I am currently writing in the darkened room of our B&B in Tzfat. After one afternoon and a full day of exploring the winding alleys of this amazing city, Yonah and I opted to take a nap while Shuie visits the cemetery which houses the remains of many renowned rabbis. While it is considered auspicious to pray at the graves of some of these holy men, for obvious reasons I decided that I was not in the best place emotionally to spend time hanging around a cemetery. That, and I’m really freakin’ tired.

Tzfat has a rich history of torah study and mystical experience, so much so that for many years it drew some of the leading Jewish sages from all over the world. A few of them even left Jerusalem to taste the inspiration that this city has to offer and never came back. In fact, one of the things I learned from a guidebook in our room is that for a long time, there was rivalry between Tzfat and Jerusalem, as both vied for the title of “holiest city in Israel”. As a visitor from Jerusalem, I can vouch for the fact that the energy here is something completely different from anywhere else I’ve been in Israel (one of the local natural healers described Tzfat as “wind” and Jerusalem as “fire”). The crisp air is loaded with some kind of spiritual power that you can feel the minute you arrive. I remembered it from my two previous visits, and it is hitting me very strongly this time around. From the moment we arrived, I have been constantly on the verge of tears. Something about being here touches your soul and opens up everything.

Our trip began a little later than we planned because at the last minute we decided to rent a car. The delay was worth it, since we are now much more portable to sights outside of the city and don’t have to worry about entertaining Yonah for a 3-hour bus ride. We picked up a car seat from our friends Judah and and Ariella and after a few initial mishaps (missing our exit out of Jerusalem twice after turning around), we were on our way. The ride up, which included a drive through some Arab villages along the main highway, went flawlessly, Thank Gd, and we arrived in the Galilee in about two and a half hours. We immediately stopped at Simcha Laya’s B&B in the middle of the artist’s quarter, where we reserved a very cool room decorated in blue (Tzfat’s signature color) with domed cielings, a courtyard outside with a grapefruit tree, the company of a dog (Daisy), a cat and a turtle, and our hostess, Simcha Layah Hoffman, along with her two sons.

After settling in for a bit we decided to check out the artist’s quarter, which houses galleries of all types, and some of the most beautiful pieces of art I have ever seen: oil paintings, blown glass, Judaica, pottery. Of course I wanted to buy everything, but after falling in love with a painting that cost $20,000, I was able to convince myself to look but not touch. The artist’s quarter is all cobblestone alleyways with doorways right off the trail that lead into homes, studios, and even abandoned holes. We ran into an elderly gentleman named Masha who told us that he had been living in Tzfat since 1948. He fought in every single war here in Israel, and is also a Holocaust survivor. He led us down into his gallery and showed us a certificate of appreciation awarded to him by the Israeli government for everything he’s done for the country. Aside from being an art dealer, he is also known as a storyteller who entertains tourists with tales of Tzfat’s history. After meeting him and a few other local artists, I started getting the sense that most of the people who settle here have some kind of story behind them.

While Shuie went to daven maariv (the evening prayers), I wrestled Yonah’s stroller through the cobbled alleyways of the old city, which are lined with galleries, jewelery stores and synagogues that are hundreds of years old. Yonah and I decided to stop at a small playground so he could stretch his legs. We met a girl there who was also named Yona (here in Israel girls have his name as well — in fact, many Israelis, when they learn his name, ask me if he’s a girl. Awkward.). The sun was setting and as Yonah played at my feet, I took a moment to breathe in the air and realize that I am actually HERE. The first time I came was fifteen years ago, on a trip with my family (As it turns out, the hotel where we stayed, the Ruth Rimonim, is around the corner from Simcha Layah’s). The wild layout of this city makes it difficult to remember, but over and over I find myself in places that I know as well as the house I grew up in. I suppose that’s the essence of this city: the sense of homecoming it offers.

After we met back up with Shuie, we walked up to the Rechov Yerushalayim (the Jerusalem Road), the main road with restaurants and touristy shops. And by the way, when I say up, I mean up. Bisecting the hilly city between the artist’s quarter and the Old City, is a set of stone steps called Ma’alot Olei Hagardom (”Those who went up to be hung”). The steps, which number probably 200 (thank Gd for my hikes up Ramat HaGolan!) were used by the British in 1948 to separate the Arab section of the city from the Jewish one. The name of the steps refers to 12 prisoners that the British killed in the nearby town of Akko and then brought here to be buried. Nowadays, these steps exist merely to offer citizens and visitors a good workout and frustrate the hell out of parents pushing baby strollers.

We found a shwarma place on Rehov Yerushalayim where Yonah decided to sample off of Shuie’s plate and crawl out of the restaurant to visit with passersby on the sidewalk. He has been waving “Hi” to everyone (although his wave is actually directed toward himself) and has said the word “Hi” to both me and Shuie. Of course he charms everyone he meets, and although I will admit it is really hard travelling with a baby, especially in a hilly, stair-y place like Tzfat, the fact that he is such an easygoing kid makes it a lot easier than it could have been. After we came home Yonah partied in his crib until 9 p.m. (!) before finally passing out.

This morning we all got up around 7 and Shuie headed out for shacharit (the morning prayers) while Yonah and I visited with Simcha in the courtyard. She is a single mom with two boys and is raising them herself by working a myriad of jobs. When she told me her story, which began in Winthrop, MA and ended with her buying this amazing house while pregnant and in the middle of a divorce, just to realize a lifelong dream to live in Tzfat, I was completely in awe. This is the stuff that we women are made of. I’d like to think that if someone can survive an upheaval like that, I will be able to get through this rough time in one piece (and maybe even the stronger for it). Simcha laid out breakfast, including fresh grapefruit from her tree, which Shuie ate happily when he came home. Once we were all fed, we headed out to the Old City.

