Chanukah

Shalom & Yitzi checking out the chanukiot around the corner from our place, on Rechov Chayei Olam.

"A great miracle happened here" - Dan finished his Chanukah post!

“A great miracle happened here” – Dan finished his Chanukah post!

It has already been nearly a month since Chanukah, but it was certainly an experience worth revisiting. (Not to mention that I’m finding blogging in a consistent and timely way to be much harder than it seems.) Growing up, I always dreamed of being in Israel for Chanukah.[1] I realized that dream last year, when we were here in Jerusalem for much of Chanukah. But living in the Rova this year took things to a whole new level.

In Israel, chanukiot are put outside the home when possible, in glass boxes made for that purpose.[2] In the Rova, some apartments have notches in the outside stone wall specifically made for chanukiot. Virtually every door has a chanukia outside of it, and many have several – the custom is for each child in the house to light one, in addition to the parents’, and multiple apartments in the same building may light at the same outside door, as was the case for us. The overall effect is stunning, with lines of boxes filled with light lining the cobbled streets of the Rova.

Our neighbors' and our chanukiot, in all of their glory on the 8th night.

Our neighbors’ and our chanukiot, in all of their glory on the 8th night.

All of the holidays bring a surge in the already-numerous tourists here in the Rova, but Chanukah is unique. One major difference is that, for Chanukah, the overwhelming majority of visitors are (non-religious) Israelis. They come in every night to see the chanukiot, mostly in tour groups. As Chanukah goes on, the crowds keep getting bigger, and start coming earlier. Many come to see lighting itself, which happens here promptly at sunset.[3] Although we live on a normally-sleepy street, our building is a particularly popular Chanukah tourist destination. So, for example, when I stepped out to get ready to light on the seventh night, this is what was waiting for me:

Lego chanukiah, complete with Lego firemen.

Lego chanukiah, complete with Lego firemen.

Part of the reason our place is so popular is the large and lovely, hand-painted chanukia case of our neighbors, the Deutsches, and the Lego chanukiot of our other neighbors, the Shores. But they’re not the main reason. Debbie described it well in an email she wrote up for people back in Chicago:

As Chanukah comes to an end I just wanted to share a special part of our Chanukah here in the Old City. A number of years ago a neighbor of mine was part of an Ahavas Yisrael group[4] and trying to think of ideas to fulfill this mitzvah. Now, living in the Old City can feel like living in Disney Land with tourists constantly coming and going. Many folks have moved out of the Rova for this reason. But my beautiful neighbor chose to embrace this element of our neighborhood. During Chanukah most of the tourists are Israelis. She decided to set up a table in front of our building and hand out hot drinks.

Close-up of the Lego fireman in action.

Close-up of the Lego fireman in action.

It was a hit.

The kids in the building love it and have taken over setting up and manning the table. My kids think it is the best thing ever and Yitzi delighted in handing out candy we found in our cupboard.

The crowds build every night as people come to look at the chanukiot and have a warm treat. Tour groups come and my amazing neighbor brings them into her home and gives a little spiel on the holiday and offers for them to light (note: her husband works for Aish. Still it is amazing to give over one’s home night after night to large groups for this). The feeling is not kiruvy,[5] it is warm, happy, ahava. Everyone is smiling and when I peek out into the crowds, they thank me.

Chanukah drinks 2One man knocked on the door looking for medicine for his daughter who was not feeling well. I gave him what I had, and later the mother and daughter came to say thank you. It was so Israeli and lovely as we just felt connected.

It is amazing to me how much the intention of one’s acts can affect everyone. My street is mobbed for a week, which makes running errands and such more difficult. But the feeling is so happy and good, I don’t really mind. I am so inspired by being with happy Jews who are happy being together. Jews who don’t normally get to interact with each other.

Tourists love our chanukiot.

Tourists love our chanukiot.

I second everything Debbie said, with one caveat. It feels wonderful to “host” secular Israelis and celebrate this holiday together with them. The one wistful thing is the feeling that many are tourists not only to the Rova, but also to Chanukah. They take pictures of their kids next to other families’ chanukiot. They film others lighting the chanukia, saying the brachos, and singing Haneiros Halleilu and Maos Tzur.[6] They happily, but often sheepishly, wish us Chanukah sameach. I’m sure many do make Chanukah at home, but I’m also sure that many (more?) do not. I hope the light they brought back home from the Rova finds “kindling” there, as well.

