Garin Tzedek Video

This is a video compilation of clips I took during our volunteering with the Sudanese in Arad.

This is a photo montage of Garin Tzedek Section 2 volunteering in Bat Yam and Arad.

Enjoy!

Anything can happen in Tsfat

I went to Tsfat in 8th grade. I remember nothing from that trip other than the mantra our guide constantly repeated during our tour: "Anything can happen in Tsfat."

And so I came into this weekend with no idea what to expect. It was nothing like I imagined, but an educational experience nonetheless. I had made reservations for us to stay at a hostel called "Ascent Safed". For a reasonable price they provided room and board, host families for Friday night meal, educational workshops and a tour of Tsfat. The only thing not advertised was that it is run by Chabad Lubovitch. Soon after our arrival I realized I'd have to change my mindset from a young Jew looking for a spiritual Shabbat to a curious student interested in learning about, and immersing myself in, a different culture for the weekend.

Friday night we attended our first workshop run by the director/rabbi of Ascent. There were seven students in total: me, my three friends and three Australian girls also in a gap year program who it turns out live a 10 minute walk up the street from us. By the end of the weekend we had all exchanged numbers and promised to meet up again soon.

Our Friday night meal turned out to be at the director's house. When we first walked in and I saw a long table that easily sat 25 people I wondered if they always had this many guests. I soon found out that it was just family. With five married daughters, husbands, children, and spouses' siblings... I was surprised there weren't more people. It was a real special Shabbat experience watching this family interact. It felt like: "Special Edition: Behind the Black Hat". I loved that I got to talk to and learn about this group of Jews that had before now merely been an unapproachable and mysterious group in my mind. When it comes down to it there are many similarities, first and foremost being the strong emphasis placed on family and children. Watching them talking about their week, laughing over some family joke or telling the kids to eat their vegetables, melted away that intimidating image I have always held of religious Jews.

Every week my grandfather asks my mom what our rabbi's sermon was about that Shabbat. If my mom doesn't go "I'm not really sure" then it was considered a good sermon. Unfortunately, if you had asked me, even right after the Tsfat workshops, what they were about, I couldn't tell you. I'm sure what they all had to say was interesting, but there were too many tangents, non sequitur and quickly mumbled Hebrew phrases in such thick Ashkenazi accents thst it made it almost impossible to follow their line of thought (if there really was any to begin with). After two lessons (one Friday night and one Saturday morning), half a dozen dvar torahs during the Friday night meal, and a lesson with our madricha I gleaned the following:

(Disclaimer: although the following facts are true they are interspersed with my own commentaries and opinions and should be treated as such)

(a) Lubovitch Jews have an almost unhealthy reverence for Rabbi Schneerson and view a trip to Crown Heights as equivalent to a sacred pilgrimage.

(b) Chabad Jews in general have an unshakable faith in God which I am simultaneously impressed by and spiteful of. They live their lives with the sole purpose of getting closer to God. Everything they study and every action is done to increase and improve this connection. I used to find this admirable until I realized it was just closed-mindedness.

(d) They are elitist. Whether stated outright or not, these religious Jews consider themselves to be holier and thus better than "goyim". Also not flat out said, but I suspect their definition of "Goy" includes many who consider themselves Jewish (perhaps myself included).

(e) They are some of the nicest, kindest and warm-hearted people I've ever met.

It wasn't the spiritual Kabbalah experience you may expect from Tsfat, but it was a fascinating experience nonetheless.

Israel is Bipolar

In a fashion only befitting a country as emotionally complex as Israel, the saddest day of the calendar is back-to-back with its happiest day. The celebrations of Yom Hazikaron, Memorial Day, and Yom Haatzmaut, Independence Day, are a whirlwind of emotion that would make any non Israeli dizzy. The intensity with which Israelis dive into these two extremes is overwhelming. This past Monday (Yom Hazikaron and erev Yom Ha'atzmaut) was one of the most bizarre days of my life.

Sunday night, erev Yom Hazikaron, my Year Course section attended a MASA organized Yom Hazikaron tekkes on גבעת התחמושת (Ammunition Hill). It was a nice ceremony. I say "nice" only because it was nothing more nor nothing less than that. It was very professionally done with the stage and big screen and lights and fancy presentation and even a smoke machine. As someone described it later, the ceremony was "cookie cutter". Despite the sad music, and personal stories, it lacked the emotional depth I was expecting.