We wandered the alleys of the Old City without any real plan, stopping in a few of the famous old synagogues. A bunch of them were locked, but the one that stays open constantly is the shul of R’ Moshe Alschich. We came in to find it empty, as if it had been waiting for us to come. In the middle of the high-cielinged sanctuary is a blue-painted bima (raised platform), from which prayers are led and the Torah is read. The cielings are painted with a Spanish mosaic, while cushioned benches line the walls and surround the bima. While Yonah slept in his stroller I prayed a bit (and of course started crying) and Shuie read aloud from the weekly Torah portion, Bereishit (Genesis, the first torah portion of the cycle). Afterwards, Shuie read an article on the wall about a Torah scroll in the synagogue that once belonged to R’ Alschich himself. When 10 men tried to remove it from the synagogue, they all died. Later on, during one of the few famous earthquakes that struck the city, the Torah scroll disappeared. “It was sent back to where it belonged,” the article said.

Down the alley from the Alschich shul is the Abohav shul, another holy synagogue. Between the two of them is a women’s learning center called Tzofnat, where I was interested in doing some learning. While I was ringing the bell, a local woman told me that during the Lebanon war, a Ketusha rocket hit Tzofnat and destroyed the building. There were men praying in both the Alschich and the Abohav synagogues, but by some miracle, none of the students were in Tzofnat at the time the rocket hit it. It was a miracle, she said. Something tells me those sort of miracles are pretty commonplace here.

After some more alley wanderings, including an aborted mission to the Tzfat Cheese Factory (the steps were too much for the stroller and the pregnant lady), we went up to Alkabetz, one of the Old City’s main roads, and got some drinks at Ashira, a small Kabbalah cafe run by a Yemenite man named Ronen Jarufi. The walls of the cafe were lined with books in several languages all about kabbalah and other mystical topics, and sitar-heavy, meditative music played in the background. I was ready to curl up and fall asleep right there on my bench. Ronen chatted with us from behind the counter while he made Yemenite bread dishes (sort of like little pizzas, only with funky spices and no cheese) with his crescent-moon shaped knives. The knives have handles on both ends so he can rock them back and forth without risking getting his fingers caught.

Underneath the cafe we visited an art exhibit about Torah and Science. There were vibrant photographs on the walls with accompanying articles that talked about the connections between various scientific issues and halacha (jewish law). For example, one halacha says that Jews are not able to eat food that comes from a non-kosher animal (like milk from a pig). Why, then, can we have honey? Bees are not kosher. The article explained that bees actually have two stomachs, one for digesting their food and the other specifically for making honey. The honey tummies have no digestive enzymes, so the honey remains bee-free. Hence, it is a kosher food. In the days of modern science this seems pretty cut-and-dry: pop the bee open, do a little snooping, and you find two stomachs. Hooray. But the law regarding eating honey was written 2000 years ago, before the days of dissection. The rabbis said (I’m paraphrasing here), “The honey has no trace of the bee in it”. That they were able to know something like that back then was pretty mindblowing. Another cool article was about the halacha that baby boys must be circumcised on their eighth day of life, never before and not after (extenuating circumstances aside). For thousands of years, people just went with it, assuming that Gd knows best. But now, modern science has found that babies do not produce a certain protein (the name of which escapes me at the moment) that enables them to heal from wounds and/or surgeries until they are –you guessed it — eight days old. If babies were circumcised any time before that point, they would die. Gd did know best, obviously, and in this case, we can see how.

By the time we got about three-quarters of the way through the exhibit I was tapped out and hungry, a lethal combination. Shuie and I headed through the rest of the old city, passing through a natural foods restaurant (where, unfortunately, all the food made me want to gag), and headed back up to the Midrachov Yerushalayim to have lunch a Cafe Baghdad, a cute dairy place with tables that overlook the city. Yonah shared our omelettes and brown bread and before long made it obvious that he was (a) tired of being strapped in his stroller and (b) ripe for a nap. Back we headed to Simcha Leah’s, where he and I both turned in for a much-needed snooze.

After naptime Shuie returned home and we headed out for dinner. On the way, Shuie led me through some of the lower alleys of the artist’s quarter, where we marveled at all the empty, abandoned spaces just screaming for refurbishing. How we wished we could claim one of those spaces as our own. Since we got here, Shuie and I have been toying with the idea of ditching Jerusalem and coming here to stay for the rest of the year. As I said previously, the energy here is something remarkable and even while there is life going on there is a sense of calm and quiet that forces you toward introspection. It’s a nice mix of people, very relaxed. However, I’m not sure we would be able to find the kind of learning we want here, and this constant, intense spiritual feeling is a lot to handle. Plus, all these stairs are a killer. It’s certainly an option, but I’m going to table the discussion until further notice, or at least for the next fifteen minutes.

Now it is bedtime again. Tomorrow morning we are going to make our own pottery at a gallery nearby, visit a few more places and then (as of now), our plan is to head over to Teverya (Tiberias), which has a slew of hotels along the Sea of Galilee and healing hot springs. We’ve decided to take our last night of vacation to just be tourists and treat ourselves with something nice. I laughed when I thought about us leaving this city of all things spiritual just to indulge our materialistic sides. Nature of man, I suppose.

