simchat torah, act 2: sefer torah

in the wake of simchat torah, and the almost-inevitable wave of feminine regret over the hollowness of what i have to again describe as a 24-hour-kiddush, i've been thinking more about women dancing with the sefer torah.

now i'm not a posek nor the daughter of a posek, though i know a man who is. i try to remind myself (and when i forget, my husband is happy to do it for me) that rabbis are human too. even the ones i disagree with. and i try to remember that everyone has their red lines which, when crossed, just make them feel too, too uncomfortable. and so i have never had a problem with having as the rav of my community someone who takes a different position to me on women and ... issues. women and learning mishnah. women and learning gemarah. women and dancing on simchat torah. we don;t all need to agree, and if i want to be given the space to follow the opinions which i follow, then i have to give others the same space and respect to be uncomfortable with it.

but this is where i get a bit stuck. honestly, i am not sure of the answer here. if you are the rav of a community, and there is an issue which you, personally, find makes you so uncomfortable that you would find it hard to daven in the shul if it were to occur, and yet it's non-occurence makes so many of your community feel disenfranchised, bored with judaism, unwanted in the communal religious framework which you strive to make open and welcoming for both men and women - well, what would you do? what should you do? i accept the difficulty of this problem, and i don;t know what the answer would be. i know  that i would respect the struggle of any rav who told me that this was what faced him. i do not remember ever hearing it phrased in this way, though.

this is part of why i realise that i have been trying not to demand or ask too much for the opportunity to dance with a sefer torah. although i disagree with any reason against it i have yet heard, i do accept (well, try to accept) that some - many - rabbonim might be so unfamiliar with it (and with any similar halachically-permissible female inclusions) that they simply feel very very uncomfortable at the thought of davening in a shul where it occurs, let alone being the one to permit it. i suppose this is me being an emotionally-driven woman again, but i would appreciate it if halachic objections were put to one side, when they truly are spurious, and instead people spoke a bit more candidly about how they feel about it.

all that being said, i do not think that men - of rabbinical and non-rabbinical stripes - realise how potent the sefer torah is. when women do get the opportunity to dance with the sefer torah, they handle it so reverently. there is so much awe at being entrusted with something so precious; fear at possibly doing something wrong; amazement at how heavy and alive it is. actually, it is most similar to the way many men react on holding a baby, especialy those unfamiliar to it. i am sure that many men respond to the sefer torah in a similar way, yet for men, there is a familiarity to the sefer torah which breeds - not, chas v'shalom, contempt, but...casualness. correction: which can breed casualness.

one time, i taught the torah l'am course. in the first of the six weeks of the course, i brought with a sefer torah. my memory may be deceiving me, but i think it was a pasul sefer torah (i brought it to show the layout of the torah, the columns, paragraphs, petuchot and stumot, in case you were wondering). the men were pretty unfazed by it - it's jsut a sefer torah, oh yes, i never noticed those petuchot and stumot before, but it's something i'm familiar with. the women, however; wow. they were blown away by seeing a sefer torah up close, able to lean in, look at the words, carry it and hold it. they kept taking it in turns to hold it. (and yes, we did have to debunk that menstruation myth again.) they were so excited. there was an energy to the way they interacted with it. and that night that the sefer torah lay on my kitchen table until i returned it the next day, i moved differently, kissed it when i passed, thought and acted differently, because i had a sefer torah in my home.

i do not think that men know how women feel about the sefer torah. if they did, i'd like to think, they would share it a little bit more.

simcha for all* (*may not include women)

Last night - simchat torah night here in israel - after shul, hakafot, dinner etc, i was composing this blog post in my head. it went something like this:

There are some times when i wish i was not an optimist. then there wouldn;t be so much disappointment.

Every year i look forward to simchat torah. i love the layning; i love the feeling of completing the cycle of Torah and moving on one notch as we start it again. i also love to dance, and love to feel and express a connection with Hashem through my feet and body, celebrating the Torah that i love.

Almost every year, i come out of simchat torah feeling hollow, having again experienced the transformation of the day of the celebration of acceptance of the Torah into a 24-hour kiddush. I do understand that men, by and large, do not realise how empty simchat torah is for most women. i do also accept that there are women - possibly many, many women, possibly even the majority - who truly feel the simcha of having the Torah through the vicarious experience of watching their husbands and sons dance. And i applaud them; i wish that i was so easily satisfied, it would make my life much simpler.
(What they all think should be arranged for single, divorced, widowed, or childless women, i haven;t a clue. i think they should probably take the hint and go off to thailand for the duration. (side note: this year i received an email from our shul before rosh hashana, reminding the women to appoint their husbands as their shaliach for hataras nedarim the next day. i replied asking, what about the single women in our community? or women who wish to do it themselves? the response: "i have no idea".).)

I know of a few communities which organise women's learning for simchat torah. i think that's lovely; it's a good thing for women to learn torah. but it's not, actually, what traditionally happens on the morning of simchat torah. If it's 'the done thing' for men to celebrate simchat torah by dancing, not learning, why should women be fobbed off by being told that if they want to experience simchat torah, they should learn? (thanks to Jo Bruce for that one.)

Last night, i was composing this blog post because i went to our regular shul. i like to be in the same place for chagim as i am all year round. it gives a nice sense of community. and continuity. and i do like our community. i like the people in it, though i don;t know them very well yet. ( i think i do not actually know them well enough to have made the comment i did to the woman standing next to me, watching our men-folk celebrate. the comment: you know the mishna in succah about the simchat beit hashoeva in the beis hamikdash? that only those who were on a high enough level of torah learning danced, and the rest just watched? maybe one day, i'll be zocheh to a high enough level to be able to dance on simchat torah.) Last night, the men danced. the women squashed together and watched. some of them sat down comfortably and yachna-ed outside while the kids ran around on sugar highs (becuase for children, this is one of the two 'chag of the endless sweets'). part of me wondered if i should go outside and join the yachna-ing, because i don;t know the women very well yet, and i would like to, and maybe i shouldn;t squander the opportunity to yachna? and then i thought of my daughter. 8 years old, notices everything you don;t want her to notice, already been disappointed once by the lack of provision for women to dance at a recent simchas beis hashoeva 'for the whole kehilla'. do i want her to look around from watching the men dance with sifrei torah, and see her mother chatting? nope. so i called her over, and we sat down together and finished learning sefer yehoshua which she'd been working through all year. it was lovely to be learning together with my daughter on simchat torah. but it would have been even nicer to have finished learning, got up, and danced together to celebrate the torah that she learns and that i learn.