Monday was a whole different ball game. I am pleased to say Year Course did something right. They took us to Har Herzl, the national military cemetery. The entire nation descends upon (or should I say ascends) Har Herzl the morning of Yom Hazikaron to pay their respects to the grandfathers, fathers, sons, brothers, cousins and friends who have died in battle.

Side note: I frequently complain about Israeli bureaucracy that has been the bane of my existence these last months. Despite this serious flaw, when it comes to major events such as Har Herzl on Yom Hazikaron Israel is remarkable. Because of the sheer mass of people, the nearby streets are shut down and access to the cemetery is only possible via Egged buses being used as free shuttles. At the entrance, the State has provided flowers and memorial candles for mourners to pick up before visiting the graves.

The government also provides water. Here's where we come in. Besides for the opportunity to experience Har Herzl on this day, our job was to give out water bottles to mourners. The rationale behind this, and why I get to once again say "Only in Israel", is to provide people with this necessity on a day when their minds and hearts are elsewhere and perhaps too distracted to think about their own basic needs. Whether or not this is true, it is a fact that people were very appreciative and many went out of their way to thank us.

It's hard to describe the scene at Har Herzl. As it got closer and closer to 11am, the time the siren would go off and the official tekkes would begin, the number of people surging through the gates grew exponentially. Family and friends of all ages and backgrounds were there to pay their respects. Soldiers given the day off came with flowers in hand to visit their friends' graves.

At eleven the siren went off, and like on Yom Hashoa the country came to a halt. Everyone who had been rushing along the road stopped, everyone sitting stood up and the entire mountain went still. It was a powerful moment.

And I'm going to stop here. I am finding it absolutely impossible to put into words what this was like. Yes, it was emotional and yes it was heart wrenching but no matter what I took from this, it was nothing compared to the Yom Hazikaron experienced by the Israelis standing beside me. The day before we had a peulah with our madrich where he asked us to write down our expectations for this day and I wrote: "I hope to not just observe but also experience Yom Hazikaron." But when I was actually there on Har Herzl watching parents coming to visit their son's grave or soldiers coming to visit a friend from their unit I realized there's no way for me to connect. This day honors the lives lost in battle or by terror attacks, a burden carried by Israelis to ensure the continued existence of the Jewish nation. I kept thinking how unfair it seems that they are risking their lives and dying to protect a land that belongs to all of us. Shouldn't it be the duty of all Jews to help defend this land we call our own? Why must they alone shoulder this responsibility?

That evening my friends and I attended a יום השואה/יום העצמאות טקס (ceremony bridging the two holidays) at Shira Chadasha. It was a beautiful tekkes with many songs (that I was pleasantly surprised to realize that I knew) as well as members telling personal stories and several prayers. The most touching moment was a prayer reminiscent of מי שברך לחולים (prayer for the sick) except when people stood up they gave the name of a family member or close friend who died and under what circumstances. It was very telling just how many people stood up to give the name of a loved one who died, especially considering that this congregation is composed principally of Americans who are relatively recent Olim.

The tekkes was followed by a special Maariv with tunes that gave the first hint that we were entering into יום העצמאות. After a brief stop for nourishment at a local cafe we headed into town where the festivities were already very much underway. For a second time that day it felt like the entire country had converged on the same spot. The Ben Yehudah area felt like what I imagine Time Square to be like on New Years. There were a couple stages set up with live performances and DJs, street performers, food stalls and people selling glow up light thingies and other stupid stuff. Little kids and teens were taking part in massive silly string and shaving cream (which they refer to as שלג or snow) fights that would very often literally spill onto innocent passerbys. Groups of yeshiva boys would randomly burst into song, jumping up and down as if their lives depended on it. Oh, and there were two rounds of fireworks.

At some point we made our way over to Kikar Safra, by the municipality, where they were having Rikud Ha'am. They played dozens of songs and I didn't know a single one of them. I never knew there were so many circle dances. Though the dances were far too confusing for someone as uncoordinated as me it was still incredibly fun to try and hop and spin along with the others. At one point my friends and I made our own circle and did our own thing. We were joined by a few Israelis our age and we continued to bounce and twirl together for several songs. What struck me about this whole event was how many young people there were. People I would expect to see at a club were dancing along to all these songs. For lack of a better word, it was extremely "cool" to see Israelis my age participating in Rikud Ha'am, something which at least in my eyes has the unfortunate connotation of being antiquated and "uncool".

