What Are We Thinking: Yom HaZikaron 2009

Memorial Day conjures up memories of long weekends, the beginning of summer vacation, family gatherings and seasonal sales. Yet since moving to Israel I have developed an appreciation for what I think that the day was meant to be, especially through observances here that are part of the DNA of Israeli culture. For a day or two in advance, the public tone changes as the State and the people begin to prepare for formal commemoration of Yom HaZikaron. The country’s military cemeteries get a spring cleaning, themes of programs both on TV and radio focus on the nation’s wars and terrorist attacks, schools infuse their curriculum with lessons, memorials and ceremonies, often from a personal perspective of someone who has lost a loved one. Every year I enter the season with more or less the same mindset, and every year I am overwhelmed by the new observations, insight, and thoughts that come to mind. As the siren heralding the start of the observation was sounded Monday night at 8:00 PM, I was tucking in my youngest son. I interrupted my bed time ritual to point out the siren to my three and a half year old. He already learned in his gan that when you hear the siren you stand at attention “for the chayalim” (soldiers). What does this mean to him, I wondered? What is he thinking? After he went to sleep, I watched the State ceremony at the Western Wall on TV with my other kids. Virtually all stations broadcasting were showing either the State ceremony, stories about victims of war and terrorist attacks, or movies of a similar theme. Many other stations had no broadcast at all, only a photo of a memorial candle. Public entertainment is closed as religiously as it is on Yom Kippur. I sat next to my 10 year old son whose thin arms and legs are still that of a little boy, but who will one day, too soon, grow up and mature to resemble those whose lives we heard about on TV this night. He will fill out the uniform of a soldier of Israel with the body of a young man. Yet today as a child he understands that war and defending ourselves is a fact of life. It does not upset him. He is curious about the army and military things, but that’s probably age appropriate. Unlike me, growing up in New Jersey, he is growing up knowing that in several years he’ll be well on the way to being drafted and donning a green IDF uniform. When he watches the memorial, and sees stories of others who have been killed in defense of their country, what does he think? As for my daughters, one would think that they have it easier. The girls can choose to serve in the army or do national service. Even for those who might serve in the army, it’s unlikely that they’d be in combat or putting their own lives in harms’ way. But I couldn’t help but wonder if they are thinking they might marry a man who must put his life in danger. Is that even a factor or thought to them? Do my older children already talk among their friends about who will be the first to die defending the Land, as if it’s something to be expected, as if it’s normal? I know it’s done, but are my kids at that age yet? Are they thinking about this, or just about the tests in school next week and summer vacation? At the State Yom HaZikaron ceremony itself, the memorial flame was lit by a young woman whose husband died from “friendly fire” only in January. She’s barely had time to absorb her loss. Of course it makes no difference that he died due to an IDF mistake rather than at the hands of a terrorist, her husband is still gone. As she stood there, brave and stoic, I couldn’t help trying to imagine what she was thinking. Other than dignitaries and military leadership, the participants at the State ceremony were mostly family members of people killed at the hands of those who would still like to kill us, more of us. The glazed look on many of their faces suggested that their minds had wandered to the memory of their lost sons and daughters. How long has it been? Is their memory fading? Have they been able to move on in their lives? What are they thinking about? The Prime Minister and President spoke. Prime Minister Netanyahu no doubt remembers his brother, Yoni, who lead and fell during the 1976 Entebbe operation to free captive Jews hijacked to Uganda. Having served in an elite military unit himself, no doubt he knows others who served with him who are not here anymore. President Shimon Peres’ long history of public service, going back to before statehood, has given him the opportunity to know tens of thousands of people personally who were intricately involved in building our country. He can close his eyes and recall scores or hundreds of heroes whom he knew personally, victims of every war and battle since the Independence War. Even earlier. One must imagine that both these leaders stand humbly aware of the fact that their leadership today was in many ways built on the sacrifice of others, people they knew personally. Is two minutes of silence even enough for them to reflect on these losses? What could they possibly be thinking about the past, and how does this color their looking forward so that there are no more victims by this time a year from now? My wife wondered aloud whether we are a normal people. We live without regret or fear, just bewilderment at the hope of living in peace, and the parallel ability to fight and sacrifice for our homeland as needed. The dream of a Jewish state that became a reality 61 years ago was also supposed to make us just like the other nations, accepted by the other nations, living in peace. But we have not had a day of peace since then. Sadly, peace does not seem to be on the horizon. Traditionally, Yizkor (the memorial prayer for a dead relative) is recited on the last day of our festivals, in part, not to diminish the joy of celebrating the festivals to begin with. But in Israel, we mourn for those who have been killed defending the country the day before we celebrate our independence. It’s a stark contrast. It reminds us that the 22,570 who have been killed have given their lives so we can celebrate. While everyone would love to celebrate with only faint memories of those who have fallen in the distant past, the reality is that our need to defend ourselves and our country will probably not diminish for some time. Maybe never. And not that I want to have reasons to commemorate the day, but there is something to be said for a somber meaningful and reflective Memorial Day rather than one that is marked by running to the mall so as not to miss the sales, or a family barbecue with no recollection at all on the reason for the extra day off work to begin with. What are we thinking? We are raising our children to be proud Jews in the State and Land of Israel, to have meaning in their lives by building on our past and contributing to our future. We raise our children and live here ourselves, not shrinking from the threat that never seems to end, but mindful of it, and aware that sometimes when a loss is more personal, more relevant, it provides the elements to build a stronger foundation as an individual, as a Jew and as an Israeli. Yom HaZikaron is a milestone in all our lives and whatever perspective and mindset I enter it with, I always comes away thinking something different. In the year I made aliyah, Israel mourned 21,000 dead. This year that has increased to 22,570. It’s incomprehensible. It’s as if more than 800,000 Americans were to have been killed defending their country in the corresponding time. Only with the Civil War is the US able to count anything close to 800,000 victims, but that was also a war when all the victims, on both sides, were American. May we be privileged to commemorate Yom HaZikaron next year remembering only the 22,570, yet with the same sense of loss and grief, respect and gratitude, that gives us extra appreciation for everything we have, especially as we enter the festive celebrations of Yom Haatzmaut, our independence, as night falls on one day and dawns on the next.