***

That's the blog post i wrote in my head last night. Baruch Hashem, today i went to a different shul. ok, it was not perfect. but there was space for women to dance in as well as the men. there were women sitting and learning as well as talking. there were women dancing (and, more blessedly, lovely, lively teenage girls singing and dancing. how wonderful it is that they were there! on so many, many levels. something must have gone right for them to still be inside a shul on simchat torah, starting off the dancing, rather than chatting in the park). There were men carrying the sefer torah over for women to kiss (only a couple, but i have been slowly lowering my expectations. it's a start). there were little sifrei torah of the sifrei neviim which some girls were dancing with, without outrage (again, i know it is not the sefer torah. but again, it is a start. though one woman dancing refused to hold it, probably because of that menstruation myth again). i know how much was lacking, so no need to deluge me with reminders, but just to find women dancing made me feel less empty. or perhaps it was being around other women who also acknowledged that there was something missing in the female experience of the day that made me feel less like the last human in 'attack of the zombies'.

***

After our rather disastrous simchas beis hashoeva experience, i was forced to clarify and articulate just what was so bad about it. so here's the benefit of my reflections. First, the experience:

- we went to a simchas beis hashoevah run by our shul, billed as being 'for the whole kehilla'. now i make a lot of allowances for our shul, paertly becaues i like it, and partly becuase it is crammed into such a bdi eved house and so it cannot provide things for the women (or men) that it perhaps would like to, just because of a lack of space. however, in my naivete i thought that the men would dance outside, and the women would dance inside, so that they would have some space. instead, the whole men's section was cleared (a reasonable size) and the women;s section - tiny at best - was still set up as it normally is.

so i cleared away the tables and chairs, thereby creating an empty ladies' section with plenty of space for about half a dozen women to dance in. forutnately, that's about exactly how many women came. i danced with them and my eager-to-dance daughter for about 10 minutes, and then left (as i had intended) for a melaveh malka. as we walked away, daughter and i commiserated over hte lack of dancing  or provision for dancing. she said 'next year, we won;t go'. i said 'no. next year, we will organise it so that it will be better'.

- Ben's responses and other reasonable defenses:
      - maybe women in the kehilla just don;t come
      - maybe the women in the kehilla just don;t dance

- my reflections:
     - don;t call it 'for the who;le kehilla' if you don;t want women to come.
     - don;t invite women and then make no possibility for them to dance
   

It matters to me, immensely, that our daughter grows up feeling that she has a place, value, and worth in our kehilla. i know all about a woman's role in building a home, and i think it is hugely important, and indeed primary. however, no woman spends her whole life married with small children. she - and every girl - needs to feel that she matters in the kehilla. i am not convinced that parents on their own can counteract a message received from all around of 'your role in a kehilla is as an adjunct who sends her husband to daven' and 'your spiritual life is only within your home'.

every girl and women needs to feel a relationship with Hashem that is not solely defined my her role as wife and mother. small events such a this send a clear message that the women who come to communal events are only expected to talk or prepare the kiddush, or not to come at all. certainly that communal religious experiences are only for men.

i am reminded of the time of the haskalah, as young jews slipped away from orthodoxy in droves to join nationlist movements, zionist movements, socialist movements, reform movements. there was widespread wailing and gnashing of teeth, and it took a remarkably long time - with the benefit of hindsight - for the mass of leaders and teachers to realise that perhaps the jews who were leaving judaism were not just doing so because these of the wonderful things that these other movements had to offer, but becuase they felt something lacking in judaism. and even longer to realise that if that was the case, then something in the way that they taught judaism had to change.

nowadays, there is a great deal of energy spent by leaders nad teachers decrying jewish feminism, women's tefillah groups, egalitarian and/or partnership minyanim, and others of that ilk. it is usually blamed on the spirit of the times, a desire to rebel, and lack of tznius. remarkably seldom, it seems, do leaders and teachers reflect that perhaps, women are looking elsewhere for a religiously fulfilling experience because they are excluded from having one in the 'mainstream' orthodox world. that perhaps, if women were permitted to do that which we are, actually, permitted to do, fewer women would turn away from orthodoxy.

this year, our daughter came, and was disappointed. next year, she wouldn't come. after that, she wouldn;t come to shul at all. she would stay home to read, or chat outside of shul with her friends. and then, why should she expect a shul to be a place where she experiences any sort of spirituality? i found it hard, growing up with the message around me that women's collective religious experience is to say tehillim. Baruch Hashem, i have made my peace with the options available to me, and learned enough Torah to know that what i hear all around me is not always - or often - halachically true, and that there are more options than those dreamt of in their philosophy. but it was a longish road, and i'd love my daughter not to have to travel it. i want to help her to short cut straight to 'fulfilling communal experience and relationship with Hashem within a mainstream orthodox framework'.

All of this sent me into simchat torah determined to show my daughter that a. Torah is also for women and b. a communal religious experience is also for women.

Baruch Hashem, i did manage it, although it wasn't perfect. and so, this blog post is a little longer than i'd composed it last night. and also a little bit more positive.

Mothering through the Yamim Noraim

As a mother of young children, it can be really hard to retain a sense of spirituality and godliness during these holiest of days. Although I'll be bringing some practical suggestions, I think that the attitude that we take when going into these days is what makes the difference between success and failure. 

(Link to audio recording of my delivering this as a shiur - https://www.dropbox.com/s/6ooz6tahhdf8wy8/mothering%20yomim%20noraim.3ga?dl=0)

I think that many people approach Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur with a slightly erroneous mindset. We call them the Yomim Noraim - the Days of Awe. And indeed they are serious days, majorly important days, even scary days. But they are not depressing days. There is a tendency to approach Yom Kippur in particular as a sad day, probably because we aren't eating, so to us that is already a sad situation. And also because it is a serious fast, we group it together in our minds with Tisha B'Av, and then we transfer the sadness and mourning of Tisha B'av onto Yom Kippur as well. But it is not the same kind of day. It is really really important to remember this. So I'd like to begin by reframing Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. 

Reframe #1: Rosh Hashanah is not about teshuvah (repentance). 
Nowhere in the Rosh Hashanah liturgy do we confess our sins, beat our chests, or request forgiveness. There is no talk about atonement. What there is throughout the prayers of Rosh Hashanah is an over-riding theme of G-d's Kingship. Rosh Hashanah is about crowning G-d as our King and King of the Universe - in Hebrew, this is called kabbalat ol malchut shamayim - accepting the yoke of Heaven. Chassidus refers to Rosh Hashanah as Coronation Day. 

Although G-d's Kingship is indisputable and infinite, the midrashim nonetheless tell us that 'there is no king without a people'. We need to declare G-d as our King to the world. A King of flesh and blood is crowned through his people’s acceptance of his rule and obedience to his commands. Similarly, we crown G-d by obeying Him with the most energy and alacrity possible. Regardless of the job He has given you, because who are you to question the King? This is a slightly alien concept in our world, because no one would hesitate to question the Prime Minister, the President, or even the King (or Queen, as we have in the UK today). However, once upon a time in England, when kings had real power of life nad death, to question a king was a dangerous move, and a forbidden one. It is still the case with our Heavenly King. 

