A Jew’s Life

As usual, it takes something huge to actually motivate me to blog, and I had been moving in that direction for weeks before the events in Pittsburgh shoved me all the way there.

Let’s start with the basics: my brothers and sisters (or in the case of many of the victims, zaidys and bubbies) were murdered, in shul, for the crime of being Jewish. They were murdered like the 6 million. They were targeted like Jews were murdered in Russia, Spain, England and on and on for literally thousands of years.

They were murdered like the Jews in Paris and the Jews in Mumbai. They were murdered like the Jews in Munich and the Jews in Argentina. And for sure they were murdered like the Jews in Har Nof and Sderot and Tel Aviv. A Jew is a Jew to those who hate us, and if you want to spend your time quibbling about embassies and settlements and right and left, kindly show yourself the door, because I’m tired.

I believe in semantics, the words people use. When I go back to the USA to visit and people say “oh, you’re going home?” I say “no, I am home. I’m going to see my family.” And they roll their eyes and mumble something about my raging Zionism and we move on. Why do I say that? Because here is home. Here I am not “the other, the (((Jew)))” here I belong.

I lived in America my whole life and loved it. My house has an American flag, I scream-sing the National anthem at baseball games, aggressively follow Team USA during international competition and know American history like the back of my hand. My dream vacation destination as a child was colonial Williamsburg.

Why am I mentioning this (other than giving you a glimpse into a weird hyper-patriotic kid?) Because I don’t blame this tragedy on America whatsoever. It’s not Trump’s fault (sorry, but that’s just wishful thinking on the part of those who blame him for the sun coming up.) It’s not the alt-right, or Antifa or the Klan or the Nation of Islam (although they all really hate Jews, to be fair.) Because Jews are killed everywhere in the world at every point in history, and it would be pretty odd to blame those tragedies on the alt-right, even though the motive is always exactly the same.

A lot of well-meaning people ask “what can we do” to help eradicate anti-Semitism. Certainly ensuring it has no place in government or on campus or in the media is a great start, but there is no way to actually end anti-Semitism. It’s an irrational bigotry- we’re hated because were too religious and too secular, too wealthy and too much on welfare, too educated and too ignorant, too assimilated and too separate, too left-wing and too right-wing. We are whatever it is bigots hate in nation-form, and that’s pretty hard to eradicate- or at least it hasn’t been done in over 3,000 years.

Which brings me to my final point. The last acceptable anti-Semitism is also known as anti-Zionism (I’m lookin’ at you, Jews and non-Jews alike.) This tragedy happened in Pittsburgh to a conservative synagogue and you still hear people blaming the embassy move and Gaza. And if that makes you feel better, if it makes you feel safer and absolved of guilt, you enjoy that. But Israel wasn’t just not a factor in this tragedy, it is the only known defense the Jewish people have against a world gone mad. Most Jews know it, our enemies know it and jeez Louise, anti Zionist Jews, you better get to know it too!

It is the main difference between the Jews of 1933 and the Jews of 2018- a strong country with a strong government and a strong army. And you can call us a country of land-thieves with a hawkish government and a brutal army until the cows come home- but we are the main factor in this entire world ensuring “Never Again” is a reality.

So while I hope that the Jews of America are safe in the “goldene medina” for as long as they want to stay there (and that includes the people I love most in this entire world) we must always remember that we are one nation, with one heart and only one homeland to call our own. Come for a visit or come to stay, but come Home soon.

And to the families and friends of the victims of this tragedy,
"May God comfort you among the other mourners of Zion and Jerusalem."

Get On The Bus, Gus

As an underqualified but highly motivated Aliyah tour guide, I thought I’d give my perspective on the transportation system here in Israel. Please read on for the good, the bad, the ridiculous and the insane of Egged, Dan, Kavim and more- AKA- The Israeli Bus System.

