Aliya Angels

“Why do they think I made Aliyah?”

Not only did the form want my birthdate; it also requested the date I’d immigrated to Israel. My friend, who was helping with me the countless documents I needed for my children’s education, had a ready answer.

“More than half the Israelis weren’t born here.”

That statistic was true in 1986 and it’s probably just as true today. So true, that the Knesset has declared a special Aliyah Day today recognizing the contributions of its many immigrants. I’m proud to be among them. There is not a day in the past thirty-five years that I don’t thank the Almighty for the privilege of being here. Still, Aliyah wasn’t always easy and there were a number of angels to whom I owe a big thanks.

Why I Stay in Shilo

Shilo is a village smack dab in the center of Israel.  Some label it part of the occupied West Bank. Others claim it is liberated territory of Yehuda and Shomron. For me, it is simply home.

When I moved to Shilo, in 1987, I had absolutely no political motivations.  I could not understand the difference between the Israel of Tel Aviv and the Israel of Shilo. Neither could the PLO. Arafat began his organization committed to the destruction of Israel in 1964, three years before the Six Day War and thirteen years before Jews returned to build homes in Shilo.

A Lesson for Our Times

 

Even though I love my children passionately I don’t always agree with them. My husband is my best friend, and yet, we don’t always see eye-to-eye. There are other friends and relatives who have different political, religious, and social views than mine. Does that mean I need to cut off contact with them?

Some of My Personal Experiences With Operation Guardian of the Walls

 

As I write these words, I know that my friends and relatives outside Israel cannot, no matter how hard they try, understand what we’re going through now in the Jewish homeland. Conversely, though, I cannot understand what those in Sderot, Lod, and all the other hotspots are experiencing. I can only try to empathize and show I care.

This past Shabbat, however, I did get a taste of a rocket attack. As we were cleaning up from lunch, my daughter-in-law said she heard a siren. No one else did, but she has a newborn, and her ears are attuned to all sounds. We opened the door to hear better and what we heard was a loud boom that shook us. Rather unnerving to say the least. Later we learned that the rocket exploded about fifteen kilometers from here in an open field next to an Arab village.

Jerusalem Day

 

Fifty-four years ago, Egypt, Jordan, and Syria attacked Israel, vowing to destroy the tiny, Jewish state. Thankfully, they didn’t succeed. Not only did the country survive, but it also miraculously liberated dozens of Biblical towns and holy sites. No one alive then can forget the impassioned cry of “The Temple Mount is in Our Hands”. A week later hundreds of Jerusalemites made their way to the Kotel for Shavuot holiday prayers.

Since then, every year, except for last year when Corona shut down so many activities, the Kotel is the site of day-long celebrations to mark the reunification of Jerusalem. This morning my husband and I drove to the city, parked our car a kilometer away from the Kotel, and had a pleasant walk there. Once at the Kotel we went our separate ways for meaningful, morning prayers. Halfway through the services, though, we were interrupted by the loud, popping noises of tear gas cannisters and stun grenades on the Temple Mount. From the Al Aska mosque rocks were hurled down upon some of the worshippers.

It was hard to concentrate. It was hard to hear.  For the first time, in a very long time, I was discouraged that redemption was on its way. Instead, I feared we’re on the brink of another war, G-d forbid.

Suddenly, though, I remembered a lesson we all know. It’s always darkest before the light. Labor pains are the worst right before the birth. Recalling this, I felt a slight surge of optimism.

Please, HaShem, let us see the light at the end of the tunnel. Please make it happen speedily. Please no more wars or terror or plagues or tragedies.  Please bring the world true peace.

 

Thoughts on Pesach Preparations

 

It is impossible to get ready for Pesach this year without contemplating last year’s preparations.

This year I can do my own food shopping instead of making phone orders and waiting for deliveries.

This year retail is open, and I can buy presents, new clothing, and books.

This year my grandchildren can come into my house and help me clean, cook, and set the table.

This year I can take a break and go to a restaurant, if I so desire.

This year there isn’t a one-hundred meter restriction and I can plan holiday outings for the week of Pesach.

This year I can have guests at my Seder table.

This year no one needs to be alone.

Thoughts on the Horror in Itamar, Written on Ta’anit Esther, March 17, 2011, seven days after the murders, reprinted in commemoration of the tenth anniversary of the tragedy

 

Monday is my Jerusalem day. My husband and I leave the house early so we can pray at the Kotel. Then after a quick breakfast we part ways and I go to three Torah lectures. This week I greeted my friends and acquaintances and told them I had a new grandson. Their responses were more than happy. We needed good news. Then I told them the brit would be the next day in Itamar. Their faces crumbled revealing their grief. It was a grief that had gripped the whole country since motzei Shabbat. That was when we learned of the brutal murders of the Fogel family that had taken place Shabbat evening in Itamar. Because of the new baby my son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren had not been in Itamar for Shabbat. So there was not a moment that I worried about their physical well-being. Their emotional well-being was another story. How would they be able to return to their home a mere five houses away from the Fogel’s home? How would my grandchildren be able to go to nursery school the following day and learn their playmate had been murdered? How can any of us be okay with such evil in the world?