Rosh Hashanah is also Yom Hadin - the Day of Judgement. This does not contradict what I wrote above, that Rosh Hashanah is not about repentance. On Coronation Day, when we crown G-d as King, our King also gives out assignments to everyone in his realm, and allocates resources according to loyalty and the need created by that assignment. It’s not a day of mercy and compassion. It is a day of harsh judgement based on what will advance the kingdom and the King's plan for it. Loyalists are rewarded and given more resources to continue in their supportive tasks. Rebels are denied the resources to continue in their destructiveness. There is no room for weakness and no place for excuses. Rosh Hashanah is a harsh day. There is no place for confession, for repentance or atonement - that comes later, on Yom Kippur, when we get the opportunity to appeal. On Rosh Hashanah, all that matters is whether you will obey the King and help advance His policies. On Rosh Hashanah, G-d allocates His resources like a King concerned with the welfare of His whole country; to those who deserve it and need it most for their task. So on Rosh Hashanah we beg hope pray that G-d will view us as loyal workers and not rebellious traitors, that He will thus give us His tools of health, of reliable income, of supportive relationships, of inner peace. We can stand in synagogue and tell G-d how much we will obey Him, or we can put our money where our mouth is and just do it - by accepting His assignment of spending Rosh Hashanah caring for our children. 

A few years ago, I spoke with a lady, an American, who when she heard that I was English, told me that her father had been stationed in England during the Second World War. He was with the Air Force, she told me. I thought, "Wow. Her father fought in WW2. He personally got rid of Nazis from the skies. He maybe even had a direct part in the liberation of the concentration camps. Wow." But then she quickly said "But he didn't fight." My inner wonder and gory deflated. "What a shame". I thought instead. "How disappointing. He didn't actually fight". Fortunately, though, I didn;t articulate my thoughts, because she went on to tell me that her father was in the mechanical airforce engineers. And my second thoughts were to realise that actually, that's a very important job. There may be more glory in being a fighter pilot, but without the engineers, who patched up the planes when they came back shot to pieces, who made sure that all the guns and flight equipment was working correctly, without these unsung engineers who never flew the skies of Europe, there would have been no victory to the Allies. No liberation of the camps. No glorious fighter pilots downing Nazi planes. So who did a ‘better’ job fighting the Nazis: the glorious fighter pilots? Or the engineer? And what would have happened if the engineer had decided he did not like the job he was given, and wanted the glory of being a fighter pilot? We needed both of them. 

The metaphor I'm sure is clear. Sometimes in our lives we get to be the fighter pilots. But sometimes, we are in the mechanical airforce engineers. G-d, our King, has given us the assignment of looking after these children. On Rosh Hashanah, we crown G-d as King by showing that we accept His authority to assign us to this job, and we demonstrate that we are loyal supporters who deserve to be allocated resources in the role that He has given us. As we move through Rosh Hashanah, we should be aware of the fact that by looking after the children that G-d has given us, we're crowning Him as King. Through our cheerfulness, our flexibility, or lack thereof, we are declaring G-d's authority to the world and ourselves, and demonstrating that we are His dependable, loyal subjects who deserve His blessings of peace, health, and mental stability. Because on Rosh Hashanah, there is no room for excuses. We could stand in shul and daven to convince Him that we really deserve it ... or we could just do it.

Reframe #2: Yom Kippur is not a sad day. 
It’s a serious day, yes, but it is a chag. A yomtov. A Shabbat to end all Shabbats. It is not Tisha B’av take two. Our kids should ENJOY Yom Kippur. (Yes, I just said 'enjoy' and 'Yom Kippur' in the same sentence.) I know that might sound a bit like blasphemy. Our children should have treats, just like on other Yomim Tovim. They should wear their shabbat clothes, and play special games, and have extra-extra-special Mummy time because it is Yom Kippur. Most of all, you should do all of this from a position of strength, with the positive intention of yes giving your children your time and attention and making them happy, not with feelings of guilt that you are taking the second-rate option when what you should be doing is praying, or reading improving literature. Yom Kippur is a CHAG - make it be one for your children.

Reframe #3: You are the Kohen Gadol (High Priest). 
It's often pointed out that the Avodah (service) of the priests in the Beit Hamikdash (holy Temple) is the same as the tasks of a housewife and mother. The High Priest - and other priests - spends Yom Kippur cooking the animals on the altar, cleaning up the ashes, sweeping the floor, opening the doors and closing them again - and opening them again, and then closing them again. Just like we do. Petty, insignificant tasks, over and over again. And this is beautiful, because on the afternoon of Yom Kippur, the musaf prayers are all about the retelling of what exactly the Kohen Gadol did in the Beit Hamikdash on Yom Kippur, down to every time he changed his clothes (something that mothers of young children also need to do a lot of!). While the men in shul are reading about it, we mothers are carrying it out! So it is all up to us to have the right attitude - we can either view what we are doing as trivial tasks, that we just have to keep doing again and again and again, or we can view ourselves as emulating the Kohen Gadol. 

Reframe #4: You are an angel.
On Yom Kippur, we emulate malachim (angels). We dress in white, we don't eat, we say ‘baruch shem’ in shema out loud like angels do. The real definition of a malach is a messenger of G-d, a being who has no will of his own, but only does the Will of G-d. On Yom Kippur, we can be like the angels even if we don;t manage to pray a word, by making G-d;s Will be our  own will, with happiness, instead of trying to make our will be G-d's Will - in insisting that we should be praying instead of looking after our children.

In a generic way, Rabbi Yitzchak Berkowitz teaches that every time we feed a baby or a small child who cannot feed him/herself, we should repeat to ourselves, or think in our minds the verse 'pote'ach et yadecha u'masbia kol chai ratzon - G-d opens up His Hand and feeds all creatures until they are satisfied'. Because when we feed a child who is too small to feed him/herself, we are the long arm of G-d. We are the tool through which G-d is feeding this child. And by holding this verse in mind, even one out of 30 times, we invest our simple mundane act with spirituality and a sense of higher purpose.

　

Praying On Rosh Hashanah & Yom Kippur:
Before discussing what and how we should pray on Rosh Hashanah & Yom Kippur, I want to share my biggest biggest message: It is not only Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur when we hold a machzor in our hands and/or stand in synagogue. We still stand before G-d when we aren't praying. Do not feel that you have missed out on Rosh Hashanah if you haven't opened a prayerbook at all. 

We are Jewish mothers, so we're good at Jewish guilt. Nonetheless, it's important for mothers to lay down that guilt about not being able to daven (pray) because we're looking after our children. The Chafetz Chaaim ruled for his wife that she is exempt from prayer at all while she has young children. We have a concept of osek bamitzva patur mimitzvah - one who is involved in a mitzvah is exempt from interrupting it to carry out another mitzvah. 