Yitzi & Shalom display the festive sufganiyot boxes from the bakery.

Yitzi & Shalom display the festive sufganiyot boxes from the bakery.

When it comes to holiday foods, America and Israel seem to have opposite approaches regarding latkes and sufganiot. The emphasis in the U.S. is on the latkes, which are everywhere, while sufganiyot are available but not so prevalent. The converse is true here – latkes are not so easy to find, while sufganiyot are dominant. The bakeries in the Rova could barely keep up with the demand. During the tourist crush of the holiday, they were constantly cranking out trays and trays of a whole variety of sufganiyot (i.e., different fillings & toppings). There were even special boxes to carry them home.

Maybe it's a good thing you can't get these year-round.

Maybe it’s a good thing you can’t get these year-round.

In Chicago, “sufganiyot” really just means eating donuts at Chanukah time. They’re no different from the ones we eat all year. But, in Israel, donuts are pretty much only a Chanukah treat. Sure, you’ll see the occasional lonely box of Entenmann’s-style donuts at the makolet – usually adorned with the description “American-style” and a U.S. flag – but that’s about it. Israeli sufganiyot are much doughier than American donuts, and are almost exclusively the filled kind. I had a good time with the sufganiyot, but could’ve used some more latkes. Having no food processor (we’re trying not to buy so many appliances, which we’d wind up leaving here anyway) made it not so feasible to crank out our own, and no one seemed to be selling them.

I’ll wrap up this post with a gallery of some pictures of chanukiot around the Rova. But first is a 2-minute video someone made of Chanukah in Jerusalem. The initial :30 or so is shot in the Rova. I actually recognize several of these chanukiot (although ours did not make the cut, apparently). The next :30 or so was shot at Mamilla mall, which is just outside the Old City:

Our neighbors, the Eshets, have a nicer-than-average chanukia.

Our neighbors, the Eshets, have a nicer-than-average chanukia.

Looking up the street on Chayei Olam gives a sense of the street scene with all the chanukiot. Sorry for the blurriness.

Looking up the street on Chayei Olam gives a sense of the street scene with all the chanukiot.

Shalom's school friend loves with his family in an apartment that overlooks a popular Rova thoroughfare - their chanukiot were in the video.

A friend of Shalom’s from school lives with his family in an apartment that overlooks a popular Rova thoroughfare – their chanukiot were in the video.

Many apartments have openings in the stone walls next to their doors specifically for a chanukia.

Many apartments have an opening in the stone wall next to the door specifically for a chanukia.

Like cats everywhere, the Jerusalem variety know when people are looking at a particular spot, and insert themselves accordingly.

Like cats everywhere, the Jerusalem variety know when people are looking at a particular spot, and insert themselves accordingly.

Not everybody lights olive oil - the colored ones are pretty.

Not everybody lights olive oil – the colored ones are pretty.

IMG_3160

The traditional candy bar/bamba/jelly bean chanukiot.

The traditional candy bar / bamba / jelly bean chanukiot.

This is how our chanukiot looked in the daytime, prepared for the first night's lighting.

This is how our chanukiot looked in the daytime, prepared for the first night’s lighting.

 

A Boy’s Life

After almost five months here, we finally have a sense of normal and dare I say routine. Well as much routine as a family of young children in a foreign country can manage. Here is a basic outline of the boys’ day:

7:00am: wake up time (except we rarely manage to be awake at this time)

7:15am: oh, no! get out of bed! get out of bed!

7:20am: Yitzi, get dressed! Shalom, Yitzi can’t play now it’s time for school!

7:30am: Yitzi comes downstairs dressed (mostly) and has breakfast. We still have American style breakfasts of oatmeal/cereal. From what I understand Israelis eat exotic dairy products and salad and such. Shalom is hopefully also dressed and eating. I am happy if at least one of those activities is occurring. Mordechai has yet to have a real routine. Sometimes he is awake at this point, sometimes he sleeps through the excitement.

7:45am: Yitzi heads to school. The official start time is 7:30 but after a month or so I discovered almost nobody is there at that time including the teacher (rebbe). I aim to send him in the middle, not the first boy and not the last. We live about one minute away from his school. Israeli kids are known for being more independent and so Yitzi would be mortified if I walked him to school.