Yom Haatzmaut Dayeinu

Just Glad to Be Living in Israel Living most of my life in the United States, I knew Israel’s independence was not something to take for granted, and indeed to be celebrated at every opportunity. Nevertheless, with the pace of life there not focused on Israeli holidays, the ability to celebrate and commemorate Israel’s independence sometimes conflicted with business meetings, kids’ activities and other day to day challenges. I remember my rabbi imploring us to attend annual community-wide Yom Haatzmaut celebrations, but also remember that even in the community in which I lived – one rich in opportunities to live a full Jewish life – the attendance at these events struck me as being far too low for a community of its size and commitment. Since making aliyah, I have seen something new. Even with all the differences within Israeli society, the fear that we are in a post-Zionist era, and the challenges of life in Israel, celebrating Israel’s independence is done with a sense of pride, joy and such a level of spirit. It is truly inspiring. Beginning with Passover, and leading up to Yom Haatzmaut, Israel decks itself out in blue and white. Highways are lined with flags. Kites fly bearing the blue and white. Small flags fit with a plastic clip for your car are sold at major intersections. Last year I adorned my car with 60 to the delight of many passers-by. It will be 61 this year, of course. Newspaper ads become patriotic and use blue and white regularly, and the weekend papers have free inserts of Israeli flags. The Yom Haatzmaut celebration in my new community is emotional. The past two years my wife and I have left with a lump in our throats from the feelings of pride and awe at being able to live in Israel, to raise our children here, and to build for the future. Fireworks are seen throughout the country, just as on July 4th in the US. Other than religious holidays when work is prohibited, Yom Haatzmaut may be the only day that no newspapers are printed. Family celebrations are varied, but many involve finding a patch of grass somewhere and setting up a portable barbecue to picnic into the night. We add Hallel to our prayers offering God special thanks for this milestone. But based on living most of my life in the Diaspora where it was often a challenge to carve out time to acknowledge, much less actually celebrate the holiday, it strikes me that there are no formal rituals associated with celebrating Israel’s independence. So I started wondering, what could be done after six decades to mark Israel’s independence in a way that is perhaps more universal, and even to facilitate a five minute pause in the life of someone overseas who wants to celebrate Israel’s independence, but for whom the pace of life is more about the daily grind rather than the festive nature we have in Israel. Thinking about the meaning of what we are celebrating, the message I hope my children will take with them forever, I realized that though the words of Hallel are meaningful, perhaps we needed something more contemporary. Building on an element of the Passover Seder, I came up with “Yom Haatzmaut Dayeinu.”