Holy crow. This post turned out to be a tome. From now on, call me Charles Dickens.

Just a quick one this morning because in a couple of hours Shuie, Yonah and I will be leaving for our first gin-u-wine Israeli tiyul (trip). We’re heading off to the mystical city of Tzfat, a small hilly enclave up North with a long tradition of Kabbalah study, Jewish art, and spiritual uplift for visitors and residents alike. When Shuie and I we first met we discovered a shared love for Tzfat; Now we actually get to go there together!

I’m hoping that the change of scenery and the air that just crackles with energy will give me the shot in the arm of inspiration that I need; quite frankly, I’ve been much more ambivalent about everything than I anticipated since I arrived here. I think much of it has to do with the fact that I have been nauseous and mind-numbingly exhausted for the past month or so (thanks, little Bean), but also with the reality of losing my mother. The pain and anger can be paralyzing sometimes, so much that I feel blocked off from any kind of inspiration or desire to grow. From what I understand, this kind of thing is normal but I don’t want my time here to pass by without having taken as much in as I can.

In Jewish tradition, a first-born boy (who must also be the first fruit of his mother’s womb — that means no previous miscarriages or abortions) is considered the property of the Kohanim (the High Priests) of Israel. When the newborn boy is a month old, we hold a ceremony called “Pidyon Ha’Ben” (Redeeming of the Son), in which we literally pay a Cohen to “give” us our son back. We had one for Yonah a year ago (!). The other day, a friend of a friend asked if his sister could host her Pidyon Ha’Ben in our Sukkah, since it had room for so many people. We gladly agreed. What an honor! So, this past Friday morning, about 50 people packed into our Sukkah for the Pidyon Ha’Ben for baby Yehudah. It was so nice to see family and friends gathered together for such a happy celebration, kids running around outside in the garden, mothers nursing, everyone catching up. And the baby was so little! His mother, Shoshana (who is admirably together considering that she has been sleep-deprived for the past month) and I hit it off immediately; she and her husband Ayal were so grateful to us, they commissioned her brother, Reb Osher (Shloimie’s teacher) to make us a cut-paper sign for our front door (It’s a picture of the front of a house with an open door and a welcome mat. Written above, in Hebrew, is “Mishpachat Bochner” (The Bochner Family). It was beyond nice and completely uneccessary, but a lovely addition to our Israeli home.

Packing calls. Here’s hoping Yonah is on good behavior during the 3-hour bus ride.

Mazel Tov, Mazel Tov! I’m an auntie again!My beautiful sister-in-law Riki gave birth to a beautiful 7.5 lb baby girl Friday morning in L.A. Thank Gd mother and baby are both doing fine. From all the way across the ocean, I am sending love and blessings to this new little bearer of holy woman power, her amazing parents, and her new big brother, Elchonon. Welcome to the World, Baby!

For those of you who have been Reezie-less for the past two days, not to worry. The site was being a little moody and then I got swept up in a maelstrom of cooking for the last days of Sukkot (we had guests, of course). Shabbat has just ended here, and with it the last Yom Tov of the holiday. Tomorrow is what is known as “Isru Chag” (sort of like a “bonus day”, post-fest), and then back to business as usual. As nice as the high holiday season has been, I am not sorry to see it go. All the entertaining aside, it tends to be a very loaded time both spiritually and emotionally. I am ready to pull up my sleeves and start school shopping come Monday.

My women’s kumzitz has come and gone, and I think for a first foray it was a definite success. There was a turnout of about 10-12 people, some friends from my school, some from Tovi’s school and some of my girlfriends from around town. It certainly wasn’t the wild party Shuie threw for the menfolk (for which we received the stamp of a truly good party: a noise complaint from the landlords), but we had our singing, our inspiration and the enjoyment of each other’s company.

After the party I was able to enjoy some down time with my friends Ariella and Chava (who is also a new bride) about the lessons we’ve learned from marriage, and what it means to be a wife and mother. I talked about how important it is for me to have things going on outside of my house, how I need to cultivate relationships and abilities beyond just childcare and housekeeping (like writing, for example) or I’m left feeling frustrated and unfulfilled. It was an interesting jumping off point for discussion since Jewish tradition maintains that a woman’s highest purpose is to raise children and to build a loving Jewish home. Ariella cited this, saying that the things she does outside of her house are supplements to her true calling: being a wife and mother. I agreed with her, but when I thought about it later, I realized that I felt there was more to it than that, for me. It is true that by pursuing other interests I become a more fulfilled person and in turn, a better wife and mother, but I don’t feel that that role is my be-all and end-all. Of course my husband and son are the most important people in my life and I place the utmost value on my roles as wife and mother, but it would be dishonest of me to say that I don’t also value the other roles I play in life in and of themselves: individual, friend, teacher, artist, student, sister, daughter, Jew, etc. I don’t consider their value only in relationship to the Wife/Mother component. When I look back on my life, the accomplishments of which I hope to take pride are having raised good, menschdik (decent) children who are connected to Judaism and Gd, having sustained and happy, loving marriage, and also having developed myself into a person of whom I can be proud. I guess I’m really starting to get that first dose of the struggle every mother has, wanting to be there for her children and also to be there for herself.