Let's not forget that raising our children is a mitzvah. Again, being aware of the godliness in our actions can invest them with the spirituality that we need. Rabbi Aryeh Levine, the tzaddik of Jerusalem,  taught his daughters that before they carried out any task of motherhood - changing a nappy, feeding a baby, playing with a child, even - they should say (or think) ‘hareni muchan um’zuman lekayem mitzvat gidel banim’ - "Behold, I am prepared and ready to fulfill the positive commandment of raising children'. This is a statement of intent; similar ones are recited before carrying out other positive commandments such as bensching after meals, shaking the lulav & etrog, etc. Through reciting or thinking these few words, we remind ourselves that the most mundane of our actions in caring for a child is holy. At least on Rosh Hashanah & Yom Kippur, we should try to keep this in mind, to remind ourselves of the holiness of our mundane activities. 

All of that being said, however, is it still very important to daven. It is important to pray something every day, however little, because it keeps you ‘in touch’ with G-d. It keeps you in the habit of praying, so that it will not be so hard to come back to it in the future. And prayer does not need to be formal; every time that we need something, we should ask G-d for help with it. Just to talk to G-d, in English, keeps our line open with G-d. 

And during Elul, in particular, one should try to pray something extra. It doesn't need to be formal prayer. Sing a song like 'Achas Sho'alti' (which is taken from the chapter of Tehillim (psalms) that begins 'L'David Hashem', which is said every day from the beginning of Elul), to remind ourselves that it is Elul and Rosh Hashanah is coming. 

Practically speaking:

• Do make arrangements that work for you so that you can get some time to daven during Rosh Hashanah & Yom Kippur. Get up early to daven before your husband goes to shul; meet up with friends to share child-watching and take in turns to daven; find a time when your husband can watch your children so that you can daven. Do whatever works for you. 
• Daven maariv. Especially on Yom Kippur, maariv is your best chance for a meaningful prayer. It is when you are not yet starving, so try your hardest to stay awake for long enough to pray the most meaningful prayer that you can. You can daven maariv on Rosh Hashanah night after dinner as well, at least until midnight. You will feel calmer if you know that you have one good prayer under your belt. Maximise maariv. 
• Daven musaf later in the afternoon, and/or mincha. It is often easier to grab this time, because our husbands are home and can watch our children. 
• Especially on Yom Kippur but also on Rosh Hashanah, resting is also serving G-d. If you need to sleep or rest, then do. If you feel you can daven, but only sitting down, then do so. Remember - again - what you are meant to be doing. G-d has a lot of other people davening to Him - you, He needs to look after these children. 
• Whatever you manage to daven, whatever you are doing: gear the day towards Hashem. Regardless of how much davening you do. Think about the essence of Rosh Hashanah & Yom Kippur at intervals during the day. Live this one day with awareness that you are standing before Him: that these children are His children whom He has asked you to look after; that your every action can serve Him; that you are crowning Him as your King. 
• Let go of idea that RH/YK can only be experienced in a shul/inside a machzor. 

But:
1. Unless it is really necessary, do not leave your children in the charge of a non-Jewish babysitter. This is an important special day for them as well as for you - don't lose the opportunity to create a holy, Rosh Hashanah/Yom Kippur experience for them. 
2. Don't hijack a teenager’s chance to daven. Yes, it is good for girls to do good deeds for their mothers/neighbours, and girls who find it hard to sit in shul for so many hours can welcome the opportunity to help you out by watching your children for you while you daven. But do not expect - or ask - them to miss the ‘important parts’ of shul so that you can go, and certainly don;t ask them to stay home all morning/day to help you or so that you can go. We had our turn to daven - this is their turn. They need their holy experiences to build upon, just as we did.

Practical Davening Review:
Tadir v’aino tadir tadir kodem = ‘Regular’ davening trumps ‘special’ davening, even on Rosh Hashanah. Even on Yom Kippur. This can be hard, but the special extra add-ins to davening which really mean Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur to us go at the bottom of the list.

So, if you have a limited amount of time, this is the order of importance for what to say:

1. Basic birkat hashachar (morning blessings)
2. Shemonah esreh 
3. Sh’ma & Shemonah Esreh (including go’al yisrael on its own) 
4. Birchot sh’ma, Sh’ma, & Sh’monah esreh 
5. Baruch she’omar - Hodu - Ashrei (in that order)
6. 2 hallelukahs (order of importance - 3 5 1 2 4) 
7. Nishmas - Yishtabach (in that order)

If you think that you will have only 15 minutes, and you say just shemonah esreh, and then you discover that you have more time than you thought you would have and can say a bit more, then you can go backwards through the siddur to say each part in order of importance rather than the order it comes in the siddur. 

Practical Suggestions:

• Throughout Rosh Hashanah & Yom Kippur, your guiding principle should be that of hefsed merubah, ie what will serve a better purpose? Will you lose more than you gain if you choose to daven, because it will make you be so stressed and snappy that you will make your children upset and scared? Then don't daven, remain a happy mummy. 
• More important to stay calm and not get angry than to daven. Avoid anything that might trigger anger, which may include rushing your children to get out the house quick to get to shul in time for shofar; trying to daven with a toddler who wants your attention. 
• Shofar: Don;t take your children to the synagogue if they will squirm and make a noise and mess around during shofar. It is not necessary to go to shul for shofar. Your community should have another shofar-blowing for women at a later time during the day on Rosh Hashanah. If not, arrange one. It's also important to know that only 30 shofar-blasts are Torah-mandated, so once you have heard one set of 30, you have fulfilled your biblical requirement to hear shofar. Also, there is no time limit on hearing shofar on Rosh Hashanah day - you can hear it after lunch if that is when you are able to. 
• If you’re spending Rosh Hashana & Yom Kippur looking after children, then whatever you do with them is what you’ll be thinking about. So try to do Rosh Hashanah & Yom Kippur things with them. Daven with them if they are old enough to have learned some prayers in school. 
• Sing Rosh Hashanah & Yom Kippur songs with them. 
• Tell children stories about Rosh Hashanah & Yom Kippur. Mine loved the story in the midrashim about the very first Rosh Hashanah, when Adam was created and all the animas bowed down to him because they thought he was their king. Adam told them 'No! You think I'm your king? Come, we'll all go together to give G-d His crown, because He is your King and mine!" He loved it so much we were still telling the story after succot! You can also tell them about what the Kohen Gadol did in the Beit Hamikdash on Yom Kippur. Find books about the Beit Hamikdash, print pictures off the internet. Prepare in advance.  
• Make a special kiddush with them when they’ve finished davening, or when you're finished. 
• If you have very small children, do daven aloud when you can daven. Even shemondah esrei can be davened aloud if you are davening at home by yourself. It often calms babies/small children to hear you praying, because they know you are there and hear you are busy, they don;t just see you sitting down doing nothing (which is how it looks to them!).
• Do sing tunes from Rosh Hashanah/Yom Kippur prayers. Singing is hugely evocative. Sing all your special yomtov songs and favourite tunes, or hum them as you go around the house.
• Even little kids love knowing that they can shout ‘baruch shem kavod malchuso l’olam va’ed’ when they say shema at night. 
• Plan ahead -- especialy for Yom Kippur. Put a couple of toys away now so you can get them out ‘new’ on Yom Kippur - more than one if you can, so there’s something for that difficult end of afternoon stretch. Worth going to the shekel store to buy some small toys to get out new on Rosh Hashanah & Yom Kippur. 
• Remember that children need to make kiddush on Yom Kippur. A child old enough to read kiddush should do so; a child who is old enough just to make the blessing over the grape juice should do so. They can get really enthusiastic about playing at making kiddush and hamotzi like daddy. 
• Make sure to begin seudah well in advance on erev Yom Kippur - you need enough time to eat as well. Make sure to drink - & eat - enough during the day. 