IF God had only given us Herzl’s will to dream, and not given us the Zionist Congresses, it would have been enough. Dayeinu. IF God had only given us the Zionist Congresses and not given us the 1917 Balfour Declaration affirming the reestablishment of a Jewish home in the Land of Israel, it would have been enough. Dayeinu. IF God had only given us the Balfour Declaration and not created the spark for early waves of aliyah to dry the swamps, irrigate the Land and build our country, it would have been enough. Dayeinu. IF God had only given us the spark to ignite waves of early aliyah to build our country and not taken us out of the ashes of the Holocaust, it would have been enough. Dayeinu. IF God had only taken us out of the ashes of the Holocaust and not continued the ingathering of the exiles from the four corners of the earth, it would have been enough. Dayeinu. IF God had only continued the ingathering of the exiles and not given us the 1947 UN Partition Vote to create the State of Israel, it would have been enough. Dayeinu. IF God had only given us the 1947 UN Partition Vote and not enabled our victory in the War of Independence and our Declaration of Independence, it would have been enough. Dayeinu. IF God had only enabled our victory to establish and declare independence, and not restored Jewish sovereignty to the Land for the first time in 2000 years, it would have been enough. Dayeinu. IF God had only restored Jewish sovereignty to the Land and not built us a thriving democracy, it would have been enough. Dayeinu. IF God had only built our democracy and not helped us overcome our enemies’ attempts to destroy us in 1956, 1967, 1970, 1973, 1982, 2006 and even today, it would have been enough. Dayeinu. IF God had only helped us overcome our enemies’ attempts to destroy us and not returned the Jews of Ethiopia to their homeland, rescuing black Africans from slavery in Africa to freedom, it would have been enough. Dayeinu. IF God had only returned the Jews of Ethiopia to their homeland and not enabled the aliyah of hundreds of thousands of Jews from the former Soviet Union, it would have been enough. Dayeinu. IF God had only enabled the aliyah of Soviet Jews and not reunified our Holy City, Jerusalem, it would have been enough. Dayeinu. . IF God had reunified Jerusalem and not made Israel a world leader in medical, biotech and high tech fields – a modern light unto the nations - it would have been enough. Dayeinu. IF God had only made Israel a world leader in technology, and not continued to bless Israel with His promise to build Jewish life for eternity, it would have been enough. Dayeinu. So let us pause on this special day to remember these and many other miracles that God has done for Israel, and that we magnify every day just by living as Jews in our homeland. Dayeinu.

Happy Independence Day Israel. Chag sameach.

Because of Schindler’s List

Dreizel and Shalom Yaakov Birnbach

Sitting in the second row at Israel’s national Yom Hashoah ceremony thanks to good friends, my mind wandered to things and places far away as I absorbed the powerful speeches, stories and performances before me. More than ever, the juxtaposition of this being both a personal and national tragedy was clear. And even though I have watched this ceremony on TV before, I reflected on how we commemorate this tragedy today and in the future. The theme of the program was especially powerful, “Children in the Holocaust.” Survivors’ whose stories were depicted were children during the Holocaust. Musical performances were both about, and by, children. Speakers referred to the 1.5 million children whose lives, and hopes and futures, were brutally cut short. The loss was made particularly relevant this week with projections that had the Holocaust not happened, the world’s Jewish population would number 35 million, three times what it is today. And while the stories of specific survivors were replete with personal horrors and grief, that they have each rebuilt their lives and raised families of their own offered hope for the future in spite of the suffering of the past. Without a doubt, we must mourn for our losses, individually and nationally. But to only mourn perpetuates defeat and victimhood. In an age when the number of living Holocaust survivors is dwindling, we must learn and teach from the past, and build for the future. By continuing to live and thrive, by magnifying Jewish life in every facet, we not only honor the memory of the six million murdered that their death was not in vain, but we also make sure that our very flourishing is a perpetual victory over those who tried to destroy us in the past, and a notice for those who would think of doing so again. Memorializing the six million is both a mission and obligation. We must consider not just the absolute losses, but the lives and stories of all the survivors and victims. We must consider the sacrifices of others in the past that made the present possible, for each of us as individuals, and for us as a people. And, especially in an era that provides platforms for those who deny that the Holocaust even happened, as a lesson to the world. On a personal level, my great grandparents were ones who made such a sacrifice.