As Sukkot draws to a close, I feel I can take away one lesson in particular from this holiday, and that is about faith. As I wrote previously, the idea behind building a Sukkah and living in it is that by living outside, amongst the elements, we declare our total reliance on Gd. But why should my dwelling in particular say anything about faith? I thought a bit about what my home represents to me: aside from material comfort and a place to keep my stuff, my home provides me with a sense of physical and emotional security because I have a place to come home to. My identity also hinges on my home; what kind of person I am based on the neighborhood I’m living in, the role I play in my home (that wife/mother thing again), and what my daily life and routine looks like (cooking, cleaning, etc). By stepping out of that comfort zone, I have to reevaluate EVERYTHING about my life and who I am. Everything physical that I place my security in and seek my identity from — my family, money, my home, my appearance, my talents, everything — they are all really just obstacles between me and Gd. They’re just incidentals. I realized that my avodah (work) for this year is to let go of the physical crutches that block me from total faith in Gd. Some of them have been removed already; my mother, for one, was a huge sense of security for me and now I don’t have her anymore. My family is also far away right now. My job and daily routine by which I define myself (and on which I depend on steady income) have changed. The security of living someplace where I’m comfortable and known is suspended now that I’m in Israel. I am a virtual stranger in a truly temporary world. The experience of Sukkot has never been more real for me than it is now, and I hope, with Gd’s help, that it will give me the strength to really dive into building my emunah (faith) and connection with Gd. Maybe with an increase of faith, I’ll stumble into a little more joy, too.

Alright, I have been a very good girl and kept my lips zipped for quite a while now. Custom calls for keeping things mum until 12 weeks into the pregnancy.

That’s right. Yonah is going to be a big brother!We actually found out two days before we left for Israel, which made for an interesting twist, and as hard as it was, we didn’t tell anyone until recently.

Shuie and I went to our first doctor’s appointment yesterday (a blessed miracle after the hoops we had to jump through to get the right insurance), where Dr. Rachmani told us that we were almost 12 weeks along. The due date is Shabbat, April 24th. I practically jumped onto the table when he asked us if we wanted to see the heartbeat.

I am not new to ultrasounds –I did it a bunch of times when I was pregnant with Yonah — but that didn’t stop me from gasping out loud when I saw the little Bean on the screen. It’s one thing to know you’re pregnant and even feel all the symptoms — that insidious morning sickness, exhaustion you could never explain to another person — but it’s another thing entirely to see the baby in front of you, especially its little heart, beating away. I was so happy, and so sad, I started crying. I was in awe of this little creature growing inside of me, but not being able to share it with my mother is so painful. “Don’t worry; she sees everything now,” Shuie said. That could very well be true, but it’s not the same as being able to pick up the phone and tell her all about it. Please: if my mother was still alive she would have packed up and moved over here the minute she found out I was expecting.

After our appointment Shuie and I had a celebratory stop at the local bakery (well, he did — I treated myself with overpriced tofu from the health food store) and then headed home, where our friend Seth was babysitting Yonah. After the excitement of that appointment, I proceeded to spend the rest of the day parked in the apartment like a lazy bag of bones. Considering how much we’ve been up to these past few days, I figured I was entitled to a little R & R.

I have decided to take my desire to bring more Jewish Woman power into my life by having my own women’s kumzitz tonight. I’ve got at least 6-8 people coming so far, so back I go to the kitchen to bake and play hostess. I am so excited to be hosting something like this in my house; I’m a big believer in taking action when I see a need for something, otherwise I could wind up waiting around forever. I’m also planning on starting a Rosh Chodesh (beginning of the month) women’s circle here, a tradition I hope to take with me back to the States. So, off we go…

With all modesty, I just need to say that Shuie and I hosted the most rocking kumzitz in the entire city last night. Some of our friends came, Shloimie and Nechemiah brought a bunch of friends from school, and between the crew that showed up, we had two guitarists, a fiddler, a saxophonist and a djembe (hand drum) that was passed around the table. It took a little time to get going (as these things tend to do…remember middle school dances?), but by an hour into it everyone was jumping, dancing, singing, tossing Torah around the table and having a great time.

The women’s side was much less crowded (my friend Ariella, one of Shuie’s friend’s wives, my sister-in-law, her friend and me) but it was nice. I didn’t like that “spectator” feeling as we looked on at the action from the other side of the sukkah, but it inspired me to consider throwing another shindig on Thursday, just for the ladies. We can rock just as hard as they can, if not harder. All we need is an opportunity and a little more room.

I must also concede a small victory to my husband who insisted on making a giant potato kugel and cholent along with my genteel dessert trays. I balked when he first told me about it — “It throws off the whole dessert motif!” — but it became clear when the man food came out and the man folk pounced on it that he had made a very good call. Hostesses, learn from my experience: whenever you’re hosting large groups of men, make sure you have meat, potatoes, booze and large quantities of baked goods on hand. They’ll love you forever. One of them even asked me if I have a sister who makes my apple crisp. I said I could teach her, but he’d have to hop on a plane to the States and maneuver past her boyfriend to get to them.

Our friend Judah gave over a little dvar torah last night that really moved me. He told a story of how he was walking across the main intersection here in Ramat Eshkol and he saw a woman coming toward him on the other side of the street, where traffic was still coming. She was blind and had no idea where she was walking, but she was cool as a cuke. Another woman ran out into the street and held up traffic so the woman could get across safely. After the incident, Judah asked himself, “What am I supposed to learn from this?”. What he came to was this: we’re all walking blindly through the world. We think we know everything that’s happening but there is so much more going on beyond our limited perception.