8:00am: Shalom’s school begins. Again I have discovered most boys don’t come on time. For my own sanity I try to get him out of the house by 8:15. His class is a minute and a half from us. Just recently I started letting him walk by himself to school though 4 year olds are a little more prone to wandering about on their way. We’ll see…

SCHOOL: Dan or I will probably post more later about their school. It is a chareidi (ultra orthodox for want of a better word) school run by the Zilberman family. The boys’ rebbes do not really speak any English so all instruction is in Hebrew. Many of the boys in their classes come from English speaking homes which has been good and bad for the boys. It has eased their adjustment but slowed down their language skills.

Shalom goes to school Sunday-Thursday from 8:00 to 1:00 and on Fridays until 12:00pm. Yitzi has school Sunday-Friday from 7:30-1:00 and on Saturdays (Shabbat) from 2:00-3:30pm. Yitzi is actually really happy to be going to school on Shabbat. It is not too long, includes a recess and treats, and is generally fun for him.

1:00pm (on a typical day) The boys come home from school with all their triumphs and grievances and we eat lunch. If we were Israeli we would be having a large meal probably involving schnitzel. We are Americans though and are currently in a melted cheese sandwich rut. Dan comes home from yeshivah for a lunch break around 2:00pm.

2:30 Yitzi’s Hebrew tutor comes. During this time I am often working with Shalom on his reading homework from school. Yitzi also spends some afternoons working in a math book that we brought so he could keep up with his class in Chicago.

Chugim – So with school getting out so early here, what is a mommy to do? Enter the chugim industry. A plethora of after school clubs/activities (chugim) pop up every fall to entertain, educate, and enrich. I limited the boys to two chugim that they both attend. On Sundays we go to Mommy and Me Music with Ima Debbie (not me, phew!). A very talented mother leads the kids through songs and stories mostly in English. It has been a great release for the boys with comfortable and familiar songs in a welcoming fun environment. On Tuesdays they go to a cooking class run by a sweet teenage girl out of her home. This chug is mainly in Hebrew but the boys love it. I am not totally sure why. They make cookies, challah, blintzes, even a salad. I think the girl just has a good way of making all the boys feel special and helpful. Or maybe it’s just for the cookies.

6:00pm We are heading to dinner if I am lucky.

Wishful thinking bedtimes – Shalom by 7:00 and Yitzi by 8:00. I don’t know if it’s the new baby or being in Israel but my firm grip on bedtimes has disintegrated.

Between Channukah and catching many (though blissfully not all) Israeli viruses we haven’t been getting out of the Old City too much lately. Before then we would go out once or twice a week to do errands or explore. The boys love going on the bus or train. They are not so fond of all the walking our car-less urban life includes. Before winter really set in we would also spend more time playing outside particularly in the square by our house. I assume once the days get longer again we will be drawn back outside again.

 

Sirens in Jerusalem

Well, I guess now it’s personal.

No, no – we’re fine, everything here is fine.

Ironic that I didn’t hear the sirens at the yeshiva, because at least there we know where the miklat is.

Last evening, just after Shabbos started, the sirens went off. I was at the yeshiva for services, where we didn’t hear anything. But here at home, they were ear-splitting (friends who were at the Kotel said they couldn’t hear any sirens, but authorities got on the loudspeaker and ordered everyone into shelter). We had no idea where the miklat (shelter) closest to our apartment is, so Debbie grabbed up the kids and ran outside, counting on following the neighbors there. The good news: the neighbors led her right to the miklat, and it is very close, just across the street. The bad news: it wasn’t open. The group went looking for alternatives, but then the siren ended, so Debbie spent some time hanging out with neighbors and discussing alternatives, then came home. I got home to the story, and we went on with Shabbos as usual.

There were lots of rumors over Shabbos about how many rockets there were, and where they landed. We now know that there was one, and it didn’t make it to Jerusalem. It apparently landed in an empty area somewhere in the Gush Etzion area (south of Jerusalem, and well south of us).

So, we had a little excitement, but they missed us. By a lot. And we’re safe, there’s no need for anyone to worry. Just in case, the miklat is now open, and the neighbors are discussing preparations like stocking it with basic supplies. I had been hoping for twinkies…

Healthcare in Israel

After three months here, we’ve now had some exposure to the Israeli healthcare system – a bit more than we’d have liked, to be honest – and I thought I’d share our experience.

DISCLAIMER: I’m not trying to make any sweeping statements here about the Israeli or American healthcare systems. This is simply our own anecdotal experience, nothing more. In fact, not only do we have a very small sample size, but some of it may be particular to being in the Rova.

