Author Archives: Dan

Succos

The thing about being in Israel — particularly Jerusalem — for holidays is the universality. Instead of a small pocket of observance in the larger world of non-Jews and non-observant Jews, virtually everyone here is at least generally on the same page. For Succos, this means succahs sprouting on virtually every marpeset (porch) and roof, piles of schach all over, and arba minim for sale everywhere.

In reality, I should’ve been more blown away by the phenomenon than I was. This is actually kind of a theme for our trip here. I think it has to do with feeling more like participants than spectators. A tourist oohs and aahs over the spectacle, but a resident is focused on how to get the succah up and where to get his arba minim.

Hold your comments, halacha police – my Dad is left-handed.

My Dad joined us for the chag (holiday). He was a very good sport, and happily took on everything. If that had only meant full observance of Succos (and Shabbos) — eating and sleeping in the succah, abstaining from melacha (prohibited “work”) on the Yom Tov days and Shabbos, spending more time in services than he’s used to — it would have been impressive enough. But he also kept the second day of Yom Tov, when we were only keeping one day. That meant he had to make kiddush and havdalah for himself, and abstain from lots of activities he would’ve liked to do — such as take pictures — even as we and most of the city were treating the day as chol hamoed (or, for the last day, entirely chol (non-holy)).

Our own succah construction turned out to be more of an adventure than I’d anticipated. I was expecting it to be very easy. Our marpeset is really a chatzir (courtyard), with four stone walls. There’s a wooden frame bolted into the stone overhead, ready to be covered with schach. Not only that, but there were schach mats, rolled up in covers up on the bracket, ready to be rolled out. The only apparent complication was that the frame is pretty high up, about 15 feet, which would require a seriously high ladder. Locating such a ladder turned out to be a real issue. At best, I was able to borrow a ladder that would lean against the wall from which the frame could be reached if you stood on a high rung. But there was no hope of a v-shaped ladder high enough to reach the frame from the middle of the succah, greatly complicating the job of rolling out the mats.

A confusing shot of Moshe from below, working up on the frame.

After much hand-wringing, and some good advice, I decided on an American-style solution: hire somebody to do it for me. Moshe, a younger guy from the yeshiva was offering his services, so I called him up. I warned him about the difficult height, etc. But he’s an Israeli, and so was typically sanguine about the whole thing (national slogan: “ayn bayah” (“no problem”)). He came over, and decided that the easiest way to deal with the situation was to pull himself up onto the frame and work from up there. We were joined by my neighbor and also fellow Bircas learner, Kobe Eshet, who — as another Israeli — similarly saw no problem trusting the frame with Moshe’s weight. Because the mats were in terrible shape (water damaged, infested with bugs), we had to go buy some palm fronds, and Moshe put them up there.

As an aside, I find it really lame that, when they translate things like sports team names into Hebrew, for t-shirts and the like, they just transliterate them. For example, “Chicago Bulls” becomes “שיקגו בולס” instead of “שיקגו שוורים.” Perhaps the lamest example, though, is Spiderman (“ספיידרמן“), because translation would yield the utterly awesome “איש עכביש” (“eesh akaveesh“).

Palm frond schach in place – thanks איש עכביש!

We had just been discussing איש עכביש that very evening (including my attempt to translate the Spiderman theme song into Hebrew). So, amazed by Moshe’s climbing dexterity and fearlessness, I promptly bestowed the name on him. The next morning, I told the boys about it:

“Guess who put up our schach!”

“Who, Abba?”

“איש עכביש!”

“Nooooooo, Abba — Spiderman’s not real!”

“Well, then, how do you explain how our schach got put up?”

[Stunned silence]

Decorated and ready for action.