MOST IMPORTANT: Your children should enjoy yomtov. If Rosh Hashanah & Yom Kippur become days of terror for them, it will colour whole approach to G-d & yomtov. Our children should enjoy yomtov & not dread it. Use the opportunity to teach them that G-d loves them. Set them on path of drawing close to G-d through love, not through fear.

Nechemia 8:5-14:
These may be my favourite verses in Tanach. They are from the book of Nechemya - Nehemiah, in the time of the beginning of the Second Temple. Some - sadly few - Jews have returned from exile in Babylon back to Eretz Yisrael. They've found a sefer Torah and Ezra the Scribe is reading from it to them, and as he reads it, the people suddenly realise that that day is Rosh Hashanah. They are fallen woefully low, they are married to idol-worshipping wives, they do not even know that it is Rosh Hashanah that day. They are so shocked by this realisation that they begin to cry. And Nechemya, Ezra, and the Levi'im reassure them:

ט וַיֹּאמֶר נְחֶמְיָה הוּא הַתִּרְשָׁתָא וְעֶזְרָא הַכֹּהֵן ׀ הַסֹּפֵר וְהַלְוִיִּם הַמְּבִינִים אֶת־הָעָם לְכָל־הָעָם

 הַיּוֹם קָדֹֽשׁ־הוּא לַה' אֱלֹֽקיכֶם אַל־תִּֽתְאַבְּלוּ וְאַל־תִּבְכּוּ 

כִּי בוֹכִים כָּל־הָעָם כְּשָׁמְעָם אֶת־דִּבְרֵי הַתּוֹרָֽה: 

י וַיֹּאמֶר לָהֶם לְכוּ אִכְלוּ מַשְׁמַנִּים וּשְׁתוּ מַמְתַּקִּים וְשִׁלְחוּ מָנוֹת לְאֵין נָכוֹן לוֹ 

כִּֽי־קָדוֹשׁ הַיּוֹם לַֽאֲדֹנֵינוּ וְאַל־תֵּעָצֵבוּ כִּֽי־חֶדְוַת ה' הִיא מָֽעֻזְּכֶֽם: 

יא וְהַֽלְוִיִּם מַחְשִׁים לְכָל־הָעָם לֵאמֹר הַסּוּ כִּֽי־הַיּוֹם קָדֹשׁ וְאַל־תֵּֽעָצֵֽבוּ:

 יב וַיֵּֽלְכוּ כָל־הָעָם לֶֽאֱכֹל וְלִשְׁתּוֹת וּלְשַׁלַּח מָנוֹת וְלַֽעֲשׂוֹת שִׂמְחָה גְדוֹלָה 

כִּי הֵבִינוּ בַּדְּבָרִים אֲשֶׁר הוֹדִיעוּ לָהֶֽם:

'This day is holy to Hashem your G-d; do not mourn and do not weep’; 

because all the people were crying when they heard the words of Torah. 

10 Then he said to them: 'Go on, eat luxurious foods and drink sweet drinks, 

and send portions to those who have nothing prepared; 

because this day is holy to our G-d, and do not be anxious, 

because Hashem’s joy is your strength.’ (Nechemya 8:5-14)

These people, who seem to have fallen so low, understand that Rosh Hashanah is not a sad day. They go to prepare delicious foods and to be happy, because it is a holy day. And I just love this line. G-d's joy is our strength. 

May it be a year of joy for all of the nation of Israel. 

aliyah-versary

1 year ago today, give or take a few hours, we were saying goodbye to our family and boarding a bus - and then a plane - with 3 children, huge and heavy hand luggage, a very large panda, and b"H some very good friends, to begin the most epic journey of our lives since becoming parents.

it's been a year of immense growth, challenge and change for us all; a yaer of making new friendships and of seeing old ones change; a year of learning a new language and making new mistakes; a year of walking an old-new land and feeling it slowly shape us into greater belonging; a year of getting excited about shabbat shalom signs on buses and a winter holiday season that is marked by the appearance of doughnuts and not red-and-white hats; a year of empathising with our chldren while they cry and gratefully rejoicing when they smile again; a year of bewilderment at different value systems and anger at pettiness; a year of gratitude for help and support in unexpected places; a year of making day trips to the homes of our ancient ancestors; a year of learning to look the other way when we cross the road; a year of watching our children gain independance and maturity - and letting them; a year of new jobs and new responsibilities; a year of deciding what to keep and what to reject; a year of sunshine and rain and discovering new glories; a year of discovering that we can bend in places we never thought we could

in short, a year of rising (aliyah).

being back home again, in eretz yisrael, after a pretty long visit back in to london, has given me the opportunity to notice some things that i didn't really see in the hustle and bustle and furious rush of making aliyah. 

less than 24 hours back home and in many ways it feels like we never left, but i'm finding that ghostly images of london are trailing after me as i turn, like the negative imprint on the retina after looking at bright things for too long. it's rather disconcerting. 

being in london, and then returning home was wonderful in the feeling of real homecoming when we landed at ben-gurion and knew that we only had to go home. no messing around with setting up a holiday place. bieng in london after living here for a year made me realise that there really is a background-level spirituality here, which i am aware of with the edge of my spiritual vision, but hadn't realised i was aware of until i was deprived of it. 

i spent quite a while trying to define to myself what it was that i felt was wrong while i was in london. apart from not being used to not evertyone around me being jewish, and to buses and cars driving around on shabbat, and not everything being kosher, and my children needing to be taken to places instead of going by themsecles. apart from all that. oh and everyone having english accents-  that was pretty surprising! 

eventually i realised that i felt claustrophobic. and i couldn;t think why, because here in RBS i am surrounded by apartment buildings that are higher than most homes in hendon or edgware where we were spending most of our holiday. and then i realised it was because i couldn;t see the end of the houses. and then i realised further that it wasn;t just a physical sort of claustrophobia - it was a spiritual one. all that jazz about 'eretz chemdah tovah urechavah' actually has something to it. this really is the land in which we can spread our spiritual wings and stretch luxuriously. 

leaving and then coming back was great. because i feel even more appreciative of this land. glad to be home. 

