Be Strong -יום הזכרון; Be Happy - יום העצמאות‎

 I know this is an interesting topic to approach post-becoming religious, but taboo seems to be my forte: Israel the State.

I may be a Torah-observant Jew living in a Haraedi neighborhood, called Har Nof, but I am still an avid supporter of the State of Israel. While my allegiance is to Hashem and I will always, always put Ertetz Yisroel above the state, I do not keep it a secret I wish to make political and religious Aliyah. I would like to be an Israeli Jew, not an American one. What does this mean, and why do I bring it up? 

As my dad always told me, "Don't forget America is the greatest country in the world." And to him, I have always replied, "I know." Because, in fact, I believe America is the greatest country in the world for civil liberties, human rights, and standard of living (see, this even PROVES I was born and bred American, haha). However, I am a Jew.  I am a Torah-observant Jew. I don't belong in America and, frankly, I believe too many people have become comfortable with their dusty suitcases by the door. Their grandchildren come to the house asking what the suitcase is for, while the owners of the bag have long forgotten what "exile" means. And while the dream is to return to Eretz Yisroel in the time of the Moshiach, I don't like pushing things off. I am a procrastinator. Maybe means no, and soon means never. I will not "maybe" go when the Moshiach comes knocking at my door. I will not tell him, "give me a minute, I'll be there soon." I'll be waiting for him at his house... knocking on his door. In the meanwhile, I will live in Israel the State enjoying my protection, benefits, and democracy. Eretz Yisroel is great, and I believe the State of Israel is the next best thing (right now) to the Moshiach... but why bring this all up? I will not only enjoy benefiting from living in Israel, I will enjoy serving it too. 

Yom Hazikaron was a very moving day for me. It took a lot of strength not to cry during a Masa presentation at the Latrun, where the families of soldiers and victims of terror were telling the stories of their lost love ones. It brought back a very familiar situation for me two years ago, when I was last in Israel for my first Yom Hazikaron. I have excerpt my blog post from that experience below, but first I'd like to preface it.

I want to bring in my blog from two... has it already been three years? Three years ago, because my views on personal loss have not changed. When I had written this blog, I had just lost a close friend from America, and connected my personal loss to the families of fallen soldiers and terror. But, I not only wished to express my shared pain in loss. I also wanted to share my envy of the soldiers' sacrifice for what they believed in. I suppose I had been reading too many romantic novels at the time... about dying for what you love. But even now, I believe when you are willing to live in Eretz and Medinat Israel... and serve Am Israel... and even die for it... you had truly lived for your ideals. And that is the something I respect and envy.

     I wouldn't call it the happiest day out of the year, although we should be celebrating life of soldiers that we knew,  or we wish we knew. The feeling of mourning still hanging in the stale air, no matter how many years has past since independence, and how many tears have been passed through our eyes...       The night was filled with tears and sorrow. John came back to me today. His death hadn't yet become a reality for me, but at the graves of the fallen, his smile came flooding back to me. His life had become a memory. These tekesim might have been about fallen soldiers, but I couldn't stop crying for my own personal loss. I held back tears thinking about John. I held them back as best I could.     I thought about the envy I felt for Israelis during this day. They all know someone who has died fighting for their country. This makes their connection with Israel written in blood. Those who lost a family member (son, brother, daughter, sister, husband, wife) buried their roots in the ground. How, how, how can I envy them? I have just lost a dear friend, and I cannot fathom even this loss, and to imagine... Envy? This is a very twisted reality in which we live, but it is true. I feel such deep sorrow for the lives lost, and for the family members. Can sense be made out of what I am saying?      I used to wish that I knew what loss felt like, that way I knew how to appreciate and understand when someone else goes through the same. So I could help comfort. I now know loss and I hate it. I hate the feeling of nothingness in your stomach, the lightness of my head, the heavy weight on my shoulders, the screaming inside my mind, the whimpers streaming our of my eyes accompanied by tears. Envy? Do I envy this feeling, so I can understand what it means to be physically tied with the land? Yes, yes I do. But, at the same time, when will I be able to share with you that a lost friend, a lost family member, is loosing a piece of yourself? A piece never to be replaced, damned to stay empty forever.      I can see myself serving my country. I can see myself loosing friends, and Gd forbid my family. I can see it. I can see me in a parallel dimension. These services might have not meant so much to the other kids on EIE, but for sure it meant the world to me. I know loss. He wasn't a soldier, but he was a friend. I thought about him during the service, and cried for him too. I have a mission to accomplish in Israel. I really believe I do. This felt like phase one. Only the beginning.     The importance of serving in the army has infiltrated my mind. From gadna, instilling my pride, and Jewish History, instilling my knowledge and history, today was a day for the dark underbelly of reality. What was the cost of my country? These soldiers, who were children. What, two, three, some four years older than I? The last 18 days have had me consistently thinking, what if I died? It's not a scary thought, because everyone does eventually... but it came down to the, "So what? It's one life out of many." I want to make a difference. An impact, and share my message. I don't care if I'm forgotten, I just want to live life, not let it pass by. Does that mean to do the normal things people do? Go to college, partying it up, forgetting that there is more life outside my window? Does it mean working mindlessly in an office to support a family that may or may not hold through years of wear and tear? What is life about? It's a question up for opinion... but it has been ringing in my ears with death larking behind, in the shadows of my mind. What is MY opinion, on how MY life should be led? I think I know what I want to do. I think I know how I want to help. But at the same time, I don't want to be one life out of many. I'd sacrifice my life for my country... but the question is would I be loosing a life of value, or of absent mindlessness? What does true sacrifice mean? What am I willing to risk?     Be strong, was the words of Yom Hazikaron, and be happy are the words of tonight. Sunset ended Memorial Day, and started Independence Day. Yom Ha'tzmeut, the day we got our country. 61 years ago, I got a homeland, other than the one I was born into. My country, my home. I will probably talk more about it tomorrow night, but for right now all I can think about is what was this day worth? Were the lives lost worth it? I believe so, but at the same time I always thought the people made the land holy, not the land making the people as such. When will Israel stop sacrificing its children's blood for survival? When?