The next morning my friends and I woke up very late, right in time for barbecue for breakfast. Wanting to provide us with the authentic Israeli experience, Year Course planned a barbecue on campus. Unfortunately, they did not plan for most of Section 1 being present as well, buying the wrong coals which forced them to light the fire using twigs, and half the meat having ants in it. I've had better barbecues.

That afternoon we went to Mamila mall where there was a "Living Museum". Essentially it was people dressed in period costumes (Palestine early 20th century) performing various skits with interludes of musical performances. Even though it was hugely crowded and the skits were in Hebrew it was still interesting to watch and explore.

For dinner we went out to what is becoming one of my favorite places to eat in Jerusalem. (Here's where I start to sound like a guide book). Right off of Yafo, near Ben Yehuda, the place is called Grill Bar. For nine shekels you get a selection of over a dozen salads, handmade pita and infinite refills. I would then suggest, depending on how hungry you are, getting either one or two skewers of pargiyot. It's just one of those meals you can't seem to find back at home.

There you have it. My יום הזיכרון ויום העצמאות on Year Course.

Yom Hashoa: A reflection on the status of the Jewish people

The United States has a long and proud history and yet it is engrained in American culture to go shopping on Memorial Day and have family barbecues on Labor Day. It's embarrassing how little thought we give to the sacrifices and hardships of the generations before us and even more significantly how emotionally removed we are from the wars our country is currently fighting.

This past Monday was Yom Hashoa. Back at home this day is commemorated by a memorial service at my shul that I have only accompanied my parents to once or twice. Here in Israel it's a national holiday and is treated as such.

There really is a somber atmosphere that descends upon the country. Radio channels are playing slow, melancholy songs and the TV is overloaded with news coverage of memorial services, interviews with Holocaust survivors and Holocaust movies.

However what really makes Israel stand out and what made me randomly exclaim throughout the day "Only in Israel" as I shook my head in wonderment is the siren that brings an entire country to a halt. At exactly 10am on the morning of Yom Hashoa a siren is blast throughout the country, commencing a moment of silence. No matter what you are doing, everyone stops. I was standing on a relatively quiet street. When the siren went off, the bus that had been pulling away from a station came to a stop, a car pulled up near me and the two women stepped out, a man crossing the street just stopped in the middle of the road. It's staggering to wrap your mind around: an entire country freezes in their daily life to remember a tragedy that took place 70 years ago and though it may not have effected them personally, as a nation it has hurt us all. It is a moment and a day of extreme pain and loss but also one of great national unity.

The day before, the Year Course staff had planned a few sadnaot (discussion/activities) for us. I chose to attend "Where was God in the Holocaust?" Though this is an issue I have tackled on numerous occasions in groups and personally, I hoped that perhaps this setting of being in Israel with a group of other Zionist teenagers would make the conversation different than those I've had in the past. Here are some of the more thought provoking issues brought to light during our discussion:
(a) Most obviously and fundamentally is whether or not we believe in God. More significantly though was how many different types of "believing in God" there was in the circle. It seemed that everyone had their own image of God and his influence in our world. We then took it a step farther and began (gently and politely of course) pointing out the hypocrises in each others theories adding to an already impossible issue another layer of complexity.
(b) An enduring question that continued to come up throughout the stages of discussion was the mystery of how those who experienced the Holocaust still maintained their faith? If someone who went through all that he did and still believes in God then surely I, who has had a most fortunate life, should be able to take that leap of faith as well. Do I have to survive something as terrible as the Holocaust before I can believe in a divine ruler?
(c) Then of course there was the ever popular question: How can God let this happen? I know I share the opinion of many others when I say that I don't know how I can believe in God when he can let something like the Holocaust happen to a nation that has been called the "Chosen People". And for me , it's not just the Holocaust. It's 2000 years of exile, inquisitions, pogroms and massacres. And now that we finally have the State of Israel, a Jewish state, we have been fighting continuously for its existence since the moment it was established.

