Yom Hashoah 5766

I have said before that I write on this blog primarily for me. You, the reader, are of course welcome to "overhear" my thoughts, but I write for me.

I start with that reminder because I don't think that there is anything new in this post. Oceans of ink have been spent on the holocaust from all angles and perspectives. No new angle and no new perspective are being offered here. Only my thoughts from today.

Food for thought: Someday in the not-too distant future there will be a small article in the New York Times page A-21 saying something like, "So-and-so, the last known survivor of the Holocaust, died yesterday in _________, at the age 102. No other survivors are known to be alive."

It is sobering to realize that it will be virtually impossible for these high school students to get married and have children who will be old enough and mature enough to hear from survivor who was old enough to have memories from the Holocaust but young and energetic enough to tell his/her story. It won't happen. This is the bridge-generation between the survivors and the future.

Having said that.... Yom Hashoah played prominently throughout the day in our school. Torah classes dealt with both the emotional and halachic components of the day. Other classes dealt with the day as well (a great display of an interdisciplinary curriculum). For example, The English classes read easy poems about the Holocaust as they learned grammar and vocabulary. Math classes worked on impressing upon the kids what the number 6 million means. History classes talked about the Holocaust and/or the creation of the State of Israel in context. Music classes learned about music from World War II. We had a moving ceremony with a survivor telling her story and some poems and songs.

Certainly the most moving part of the day happened at 10 AM: the siren sounded when the entire nation stood together. Traffic stopped on the streets, commerce stopped in the stores. All to think and reflect collectively. I was standing outside when the siren stopped. These 9th graders playing soccer stopped in their tracks and we all stood, listening to the siren wailing while a light wind and quiet birds chirped in the background. I felt – really felt – connected to the entire nation thinking with me at the same time about our recent nightmares and how the future is built on the past.

Kol Od Ba'leivav pnima.....

Ani maamin b'emunah shleimah.....

The Night After Visiting Day

[Advice to potential Olim: Skip this post.]

I don't have a lot of summer camp experience as a camper or as a staff member, but I seem to remember that one of the best night activities of the year was the night after visiting day. I also seem to remember that all staff members are on-duty that same night; no days-off are allowed. I seem to recall that the reason for both of these rules. On the night after visiting day, the campers are most homesick. Just when they were getting acclimated to life in camp, their parents and siblings came, brought snacks, a picnic, pictures, whatever, and then... they left. The campers are left crying and the counselors are left to pick up the pieces.

Some of my family and some of my wife's family came to visit us in Israel for Pesach from America. We had a wonderful time catching up and, with a beautiful seder and tiyulim, Pesach could not have been better.

And then they left.

I didn't expect to feel this way, but we're now in the night-after-visiting-day mode: some of my kids (many of their cousins spent two weeks with them here; they have no, close relatives here) were crying last night and saying, "Why are we in Israel?" It broke our hearts. My wife and I as well were "down" also. Today too.

It seems that life in Israel for people like us is a series of hello's and goodbyes. The following scene happened in our family – and I expect not a few other families in Israel – a few times this Pesach and throughout the year: we go to the airport (during school? dinnertime? bath time?), wait anxiously, the relatives come out, we scream, we laugh, we hug, the kids are a bit shy in the beginning (a little embarrassing, no? Shy with their own cousins?) , then they get used to each other, have a great time, then back to the airport to say goodbye, the kids are a bit shy to hug their cousin or their grandmother (a little embarrassing, no? Can't hug their own cousins? Their own grandmother?), and off they go and back we go to home to work to school to homework, to talking on the phone with close relatives who do not seem that close anymore.

I'm sure these strong, melancholy feelings will pass. They always do. But it's tough anyway.

Advice to potential Olim: I warned you to skip this post. If you didn't, at least do yourself the favor and read some of the positive posts on this blog too. Some recommendations from recent posts: here, here, here, or here.

Maybe I should read those posts again too.

Post Pesach (ii)

A Post-Pesach post pertaining to Pre-Pesach....

An interesting, not-often-discussed component about Pesach in Israel is the amount of vacation that students and teachers get before Pesach. This year, Pesach began on Wednesday night, April 12. All of the elementary and high schools that I know of gave their students off from school from the Monday before (April 3) or, at the latest, Tuesday, April 4. That means that students and teachers had more than a full week of school off before Pesach even began. Of course they had off all of Pesach and the day after pesach. Some schools did not have school on Friday, April 21 and only began today, Sunday, April 23, 2006. That’s almost 3 weeks off from school!