Star of the Efrat (and Kanczuga) soccer team

As the Nazis rounded up my family in Kanczuga, Poland, all the shtetl’s Jews were being taken away to be murdered. My great grandmother, Dreizel, my great grandfather, Shalom Yaakov, their children, grandchildren and neighbors were among those being led to their death. Benny Shanzer, a teen at the time who was already an old man by the time I met him, told me how on that very day, my great grandmother saved his life. As they were being rounded up, she looked at him and said, simply, “You’re too young.” He understood and escaped, owing his life to the caring of a woman who would be murdered along with her family within hours of his escape. As much as she exhibited caring for Benny, I have no doubt that even until the last moment, they comforted their children with all the unconditional love that they exhibited throughout their lives. Lives cut short by the barrel of a Nazi gun. My great grandparents were also selfless parents in a way that nobody I know can ever imagine. They exhibited painful selflessness in the decade preceding their murder by sending four of their children away – to America and to Palestine - without knowing if they’d ever see them again. My great grandparents did this to protect their children, to give them opportunities, to give them a future. In doing so, they not only saved their children’s lives and enabled me to be born, but through them and their actions, they made it possible that we would have the privilege of living here today. As I sat at the Yad Vashem ceremony, it was clear that my great grandparents probably could have never imagined the life I’d be able to lead in Israel today, 75 years after they sent my grandmother, their daughter, to settle in Haifa. But whether they could or not, if they could see us now, they would be very proud. Others, like my relatives, made similar personal sacrifices, and there are thousands of stories of Righteous Gentiles who also sacrificed and put themselves at personal risk to save Jews, sometimes neighbors and sometimes total strangers. Among the most famous of these was Oskar Schindler whose story was captured in the award winning film, Schindler’s List. Many say the greatest victory over the Nazis is that Jewish life continues to flourish. A neighbor’s father, a survivor, celebrates Pesach each year with extra gusto, and his entire extended family at his side, as his victory over evil. Others speak of other occasions, holidays and lifecycle events in a similar way. Each one, another victory in the battle of the ongoing war against anti-Semitism. Yet sitting at Israel’s national Yom Hashoah ceremony, surrounded by Israel’s religious, civic, military and political leaders, by survivors, and even people like myself born after the Holocaust, something different came to mind. I sat near the world’s diplomats. For many of them it was their first substantial exposure to the Holocaust. The stories they heard, the ethical questions that must have been raised, were profound. How would they have responded then, indeed, how do they respond now to threats and rhetoric that is every bit as criminal and genocidal.

A special list - the Efrat soccer team

Oskar Schindler had his list of 1100. As Itzhak Stern (Ben Kingsley) said in the film, “The list is an absolute good. The list is life.” Yet my mind wandered to another place, another list, surrounded by fewer dignitaries, but no less significant. Eichen Elkin Feldstein Goldberg Goodman Levy Revivi Shefler Taragin Zeligman Zivotofsky My ten year old son was privileged to be picked to be on our town’s 3rd and 4th grade soccer team, playing other third and fourth grade teams from throughout and around Jerusalem. It’s a big deal to him, an enormous point of pride to us, his family, and is as fun to watch as it is competitive and educational. But as I sat at the national Israeli ceremony commemorating the six million martyrs, I couldn’t help but think that this list of 9 and 10 year old boys is every much about life as Oskar Schindler’s list. In many cases, this list would not be possible without the bravery and sacrifices of those who came before us. And after all, what better representation could there be of the survival and flourishing of Jewish life, more than six decades after the Holocaust, than dozens of boys running all over soccer fields in and around Jerusalem, cheering one another on in Hebrew. I think that my great grandparents would have an extra measure of pride in seeing their great-great-grandson running up and down a soccer field in Jerusalem, and leaping to stop a goal in Gush Etzion. I think, if they could, they’d join me every week sitting in the front row at the game to see our future before their eyes, or at least in the second row, as I did this week, remembering their lives and sacrifices that made our life here possible.