In Ulpan the next day our class also had a discussion (of course in Hebrew) about the Holocaust and Israel.
(a) Would Israel exist without the Holocaust? Though most in my class disagreed I was adamant in my belief that YES there would be a State of Israel. I sincerely doubt it would have been established in 1948 but the waves of Aliyah and the Zionist movement were already underway long before the Holocaust and WWII began. I agree when my classmates said that the Holocaust was unfortunately that necessary catalyst that sped up the process. But even without the Holocaust I am confident that Israel would exist today in 2010.
(b) Can another Holocaust happen today? Can we prevent it? As I tried to explain to my teacher (though not nearly as eloquently), the Jewish nation is facing a new type of holocaust. Now that there is a State of Israel and also because of the ghosts of the past we are not threatened by a genocide perpetrated by an entire continent. Instead, we are facing a Holocaust that can be accomplished by a single man. A crazy dictator with enough hatred to be willing to launch a nuclear bomb at Israel. The threat of nuclear Iran is immensely serious and one that is frustratingly outside of our control. It is a danger that can only be eliminated by governments and militaries.
(c) Is the Jewish nation living or merely surviving? This question connects back to my issue of the "Chosen People" that was brought up the previous day in the sadna. Are we the "Chosen People" because we have managed to survive all these years while other nations have become extinct? "Managing to survive"- is that enough? Can we hope for more? I think that with the State of Israel came a growth and a "living" of the Jewish nation that has not been seen in centuries. There is a vibrant new Jewish culture created here in Israel that is a melting pot of Jewish traditions from around the world, brought over with each new wave of Olim. Unfortunately, while Judaism is very much alive here, I look back to my Jewish community at home and can't help but despair. I grew up hearing Rabbi's sermons and reading the Jewish newspaper articles lamenting the decline in American Jewry and the failing of the Conservative movement. I watched as my shul merged with two other synagogues in the area and as all the children and families started to leave so that it got to the point that many Saturdays my mom was the 4th youngest person in shul (right after me and my sisters). Synagogues used to be a place for community. When I couldn't really find that at my shul (our USY chapter just didn't cut it), I turned towards Young Judaea. YJ, which was the largest and oldest Zionist youth movement, I soon discovered was failing just as much if not more than the Conservative synagogues of Queens, New York. A movement that had tens of thousands of members and hundreds of clubs throughout the country where members would get together to discuss and learn about Israel had been reduced to an organization that ran very successful (and incredible)summer camps and Israel programs. As terrible as it is, as a Jew from New York, I would have to say that YES, the Jewish nation in the Diaspora is merely surviving.

In my most recent Ulpan class our lesson was about Gilad Shalit, the IDF soldier kidnapped during the summer of 2006. After this discussion, I felt that Shalit epitomizes what I have come to call the "Israeli Paradox". Partly due to the size of the country, partly because everyone has been in the IDF/is a parent of someone who has been a soldier and partly because every decision the government or IDF makes is one that effects people personally, there is a deep sense of national loss and grief concerning the kidnapping of Shalit. You could just see it in the way my Ulpan teacher (who always tries to keep her beliefs or feelings out of a lesson) discussed it, that the kidnapping of Gilad Shalit, Eldad Regev and Ehud Goldwasser was felt very personally by the entire country. Acting on these feelings, it is only natural that Israelis are demanding the return of Shalit at any price. Even if that means releasing hundreds of terrorists and prisoners it is worth it to get back this one soldier. But then the other half of the Israeli mind has to think about national security and what would be the repurcussions of setting free all these people capable of hurting and killing even more Israelis. The safety of the nation must out weigh the life of one soldier...doesn't it? And so we are left with the "Israeli Paradox". Which is more important for this family: stopping at nothing to bring back one of its sons or the family's survival as a whole?

Adventures in the Israeli Health Care System

Saturday night (Motzei Shabbat Chol Hamoed Pesach): Just got back from bowling (finally managed to reach my goal of getting over a 40 in the 2nd game). My throat was starting to hurt. Casually turned to my cousin and said: "Probably won't be able to talk tomorrow."

Sunday morning: Wake up without much of a voice and my throat really hurts. Left gland was swollen. No fever. Not too worried.

Sunday evening: Hurts to swallow. Pushed down a few spoonfuls of chicken soup. Quickly gave up. Go to bed without a voice.

Sunday night: Waking up at night throwing up phlegm and saliva simply because I couldn't swallow it.

Monday morning (Yom Tov): Karen asks their doctor neighbor to come over. Looks at my throat. Says he wants me to go to the hospital. Says he'll drive me himself. But not before he writes a doctor's note on the back of a piece of scrap paper.


Sidenote:

Israel ain't perfect and top on its list of problems is its obsession with pointless and downright idiotic bureaucracy created for the dual purpose of confusing the daylight out of the unsuspecting visitor and graciously providing premature gray hairs to the unfortunate resident.