Partnership minyanim and motivation

This is Ben's guest post, i guess we should call it, about partnership minyanim and motivation:


I’d like to advocate for the devil, without getting feathers ruffled if possible. I think the issue of motivation is more primary than the technicalities of halachic debate in dealing with this issue. Before that sets off a blue touchpaper, let me clarify that I’m not casting aspersions on anyone supporting ‘PM’s, rather as follows:
I think it’s clear that what mostly gets referred to as metahalacha these days (or halachic values, hashkafa etc) is part and parcel of a posek’s approach to almost any question, especially where significant sociological/communal implications are involved. Trying to bring it down to purely a question of debating relevant technical sources isn’t realistic or accurate. I strongly suspect that anyone debating this has an essentially instinctive answer in mind, either for or against, and the debate is therefore skewed before it starts. 
More fundamentally though, before even looking at sources, the starting point for such a question as ‘should there be PMs’ is what are we trying to achieve? A question which has no particular wider ramifications, like a technical issue in borer b’shabbat, just for example, can be treated directly as is on a technical basis. However with PMs, which have significant sociological ramifications impinging on a major feature of the last 2500 years of Jewish life, presumably there needs to be a clear and identifiable benefit in terms of the most fundamental Jewish values in order to proceed. This ‘motivation’ needs to be explicit. It can’t just be a question of ‘is it mutar?’. 
Best example is probably the Beis Yaakov start up in the 20’s.The need was clear, explicit and involved the basic religious functioning of the next generation in Europe. It was radical, and the need justified it. 
I’m not saying such a need doesn’t exist with regard to PMs but it’s clear that unless a ‘l’shem shamayim’ need can be identified clearly, it’s unlikely to win senior halachic support with technicalities being a secondary, although vital issue. I realise that many feel that contemporary women’s feeling of estrangement from religious involvement is a necessary motivator for this change, but in that case the argument should about that issue rather the technicalities of sources. 
As a slight side point, I think you’re incorrect about your understanding of Bnot Tzelofchad. The midrash you quote makes clear that their question was debated and answered precisely because they were ‘wise and knowledgeable’. If their character had been otherwise (eg knowledgeable but not wise) then Moshe would not have engaged in the way he did. The nature of the person and, by clear implication, their motivation in asking the question is made central to the story.

aliyah: reflections from a marker in the road of time.

“It’s not the end; it’s not even the beginning of the end; but it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning”

I am finding it hard to believe that we’ve reached the end of the school year. We haven’t quite been here a year, but getting to the end of the academic year is a real milestone. This shabbat, one year ago, i gave a farewell dvar torah, somewhat off the cuff, to my beautiful community in london. I referred to a vort of the lubavitcher rebbe's, that every time there is a double sedra, the two names of the sedrot contradict each other. Matos-Masei: a staff, the head of the tribe, that which does not change but which serves as a marker, provides an identity, a reference point and a rallying point; + journeys, change, new situations and experiences. A year ago, i was about to leave a matos period in my life to enter a new period of masei. And now, i am partway through the process of transforming my masei period into a mateh, again. 

We’ve come a long way, baby.

I’ve been trying to compose this in my head without reference to trite phraseology or clichés, but it’s proving impossible. I cannot pretend that others have not trod this path before me – and written about it – so I’ll just have to go for honesty, but unoriginality.

Looking back on the year we have (just about) completed in Israel, after making aliyah, I can only feel gratitude to Hashem and amazement at what we have achieved. Chazal tell us that when the wicked and righteous reach heaven, they are shown the yetzer hara – the evil inclination – which tempted them throughout their lives. To the wicked, who gave in to it, it will appear like a tiny molehill; to the righteous, who resisted, it will appear like a huge mountain. The question that is asked is why it appears like this to each group of people? Surely the sinners should see the temptation to which they succumbed as overwhelming, and the righteous should see that which they overcame as being insignificant? But it is, in fact, the other way around. The sinners will look back and wish they had resisted something which was really so petty and trivial. And the righteous will look back and see their struggle not to give in transformed into an eternal triumph.

I hope it doesn’t sound too arrogant – or critical of those friends who are still living in chutz l’aretz – if I say that I identify with that somewhat. Not the triumph over temptation part, but that on looking back at our first year in the Land, all the difficulties which we have b’ezrat Hashem overcome seem so much larger than they did while we were struggling through them. At the time, it was hard, yes, but it was ok, we were managing fine. And now when I look back, I think – wow, I can’t believe we did this. I can’t believe we got this far. Oh we aren’t finished yet – the struggles continue – but now they are normal struggles, regular life struggles, and I can’t think how we ordinary mortals coped with the challenges we already faced.

I remember our first week in Israel, and how dislocated we felt, how much it was time out of step with the rest of the world, a kind of cross between the week of sheva brachot and life on the moon. We took our life apart in London, packed it away in boxes and left it until we couldn’t remember it by heart – and then we took it all out and put it back together again, but differently. The weeks which we spent living with beds, appliances, one folding table, and 5 plastic chairs as our furniture, and how incredibly wearing it felt to have nowhere to put anything down apart from the floor.  I don’t think I have ever appreciated any piece of furniture as much as the second-hand chest of drawers we picked up in our second week here (at last, something to put things on!), and the luxurious arrival of our couches just before rosh hashanah (weeks before our shipment from London reached us) was a New Year’s gift from Heaven.

More: the utter discombobulation of taking the children to school for the first time, and not knowing which way to turn, what books to give them, and just leaving them to work it out. The vulnerability of being reliant on the kindness of strangers and G-d – and the lifelong lesson that comes from not having been let down. The loneliness of moving from a community in which we had built for ourselves a cosy and secure little niche to being a teeny tiny unnoticeable fish in a deep, shadowy and densely-populated lake – which leads you to reconstruct every stranger’s face as reminiscent of someone you knew ‘before’. And what a difference it makes to get a smile and a shabbat invitation, to recognise people that you pass on the street. I think perhaps it was a small taste of what life would be like without memory.

And one at a time, we moved through the markers of the year and slowly and gradually felt a new life take shape around us. Our children went to school and learned how to get to the toilets, what the teachers were called, how to distinguish the faces of friends from the mass of fellow students. We learned the past, the present, and the future, and not only in Hebrew grammar. One child cried at night because they missed their friends so much – but today that child came home from school with a paper of appreciation, engraved over and over again with praise of their smiliness, friendliness, and speed at learning Ivrit. One child was overcome with the stress of not being able to know which child was their friend – but is now quite certain that they are friends with the whole class. One child insisted it would only be awful here – but now admits it’s not as bad as they thought, and wants to bring souvenirs back for their friends.

The year turned – and so did we. The ineffable and indefinable different-ness of living in this country seeped into our bones and became part of us. Our week dances to the rhythm of Shabbat; our months marked by the white-shirted children on rosh chodesh; our milestones of acclimatisation by the chagim coming and going. And deeper than that, I find I have come to accept living to a different beat. There is a story about a rich businessman who once gave a very large donation to Rav Aharon Kotler. Rav Kotler gave him a long and heartfelt brachah that he should merit to spend eternity learning Torah in Gan Eden. A look at the man’s face told him that he was not sure this was a bracha he really wanted. Rav Kotler told the man not to worry “the bracha is, that you’ll enjoy it”. Sometimes I feel that this is the bracha we didn’t realise we were asking for – but we received it: don’t worry, you’ll enjoy it. We were told that here it is normal to live on a miracle, normal to rely on divine help to have enough money to reach the end of the month. I understood that those who were telling me that were telling me it as though it was something positive, or reassuring, but it sounded dreadfully insecure to me. Now, though, I understand it better. The bracha is that we enjoy it.