I would be remiss if I did not mention that I am something of a bus novice here in Israel. In my early days of visiting Israel, buses did not have a good reputation. And by that I mean that they were terrorist targets and gave me and my mother feelings of panic just walking near one. Was this a fair assessment? Kind of. There were definitely attacks during those years of the Second Intifada where just the sight of a bus would have me crossing the street, but the vast majority of buses rolled on, safely and soundly. This fear, however, led to strict instructions by my mother to never, under any circumstances, take a bus. It also compelled her to pay for the taxis that would inevitably become my preferred mode of transportation. As the years passed and my trips to Israel became more frequent and longer, my mom was kinda like “This is getting expensive.” And once the money train stopped, wouldn’t ya know it? I started taking the bus again! I remember my triumphant return to a public Jerusalem bus, marked with only two short prayers to G-d for my safety and 10 friends taking photos of the auspicious occasion. From then on, it just wasn’t that bad.

In New York, I had a car. I wasn’t one of those cool New Yorkers who lived on the subway, or the less- cool ones who rode the LIRR (kidding!) I lived in the outer boroughs and worked in several different schools as a speech pathologist, so as the saying goes “I lived in my car.” I remember when I told my mother I wanted to make Aliyah, she said “How could you leave your niece and nephews? Daddy? Your car?!” She, and I, if I’m honest, knew how attached I was to having my own vehicle. I’m a goer and a doer and being on someone else’s schedule, in this case, the Egged Bus Company, was going to be a challenge.

And a challenge it has been! I would like to take you on a sample bus ride to work so you can understand the little difficulties that add up to a total bus headache. What you want to do first is download the Moovit app for your phone. Created by Israelis (of course) this app uses GPS to create a bus/train/walking route for you, tell you how long the trip should take and estimate how soon your bus will arrive. I would like to emphasize should because being wrong is not unheard of. So you choose the route that looks easiest. Sometimes that route will take 2 buses- don’t do it. Do the “more walking” option because honestly, the only thing worse than waiting for one bus is waiting for back to back buses. So you get your bus and you’re the third person to board. Except because it’s Israel, people cut in line and you become the 6^th person to board. Except because I’m from NYC, I get back to being 4^th. Okay. Unfortunately, the first person is paying with cash (a 100 shekel bill on a fare of 6.90) and the third person’s bus card is malfunctioning but feels that a 5 minute argument with the bus driver would be the best course of action (pro tip- you will never win with the bus driver- the house always wins.) Finally, you swipe your card. When I first moved here, I would buy rides in increments of 20 until I discovered the “monthly unlimited” option (cue the angels and harps.) I have to tell you, as a former shopaholic- this card is my one monthly splurge. For about 65 dollars, I can ride as many buses and light rails as I want for the entire month! It’s amazing! And I know you’re thinking- okay, Jords, relax- but it is basically the biggest purchase of my month nowadays, and I look forward to the 1^st of every month now for just that reason. A whole month of unlimited bus rides, far as the eye can see!

Did I actually take a selfie with my Rav Kav? Yes. Because it's love.

So I’m on the bus, right? Great. There are only 2 types of buses generally. Completely empty and bursting at the seams full. So your ride will go one of 2 ways- seated or smushed up against the handrail, praying for the next stop to be the one the entire bus is waiting for. Let’s say it’s empty, as most of my morning ones are. I get my seat and it is glorious. I put on my headphones and start reading one of the 50 articles I have “saved for later” on my phone. Inevitably, the bus will stop and more people will get on. And inevitably, regardless of how many empty seats are around me, their seat of choice will be next to me. Often I have wondered “why?” Why sit next to me and invade my space when there are so many other’s spaces that can be equally invaded? I believe it comes down to these elements: 1) I am clean/smell good (cannot be overstated on a Jerusalem bus) 2) I look safe- say what you want about political correctness, but the young American (because apparently it’s obvious) woman of ambiguous religious level is always a safe bet. I won’t be fervently praying next to you, reeking of smoke next to you or loudly gabbing on the phone next to you and 3) I look like I want nothing to do with you. Why is this a plus, you may wonder? Because I will not speak to you, not breathe on you and not cough on you unless my life depends on it. And when you are on your way from or to work, that’s a real blessing. This is all well and good, unless you’re me and you would kill for an empty seat next to you once in a while. Or would it be possible that the person next to me is a cute, religious young man once in a while? Nope. I attract every other type of person though- men and women, children and the elderly, Hasidic and Arab, French and Israeli- I am an equal opportunity seatmate.