In the end, our succah felt a lot different from what I’m used to. It was wonderful and spacious but, with its relatively high ceiling and permanent walls, it didn’t have quite that same temporary (and shaky) feel that I get at home. There’s also the fact that there were no October Chicago winds howling against it. Due to the stone walls, to which no tape will stick, I strung up a clothesline around the sides, and we pinned up decorations. We added blinking lights this year, which the boys loved. I did find myself, as I was trying to sleep through the Times Square Effect, wishing that I’d set the timer to turn them off earlier. It was also a novelty to have it be too warm in the succah for comfortable sleeping. I hadn’t thought to set up a fan — a fact that had my neighbors tsk-tsking at me when I mentioned it.

Although I’d picked up my Dad’s and my lulavim and esrogim from someone at the yeshiva, I purposely held off getting them for the boys, because I wanted to go see the massive arba minim shuk (market) in Geula. Yitzi, my Dad, and I went there motzei Shabbos (Saturday night) to get the boys’ arba minim sets and to get decorations for our succah. The shuk was really cool, with so many people hawking their stuff, and men carefully inspecting the wares. It was full of a wide variety of Jews – chassidim, Yerushalmis, yeshiva bochrim (mostly from the nearby Mir yeshiva) – who were all having a good time. My Dad took some nice pics:

Checking out a lulav.

Looking at esrogim.

Yitzi looks for an esrog.

Pretending like I know what I’m talking about (as usual).

Yitzi is respectful enough to pretend he believes I know what I’m talking about.

Learning what makes kosher hadassim.

Picking out decorations for the succah.

Every store in Geula/Meah Shearim seemed to have been converted to selling either arba minim or succah decorations.

By the way, I now understand why my friends who have lived in Israel bemoan every year the quality of the arba minim we get in Chicago. The quality here was so ridiculously good that I just kept laughing. The lulavim I got for the boys — chinuch (educational) sets that are only need to be barely kosher for a bracha — were easily better than those I’ve gotten for myself the last couple of years. And I’ve never seen ones in Chicago as nice as those I got for myself and my father this year.

Perhaps the most amazing thing about the entire holiday is that this did NOT turn into a sword fight.

This was Shalom’s first year with his own set. He’s actually still pretty young for it, but I wanted to surprise him with a special treat for our Succos in Israel. He was so delighted to have his very own lulav and esrog.

The thing that was just like home was that it actually rained — complete with lightning and thunder — the first night. Fortunately, it was well after we’d made kiddush and hamotze, so we got in our mitzvos of the evening. Locals said this was an extremely rare event, and no one could remember more than a sprinkling (and certainly not lightning & thunder) on Succos. The Talmud (mishna on Succah 28b) says that, if it rains (on the first night of Succos), forcing you to leave the succah, it is comparable to a servant who comes to fill the cup of his master, and the master pours it in his face. Nearly every year in Chicago, it either rains or threatens rain on Succos, so Rabbi Gross is perennially reminding us of the halacha in such a case, and mentioning that mishna. He always points out that it really only applies in Eretz Yisrael (Israel) — which was a great comfort… until this year.

Chol hamoed deserves its own posts — and I’ve already done a couple, including our trip to Nahariya and Bircas Cohanim. I’ll try to add something quick about the Western Wall Tunnels, which I highly recommend. And maybe our dinner at Entrecote, which I also highly recommend.

For all that we missed from home this Succos (including, probably more than anything, spending it with our cousins, the Presbergs), I already know that next year (assuming that we’re not all here — l’shanah haba’ah b’Yerushalayim habenuyah!) we’ll be feeling the loss of the magic of Succos in Yerushalayim.

Kavod hameis

I’ve been working for some time on a lengthy post about Succos, though it’s been hard to find the time to finish it. Then, the other day, a technical snafu erased my evening’s work. I’ll get around to finishing it, but I’m a bit demoralized.

Here’s a pic of the Churva from a few weeks ago, with its succah in front.

In the meantime, I wanted to share something that happened here over Shabbos. It seems that an elderly gentleman (92 or 93) was davening (praying) at the vasikin minyan (morning service that starts before sunrise) this morning at the Churva, when he passed away. They cleared the building, canceled the remaining services for the day (there are many other options here in the Rova, obviously), and set up a succession of shomrim so that someone would be there with him in the synagogue constantly.

