N'tivot

As the operation in Gaza was underway, many Israeli cities were hit daily with rocket attacks. Schools were closed, and bomb shelters were opened for public use. Many people gathered in the shelters for community purposes, like praying (Jewish men gather three times a day to pray with 10 or more people together). Living like this is hard, especially for kids who are used to playing in the streets without danger.

Lev Echad is an organization dedicated to bringing a little more joy into the lives of children affected by war in Israel. Many Israelis gather from all over the country and travel to the areas most impacted from the rockets with one purpose: bringing light into the darkest places.

I came to a bus with no concept of Lev Echad or the cities that I would be visiting. After seeing signs on the freeway that said "S'derot" for a few hours, we were given instructions on what to do if we heard a siren. Get to a bomb shelter. Or a downstairs stairway. Or, at the very least, off the bus. At all times spent traveling we were meant to stay in covered areas, particularly in the middlemost part of a building.

After leaving S'derot for our final destination, N'tivot, we were taken to a colony of shelters belonging to Lev Echad. We entered a dining hall with a room full of games in the next room. By the time I got to the game room all the best board games were taken, which was OK with me. I spotted the paint in the first place. What could be more fun than getting messy with kids I have never met before?

Feeling the War

Until today, if someone asked me if I was scared about the war I would say no. It felt like the "war" in America was contained completely on the television. But living a peaceful life in Israel became a dream of mine, something I understand that we must fight for.

In Ulpan (a class dedicated to teaching students how to speak Hebrew) we always learn many things, about history of and life in Israel. But today I learned something stronger than that. An alarm went off in Jerusalem, but I dismissed it as an ambulance until I saw the face of our Israeli instructor. "That isn't an ambulance--get under the table." A few people grabbed their phones as they crawled to the safest place in the room. Calling the director or family members, everyone had the same intention: find out if we were getting bombed in Jerusalem.

When the sirens stop, we all move slowly back to our seats. Stunned, the students begin to question the teacher about the war and the threat to Jerusalem. My chavrusa (the girl I work one-on-one with to translate texts) can't sit down; she questions the teacher with nothing but stress coming from her lips. In the middle of a sentence, she grabs her shoulder in pain. I take her outside. All I can think is that this is the beginning of a panic attack. As I calm her down all I can say is, "We can't let them take over our lives. Leaving is what they want us to do, so they can take over our land for their own."

I am reminding myself as much as I am telling her.

The Director of the school comes in to class a little later. The alarm was a mistake. There are no bombs coming to Jerusalem. Yet. At lunch we receive instructions on what to do if we hear the alarm again, G-d Forbid.

Shabbos in K'far Chabad

K'far Chabad is a blast from the past. Over the last 30 years, sadly, the life has become more modern little by little. They now have paved roads. But don't worry the horses are still allowed to walk on them. ;)


(The pic on the top is from 1966, below is present day where a picture of the Rebbe hangs to greet those entering and leaving.)

We got to this small town on Friday afternoon, and stopped right in front of 770, a replica of the famous building "770" (Eastern Parkway, NYC) where the last leader of the Chabad movement, endearningly called the Rebbe z"l, had his office. They have somehow cropped up all over the world. (Below is 770 K'far Chabad.)

We had to rush to our host families after a longer than necessary picture shoot. I was invited warmly into the house of a family, Goodman, who had moved to K'far Chabad 25 or 30 years ago. The wife grew up Bais Yaakov (a title given to people who go to a type of Jewish School when they are young), from a Sephardic family. The husband was baalei t'shuva (returned to Judaism from a non-orthodox background). They were both more than happy to have me and Sarah (another girl from seminary) over for Shabbos.

The town was like a little paradise when looking in from the outside. Everyone in town knew everyone else, and even where they lived. There were no addresses or street names posted, you just had to ask folks on the street to find where someone lived. No one locked their doors. Kids played in the streets, even after dark. Of couse this kind of safety doesn't come without a downside, but it is still nice to think about places like this still existing.

Today's Journal Entry

There seemed to be a theme today at Mayanot. When Rabbi Levinger was talking about the chapter, he discussed why something as simple as a flat denial of a yid's jewishness strikes us so deeply. He gave the example of the visa office giving students a hard time. Nothing could have stuck me deeper.

Rabbi Braun also brought up this concept in his class. He spoke of the difference between people who openly express their closeness with H', and people in which this closeness is less revealed. He then gave a story about a man who gave his life for Judaism. The man was in Auschwitz, and he was still completely agianst all things Jewish. As all the people around him were celebrating Simchas Torah, he sat with scorn. But when the Nazi's came in, with their guns in hand, he was the one that explained to them what they were doing. The song they heard, the man bravely said, was sung to express the Holyness of G-d and the purity of the Jewish people. He was shot on the spot. He gave his life for Judaism, the one thing he thought he didn't believe in before this trying moment.

A connected Shabbat

I spent Shabbat up north, in a very spiritual city called Tzvat. It is known for a city in which many people who contributed to the development of Kabbalah lived. I was even able to visit the grave of a very famous Kabbalist, the AriZal, whose order of prayers in the prayerbook Chassidim (such as Chabad) and Sephardim (all groups from Middle Eastern coutries, France and Spain) still use today.

The whole weekend was sprinkled with meaningful conversations, including the bus ride to and from the town. Many of the classes I attended there were open-forum, so I was able to get many questions answered. There were other classes that were at more beginner levels. Those too were great, because I was able to overview topics that I had learned parts in-depth. Thus, I was able to connect many of the ideas that are seemingly very separate.

On Sunday we took off on a hike in the woods surrounding the city. We walked about 30 mins up a long road, until eventually coming to the trail head. The woods were alder and olive. Every once in a while we would come to a clearing that overlooked the distant hills. The whole area was green, with small towns dotting the scenery. We decided to turn back as the sun went down, but not before we sat and watched the rich colors of the sky turn from light blue and orange to red, to finally purple.


The walk back was cold, which just made the warm food at the restaurant back in town feel even better.