As a teacher, I can hardly complain about having a vacation. When I was in America, I became a meteorological expert on when, if, and how much snow would arrive. I became the safety expert (“If even one snow flake falls, that’s one too many; let’s call off school!”). I am the last one to call for more school.

Still, as a parent and as a teacher, I thought that having more than a week off of school before the seder - while indeed giving teachers a much-needed break - was a tad too much. By the time Purim was over, teachers barely had time to cover Pesach-topics let alone the other topics in the curriculum. And the students' vacation mindset may have detracted a bit from the seder itself and from Pesach in general.

I’m not sure there’s much I can do (or how much I want to do) about the situation. I just thought I’d voice my opinion.

Post-Pesach

Like everyone else, I was incredibly busy before and during Pesach so my blogging habit took a back seat. I still have family visiting from America and (like everyone else) I'm still pretty busy, but I'd like to try and return.

There is so much to talk about, but my thoughts now are turned to post-Pesach. It's hard to describe how I feel, but I seem to feel this way after the chagim and after Yom Haatzmaut, Yom Yerushalayim, etc. etc. The best way to describe it is like this.....

I have a friend who is a partner in a law firm. Before he became partner, he said that there was a tradition on the anniversary of the day he was hired (or maybe it was on another, pre-appointed day?) when all of the would-be partners found out whether they would be partners. For a few years, he would get on that day a very nice bottle of Kosher wine (they knew he kept kosher) and flowers or whatever with a beautiful note written by the managing partner saying how happy they were to have him and how appreciative they were of all his hard work. He said that onthe one hand it was so special to be appreciated, to get a nice gift, to know that they value his work and his contributions to the firm. On the other hand, he said there was a knot in his stomach: another year of not becoming partner, another year of hard work without the "big prize" to show for it, another year of wondering will this be the year?

Pesach in Israel was, as one could imagine, spectacular. The sights, the sounds, the tiyulim, the time with family, the seder (one seder!), etc. etc. all amazing... better than expected.

On the other hand, I couldn't help but feel like my friend before he became a partner: another year not being able to be one of the millions of people to make aliyah la'regel to Har Habayit with the fixed-up roads, improved signs, and refurbished mikvaot and with all of the music and encouragement that the Mishna describes; another year of not becoming tahor with water that had been mixed with ashes from the Parah Adumah; another year of not hearing the Leviim singing and playing their instruments; another year of not being able to take off my shoes and bring my Korban onto Har Habayit where there were so many people that the Kohanim had to hand the cups with the blood (the mizrak) one to another all the way to the Mizbayach and where the Leviim had to - once in a while - close the doors leading up to Har Habayit because there were so many people...

Another year of wondering will this be the year?

Another year.

Getting Used to Reality

We tend to get used to our reality without realizing it and without being sensitive to it.

If Rashi or the Rambam saw a huge, multi-ton metal bird flying in the air, they would probably think they were dreaming. Today, if a two year-old child saw the same thing they would either say "Plane!" or ignore it because of all the other planes they had seen in their life.

If Rashi or the Rambam saw a soldier in uniform, they would run away in fear. If you stopped them and showed them Hebrew writing – Tzahal - on their uniforms, they would definitely think they were dreaming. Show them the gun, made by Jewish engineers or the plane made and flown by Jews and now the envy of the world, they would think you were crazy. Today, if a two year-old child saw the same thing they would say "Abba!"

If Rashi or the Rambam had the chance to vote in an election, they would probably wonder what an election was. Tell them that they had an opportunity to vote for their own leader and they would think they were dreaming. Tell them that they had an opportunity to vote for a Jewish leader in a Jewish State and they would think you were dreaming!

I had that opportunity last week. Rashi and the Rambam would never believe me, or would give all their money in the world to have the chance to do what I did: getting to the polling place, showing my ID, placing a piece of paper with a political party on it in an envelope, thanking the volunteers and leaving.... safely.

I was not necessarily happy with the results of the elections, but the fact that there were elections in the first place... I couldn't be happier.

I am trying not to become insensitive to my reality, especially when it my reality is a dream.