Outside My Comfort Zone

I visited relatives recently in the north of Israel. I had not been to their house in a while and, though they live on a small quiet street, I drove past their home without recognizing it. What ultimately identified the house for me was a big tree they had planted in the yard some 40 years ago. I drove past the house at first because I didn’t see it. Since I was there last, they erected a big wall around their property, 4-5 feet high. Behind the wall, all the windows were covered with iron bars. While this is not uncommon in Israel, and many other places throughout the world, I was sad to see that they felt the need to make their quaint home into a compound. The house is very modest, small and old. There’s no indication of wealth and no particular reason why they’d need to protect their house specifically. So I was saddened to learn about an increase in violent theft and robberies throughout the area in which they live. I was sad to hear about it because in my utopian perspective of how Israel SHOULD BE, the increase of crime in general, and particularly against a person and his/her property, is particularly upsetting. I was saddened to hear that they feared opening their door to strangers, parking their car at the mall, and even suspicious telephone solicitations. I was saddened for them personally, but also for the state of things, that an older couple living in the same home for four decades no longer feels safe there. As we were talking, I couldn’t help but think about how, as far as personal security and crime, I felt the complete opposite. Maybe part of it is my naiveté. But a large part was very ironic. Because I live on the “West Bank”. Five years ago as I planned to make aliyah and told them that we were considering the “West Bank” they were horrified. Politically, we’re very different and I have learned a lot from them about how the far left thinks. (That’s a topic for another article.) They were horrified no doubt because, to them, the “West Bank” is not a place for a nice Jewish boy. They felt that the communities I was considering were unsafe. I’d be putting myself and my family in harm’s way. And politically, to put it nicely, they did not think that this was a prudent move for the good of the country. I did not have the heart to tell them in fact how safe, free and comfortable we are and feel. And how I am saddened for them in their loss of this feeling. While several of my Israeli relatives have actually dared to cross the “green line” to visit us and celebrate our smachot, I am mindful that they are uneasy with this for their own physical safety, as well as – in some cases – making a political statement that they’d rather not be making. It’s to their credit that they do join us from time to time. But most of the time, as much as we’ll invite them just to come visit, this is not something they will do. It is outside their comfort zone. During the 2006 Lebanon War I spent a few days in the north, working and bringing material and moral support to residents who had not fled. As the war progressed, and hundreds of thousands of Israelis from the north ran for the safer center of the country, we joined many neighbors in inviting people to move in with us. We had no idea how long the war would last or when they’d be able to go home, but we invited everyone we knew nonetheless: Friends and relatives. Arabs and Jews. I admired that, with only one exception, everyone we invited to join us stayed in their homes in the north. But it could not go unnoticed that for the majority of our relatives and friends whose political views are to the left of ours, the irony of being safer in the dreaded “West Bank” than they were in the north did not escape us. More recently, a similar situation took place. During the Gaza fighting, many here invited residents of Sderot and surrounding communities to move in, or even come for Shabbat as a respite from the daily barrage of rockets. For many, daily rocket firing was something they were used to so they stayed in their homes. Others thanked us, but politely declined as they were scared to come here. They were more afraid of perceived fear of life in the “West Bank” than living under a daily barrage of kassam and katyusha rockets. The most vivid depiction of this took place when two truckloads of vendors’ wares were on their way to a nearby community where Gush Etzion residents enthusiastically organized a shuk of Sderot vendors selling everything from food and disposable plates to electronics and clothes. This was a means to support those who lived in the war zone, economically as well as morally. But as the trucks were approaching their destination, one of the drivers heard something about rocks being thrown at vehicles somewhere in the “West Bank,” and he decided that to come here was unsafe. And so, while almost at his destination, he turned around with a truck load of things that we’d have bought, and went back to the safety of Sderot. I suppose everyone has their comfort zone. Some are politically oriented, and some are based on perceived level of personal security. For me, I could never live in a situation where I had to put a wall around my house. I look back on life in suburban New Jersey and recall how we’d never let the kids play alone in the front yard for a different set of reasons. Here, my kids have much greater freedom. While we raise them aware of other challenges we face, it’s a small price to pay for being able to live here. Here, I am mindful of my surrounding, but grateful for the freedom that we have just to live.

Defensive Driving

Cars swerving between lanes, opening doors without looking, a rubber ball bouncing into traffic followed by a little child. In a quick internet search of “defensive driving” I found the following definition and an abundance of places prepared to teach me how to be a better driver.