The exact structure and nature of the various healthcare entities here remains something of a mystery to us, so my summary may not be quite accurate. But this very uncertainty is also part of the authentic experience, so I’m not going to do a lot of “outside” research to clarify it for this post.

Everyone here pays the government for heath insurance, either via an income tax that ranges from 3-5%, or on a fee-per-person basis (if, like us, you are not employed here). This insurance entitles you to join one of the four HMOs that provide healthcare services, which HMOs apparently are paid by the government based on enrollment and other factors. Whether they are private companies, or quasi-public, or whatever, I don’t know. They vary somewhat, and you need to determine which services each provides (and doesn’t provide) and other factors (e.g., which is closest to you, or is best in your area) to decide which one to join, although you can switch between them. Meuchedet was strongly recommended to us. Also, it is one of just two that are here in the Rova. You can get supplementary insurance, which entitles you to additional services, though we won’t be eligible to buy it until we’ve been here 6 months. I understand that you can also get private healthcare, outside the ambit of the national plan and HMOs, but I don’t know much about its availability or cost.

In addition, for babies, there is the (government agency?) Tipat Chalav. It handles immunizations and basic baby development (height, weight, etc.).

Thank G-d, we haven’t had any serious problems, but we have had occasion to experience walk-in clinic assistance, treatment by specialists, attempted treatment by specialists, and a Tipat Chalav check-up. Here’s the good and not-so-good of it.

The Good

Most of the providers have been very helpful, concerned, and friendly. Over Rosh Hashanah, a nasty stomach bug made its way through the family. We each got it to varying degrees (except the baby, Baruch Hashem), but Debbie really got hit hard. Exacerbated by the fact that she was nursing, Debbie got dehydrated and needed to get some IV fluids the day after Yom Tov. She was able to make the short walk to the Meuchedet clinic (everywhere in the Rova is only a short walk), and they were lovely. There was no emergency-room-style wait – Debbie was promptly ushered in to the nurse’s office, made as comfortable as possible, and received immediate treatment. The nurse and doctor were both from South America, and kept switching between Hebrew, English, and Spanish amongst themselves. At one point, the doctor started singing “Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina” (apropos of nothing, but charming nevertheless), and I had to tell Debbie later that he sung in Spanish. She was so out of it that she couldn’t keep track of the languages, recognizing only that she understood him. After Debbie was settled in and getting her fluids, I came back home to relieve the emergency babysitter, and the nurse would call to ask me to bring food and come get Debbie when she was ready. It was much more personal and personable than I’m sure we would’ve experienced at home.

Similarly, the dermatologist to whom Yitzi was referred for a plantar wart was a super-nice South African fellow with a terrific manner.

The other good thing is that this is all very cheap. We paid a guy here 1,000 NIS (a little over $250) to get us signed up for Meuchedet (i.e., to handle the red tape and get us signed up immediately), which included the first 6 months of coverage for the family. There are some copays, but they’re hardly worth mentioning. Seeing a specialist costs something like 20 NIS (roughly $5), and that covers all of your visits to that specialist for the fiscal quarter. For the family, specialist copays are capped at about 200 NIS (~$50) per quarter. Prescription drug copays are generally 14 NIS (~$3.50) (they can cost more if the drugs are especially expensive).

Of course, it is super-cheap for us because we don’t pay any income taxes here – healthcare or otherwise – and we’re even exempt from the V.A.T. Also, I have no idea whether the national healthcare income tax covers all of the costs or if it has to be supplemented with other tax revenues. The bottom line is that we’d certainly like to thank the Israeli taxpayers for subsidizing us!

The Not-So-Good

In order to see a specialist, you have to get a referral – and almost everything requires a specialist. When Yitzi got a painful plantar wart on his heel, Debbie made an appointment and took him to the local Meuchedet office. The doctor took a quick look, then apologetically said we needed to take him to a dermatologist, and filled out a referral. It was then up to us to find one. The closest one was outside of the Rova, roughly a 15-minute bus ride away. This has turned out to be, by far, the easiest specialist referral we’ve had to arrange.