When we go into the sukkah, we have to open our limited view. We have an opportunity to remember that while we think this dwelling is temporary and the “real” house is permanent, it is actually the opposite. There is nothing in this world that we can take with us — not our houses, our money, our fabulous magenta snakeskin ankle boots that we bought in Italy and are too painful to wear but too gorgeous to throw away. All we have when we go are our relationships with family and friends and the good deeds we do while we’re here. In this society, we think everything is so clear: make money, travel the world, live the “good life”, buy the next new gadget, send the kids to college, retire and play golf. These things have some enjoyment value, but in reality, if we think they are the ultimate goals in life, we’re as blind as the lady crossing the street. We may think we know exactly where we’re going, but really we’re lost.

Thank you to all of you who sent feedback regarding my little problem with the yellers in the forest. Plenty of options to choose from, though I’m still partial to the rotten-pomegranate slingshot.

Today should be relatively quiet compared to our soiree last night. This afternoon we’re heading to Ramat Bet Shemesh to have a BBQ with Chaim and Sima and the kids in their sukkah. Should be nice.

Chag Sameach!

There’s a weensy little problem we’ve been having that I haven’t written about until now. I told myself it would go away if I didn’t give it too much attention, but unfortunately, like many issues, I could not make this one magically disappear just by ignoring it. It has become enough of a subplot that I figure it’s worth telling you all about now.

As many of you know, our backyard overlooks a gorgeous nature reserve which affords us a spectacular view and a sense of serenity, away from the bustle of the city. Many people enjoy visiting the reserve for its nature trails and small campgrounds scattered throughout. Others appreciate it as the perfect place to practice hitbodedut (secluded prayer), as promoted by Rebbe Nachman of Breslov. Throughout the day, we hear people out there yelling up to Gd in prayer. Inspiring, no?

Not at three-freakin’-thirty in the morning, it isn’t.

It’s true: We have Breslover Chassidim screaming to Gd right outside our window every night. This is just fine for insomniacs but not so much for those of us who get up with a one-year-old at 5:30 every day. When it first started happening, I tried to access my compassionate side and reminded myself that these people were going to amazing lengths to improve their relationship with Gd. Within a few days, though, I was ready to draw up blueprints for a giant slingshot that would shoot the rotten pomegranates in our backyard right at their holy, Chassidishe heads.

Last night was the last straw. Around 3 a.m. one of them was at it again and he was so loud I could have sworn he was in the room with me. Needless to say, I was a world-class witch this morning and actually yelled at my son when he knocked over the bowl with my breakfast in it. I’ve decided that if I hear any of them again I will be calling the police.

In the States, public disturbances are usually the result of wild parties or abusive spouses. Only in Israel do you need to call the cops because someone is out praying too late.

Back in the 60’s, a whole bunch of people (particularly young people involved with the counterculture hippie world) got turned on to Judaism by a Rabbi named Shlomo Carlebach. He was known as the “The Singing Rabbi” because he wrote thousands of Jewish songs and gave concerts for people all over the world. Reb Shlomo’s message was that every Jew was beautiful and holy, and that each one, through doing even one mitzvah (commandment), had the power to change the world. His teachings would focus on the “deep” aspects of the torah and holidays, the spiritual behind the technical; his stories would focus on the holiness of even the simplest Jew. Reb Shlomo’s music and talent for storytelling had a way of reaching into people’s hearts and turning something on, like a switch; even today, his recorded stuff has a similar effect. He wrote music and was mekarev (brought people to Judaism) thousands of Jews worldwide for over 40 years, until his death in 1994. He inspired the creation of several “Carlebach Minyanim” (prayer groups that sing many of his songs during their service), as well as many contemporary Jewish Rock and Roll bands (including the Moshav Band, our favorite). Some of his followers also established a small Moshav in Israel called Mevo Modi’in, a simple place where Carlebach Jews live together, celebrate Reb Shlomo’s torah and music and host guests each week from all over the world.

Five years ago, on my last visit to Israel, my friend Itiya took me with her for a Shabbos at Moshav Modi’in. I knew absolutely nothing about the place (and at that point, not much about Reb Shlomo, except that my father had met him a couple of times) but was in the mood to try something different. We stayed with the Rabbi and Rebbetzin of the Moshav, Rabbi Avraham Aryeh and Rachel Trugman, whose house was filled with people, students and expats and drifters of all shades, some of them religious, some of them far from it, many of whom slept on mattresses that covered the living room floor. I was immediately struck by how warm the Trugmans were, much more so than any other Rabbi and Rebbetzin I had ever met.Then we went to shul for Kabbalat Shabbat (Friday Night Services). I couldn’t stop staring at all the Moshav’s residents, most of whose style is very hippie-ish: lots of flowing skirts, colorful scarves, and then men wear knitted kippot (head coverings), and some wear white cotton tunics. It was like a world of people exactly like me, only religious. Where had they come from? Then services began, and within minutes, the chairs were pushed back and everyone was dancing. I was completely in awe. Remember, I had grown up in a conservative synagogue, where the service proceedings were as dry as toast and basically consisted of: “Stand up, sit down, say this prayer, say that prayer, let’s go eat”. There was no joy there, at least not in the way I was seeing now. If there were orthodox people who were Jewish like this, I wanted to be like them. By the time I left them on Sunday morning, I had a dream of living in a place like this, where all Jews were welcome and were joyfully Jewish together. I promised myself that the next time I was in Israel, I would be back to visit.