“Defensive driving is more than just knowing how to drive. It is about taking a conscious effort every time you sit behind the wheels to take all the necessary precautions for a safer ride. Defensive driving actually goes beyond the basic skills of driving. It is even more than mastering the rules of the road. Defensive driving is actually a form of training or practice for motor vehicle drivers to drive in such a way that they consciously reduce the dangers associated with driving. They do this by anticipating dangerous scenarios, which could range from bad weather to erring motorists. A driver who practices defensive driving is ever watchful and careful. He is one who can quickly identify and predict potential road problems and then immediately decide and act appropriately to avoid dangers and accidents.”

But none of these sites cater to the Israeli driver. When I moved to Israel, several things got me to think about driving in a way I never had before. I’ll bet that none of the defensive driving schools on the internet have ever thought how to be a safe driver in Israel, or even considered factors that make driving here unique. Israel is known for many wonderful things, many special and even miraculous things. But Israel is also known for things that are incredibly maddening, frustrating, and sometimes third world. One of these is the number of traffic accidents, related of course to a culture of aggressive and sometimes haphazard driving. Every year, some 450 Israelis die on the road. Many are pedestrians hit by cars. Thousands more drivers, passengers and pedestrians are injured. And there’s the loss of property. It frustrates me that something often in our control, to drive safely and mindful of hazards, is something too often disregarded and even flaunted. I see whole families of kids bouncing around in back seats of cars, seat belts nowhere to be seen. People talking on cell phones. Each vehicular death and injury is particularly sad because it’s in our control to prevent them. But all of these things could be covered in a defensive driving class, or even just by listening to the laws. There are other aspects of driving in Israel the developers of defensive driving classes would find more astounding and have a harder time fitting in to their curriculum. Living in Gush Etzion, we have to be aware of the hidden stone thrower. Too frequently these are not reported, and when they are, they rarely make it to the media. But every turn can yield a potential new danger. Every hill next to the road a potential staging ground for a rock, or a barrage of them. Or there’s the road covered in rocks. Making a turn, you might find the road covered with stones. Not little ones, but the kind that will take out your transmission if you go over them. Once I made a wrong turn in a place that, though abandoned, was still littered with rocks as big as could be carried by little terrorists waiting to catch an unsuspecting Israeli car. I was lucky, nobody was there and I was able to turn around. But others I know have not been so lucky. And in a situation like this, you’re told to act in a way that is counter intuitive; in case of such a roadblock, you drive right through it. No matter how big the rocks are. No matter how damaging to your transmission. Don’t stop, just drive. There’s also the risk of letting cars pass you. Most roads are one lane in each direction, so passing is risky at best. But it’s still common. (OK, sometimes I am guilty too.) But the cars to be careful of have white license plates with green letters, or green ones with white letters. These Palestinian cars drive more or less freely on the vast majority of roads in Judaea and Samaria. One needs to be careful not to let them pass you because they have used this tactic as a way to kill people. They drive up next to you, spray the car with bullets, and drive off. A good friend lost her mother this way. A few years ago, during Sukkot, three Israelis were killed not far from my house when an Arab car drove by, opened fire, and fled. In order to prevent this, I always make it a point to keep close to the middle of the road and drive with an extra measure of care not to let cars pass me, especially if I can see that it is a Palestinian car. All these risks make driving challenging. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not the Wild West. These things don’t happen all the time. Once is too often, so these are things that we need to think about, just as driving in suburban NJ you worry about a child chasing his ball into the street in front of your car. We just need to be extra careful as few kids in NJ target oncoming cars for evil, and the balls that we need to be careful of can smash our windows, or worse.

Most of these things don’t take place throughout all of Israel anymore, but it used to be different. Ambushes were once a very regular occurrence. More “clever” terrorists devised a scheme to kill and maim by stretching a thin wire across a road so that passengers in unsuspecting cars, and especially army jeeps, would get stuck, hurt or even decapitated. Look at the front of a military jeep and notice the long pole mounted to catch and break these wires. Just in case. Last week there was the third incident in nine months of a terrorist using a tractor to try to maim and kill Israelis. This newest mode of terror not only terrorizes and harms Israelis, it harms the other Arabs who by in large just want to go to work building roads, buildings, train lines, etc. Every big yellow tractor is now suspect as a potential weapon. And big yellow tractors aren’t limited to the West Bank, but roam the cities and town throughout Israel. In Jerusalem, Modiin, Beit Shemesh, Afula… It gives me pause when driving down the road, anywhere in Israel, wondering if a tractor nearby is being piloted by a fanatic terrorist “with Allah as his co-pilot.” I have taken to driving extra slowly when they are spotted, to keeping extra distance between my car and others, just in case I need to escape. And I am mindful that if I am so unlucky to be stuck nearby when this happens again, to hope that there will be someone with a gun close by to end the terrorist’s road trip and give him a free pass to martyrdom, hopefully without taking anyone with him. There are many customs as to when one is supposed to say tefillat haderech, the travelers’ prayer. Most people say it upon returning from a trip to Israel, or arriving in Israel from a trip overseas. But there’s also a case to be made that we need to pray for our safe arrival even when we go to the grocery store, commute to work, or meet friends for dinner. Simple things not to be taken for granted.