Once on the bus, the driving style of the bus driver is really anyone’s guess. The majority of my rides are smooth and easy, but I have definitely had more than my share of rides that ended with my kissing the sweet, sweet pavement upon reaching my destination.

You have buses that come super late and buses that show up early, so you can wave goodbye to them with tears in your eyes as you hunker down to wait for the next. You have buses with open windows in the rain and no A/C in the summer. Some of the hottest days of August are not complete without a sweltering standing-room-only ride chugging up the hill from the Old City, smelling the smells and feeling the feels of your fellow man as you blast your music, think of puppies and pray that the lights all turn green. You have the people who will talk on the phone as if they are on their own patios, sharing all their private information with everyone around them, and the old ladies who will shush you when you quietly chat with your friend. You will have the tourists who will inevitably miss their stop and then get detailed directions to get back on track and the old timers with their carts full of produce, who have been taking that bus and that route since its inception.

You will see the hills of Jerusalem and the Judean desert and the highrises of Tel Aviv, and the passing trains, the fallow fields and a herd of cows and then an hour later, a line of camels. You will see heart-stopping drops and your ears will pop as altitudes change. You will traverse the entire country in less than a day and experience the wonder and the miracle of this land on every trip. And you will miss your car, and pray that one day you will be able to afford one here. But in the meantime, you will make the best of this time on the bus, when you can turn on your headphones, stare out the window and enjoy the beauty of your new home.

All day. Every day. Hi Israel.

In Tribute to a Friend

       About a year ago, I wrote a blog post about how one of the toughest parts of making Aliyah alone, away from most of your family and friends, is not being present for the happy occasions. The weddings and bar mitzvahs, milestone birthdays and births. There will of course be the ones where you absolutely have to fly in and be there, but by and large you will miss some of the happiest days in your loved ones' lives. And that's a pain that exists separate from the happiness and contentment you have from living life in Israel. But those are the happy times. This is a world away from the deeper, more intense pain an Oleh will feel missing the sad stuff. Because life goes on back where you left it, and there's little you can do when you're six thousand miles away.

       Why am I bringing this up now anyway? Last night a very close family friend lost her valiant battle against illness. Michelle was just 31 years old, a mother of two and pregnant with her third. She felt ill and was diagnosed with a brain tumor. As her friends and family waited for further news, we all held our collective breaths. Not Michelle, this light in our lives who had already lost her father and brother in her short time here on Earth. Not Michelle, who was a living embodiment of goodness and kindness, beloved by everyone she ever met. And then came the verdict- a malignant brain tumor, the worst possible outcome. Michelle was put under and gave birth to a premature but healthy baby girl. 

        And the inhabitants of our world were galvanized- prayers and charity, hospital visits and more prayers. A miracle was needed, we all knew, and if anyone in the world deserved it, it was Michelle. But the miracle never came, and 3 beautiful little girls lost their mother. It is a sickening feeling to wake up to the news of someone so unbelievably good passing away so young and so unfairly. It is awful knowing that I can't be there at her funeral, can't pay a shiva call personally to her family and can't sit with my sister, one of Michelle's best friends for fifteen years, as she cries and mourns. These are things you can not do when you live so far away, and losses will invariably continue to happen in my life here. All I can do is be there for whomever, pay a shiva call by phone, and use this blog to pay tribute to one of the most special people I've ever known.

       In tribute to Michelle, who cared about everyone she ever met more than she ever did herself. Who would do whatever she could to make you smile, make you happy, make you feel good. To Michelle who was loyal and fun, committed to her family, friends and G-d, and never judged anyone. To Michelle, who this world was blessed to have and will be forever dimmed by her loss. And to Michelle, who was a true gift to anyone lucky enough to know her, to be in her presence and to have known her goodness for the short time she was here. May her memory be for a blessing and may her soul have the highest possible Aliyah.