Yesterday, I fulfilled my promise to myself. There was a huge music and art festival at Moshav Modi’in in honor of Sukkot, so Shuie and I headed over with Bug. The minute we got to the Moshav, everything came back: everything was exactly as I remembered it, including that sense of “home” I got the last time I was there. The music had already started and booths were set up with the most amazing art, jewelery, handcrafts, health food, books, Judaica, essential oils, photography. I, of course, wanted to buy everything. Shuie and I settled for a painting by a Breslover Chassid (an ultra-orthodox Jew who follows Rabbi Nachman of Breslov) in a streimel (a circular hat made of fur) who, when he wasn’t showing us his work, had his nose buried in a holy book. His art was unbelievable, oil paintings that looked like Van Goghs only with Jewish themes, and cut paper and oil that was absolutely mindblowing. The painting we bought is cut paper and oil, depicting the silhouette of a man dancing with joy. It says, “Mitzvah Gedolah Lihiyot B’Simcha Tamid” (It is a mitzvah to always be happy). Shuie and I both fell in love with it, and with the artist himself, who said, “I am connected to all of my paintings. Every one of them has a little piece of my neshama (soul)”. We walked away marveling at the beauty of our purchase and of the person who made them.

After we wandered around a bit more, I finally ran into Rabbi Trugman. I introduced myself to him and told him, “When you met me I wasn’t frum (religious), coming here turned my whole life around”. He gave me the sweetest smile, like I had given him the best compliment in the world. As I was introducing Shuie and Yonah, I was suddenly struck by how much of a change my life has undergone since my last time at the Moshav: I let go of over 100 pounds in Overeaters Anonymous, became orthodox, got married, had a son. It’s amazing how much one life can change in such a short amount of time. On a good day, I can look back and be overcome by the sequence of miracles that brought me where I am now.

I also got a chance to chat with Rabbi Sholom Brodt (who is actually my father-in-law’s cousin) and Rabbi Raz Hartman, both of whom run programs at the Shlomo Yeshiva in Nachlaot. I’ve been toying with the idea of going there and after talking to them I am very excited about checking it out next week. One of the things I have to remind myself is that I’m not locked in anywhere; this isn’t like college where I have to be at one place. I can shop around, check out different places. I may decide to mix and match, do one place in the morning, one in the afternoon. Having many options isn’t such a bad thing. Let’s just hope I find my groove soon.

After we roamed around for a while, we settled on the grass to watch the different bands play (all of whom were amazing), including Ben Zion Solomon and all of his sons (three of those sons are in the Moshav Band) — For the record, I get the biggest kick out of Jewish music that you can actually rock out to; it kind of validates for me that being religious can still be cool. Anyway, we ended up running into friends from our schools and people we know from around the city. It made me really happy to realize that we’ve only been here for a month and we already have friends. Yonah had a blast crawling around on the grass and dancing to the music. By the time the sun was setting, we realized he had not taken a nap since 10:00 in the morning and he was still raring to go.

Yonah’s bedtime was approaching so we headed out of the Moshav and back to the main road. We quickly realized that neither of us knew how to get back to Jerusalem, since the bus we came on did not have the same return route. In America, this would have been major cause for a freak-out. Here in Israel, for some reason, I knew we would find a ride. I took a moment, asked Gd for help, told myself not to get anxious, and headed back into the parking lot. After a few misses, we flagged down a 30-something guy named Yaneev Tsaidi who lives in the German Colony and just happened to have three empty seats in his car. Hooray! While Shuie and Yaneev played Jewish geography and talked about music, I tried to distract a very squirmy Yonah and for a few calm minutes managed to admire the massive full moon hanging over the city. Yaneev dropped us off right outside the Tachanat HaMercazit (The central bus station), and within 20 minutes, we were home. My first outing as a hitchhiker was an official success.

It was an amazing day and also an exhausting one. We were both tapped out by 9:00. Still, I came home invigorated, inspired, excited and happy. This is what I was shooting for when I came back to Israel, to find a community of people like this and to learn with and from them. I’d like to think that this is what Reb Shlomo was hoping to awaken in everyone he met. Let’s hope it’s just the beginning for me.

After two days of entertaining, I am so exhausted I could fall asleep at my keyboard. Therefore, just a brief pit stop here before I turn in for the night. Our pizza party was a huge success; round the table today was a bunch of friends, old and new: “Uncle” (to Yonah) Seth Perkins, Meira Bennett (daughter of our good friend and faithful blog reader Janice Bennett) and her schoolmate Esther, and Shuie’s childhood friend Zelig Barr, his delightful wife Emily and their three kids, Aviella, Naava and Azariya.

Meira and Esther were the only ones keeping two days of Yom Tov so it was an interesting mix at the party, with our music playing and people talking on cell phones while two Americans were still observing the holiday. During the meal Esther and I were talking about being a part of a family where some people are observant and some aren’t (like in my family), where under the same roof some people will watch television, use electricity and run errands on Shabbos and holidays while others of us are Shomer Shabbat (observant of the laws of the Sabbath). Esther smiled. “That’s sort of like it is here today.” I laughed. “Exactly!”