Yes, there are Israelis who are rude and abrupt, there is the difficult bureaucracy, there are the awkward and unpredictable opening hours, there is harsh sun and long lines at the supermarket and the (for me) inconvenience and handicap of living without a car. Mostly I ride with it, accept the hardships with gratitude as a kaparah and a kinyan ha’aretz, and hold my breath with the prayer that things will not become too hard, too long, too expensive, too much for us to bear.

We have come so far in this year. We have all learnt a new language; we have found employment; our children have learned how to walk and ride to school and elsewhere by themselves; they’ve learned to ride the buses and to get help from strangers (and to not-get-help-from-strangers); they have developed new talents in gymnastics, in drawing, in engineering, in sports, in comics, in making friends, in arts and crafts. We have all changed our value system somewhat and begun to reorganise our ties and loyalties and priorities. And we have so much further to go. It’s only the end of the beginning – and all beginnings are hard. 

minhag avoseinu b;yadeinu

Ben;s been reading this book, called ‘shorashei minhagei ashkenaz’. It’s a one-volume English summary of a three-voluime Hebrew work recording the traditions and origins of those traditions of Ashkenazim, so that they are not entirely forgotten and lost in the wave of homogenous artscroll-isation sweeping over us.

Amongst other things, he’s discovered from this book that a hachnasat sefer torah used to always be held on a Shabbat, or on shavuos. The recent practice (within the last 100 years) of holding it on a Sunday was entirely frowned upon and squashed as a radical, chukkas-hagoy-type practice.

Also, a baby would get his/her secular name at a special ceremony, called (I mayb e getting this word wrong) a chol-kreit. The secular name they would be given wasn;t just the same as the names of the non-Jews amongst whom they lived; it would be a Yiddish version of the Hebrew/Jewish name they’d already been given, thus someone who had been named shlomo would be named zalman at his chol-kreit, someone named dov would be named ber, etc. as you can work out, this is evidently where the practice gradually sprang up from of giving a baby two names – shlomo zalman, dov ber, menachem Mendel – which are the Hebrew and Yiddish versions of the same name. funny, isn’t it, that nowadays people give Yiddish names to their children as their Hebrew/jewish names….

Another example: the chuppah we use now is not the authentic chuppah. Couples would stand together draped in the same tallis. The chuppah we use nowadays at a wedding derived from the canopy that was held over the heads of important people, asuch as at a hachnasat sefer torah. For a while, a couple would stand draped in a tallis AND under a canopy…then gradually the draped in a tallis part died out. I find it hard to imagine having that kind of chuppah nowadays; I think if people were to revive it, they would be shouted down as trying to overturn our mesorah and introduce pritzus-dik (a chassan and kallah standing under the same tallis? Close enough to touch? Already before the chasunah’s completed? It’s so not tznius) innovations.

So what I learned from this is that Jewish practice can change extremely dramatically, over a very very short space of time. We think of the way we do things as somewhat inviolate, not easily amenable to change, and that to change Jewish practice is a serious thing which requires a good reason and official approval from several leading rabbonim. It turns out that this is not the case.

Final quote from Saki (hamayvin yavin who that is): "Not that i ever indulge in despairing about the Future; there have always been men who have gone about despairing of the Future, and when the Future arrives it says nice, superior things about their having acted according to their lights."

the first drink of water after a fast

the first long drink of water after a long
   slow
     fast day
i feel liquid rehydration running down the dried-up
  dried out
    river-beds of my veins.
i feel the dusty blood-ways of my lifeblood
   revive
     with the blessing of the One Who spoke
i feel the joy
   of the wadi
when the springs flow again.

this world and another

Ok ok. There's been a lot going round the blogosphere about the crisis - or, if you are on the other side of the fence, totally fine state of affairs - in the attitude of (particularly US) jews towards making aliyah. To sum up: first Hannah Dreyfus wrote this article about why she's scared to make aliyah. Then Aryeh Younger wrote this article about why he sees no need to make aliyah. Then my friend tagged me to read this article, by Rabbi Rothstein about his angst about not making aliyah and the fact that many of his acquaintances don't want to, either.

Here's my two cents (pence, agorot, whatever) on making aliyah. Since i did, not yet even a year ago.

The main thing i think is wrong with all these people who confess to not wanting to make aliyah, or not wanting enough to make aliyah, is short-term-ism and only thinking about this world. But let me expand on that.

For all the years that i spent in England before we made aliyah, and all the time when i thought we wouldn;t be able to until our children were grown up, i always insisted it wasn;t a question of if. it was a question of when.

we thought it might be 20 years. 20 years is a long time. especially when you are in you early 20s, sometimes 20 years seems like it's not far different to never. But there's an important difference between 20 years and never. the difference is in the desire.

when we left Israel 7 years ago after a year living in jerusalem, and i was distraught at leaving my land, my wonderful rebbetzin, Rebbetzin Altusky, reminded me of rashi's comment on the beginning of parshas vayechi. 'vayechi yaakov b'eretz mitzrayim' - and rashi comments, yaakov really lived a good life there. all of his time in israel had been dogged with worry and stress. in egypt, in exile, he rested and enjoyed a good quality of life. with all his family united around him, and no financial concerns (that's my expansion of rashi). he was happy there, and chazal do not censure him for having been happy there. yaakov in egypt is the model for the 'good exile'; in a way, in many ways, a model for all those jews living happily in american now. she meant for me to not worry, i can live a good life as a good jew in england. as so many do. are.

but the thing that made yaakov different to hannah dreyfus and aryeh younger is that he always knew that he was in exile. he always knew that he was not where he belonged, and so he planned to return to his homeland. he made arrangemetns to be buried in eretz yisrael. he knew it would be tricky, he made his children all swear to return his body to his home. Likewise, my rebbetzin always said 'don't worry, you'll come back. if you want to, you'll come back.'. and every time i spoke to her, after she asked how we are and how the children are, she would ask 'and how are your plans to come to israel, how are they looking?'.

It seems to me that all the jews who are living so happily and comfortably in america, or elsewhere in the diaspora, have forgotten that although yirmiyah tells us to settle down in exile and build homes, we are not meant to forget that it is exile. There is a yearning for our homeland which is what has kept us going as a nation throughout our centuries of exile. Every time that we as a group have forgotten where we belong, something - someone - has come along to remind us.

All of these people who say that they do not see the need to live in israel: they have lost sight of what matters. They have forgotten that we are a nation that dwells apart, forgotten that we have our own land which was crafted by G-d to suit us, forgotten above all that Moshiach will come one day - yes, he will. they are focusing on this world, on their jobs and incomes and achievements for the duration of their lifetimes. not on the lifetime of our nation, which requires us to yearn and to actually move to israel to bring moshiach.