According to Israel's incredible health care system, in order for the hospital to even consider treating me I first need a "hafnaya" or a referral from my family doctor. That's so I can be treated. Now of course this care costs money. Here's where you would expect to start seeing the benefits of national health care. But why take the fun out of it and make it easy. The hospital needs a "hitchayvut" or promise of payment from the insurance company otherwise they'll be billing you.

These technicalities are made all the more stressingly complicated when you're not a citizen and thus do not have a family doctor, teudat zehut (Israeli ID number) or a standard health insurance plan and the hospital staff doesn't seem to understand that.

With all this said, I have to thank my aunt Karen and Cami, the wonderful YC staff member, who had the patience to wade through the muck that is Israeli bureaucracy.


And so the doctor drives me and Chaim to Shaare Tzedek. Fortunately, the emergency room was not crowded and I was taken quickly, and then immediately sent upstairs to the ENT department. There, once again, our luck held and I was seen promptly by a doctor. From there it sort of went downhill. Somehow I was under the delusion that the doctor would look at me, prescribe some foul tasting liquid medicine and send me on my way. But when he failed to remove anything from the absyss in my throat due to the excessive swelling of my gland and I continued to vomit up phlegym (this time accompanied by blood) I realized I was in for the duration.

They showed me to a bed, hooked me up to an IV that was constantly dripping either steroids, antibiotics or saline and then left me to wait. And wait. And wait.

Time becomes a weird thing when you're in the hospital. It is both your best friend and worst enemy. It quickly morphs into a haze that you at first resist by constantly repeating in your mind your time of arrival, when the doctor last came, when your first dose of medicine was, etc. But you soon begin to loose your grip and the daily routines of life taking place outside your window become more and more distant and you just...float. And inevitably, time becomes measured by the loud rattling of the food trolley coming down the hall signaling the imminent arrival of yet another hospital meal. You feel a moment of assurance by the appearance of this time marker shining a light through the fog of the day. Of course your excitement disappears once you see what's on your tray.

Hospital food is notorious for being bad. Their meals for those of us who can't swallow is even worse. True, some of it isn't bad. I got applesauce a couple times and I even got a pudding once. But most of the time it's unidentifiable slush in a bowl. For breakfast, the mush is white. For lunch, the mush is green. Dinner at least was edible- some sort of soup though I quickly gave up trying to identify it. Hospitals generally consist of elderly patients, patients with disabilities, patients weak from illness and some combination thereof. Which is why it's particularly amusing here in Israel, where breakfast consists of a whole apple, a whole tomato or cucumber, and a hard boiled egg- breakfast items that are difficult to cut, swallow and peel. Fortunately, I had Uncle Chaim who was always willing to eat everything I didn't want.

(Unfortunately my brief stay at the hospital was at the same time as Bubbie's much longer stay in a hospital back in the States. This did however provide us with many jokes about Zayde's unfathomable enjoyment of hospital food and the constant remark that instead of me and Bubbie comparing hospital meals it should really be the two Chaims.)

So I've covered the food. The second most important thing during my stay: the television. For a mere 35 shekels a day I had at my disposal a wide diverse array of TV channels. Of the 32 channels the guy claimed I had, 3 of them didn't work, 4 of them were in Russian, 2 were in Spanish, 2 were in French, 6 were Hebrew and 4 were sports. That left me around 10 channels, some of which only worked certain times during the day, others only had English program during certain hours and only one was an American news channel. FOX news: the one and only. I had the good fortune of being greeted every morning by the dulcet tones of Glenn Beck. During the remainder of the day I had the opportunity to watch conservative propaganda at its finest as they cycled through Sean Hannity, Bill O'Reilly and the other great pundits of our day until returning yet again to Beck in case I didn't get enough Communist Obama bashing the first time around. I found myself muttering expletives at the TV, unless it was too early in the morning in which case I just made funny faces at it. I am proud to say I take after my Zayde in this regard. He also likes talking to the TV. It always made me smile everytime I thought about what his reaction would be watching these programs. I couldn't decide whether he would be yelling or just chucking something at the TV set.

I was kept at Shaare Tzedek until Thursday morning (I would have been detained longer but I was rather insistent/desperate when the doctors did their daily rounds). I was in relatively great spirits when I finally left the hospital with Karen. By the time we got back to Mitzpe Navo I had enough energy to drag myself up the stairs and collapse into bed. Several hours of deep sleep later, Karen wakes me up and all but orders me to start drinking the chicken soup she just finished making.