I have chronic problems with my ears, for which I see a hotshot specialist in Chicago. My ears need to be examined and cleaned every few months, at a minimum. In late September, when they started acting up, I called back to Chicago to get a referral. My doctor suggested his friend, the head of the ENT Dept. at Shaare Zedek hospital here in Jerusalem. I tried calling the doc’s office, which turned out to be its own challenge. His secretary was generally not there and – astonishingly – there was no voicemail. Eventually, I got ahold of her. She said I’d need to get a referral from Meuchedet, but she’d go ahead and schedule the appointment, but the first available was December 11. When I went to Meuchedet to get the referral, the doctor there told me that she could not refer me to a Shaare Tzedek doctor. I had to first see a Meuchedet ENT, who could then refer me if it was warranted. The soonest available Meuchedet ENT appointment was in three weeks, in Har Nof (a Jerusalem neighborhood about an hour away via public transportation). When I went to see her, she did not give me a referral, but treated me. I’ve decided not to make a stink just yet, unless we don’t see any improvement.

A couple of weeks ago, Baby Mordechai developed a nasty eye infection and possible blocked tear duct. Needless to say, he was going to need to see an eye specialist. Debbie got some recommendations and tried to make an appointment. She was told she couldn’t get an appointment yet, but should call back… in December.

Another thing about the healthcare infrastructure (which also seems to generally be true with many of the institutions here, like the phone companies, UPS, Egged, etc.) is that you’ll experience significantly different policies and procedures, depending on who you happen to talk to. For example, when Yitzi went in for his wart, he was told he had to go to a dermatologist. When I went in for my ear (to get a referral), I also pointed out that I, too, had a plantar wart that was bothering me. The doctor barely glanced at my foot, and prescribed a topical, with no further instructions or advice.

In fact, that doctor was the exception to the general rule of kind and friendly care (she was not the Evita-singing caretaker of Debbie’s visit). When I went in to see her, and asked if she spoke English, she gave me a brusque (and mildly hostile) “no.” But when I tried to describe my ear condition in my broken Hebrew, a miracle occurred, and she was suddenly able to speak very serviceable English. Even then, she was not too interested in the reasons I came to see her, wanting instead to talk about my diet and exercise regimen. To be sure, I certainly need to lose weight – in fact, I’ve been eating better and have been more active here, and have been losing weight – but I would have appreciated at least token attention to the things that brought me to her in the first place.

The In-Between

The most advanced recordkeeping method ever devised by mankind, according to Tipat Chalav.

Debbie’s Tipat Chalav visit with Mordechai didn’t live up to stories we’d heard of being overly hectoring. She reports that the nurse was very nice. But it is worth noting that Tipat Chalav provides a card on which they hand-write the baby’s growth data (measurements, weight, etc.), together with a handwritten vaccination record. Although all of this data is inputted into Tipat Chalav’s computer system, parents must keep these and bring them to each appointment, or else no baby well-care will be provided. The nurse explained to Debbie that this Israeli system is superior to the apparently confusing printout of Mordechai’s information from our doctor at home.

Don’t mail us any checks

My grandmother recently visited as part of a tour, and said she’d sent us a copy of her itinerary some weeks ago. We didn’t get it, and figured she must’ve thought she’d included us in an email when she hadn’t. But it turns out she’d mailed a hard copy, which finally showed up a couple of days ago, in one of those “sorry we damaged your mail” clear plastic envelopes. The funny thing was, it didn’t seem to have been chewed on by a sorting machine or anything. Instead, it looked like it had been opened.

A neighbor filled us in, saying it was probably a postal worker looking for checks. Apparently, mail to the Rova is routed through the East Jerusalem post office, which is infamous for this sort of thing.

So, if you were considering mailing us a check – and who isn’t? – maybe it isn’t the best idea. Just let me know, and I’ll pass along our wire transfer info.

Shopping

Many folks have been asking me about daily life, and tonight I am inspired to expand upon grocery shopping. This is not a simple feat for a girl used to hopping in the old minivan and  hauling groceries about. First, we have no car.  Secondly, the Old City is truly separated from the rest of Jerusalem. There is one narrow road that snakes around the Armenian and Jewish Quarters for cars, cabs, scooters, small buses and trucks.

Makolets. As mentioned previously there are a handful of makolets (convenience type stores) that have most of the basics: dairy, eggs, bread, snacks, noodles, grains, canned goods. They also have a decent amount of American style foods (e.g. canned cranberry sauce) due to the large number of Americans here. Some of them deliver large orders otherwise you have to shlepp the groceries over the cobblestoned steps and hills of the Old City.