Drowning in Drought

I have never really been a big fan of the water. Maybe it’s because when I was young some kid held me under the water at the swim club, a scarring experience no doubt, (what would Freud have to say about that!), or maybe something else. But I don’t particularly like to go swimming. And the beach, forget it. Sand everywhere that follows you home in your hair, shoes, etc. Filthy salty water. Who needs it? The only exception is swimming on a very hot summer day with my kids. That’s refreshing and fun. And since I know that my attitude toward swimming is not healthy, and that I have a responsibility to teach my kids to swim, I get over it and take the plunge. Most of the time. This week, however, filling up my kids’ outdoor wading pool was not only exciting, but it was even emotional. In Israel we got what we have been praying for the past months. Rain. And lots of it. Given the grave situation that was being painted for us going into the spring and summer, talk of the most severe water shortage here ever, the rain was a welcome and very needed gift. In the past months I have been drilling into my kids’ heads about not wasting water. Not a day goes by without some suggestion as to how to save, or at least not to waste, this precious resource. The kids understand that without water, life cannot exist, and our life as we live it cannot be possible. I put the wading pool out in the front of the house to capture as much rain as possible. I am guessing it has as much as 50 gallons. It’s dirty, murky and not anything we’d want to swim in. But when the rain stops, there will be water left to water our six fruit trees and grape vine. The lawn can die, that’s not the end of the world. But the fruit trees that we planted with our own hands and are now just coming to the time that we can eat from them, we can’t let them die. It’s Israel. A tree is not just a tree. But we also can’t waste the water. So this is my partial answer, even more than what it does to save water, it is important in what it teaches my kids about how to be responsible Israelis. Another neighbor put a 500 liter tank on top of his house to catch rain water for use in the garden too. The rains this week increased the level of the Kineret, Israeli’s main source of fresh water, by about 8 inches. That’s really quite a lot. More than 50 inches of snow on the Hermon in the Golan have an important impact too because when the snows melt, run-off will also make its way into the Kineret. Maybe another 8 inches. Maybe more. But as exciting and emotional as this all really is, the sum of all the prior rains this winter was only 11 inches. Before the recent storm, the Kineret was just 34 inches above the Black Line, the level at which ground contamination may force a halt to pumping of water into the national water carrier. Basically, the closing of Israel’s primary water source. From another perspective, the Red Line, the minimum desirable level of the Kineret, is 46 inches above the current level. That means we need another six good storms, at least, just to get to the minimum desirable level. And to fill the Kineret, the level needs to rise more than another 5 meters or almost 200 inches, not factoring in usage and evaporation in the interim. As much as I hope that the Kineret may fill up this season, I also hope that the government will finally expedite plans to build desalination plants and other projects that will give us more water when we need it. As much as the lack of water is a severe threat, the government’s mismanaging of this for years is criminal and needs to stop. It’s not just that living in Israel we have to be more responsible and careful with water. There’s a personal awareness of the scarcity of this resource, and how water connects us to the Land. When we pray for rain here, it’s not the same as it was in the US, praying for rain over there. It’s here, in our front yard, our back yard and everywhere around us. Its very close and personal. While I have lived in many places where droughts have occurred, in Israel it’s a regular event. We’re grateful for the rain and hope and pray it will continue. But we have to be responsible about not wasting water, and conserving it every little bit that we can. I miss the carefree days of leisure and taking a nice long, hot shower. But if my sacrificing and conserving just a little helps just a little, and helps others – especially my kids –Israelis and tourists alike to do so as well, while I can’t make the rain, I can hope that we won’t waste water or take it for granted. And through a personal awareness and commitment not to waste water, maybe collectively we can add just a bit that will help us get through the dry months from this spring until when the next rains begin.