The reason they did this was that, under Jewish law, on Shabbos, a dead body falls into the category of muktzeh, which cannot be moved until after Shabbos. There is an exception for kavod hameis — the honor of the dead — if the body were to be somewhere disgraceful to it. But, here,kavod mameis certainly was for him to remain in the synagogue. So, there he remained.

One of the things that struck me when I heard the account this afternoon was everyone’s attitude. No one was horrified by the circumstances, or bemoaned the inconvenience, etc. Instead, everyone remarked on the Divine chesed (kindness) in (a) allowing this man’s last words to be the tefillos (prayers) of Shabbos kodesh (the holy Sabbath); and (b) having him pass away in the Churva — which is not only a magnificent and holy place, but is also well-air-conditioned — instead of (alone?) in his own, non-air-conditioned apartment. It also gave the community the opportunity to give an extra measure of kavod (honor) by freely turning over the Churva for this use.

A  situation that could have been macabre instead was an amazing example of the values and dignity of the community. Mi k’amcha Yisrael…

Nahariya

The view from the Claymans’ porch.

We took an overnight trip to see our friends, the Claymans, who live in Nahariya. Nahariya is way up north, almost to Lebanon. It’s essentially a resort town, and the Claymans live across the street from the beach.

“What’s all that blue stuff, Abba?”

It was such a change from the Rova. Here, we’re in a very urban environment, surrounded by stone. There’s not a whole lot of greenery — even the surrounding hills are pretty much brown — and there’s no open water to be found (see my note on tashlich). Nahariya is open and lush, adorned with festive lights over the streets and full of outdoor cafes and nightlife. And then there’s the beach, with a carnival-like promenade.

It was a major effort to get out of town. During Succos, there is no bus service or cab access to the Rova. We had to hike (with our bags) down to the Hertz office, near the King David Hotel. Once there, we had to overcome the obstacles that (1) I’d forgotten to bring my passport (solved when I was able to forward an email copy with my iPhone – technology!), and (2) our car was not there, and had to be sent from another location. After about an hour, we finally had our car and were underway, with my Dad following (he rented his own car to go visit relatives). Traffic was bad getting out of Jerusalem, and again close to Nahariya, but most of the middle part on Route 6 was pretty clear.

When we were near Haifa, the brakes in my father’s car started making a terrible noise, so we had to pull off to figure out what to do (he detoured to Haifa, got there just before they closed, in time to trade for another junky car). The rest stop featured a restaurant with a sad abandoned playground in the back. Is there anything more depressing than an abandoned playground? Yes — an abandoned playground with trash heaps in the background, and populated by half-starving kittens.

Taken on the run-of-the-mill playground, on the way to the awesome playground.

In part because we got such a late start, and because we had to get back to Jerusalem by 5:45 p.m. (a deadline we missed badly), we spent far too short a time in Nahariya. The Claymans have a really nice apartment, with a big porch and a great view of the promenade. The boys got to go to the beach, but got pulled away before they were ready to go. There’s also an amazing playground there, which they also didn’t get to spend enough time in (Yitzi was inconsolable). It was really nice to see the ocean, enjoy the open space, and to have a bit of a break from the intensity of the Rova. G-d willing, we’ll be back.

 

 

Not pictured: the dude who came through periodically with chocolate milk, causing boys and men alike to follow him like the pied piper.

Another great thing was that the sephardic synagogue where we davened shacharis (they’re virtually all sephardim in Nahariya) served an amazing breakfast in the succah afterwards.

Where the boys are.

 

Bircas Cohanim

Twice a year, there is a mass bircas cohanim at the Kotel. This time, we were there. It was pretty moving, though there were not as many cohanim as I was expecting.

 

Walking down into the plaza.

 

Here’s a bit of video I took of the last bracha:

 

Leaving the plaza… right past the “No Exit” sign.