After the crowd left later this afternoon, Shuie took a looooong nap in the Sukkah and Seth and I visited for a while. I hadn’t seen him for a few weeks and I was glad to catch up with him. Not only do I really enjoy his company, but I also feel an obligation to make sure he’s doing okay since his family is taking such good care of Shira back in the States. I fed him like a clucking Jewish mother hen and tried to convince him to spend the night in our Sukkah, but he had already made plans. Before he left, he promised he would come back for our party on Tuesday night and will gladly stay in our Sukkah then

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Just when I was ready to settle in for the night, our friends Judah and Ariella invited us to come hang out in their sukkah (build on the roof of their building which is, of course, at the top of our street), so we mustered up our energy and made the hike up. It was so nice to visit with friends, especially in a different sukkah. It made me really appreciate the experience of Sukkot in Jerusalem; most people live in apartments and build their sukkahs any place they can find the space outside: rooftops, parking lots, back gardens, on the sidewalks. Everyone becomes instant neighbors in their little wooden houses. You can hear people talking, singing, eating, arguing. Even though we all have our own little Sukkahs, one gets the feeling that we’re all really in it together here. We were learning some torah from our Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach at the table in which he said that all of Am Yisrael (the nation of Israel) are all under one sukkah during this holiday, that we are all connected and together during this joyful time. Here is Israel, I can see how that’s true.

One more quick thing, and then it’s off to bed. Due to both the morning rush and taking care of Yonah, I don’t get much time to daven (pray) in the morning. When I do get the time to really get into it, I always end up crying. Yesterday morning, while Yonah was napping, I took an hour to daven and, of course, ended up in tears. I told Gd that I wished He could just come and hug me, that I could get that sense of a loving embrace from him on a physical level and not just a spiritual one. When I told my friend Michal about that she said, “You built a Sukkah, didn’t you? Walk into it. That is Gd hugging you”. That one comment opened up this holiday for me in a way I have never experienced it before. I share it now with the hope that it brings some inspiration to anyone else celebrating Sukkot, that they might feel more connected to the experience of this awesome holiday.

It is currently 6 a.m. here in Israel on the second day of Sukkot. Last night, Shuie spoke to a rabbi who told him that if we only wanted to keep one day of Yom Tov, we were able to do so, even though we’re planning on returning to America. So, last night we called it a day and we are now celebrating Chol HaMoed (the intermediate days) like everyone else in Israel. This is a huge relief for me since we have a whole bunch of guests coming for lunch (including 3 kids) and it was going to be very tricky figuring out what to feed them using only my stovetop. Not that we don’t have a fridge stocked with leftovers, but what can I say? I’m a typical Jewish mother. We’re keeping it simple this afternoon and having a pizza party in the Sukkah, saving me from cooking and everyone else from another day of heavy, multi-course meals.

Our first day of Sukkot was very nice. Friday night we had Nechemiah, Shloimie and a bunch of first-year guys from Kesher, Nechemiah’s yeshiva. Kesher is not your typical yeshiva; it’s really for guys who are a little lost and wrestling with Judaism (and in some cases, themselves) and Kesher gives them an opportunity to reconnect. The guys at my table were a little rougher (Nechemiah called them “hoodlums”), but it was obvious that all of them had a story. One guy especially caught my attention. He came from LA and walked in with a leather jacket and greasy hair, right out of some mod-emo MTV video. At first I wasn’t sure what to make of him since he was very quiet and his few comments were a little offbeat. But as the meal went on, we started talking about what I did for a living. When I mentioned that I was a special educator, he lit up and said, “My family is very grateful for people like you”. It turns out he has a five-year-old brother with Autism. He and I got into a great discussion about the prevalence of Autism and how having a child with special need can change the whole dynamic of a family. It was clear, watching him talk about his brother, that he had a very sensitive heart. It was another lesson for me that I am selling myself and others way short if I judge only by appearances. Everyone has something that touches their heart; you just have to ask the right questions to get there.

Having a table full of ragtag guys made me very happy because it reminded me of my mother. In her house, everyone was welcome. She loved having a full table of guests and if people were having trouble, she always made her home (and herself) available to them. I remember the night after her funeral, we all arrived home exhausted and emotionally spent. It was Friday night, so Shabbos was coming, and all we wanted was to sit down to a quiet dinner as a family. Suddenly the doorbell rang and in walked some of our extended family. The doorbell rang again, and in walked some of Shira’s friends. Before long the house was filled with people. Shira and I looked and each other and said, “We could be annoyed by this, but this is totally what Mom would have wanted.” I like to think that by making anyone and everyone welcome in my home, I’m following in her footsteps.

For yesterday’s lunch we had my friend Rachel and her husband Daniel and Yonah’s BFF, Shmuel Yaakov, who had a blast getting dirty in our garden. He and Yonah played beautifully in the Sukkah together (Yonah shared all of his toys, per our agreement). Rachel also brought along two single girls who were students at Nishmat, a school in Jerusalem I considered going to. I got to talk with them a little about the school and they told me that some of the women there bring their babies while they’re learning. Needless to say, that got me very very excited. Once zman (literally, “time”, but referring to the learning semester) starts up again, I may go check it out. One of the girls, Dalia, was also from the Boston area, so we had quite a bit to talk about. The orthodox women’s community in Boston is a very unique one; philosophically, women tend to be a little more progressive. They will make certain prayers that are traditionally reserved for men, and count themselves as a group to lead their own services. Many women have also started creating their own ceremonies and rituals to mark events in their lives that were overlooked by the ancient rabbis: Rosh Chodesh (new month) celebrations, marking a return to the world after birth, the onset of menses and menopause. This philosophy appeals to me personally (remnants of my conservative background, probably) because of the ability it affords me to be more proactive, to belong to a group of women, and to make the experience of womanhood a more ritualized and spiritual one. I used to resent the ancient rabbis for not giving us more to do, but I read something that gave me a lot of perspective on it: The rabbis were not underestimating or marginalizing the experience of women, they just were unable to access the experience of being a woman adequately enough to mark it properly. There is no law saying that I can’t create my own rituals (within the context of Jewish law), or pray in my own way (in fact, many rabbis encourage prayer in your own language); the idea is that I can educate myself about the laws and customs and then take responsibility for my own spiritual life by building a personal practice within that framework.