I am looking at this, reading and rereading it again. I silently laugh, realizing that this is a peice of the puzzle that led me to end up where I am now: religious in Jerusalem. I now have a few friends in the Israeli Army, who are living my words, sharing my thoughts from the quoted blog.  But after a lot of thinking, I answered my very own question and decided I won't let my life pass me by. I won't be another kid "partying it up" in college and "forgetting life outside my window." I will live my life to the fullest and have the most meaning. However... man plans and Gd laughs. I did not make alyiah (though I still plan on doing so) and did not join the Israeli Army. I became religious and came back to Israel to go to seminary...

Today, my Main goal is to serve Gd. Yet, I would still like to serve Israel the State. The army is no longer a suitable environment for me, however, I plan on serving the country in other ways. I intend to participate in Sheruit Leumi (NAtional Service) and help the country of Israel by working with the people of Israel. But to put my plans aside... the reason I bring up my love for GD and my love for the State od Israel, is because of Yom Hazikaron, Rememberance Day. On this day I remember why I am proud to have a home in Eretz Yisroel. On this day, I am proud to have a home in the State of Israel, where my brothers and sisters are proud and willing to protect our nation. I am proud on this day to be apart of this nation. On this day, I am proud to be a Jew. And one day, I will be proud to be an Israeli Orthodox Jew living in my homeland, serving my Gd and my people. 

Piece of Mind Peace of Heart

The Tzfat bug bite, and I've been in this peaceful wave since Pesach. I was lucky enough to hike right after my Pesach in Tfat, then return to school for two days before they took us to none other than... Tzfat. I have been drawn to the serene city nestled in the mountaintops overlooking the Kineret. I find a lot of beautiful spirituality here. Not to mention, I love the art. I think I'd like to live here...

Yeah, I'd love to live here.

A Theoretical Conversation With My Father

I'm standing in my Neve dorm room, pacing back at forth. Now, I am downstairs in my family's kitchen sitting with my family and it's the middle of June 2012, eight weeks from now. My parent's are eager to hear about what I learned this year... I'm still pacing.

Mother: It's so good to have you home, Rebekah! I missed you so much!

I cringe. When was the last time someone called me by that name? I have gotten so used to Aviva...

Father: So, did they brainwash you? He laughs a tremendous, half-serious laugh. How was it? What did you learn?

I'll take a moment to think... or at least pretend to think, after all I have been preparing for this moment the moment I stepped off the plane in Israel, ten months back.

Me: What did I learn? Well... I learned a whole bunch of things...

And that's the moment I realize that sounds no good. I try again.

Me: I mean... I learned Torah, Mishna, Pirke Avos, Halacha, Chassidus and some Kabbalah.

I pause again, I'm not sure they have any idea what half that stuff means. If they have even heard of it, I'm not sure they understand what it's all about.


I can see my mom nodding with a polite smile and return to what ever work she was doing upstairs. 


Me: Well, I guess what I really learned was... Hm. I didn't really learn.. Well...


Again I pause... I can't BELIEVE I have been preparing for this moment for ten months and am still caught without an answer!


I close my eyes in a brief moment of meditation. I open them. 

Me: Dad, it was a very interesting year. I'm sure you think that they brainwashed me, or that I joined a cult... 