 

Although we left, a few people apparently elected to stay for the second bircas cohanim of mussaf.

 

It’s beginning to look a lot like Succos

With Succos coming up quickly (it starts Sunday night), the Rova is a flurry of activity. Palm fronds seem to be the schach of choice. Lulavim and esrogim are for sale around every corner.

People just go ahead and put up their succahs in the public square. Note also the construction activity up on the rooftops.

 

Carrying the schach up to the succah.

 

Schach delivery.

 

Schach for sale by the parking lot, with the Churva in the background.

 

Engineering around hazards in the landscape.

 

I got my esrog from a fellow at the yeshiva who was selling them. Here’s some of what he had to choose from.

 

Lulavim on his table.

 

 

Seasonal flags look a little different over here.

 

In the heat of Succos prep, look who shows up again.

 

Why you won’t be hearing from Yitzi directly

It’s been suggested that Yitzi do a “guest post” on the blog, to relate his experience so far. I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Yitzi’s written work is a bit… surreal. For example, here’s a recent email exchange he had with my Dad (using Debbie’s email account):

From: Debbie Kovel Shmikler <dxxx@xxx.com>
To: Robert Shmikler <xxx@xxx.com>
Sent: Tue, September 11, 2012 8:01:22 AM
Subject: Joke

Dear Grandpa
Why did the snacks cross the road? To get to the zoo!
I love you and miss you very very much.
Love,
Yitzi

On 11 בספט 2012, at 05:05 אחה״צ, Robert Shmikler <rxxx@xxx.net> wrote:

Dear Yitzi,

Hummmm…I’m still trying to understand the joke.  Was somebody carrying the snacks?

I love you too and miss you.  I think about my trip to come and see you and your brothers every day.   I look on Facebook and the blog for news about you.

Maybe we can Skype tomorrow (Wednesday)? I’m very busy today because I have to drive Grandma to the doctor in downtown Chicago for her annual heart check-up.
Love,

Grandpa

From: Debbie Kovel Shmikler <dxxx@xxx.com>
To: Robert Shmikler <rxxx@xxx.net>
Sent: Tue, September 11, 2012 12:04:53 PM
Subject: Joke

Dear GRANDPA

the snacks were going to the  bag in the zoo.  Nobody was holding the snacks.

Love,

Hitting

 

From: Robert Shmikler <rxxx@xxx.net>
Date: 12 בספטמבר 2012 02:14:23 לפנה״צ GMT+03:00
To: Debbie Kovel Shmikler <dxxx@xxx.com>
Subject: Re: Joke

Now I’m really confused.  Who is “Hitting”?

 

Rosh Hashanah

“Please. Send. More. Brisket.”

When it comes to the High Holidays, the common perception is that Rosh Hashanah is fun, while Yom Kippur is the hard one. After all, Yom Kippur is when we fast and repent, spending all day talking about how bad we were last year, begging for forgiveness, and promising that next year will somehow be different. As a kid, I definitely dreaded Yom Kippur. Spending a big chunk of the day in synagogue brought it to another whole level of affliction.

By contrast, Rosh Hashanah is all apples & honey, warm wishes for a sweet new year, the shofar, much shorter services, and even fish heads. If not for the fact that it is an ominous portent of the Day of Atonement to come just 10 days later, Rosh Hashanah would be just about perfect.

But that isn’t quite how it really is. Rosh Hashanah is, in truth, the Yom HaDin – the Day of Judgment. Our fate for the next year is being determined, at least preliminarily. Yes, we’re supposed to be happy and enjoy all of the special observances of the holiday, but we’re also supposed to be in awe of the King and His judgment.

Nonetheless, back home in Chicago, Rosh Hashanah tended to feel more celebratory than trepidatious. Not so here. Much of that is because I’m not just in Jerusalem, but in yeshiva. We’ve been hammering away at teshuvah (repentance – literally, “return”) for all of the Hebrew month of Elul, including careful study of a classic work on the topic (Rabbenu Yonah’s Sha’arei Teshuvah) and formulation of practical exercises to implement the concepts therein. Public speeches by the rabbis of the yeshiva have been teshuvah-focused, and the topic has been hanging heavily in the air since I got here.