I'm not trying to cast blame at anyone. it took us 7 years to get here, and it might have taken us 20. I'm not castigating anyone who has not made aliyah. there are sometimes good reasons to stay out of israel - sometimes a family really could not support themselves in israel, sometimes people have obligations of care to parents or siblings, sometimes a person is having more impact on the Jewish nation by living in the US or england or wherever. sometimes it is just not the right time. But i do castigate those who don;t want to. everyone should have an intention to make aliyah. everyone should want to come. it might take 20 years, like i thought it would for us, but everyone should acknowledge that this land is where we belong, that this land is the land of our destiny.

I have to admit: making aliyah is scary. let's all acknowledge it. we most of us leave our family, leave our support network, leave a place where we are familiar with the way that things work, and are able to read the small print if we aren;t sure of what is going on, leave our jobs (sometimes), and take a giant leap into the frightening unknown. So i am fine with people who say 'i want to make aliyah, i wish i could, but i am scared. one day i want to get there, but i am scared'. i would take your hand and agree, yes it is scary, yes it is frightening, but you'll come here when you are ready. when the time is right, you will come, because you wish it.

--------

there are two canards which i often hear regarding aliyah, and i want to dispel them. one is that it is too dangerous in israel. well, i would have thought that after the 9/11 world trade centre attacks, US Jews would abandon this claim that living in israel is so dangerous. but it seems not. israel is dangerous. it's dangerous because there are people in the world - a lot of them - who wish us dead. they wish us dead because we are jews. they are showing more and more that they are happy to attack us in every country in the world. what can save us? Hashem. G-d. i promise you, He works in israel (no employment trouble for Him!). do US jews really think that they will be safe in america? i know it's been said before, but i'm saying it again: G-d runs the world.

and that siad, here's the other canard. it's one that i used to subscribe to. it goes like this: if G-d wanted me to make aliyah, He would make it possible. He would send me a job there, He would make my family all learn ivrit, He would smoothe the way for me. it's a lie that we all indulge in in many areas, i think, not just about aliyah. we hide behind hashgachah pratis (divine orchestration of our lives). but there are no open miracles any more. If you pack up your belongings, if you research aliayh, if you investigate employment opportunities and practise ivrit, then you will have created the vessels ready for G-d to pour in His blessings of employment and knowing hebrew and smooth acclimatisation to Israel. Our sages tell us that the way in which a man wishes to go, in that way he will be led. i used to think 'why is it that so many of my friends have merited to live in israel, and i haven;t? why can they, and not me?' until the obvious answer made its way into my brain: it's because they tried. so i tried too.

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Next point. my lovely friend Jonathan tagged me in that article (i think) because he claims that there is not enough aliyah education going on in the UK. Rabbis do not talk often enough (or at all) about the importance of aliyah and israel. schools do not teach zionist principles. and this is why more people do not make aliyah.

so i think that you are right and earnest, but i disagree. you don;t need zionism to know that you are meant to live in israel. i didn;t get much of a zionist education. well not really any of a one, what i know about zionism and early modern-israeli history is cobbled together from sem, from reading, from here and there. i don;t think of myself as a zionist (shriek, horror!). i'm a jew. and i live in israel, i want to live in israel, because i learn torah.

If you learn torah, you'll notice that most of the action takes place in israel, if you learn torah, you'll notice that there's a large chunk of mitzvos that can only be done in israel. if you pay attention to the cycle of the jewish year, you'll notice that it was designed to be observed in israel (those of us who have worn gloves in the sukkah will not have failed to notice that one). if you understand what you say when you daven or bensch, you'll notice that we ask several times a day to be returned to our land.

living in israel isn;t a political issue. it's a religious one. never mind the whole settlers, west bank, obstacle-to-peace issue. never mind all this fulfillment-of-our-nationalist-dream. this is our country becuase it's our country, and we belong here because we belong to the land.

most days, in mincha, we repeat the words of david hamelech. He sinned - never mind how - and was faced with a choice of three punishments: he could either lose to his enemies, or suffer a devastating plague, or ... now i've forgotten the third one and am in a hurry to finish up. ok. or something else which i can;t remember. he chose the plague, saying 'better that i be in Your hands, G-d, than in the hands of man', since man might choose to continue his cruelty beyond that which he was decreed to suffer, but G-d would only exact precisely the amount of punishment required.

in israel, we are in the hands of G-d. we know that there are people living all around and amongst us who wish to huirt us. we know that the economy freewheels merrily along the fine line of improbability. we know that finding a job is tricky and having enough money to last out the month is in the realm of a divine miracle.

In the US, people rely on homeland security to keep out terrorists. they have good jobs which they rely on to pay their bills. they rely on the govt to keep them safe. they rely on rich men to bankroll their yeshivahs and are adament that everyone must pay a lot for healthcare.

in the book of devarim, there is a central phrase about how we will look at all our wealth and say 'b'kochi uv'otzem yadi assiti et haosher hazeh'. ie we will think that all our achievement are our achievements, that we from our own abilities created the bounty that we enjoy. but this will be punished with exile. we must remember that it all comes from G-d.

i think that this is the central mistake of all those US jews who do not yearn to make aliyah. they reverse David's sentiments, choosing 'better to be in the hands of man than in the hands of G-d'.
and they prefer to rely on man - themselves and their democratically elected officials - than on G-d.

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Last point. Hannah dreyfus' article, as well as being about why she is scared to make aliyah, said that it was too big a sacrifice. let me answer that one briefly. i've given up a lot. i've given up my friends and family just near by, i've given up undesrtanding (more or less) the way things work, i've given up knowing which shops to buy what at. but i don;t think i've sacrificed a thing.

there are only two parallels i can give ot making aliyah: getting married, and having a baby. for both of those things you give up an awful lot. when you get married you give up shopping around, give up flirting with whoever wanders across your path, give up the possibilties that could lie around every corner. but you don;t feel you sacrifice anything, because of all that you gain.

with a baby even more so. like with making aliyah, you plan and prepare, and then the event comes (usually with alot of tears) and you are totally pole-axed. your life turns upside down. a baby even more takes away your social life, your freedom of movement, your ability to sleep well at night, etc etc. but it's worth all that you give up.

and in both cases you might well complain  - quite a bit someitmes. just like with our beloved country, you notice faults in your beloved spouse, and you might point htem out occasionally. someitmes even to other people. but you know that there's no one else you'd rather complain about. and you only complain about him/her becuiase you love them so much. so as a side poin ot htose who complain about olim who complain about israel - it's only becuase we love it so much. we did choose it, after all, and gave up all our other possiblities to live with it with loyalty and love, but we still reserve the right to complain when it leaves the cap off the toothpaste (metaphirically speaking).

So far, the scariest about about making aliyah, was making the decision.