Those two terms, yuck! "Brainwash" and "cult" have swirled around in in my parents vernacular ever since my brother became religious, and then when I was soon to follow. Apparently a lot of secular Jews and non-Jews honestly believe that we all have been "brainwashed" to join a "cult" with the rise of the Baalei Teshuva movement... there is no point arguing semantics *sigh* a 4,000 year-old religion is not a cult. 

Me: I mean, you may think that I've joined a cult and been brainwashed... but I think I've figured it out.

He is wearing an amused look.

Me: You know when you get a headache and you know something is just not right? Then you take off your glasses and stop straining your eyes. Finally, you realize your glasses no longer work right? That you may be seeing the world a little fuzzy? 


Father: Yea?


Me: Well, you go to Moshe!

Ironically, Moshe was the first Orthodox Jew I came in "contact" with (teehee). He is my family's ophthalmologist...

Me: Moshe will put that big thing in front of your face and ask, "one, two or three, four?" until you can see the world clearer. That was this year for me. I haven't changed... not really anyway. The only thing I have done was fix my prescription. I fixed some of my near-sightedness. I know I may do a lot of things that are different from when I left, but it's not because I was brainwashed. I just started to see the world a little more clearly. 

Not bad, I think to my self. Uh-oh... he's giving me that look. That you-are-out-of-your-mind look. This is my chance, if not now... never. What do I do? Panic mode! 

Me: You know... I have been struggling with a lot of things about becoming religious... It's not easy one bit. Yea, I know there are a lot of laws and things that I now keep, that I didn't last year... but it has nothing to do with that, per say. It's not keeping the Torah and it's laws that is hard.

He's raising his eyebrows... is he interested or is he mocking me? Oh, I don't know! Deep breath! 

Me: The fuzzy line I once stood on, during high school, is now clear to me, and I realized I'm not on it, I have actually crossed it. This line is my morals and ethics. The hard part about this journey is realizing I may have been wrong. In fact, I was wrong! Once I thought I was alright to do stupid things, like be condescending and disrespectful to you and Mom, however justified I felt. But, this also goes for keeping Shabbos. At one point I thought it didn't matter and now I realized it does! All of this matters a lot! I need to do both...

Alright, Viv's, VivaLaVida (as my roommate calls me), Aviva, Bek, Bekah, Rebekah... make this a conversation he will remember. Try and take away as many doubts as possible. Show him your not any more out of your mind then when you left....

Me: This year has been about seeing the world more clearly. And I have been struggling to change accordingly. I'm not any more perfect than when I left... as in, I'll never be. But, I'm trying my best now. This year, I didn't learn Torah, Mishna, Pirke Avos, Halacha, Chassidus and some Kabbalah... I learned a new way of thinking... a new way of problem solving. I have gained a new skill in critical thinking and analyzing and asking the right questions. I learned what I believe to be moral and ethical behavior, as well as what is appropriate and further, what is appropriate as a Jew. I know we disagree on what the Universal Truth is... but that's okay. You should be proud of me... I'm doing the best I can... Im trying... I'm growing... I'm living my dreams... I'm living the best way I know how...

Deep breath. I suck the air in through my mouth and exhale through my nose. Repeat. My eyes are shut tight. Repeat, in... out. In, out.

I stop pacing. I open my eyes. My legs are sore, I must of been pacing my Neve dorm room for at least 45 minutes. I wonder what time it is, but I have no clocks in my room. I can't check my phone for the time, it's still Shabbos. I wonder what my mom and dad are doing. I make a mental note to call them after Havdalah. 

I wonder how my father would of taken that conversation. I mean... I wasn't really talking to him. Well, maybe just a little bit. As I paced around my room his image wasn't the only one I was talking to. I saw my closest friends back from Eisner (the Reform Summer camp I attended). I saw all my old buddies from NFTY. I saw the various people I may run into from EIE (my semester in Israel program). I saw the Rabbis of the various Reform and Conservative shuls I once attended. I saw my high school friends. I saw myself at sixteen. I was talking to all of them... all of them theoretically, of course...

My Spiritual Spring Break

I don't know if cities have souls- for every city has their own character. Jerusalem is the grandfather of cities, intense and powerful. Sometimes I feel swallowed by the the expansive Jerusalem stone and lost in Har Nof's conformity. Recently, this powerful intensity had been bothering me- I feel the stones melt into Iron. B"H, Pesach couldn't have come quick enough! I needed to breathe and starting on the 23 of March (Rosh Chodesh Nissan) I was free from school to choose what ever it is I would like to do.