Over the course of the rest of the evening I consumed somewhere between 4 and 5 bowls of soup. But I was still feeling utterly weak and lethargic and my sore throat was getting worse as the day progressed. I went to bed seriously worried that I was relapsing.

I woke up Friday morning and I immediately knew something was different. It must have been all that chicken soup because that morning I was 100% completely better.

When you're sick all you want to do is curl up in your own bed and have mommy bring you chicken soup. It sucks to be in the hospital. And it really sucks to be in a hospital in a foreign country thousands of miles away from your parents. That said, I couldn't have asked for a better group of people looking after me. Karen and Chaim treated me as one of their own and Tal, Melanie and Ilana went out of their way to come visit me every day. Todah Raba.

A Baldasare Pesach: Part 2

First day of Chol Hamoed Rina, Rafi, Yona and I woke up bright and early (before dawn to be exact) and headed over to the central bus station in Jerusalem to try and beat the crowds going up north. Turned out everyone was trying to beat the crowds. Once we realized the entire country was trying to take a bus to Tiberias we switched tactics and got on a bus to Beit Shean, approximately 40 kilometers south of the Kinneret. Eventually got up to Yehudiah where we were hiking. We were going to get wet so anything we didn't want soaked had to be put in a locker at the start of the hike. After a lot of packing and repacking of the bags we managed to fit two backpacks in a space that really should have only held one. It was right around this time that I realized that I had brought two left shoes of two different sizes, neither of which were mine. Despite this, it was a beautiful hike through a river in a valley.

Usually I'm sure it would have been really fun to walk through the water except that at this time of year it was absolutely frigid. I don't think I've ever been in water that cold. Luckily you can avoid the water by rock jumping the entire way except for one part where you have no choice but to climb down a 9 meter ladder and swim across without any place to stop for about 15-20 meters. Between my incredible swimming skills and my fear of large bodies of water I was understandably terrified. Climbing down that ladder was one of those moments right out of a movie. It was like the volume had been turned way down and it was all about just climbing down every foothold one step closer to the water. When I finally jumped in I didn't think. I just swam. Extremely poorly, barely considered doggy paddle but I did it. (It should be noted here that Rafi swam back to help me towards the very end and I am extremely grateful to him for that.) Unlike everyone around me complaining about the cold it didn't bother me. Before hand I was so concerned I wouldn't be able to swim all the way across and afterwards I was just so relieved that I had that the water temperature didn't hit me until much later when I realized I was shivering. I wouldn't call this "conquering my fear" because I'm still terrified of large bodies of water and likely always will be but this proved to me that I'm strong enough to not let it paralyze me.

After hiking back up the mountain out of the valley we got to have the lunch we had bought at a makolet on the way up. I must have eaten a dozen pieces of salami wrapped around a strip of cucumber, pickle and crushed potato chips. I don't remember a meal ever being so satisfying.

Eventually we made our way back down to the Kinneret and met up with Chaim, Karen, Michal and Karen's friend Joan at the beach. Chaim had worked very hard and set up a wonderful campsite. With two tents, mats/blankets, and brand new hammock we were pretty much set. He made a great barbecue dinner with hot dogs, hamburgers, lamb chops and chicken. I don't remember the last time I'd had so much meat. It was absolutely beautiful watching the sunset and relaxing on the beach that night. We even did a campfire of sorts because Michal said she wanted one (not like you could have smores on Pesach but it was still nice).

The next day we went to Hamat Gader, a hot springs/spa resort place right along the Syrian border. I didn't have a bathing suit nor do I usually like to go into pools, even if they do smell like rotten eggs. But all the others went in and enjoyed it alot. I went to this seminar with Rafi and Chaim on Tibetan bowls. When struck, the bowls emit sound waves that help produce alpha waves in the brain which consequently should promote relaxation. The guy explaining everything was telling us about how it has healing powers and can cure anything. I wouldn't go that far but Chaim did start snoring half way through (though I don't know if that was entirely on account of the Tibetan bowls). It was interesting.

The bus ride home took about twice as long as it should have. The road up to Maale Adumim from Yericho which normally takes 15 minutes took us over an hour. Seems that everyone had decided to leave at the same time as us.

Hiking and camping up north. A pretty great way to spend your Pesach break.

