see/do in our hot engine, but, then again, I'm not a security expert).

We then waited in the rather long and slow-moving line for American citizens (as opposed to the rather long and slow-moving line for non-citizens applying for travel visas).  I spoke English with reckless abandon, because, hey, I was on US soil(ish.  Google tells me that's not really true).  Although, sadly, the majority of people working outside the embassy were Arab speakers, so it still felt inappropriate to speak English.

At the initial security check, all cell phones were checked in and not returned until we left (having been to the Israeli embassy in Boston before we made aliyah, I was expecting this).  It was fascinating to walk into the main waiting room and find....people TALKING!  Interacting with those they came with and total strangers!  It was CRAZY!  And a stunning contrast to the previous week when I had gone to a similarly large waiting room in our local government and it had been eerily silent as everyone stared down at their phones and ignored everyone else....

When our number was finally called, the guy at the window told me we needed to do one more thing before finalizing the paperwork and we should come back to him after completing it.  "Okay," I said, "and what's your name?" figuring I might need to tell security with whom I needed to speak.  "I can't tell you that" was the response!  I didn't realize working at the embassy was such a high security position, but, then again, if you're an Israeli Arab, maybe it is.

The young man who finalized all our forms had an accent that sounded so familiar I almost asked him where he was from.  He beat me to it after looking at our paperwork, and we found a "landsman" formerly from Worcester :)

last picture I was able to snap before being told "no photos".  Oops!