At first, the clerks at the makolets we frequent barely looked at me and certainly did not go out of their way to help me. Sometime in the last month, they have figured out that I am a regular and life has changed. I am “in”. While this has not led to cheaper groceries, it has made shopping more enjoyable. They greet me when I come in, quickly help me when I am stuck, and I trust them to keep an eye on the baby if the stroller doesn’t fit down the aisle I want to go on. One manager is always quick to tell me what is on sale that week and will help me carry my purchases to the cash register.

I have not quite figured out lines in Israel. Rather, the lack of lines. Everyone sort of bunches by the registers. If they are only buying one or two things they will wave it at the cashiers hoping to be bumped up or noticed so that they can just leave the money on the counter and leave. For all the disorder, people are actually pretty patient about waiting; people rarely yell or complain. Then again Israelis have to spend alot of time waiting: at the store, the post office, the bus, the bank…

Meat. Most people I know have their meat delivered to them from one of the main butchers outside the Old City. What could be more awesome than home delivered meat? If only I could figure out the cuts of meat. They are numbered and not quite the same as the U.S.. Also, they add water to a lot of the meat which is definitely to be avoided.

Produce. Israelis are known for loving fresh produce and we try to take advantage of it. Again, not so simple in the Old City. Some folks make a weekly trip to the main shuk/market at Mahane Yehuda. With the baby in tow, this is not the easiest or most pleasurable way for me.

There is a produce store in the Jewish Quarter run by an Arab man. At first he barely spoke to me and I felt like an obnoxiously loud American. Now that he knows I am a regular he will say hello and point out riper fruit or veggies. His quiet demeanor is so beautiful to me. I have never heard him raise his voice above a low mummur, and I often have to ask him to repeat himself. So peaceful compared to the chaos and hubub of the Jewish Quarter. On my walk to the store I am likely to encounter: loud drums and singing from at least on bar mitzvah procession, the call of a tour guide, a motor scooter zipping along the pedestrian walkways, and/or a car honking in the parking lot to alert the guard to raise the gate. Whew!

I have also been dipping my toe into the real “scene” when it comes to produce in the Jewish Quarter. A local family has a home business organizing a weekly produce delivery. Orders are accepted Sunday and Monday. The form is all in Hebrew, so I feel so proud every time I fill it out. But then comes Wednesday night. Starting at 7:30pm, people come to pick up their food and it is a madhouse. The boxes of food line the street and everyone grabs bags and races around in a crowd grabbing their produce. It’s first come first serve and once something runs out, tough luck. I have yet to totally fill my order. I am too slow trying to figure out what I ordered, where it is, and how to get through the crowd. Larger families work together and divide and conquer. Some lucky parents send their older children out to do it for them.

I have to say I like the craziness of it. I never depend on it for all of my produce, or else I would get frustrated. It is a great snapshot of real life here. For all the intensity of the crowd everyone is respectful and often even helpful. Nobody really pushes, and I have yet to see a fight over the last bag of lettuce. And the prices are right!

After collecting your produce you then line up to have your order weighed and added up. This is a whole different process of jockeying and turn taking. Finally after this line comes the line to pay. Again, notice all the lines and waiting involved. I generally think of Americans as more patient than Israelis, but maybe we just funnel our impatience into avoiding lines as much as possible.

Baked goods. This is really Dan’s turf. There are two main bakeries in the Jewish Quarter and Dan goes out every Friday morning to buy challah and treats for Shabbat. They have so many yummy pastries we have a hard time resisting. The boys have not taken to the pastries as quickly as we have. The one sweet they can resist!

Figuring out daily life here is such a work in progress. Someone just shared a link to a distributor that delivers grocery items in bulk (e.g. a case of tomato sauce). It has been hard to adjust to not being able to buy things in bulk (oh, Sam’s Club who knew how I would miss you!). So I am excited to test this out.

 

 

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…

A sweet sign of adjustment

Krembo – a treat with creamy marshmallow perched on a cookie wafer coated in chocolate – is an Israeli childhood rite. Every winter they appear to the glee of young and old. They may also be a sign of my boys’ settling in to Israeli life.

When we were here in December, we tried them at the earnest and delighted urging of our good friends, the Burstyns. The boys were less than excited by the treat – a possible first experience when it comes to candy. But now that we are living here, they are singing a different tune. I caught Yitzi giving Shalom a big brotherly explanation about the importance of the cookie base as he longingly watched his little brother wolf down a Krembo treat from a birthday party at school.

I really tried to post a photo of this delectable treat, but had too many technical difficulties. If you are curious about Krembo check out this wikipedia entry: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krembo

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.