Still, Rosh Hashanah itself was at another level of intensity from what I’m used to. Part of it was that the yeshiva davens (prays) vasikin on Rosh Hashanah. Vasikin means that the service is timed to hit the shmoneh esrei exactly at sunrise. To do this, we started a bit after 5:30 a.m. each of the two days. (We’re also going to daven vasikin for Yom Kippur, which is after the time change here in Israel. Looks like a roughly 4:30 a.m. start time.) It seems vasikin is far from unusual on Rosh Hashanah, because there were plenty of people out when I was walking to yeshiva in the morning.

Even aside from vasikin, there was a much stronger flavor of “Yom HaDin.” For example, the speaker before mussaf (the part of the service in which, among other things, the shofar is blown) was Rabbi Krieger, the yeshiva’s Shoel U’Meishiv (a rabbi who is available during the day to answer the students’ questions), who also happens to be a great-nephew of Rabbi Meir Simcha HaKohen, a.k.a. the Ohr Somayach or the Meshech Chochma. He talked about how hard it was to speak at that moment, in light of the impending shofar blowing, and related that Rabbi Isser Zalman Meltzer was once asked to speak in the same slot. According to Rabbi Krieger, Rav Meltzer got up, and promptly began crying uncontrollably. He cried for 10 minutes, and sat down… that was his speech.

Another difference from Chicago is that there is far less uniformity in the community-wide schedule. At home, aside from the occasional vasikin minyan, the various synagogues start and and at similar times. The whole neighborhood seems pretty much on the same rhythm, with people coming & going between home, synagogue, and meals at basically the same time. Here, there is much more variety. Starting and finishing times vary wildly. Even for those who daven vasikin, some (like my yeshiva) do a lot of singing, etc., and so don’t finish until after 11:30 a.m. By contrast, our lunch host also davened vasikin, but his private minyan goes pretty straight through, and they were done hours earlier. Our houseguests went to services at Aish Hatorah, and didn’t get back until 2:00 p.m. Some kabbalists have a shul around the corner from here, and I can only imagine when or how long they davened (a friend of a friend reportedly once went there for evening Shabbos services, but left after it took about 15 minutes for them to say the first line of Krias Shema). And I have no idea what it was like down at the Kotel.

G-d should cast our sins into the depths of the… sewer?

On Rosh Hashanah afternoon, there’s a custom to perform tashlich, a ceremony done next to a body of water. In Chicago, we go to the nearby North Shore Channel of the Chicago River. It’s your classic, preferred venue for tashlich – flowing water, fish swimming happily. There no such open water in Jerusalem, much less in the Old City. So, here, they do tashlich in the square near our apartment… next to two big sewer grates. I guess there might be water down there somewhere, but I sure didn’t see any. Jerusalem usually has it all over Chicago in matters of spiritual ambiance, but the Windy City takes this particular contest going away.

I have to say that, overall, I found myself a little homesick over Rosh Hashanah, pretty much for the first time since we got here. On the High Holidays, you’re kind of going to battle spiritually. I missed not only the familiar surroundings of my synagogue, and our star chazzan, but especially the tight bond among the mispallelim (those praying). We’re not a kehilla (congregation) of convenience, but one of choice, with similar goals and strong friendships. There’s a bond among the people in yeshiva, for sure, but I’ve only been here a month. Also, most of the guys here are significantly younger. In all, it feels weird to be going to war without my platoon.

Adding to the weirdness of this Rosh Hashanah was the stomach bug that went through the family. My turn came just after mincha (the afternoon service) on the first day, which put me in bed until I made it to synagogue early the next morning. Both Yitzi and Shalom had it pretty bad, but Mordechai, thank G-d, avoided it entirely. Debbie got it the worst by far, but I’ll let her tell her tale when she’s ready.