Last night for dinner we had my chevruta (learning partner) Michal and her husband, Michael. They’re a funky couple from L.A. (though she’s originally from South Africa) who have been married for 10 months. Michael and Shuie hit it off immediately (Michal and I were fast friends as well), and we all stayed up talking until 11 p.m. One of the interesting things I find about talking with other ba’alei teshuva (people who were not born religious but came to it later) is that they will sometimes have the kind of life experience that has given them a sense of trust and reliance on Gd that is so much deeper than that of people who were raised orthodox. Spiritual awareness is, from my perspective, an experience, not a theory. While I can sit in a classroom for twenty years and learn the idea that Gd is taking care of me, I won’t understand it the way I would if I experience true Siata DiShmayah (Help from Above) after being in a dark or desperate situation. This is not to say that there are not FFB’s (frum [orthodox] from birth) out there who don’t have amazing emunah (faith), but that ba’alei teshuva may have different kinds of opportunities to have a spiritual experience.

Yonah is being especially grumpy this morning because he is way overtired and I’m not letting him take a nap yet (Mean Mommy…). I need to go play with him before he has a complete meltdown. To those of you in the States still celebrating Sukkot, Chag Sameach, and may you feel Hashem’s presence with you when you sit in the Sukkah.

I woke up in a black mood this morning, due to a variety of things but predominantly the fact that Yonah has been insisting on getting up at 5:30 each morning for the past week, ever since we moved the clocks back an hour. Both of us get very cranky when we’re tired; let’s just say that by the time we leave for Rivka’s at 8:30 we’re both ready to raise the white flag.

This morning, our landlord Yossi drove us up Mount Ramat HaGolan, saving me my usual shlep. After we dropped Yonah off we headed over to the bank so I could take out money to pay our rent (first of the month…). We chatted easily in Hebrew–Well, he did, anyway. I struggled along in my adorable, brain-farty way, but at least I was able to follow the conversation–about classical music. Yossi is a big classical music fan, but Carmela and his son Doron have banned it from the house. He gets his fix while he’s driving in the car. I play Mozart, Beethoven and Chopin for Yonah (and no, we’re not just talking the Baby Einstein stuff here), which he seems to like a lot, though not as much as the new kids’ album I bought him by Barenaked Ladies called, “Snacktime!”. He actually dances when I play it for him, which is, of course, the most adorable thing that has ever occurred in the history of humankind.

Anyway, the black mood persisted despite a flawless trip to the bank. I tried to set myself straight by jumping into cooking, but after catching my finger in my new hand blender (no worries; all phalanges are still attached), I dissolved into tears. Shuie came to the rescue, wrapped my finger up and tried to boost my spirits. “We’re going out,” he said, and despite my protestations, took me for a walk to the Mercaz to run some errands. We bought a midmorning snack from the local bakery and sat at a table outside, watching the passersby. Shuie took a bite into his mini-cheese danish and smiled. “On days when I’m really depressed, seeing the sun and life going on changes everything.” Whether I wanted to admit it or not, he was right. By the time we got home, my mood was turned right around. Our little trip gave me the boost I needed to jump into a marathon cooking session, which I am only now giving myself permission to stop, seven hours later.

So far, I have made:

1. 5 Challahs
2. Morrocan Pumpkin Soup
3. Penne with Pumpkin Seed Pesto and Roasted Peppers
4. Apple Brisket
5. Chicken Breast Rolls Stuffed with Apple, Fig, Leek and Barley
6. Chicken Wings with Mango and Fresh Basil Marinade
7. Kidney Bean and Chickpea Dip (we had to get a little experimental with that one)
8. Carrot and Apple Kugel
9. Yellow Peppers Stuffed with Onions, Mushrooms and Barley in Tomato Paste

In case you’re interested in stealing some recipes, I will tell you that I find most of mine online (except the challah, which is my mother’s). My good friend Katherine just turned me on to this fabulous blog site called http://www.twobluelemons.com, which features the culinary adventures of two vegan/vegetarian sisters. While I am not vegan nor vegetarian, they have recipes that are so fabulous you won’t even miss the meat.

Now that we’re on the subject of blogs, I have something to say, so listen up, people. Aside from a very select few of you who send me messages (and you should know that I love and appreciate you for it), the feedback I’m getting from this blog is pathetically scant (cue the crickets…). I feel like a comedian tapping on the mike over here: “Is this thing on?” While I talk to myself a lot more than I should probably admit, the idea of sitting in front of a computer and blogging to myself is not just depressing, it’s a little bit scary. So if you’re actually reading this, even once in a while, let me know. You can either post a comment on the blog itself or just send me an email at reamiriam@gmail.com. And if you’re feeling extra adventurous, you could hop on a plane, fly to Israel, knock on my door and tell me to keep my day job.

Sukkot starts tomorrow and I am gearing up for entertaining. I never considered myself the domestic, hostess-y type, but this past Passover I did my first Big Cook, making 3 days worth of food for 10 people. Since then, I have never looked back (I guess a little opportunity can go a long way toward a change in perspective). Now I actually love the whole process, especially when I can experiment with different recipes and watch people enjoy them. The other day I actually considered buying NAPKIN RINGS; pretty soon I’ll take up macrame and start wearing white gloves everywhere.

If I stay up any longer I may start writing in Swahili, so it is goodnight for now. Sleep well. Pleasant Dreams.