I winded down my first week of vacation, just getting out of school mode, and relaxing. The second week, I went on a hike with a few girls from my school to a bat cave by Beit Shemesh, which unsurprisingly turned into a beautiful two-three hour exploration (aka: getting lost in the woods). Then, a few days later, I took two friends to Kibbutz Tzuba! I got to visit my old home and BOY was I surprised! A few factories popped up at the entrance, but more importantly, once on the kibbutz, I realized this was my home three years ago! Three years?! Wow. But, more than that, it felt like Paradise! It looked like paradise with all of the foliage and flowers abloom. Then, I took my friends to Tel Tzuba, the archeological site, and then hiked down and up the next mountain to Sataf. In Sataf, we trailed through some of the oldest agricultural findings in Judea & Samaria to three beautiful fresh water springs, one of which I took them inside to see the water drip from the limestone. If that was all I did, I would of been happy enough. But then, Pesach and Chol Hamoed came. Still one week left of exploration.

For the first Seder and Shabbat, I went to the Art Colony in Tzfat and enjoyed spending it with this great family. The mother was a wonderful artist and the very cheerful father helped run the business downstairs, both Baalei Teshuva. They had five beautiful children running around. I can say that this was the highlight of my month. While in Har Nof, I see the Yeshivish-Haredi families and how they work, what it's like and all of that... I don't often enough get a chance to see how OTHER types of Orthodox families work. Like, how they celebrate Shabbos, what kind of minhagnim they are doing, and how they go about teaching their children Torah. In this family, I got a feeling I don't normally get. They spoke about Torah, like a secular teenager would talk about their crush: they had overwhelming affection in their eyes. I really enjoyed the way the father shared mussar from Reb Shlomo Carlebach as well as from other well-known rebbeim with a sense of great joy and faith. It was... a very, very positive experience for me.

Once I came back to Jerusalem, I was feeling such a new and positive energy that I couldn't sit still. I wasn't yet ready to stay stagnant in Jerusalem, like I had been for the last few months. A day later a friend and I took off to the woods and spent all of Chol Hamoed camping with a group of people among the fresh and beautiful valleys and woods outside of the greater Beit Shemesh area. Not exactly sure where I was, no electronics, and more matzah than I would of ever wanted... I celebrated the most liberating Pesach I've had yet.

Back in civilization for the last days of Hag, I walked to the Kotel to finish off my journey. In the heart of Jerusalem, where the Shechina still rests, the Iron walls faded back to gold Jerusalem stone. I am rejuvenated and excited to return to my studies with eagerness of a curious mind and an open heart.

I Remember

I was sitting at a bench, reminiscing with my friend, who has been one of my closest friends since we came to Israel together in high school. Since then, I have become religious and am now studying at seminary... while he joined Tzahal and became a real kibbutznik. As we chatted, I told him about the rough month I have been having. It's honestly been one of the worst months for me, feeling like the sky had fallen down. 


I had a really bad experience at the beginning of the month, followed by a few deaths and a lot of painful soul-searching and "Pesach cleaning," trying to rid myself of some Mitzrayim. He was sympathetic and then we changed subjects. 


He told me he visited the Kotel the day before, which, caught me by surprise. I confessed that I hadn't been to the Kotel recently... I was avoiding it at all costs. I was having a lot of trouble praying and I was angry at Gd. To tell you the truth, I was REALLY angry at Gd. I felt like he has put me through a lot of really unfair and hard trials and didn't tell me why. Didn't make it clear what problem I had to fix or what tikkun was needed for a past life. But, what ever it was, I was angry. I felt like that four year old girl who was given a good potch from her mother, and was now sitting in the corner staring, refusing to talk. With her arms folded and mouth pursed, holding the expression of unforgivingness... I felt like that four year old, arms crossed... waiting for the "I'm sorry" from Gd, that I knew was never going to come. 


As ridiculous as I felt, no one had done anything to change my mind until my friend said something I would of NEVER expected: "I don't CARE if you're angry with Gd. That doesn't give you the right to not go to the Wall. Even if you don't pray, you still go there. If not to pray, to remember." To remember?


What he has said startled me. For some reason, I took what he said especially hard and started thinking. Two days later, I walked an hour and a half to the Kotel, unsure what I was doing there. I stood by the large, cold stones on the bright sunny Shabbat afternoon... I slipped into my bag and grabbed my white Artscroll siddur. Before I knew it, I was saying the Amidah. 


Hashem's "sorry" never came, but like four year olds, you just forget. Forget why you're angry at your mom, forget that you're not on speaking terms... And I forgot. I forgave. I moved on. I started praying. And the potch stopped hurting.  


I'm not sure how a soldier giving a seminary girl mussar, on a bench at the end of Ben Yahuda, works... but it worked for me, and I have been remembering ever since.