Even with the sickness, of the stomach and home- variety, Rosh Hashanah here was an amazing experience. People talk about the kedushah (holiness) of Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel), of Jerusalem, and of the Old City, but it doesn’t hit you over the head like a sledgehammer – at least it didn’t for me. Instead, it is like a quiet background hum that slowly grows in intensity over time. By the time of Rosh Hashanah, I could feel its momentum, and it was part of what made this an intense experience. We’ll see how it feels as our year progresses…

Wishing everyone a g’mar chasima tova and an easy, meaningful fast.

A couple of funny things seen on the streets of Jerusalem

A few things I noted while out & about in Jerusalem.

Israeli cluelessness when it comes to Christianity/Christmas is something of a running joke in American Jewish communities, and it seems it isn’t all hyperbole. I took this in a housewares/toy store in the middle of the famously “Ultra-Orthodox” Meah Shearim:

Look who came to town

This is an ironic bit of graffiti. It says “Derech Eretz Kadma L’Torah,” which translates roughly to “good character/proper conduct comes before the Torah”:

How do you say “cognitive dissonance” in Hebrew?

And this one is from the square right by our apartment. This is a bench that really doesn’t want to be sat on, and has done something about it:

Unfathomably low, but the trump card of discomfort is the irresistible forward tilt.

The Shpilkes Report

Received this report from Derek, Shpilkes’ foster daddy:

Hello Dan and Family!

I hope you are doing well in Israel. I wanted to let you know that all is well with Shpilkes: he is happy and well fed. I have broken new ground, as he now lets me rub his tummy without getting a face full of claws.

Just wanted to drop you a line letting you know I have yet to lose the cat again.* See attached picture of Shpilkes sleeping with his monkey. He loves his monkey.

Tummy rubs??? He never let us rub his tummy…

 

*Shpilkes pulled off the classic Disappearing Cat Routine the first couple of nights he was there, convincing Derek he’d somehow escaped because there was nowhere he could possibly be hiding in this small apartment.

 

Being here

Maybe the weirdest thing about being here is that, oddly enough, I have to keep reminding myself that we’re far, far away. For all the differences, there’s a lot that’s familiar. The streets of the Old City may be stone, but you’re as likely to hear English on them as Hebrew (maybe more likely). Americans abound, including the constant tour groups streaming through the squares. Other than the texts themselves, and the “Yeshivish” jargon, everything at my yeshiva is in English (most of the “foreign” flavor comes from the large number of South African students there). I get my news the same way I did at home – from the Internet – and from generally the same sources. I glance over the online Chicago Tribune, the Wall Street Journal, Facebook… I look at the Jerusalem Post site more than I used to, but most of its online stories seem to be geared for the international audience anyway. My media mix is largely unchanged, with the exception of being unable to stream WXRT (VPN, I’m looking into you soon!).

Also, when you’re a Torah-observant Jew, there are lots of familiar standbys. A shul is a shul. We’re used to services being all in Hebrew anyway. Shabbos is Shabbos. The familiar rhythm of frantic Friday errand-running, hurried showers, setting up timers, hot water, hot plate, crock pot, etc.; the sudden, forced peace that comes with lit candles and swaying brachos; family Shabbos dinner at a formal, clothed table with songs and parsha sheets; morning davening at shul, followed by lunch at home or as guests, with the usual discussion of the Torah portion, current events, and our journeys in Yiddishkeit; the leisurely afternoon, mincha, the simple-but-satisfying seuda shlishis of challah, hardboiled eggs, etc., the too-soon end with ma’ariv and havdala, bringing that back-to-work feeling… all of it transcends place.

When shul, yeshiva, and Shabbos all feel like home, it can be difficult to remember how far we’ve come. Debbie’s and the boys’ experience is totally different, as they deal much more with Jerusalem as a new, foreign place. But I find myself sometimes jarred when I look up past the stone and catch a view of the Mount of Olives or a similar, undeniably foreign landscape, and remember that I am There.