A Baldasare Pesach: Part 1

Anything that involves the entire Baldasare family is an event. Pesach with them is an experience. I arrived in Maale Adumim Sunday night, 24 hours before the first (I mean) ONLY seder- too late to help with any of the major Pesach prep but just on time fork the inevitable ogranized chaos. I helped out where I could: mopping, folding laundry and odds and ends in the kitchen. Before I think any of us realized it, Yom Tov (or "Yontif") was upon us.

Got dressed and headed up to the Happy Minyan with Rina, Michal and Levia. This shul prides itself in their devotion to Shlomo Carlebach. The ruach and singing and dancing (on the men's side) is always great. Except when it's lail Seder, we're on the wrong side of 8pm, have yet to finish Hallel, still have a Seder to start that night and the men are "Ya-di-di-da-ing" with no end in sight. Gotta love 'em.

We finally settle around the Seder table. Someone comments how small it is: just family. Of course that still means we were ten people (see Bubbie, ten people- including hungry teenage boys- no big deal). No one person had the same Hagaddah but I managed to snag the one Artscroll as a matter of tradition and what we use back at home. We started out great. Got up to Magid in a timely fashion. Completely devoured the potatoes and eggs. One of the kids asked, "Why do we eat potatoes and eggs? Where does it say so?" Karen and I just replied: "Tradition."

On that note I shall digress. Studies show that the Pesach Seder is the most widely followed Jewish practice. It seems ironic. When lighting Shabbat candles or Chanukah candles seem so simple in comparison, yet there is something about the Pesach tradition that (provides the mother of the household with an annual panic attack and) allows it to live on so strongly. This year more than ever I was able to witness how much of this holiday is rooted in tradition, a notion seen most clearly in the issue of "Kitniyot". I still don't know exactly how or when it transpired except for that one week a year I wish my family had been Sephardic. I used to think Kitniyot just meant rice and legumes. And anywhere else in the world that would probably be the case. Here in Israel, being able to eat Kitniyot means a world of difference. There is absolutely no halachic anything stopping us from eating the ice cream bar and yet it says "לאכלי קיטניות בלבד" and so we buy the other brand.

Tradition is also a huge part of the Pesach seder itself. Just like Shabbat or any other holiday, every family has their own habits and ways of doing things. During the Seder I couldn't help but think about all the little things that happens at our Seder every year: someone calling "Susan, 2nd cup"- though that hopefully was not the case this year, Zayde using the same tune every year to chant through the few paragraphs Rachel, Julie and I didn't already claim, the "Pesach, Matza and Maror" paragraphs that the three of us always do, the songs from the other booklet mommy always insists on singing, the orange on the seder plate story that mommy tells, the competition to see how fast I can sing "echad mi yodea" before mommy gives me the look, always (without fail) stealing the afikomen when Zayde goes to the bathroom and always (without fail) hiding it in the same place, gefilte fish, chopped liver (not that I ever touched the stuff), Papa's vegetarian liver (that he insists is appetizing), Bubbie's pot roast and of course Mommy's desserts (the one time of year she actually bakes).

Turning back to this year's Seder. Magid. It is a mitzvah to tell the story of יציאת מצרים and at this Seder table that meant asking questions. Lots and lots of questions. If we were lucky we would get through a paragraph before someone would go: I have a question! The ensuing discussion/debate/screaming match would last anywhere between 5 and 20 minutes. Don't get me wrong, they were great discussions. Most were very insightful and touched on many different aspects of the Seder, the story and the Pesach holiday. Of course I thought my one contribution was the best. Unlike the other questions which were being taken from Midrashim in the various Hagaddahs and had the rabbi answers written beneath, mine was a genuine question for which I have never received a truly satisfying answer: Why is it that the Seder is supposed to be the telling of the Exodus from Egypt and yet very little of Magid actually speaks to the story we read in the book of Exodus? At first there was the expected uproar with answers involving the words "Rabbis" and "Midrash". I shot those down searching for more. Unsurprisingly, it was Karen and Levia who gave me the best response. In short, יציאת מצרים is less about the details of Moses floating down the Nile or the burning bush but rather its implications as a turning point in the history of the Jewish nation. This is also why the Hagaddah begins the story with Avraham instead of starting straight with the Exodus. It says "בכל דור ודור חייב אדם לראות את עצמו כאילו הוא יצא ממצרים" and one way of interpreting that is not only that we have to understand the meaning of the original Exodus but every generation since has had to discover its own version of the Exodus.

Somehow we finally managed to arrive at Shulchan Orech. And then I fell asleep.