Seconds

Sarona, Tel Aviv

There are seconds between a beautiful moment, one of casual conversation, of laughs and connections with people you care for. And a second later, it falls apart. A gunman on a spree. Or a knife in the back of a simple bystander who is in the wrong place at the wrong second.

And the next second is filled with screams, death, then a lifetime of emptiness for those we miss from those who truly loved.

From Tel Aviv to Orlando, our world is becoming filled with the sounds of gunfire, screams, mourning. War has been taken from the battlefront to the café and club where there are no soldiers, just people trying to live life.

Here is a true story from the Sarona Marketplace shooting in Tel Aviv on June 8, 2016 at 9:30 pm. Four innocent people were killed and six were wounded by two terrorists wielding Carl Gustav submachine guns and wearing shiny suits.

Wednesday night. A warm summer’s evening in Tel Aviv. Time to go out with friends and unwind from a busy day at work. Perhaps stroll along the boardwalk by the Mediterranean Sea or have a drink at an outdoor café.

Moshe* chose to go out to a movie with his wife on this night. As a police officer, he worked long, hard hours and now it was time to just relax. As they left the theater to walk home, Moshe felt as if something had changed. People were walking quickly, some were running, looking nervously behind. He heard sirens and ambulances and knew something bad had happened. Switching on his phone, he saw the news flash: Terror attack at Sarona.

He had to go and help but his gun was at home. Together, he and his wife ran to their apartment and were about to go in when Moshe spotted a man wandering along the street just ahead of him. The man looked lost and he nearly stumbled. Always ready to help Moshe caught up with him. The man was dressed in a shiny black suit and was dazed.

“Can I help you, my friend? ”Moshe asked.

The man looked at him. He was speechless.

“Would you like to come upstairs for a glass of cold water?” The man nodded and followed them inside. His in laws were sitting on the couch watching the news.

“I know. I heard,” Moshe said, offering the stranger a seat next to them on the couch. He ran to his room and grabbed his gun.

“Sara*, give this gentleman a glass of cold water. Let him sit for a while. I have to get there fast." 

He ran to the Sarona, elbowing his way through the crowds. Sirens wailed. The police were already there but Moshe could always lend a helping hand. Ambulances were parked outside and paramedics were evacuating the wounded. Moshe flashed his police badge and ran into Max Brenner’s, the restaurant where the attack occurred.

A crowd stood in a circle. A wounded man lay on the ground. It was the terrorist who was stopped, shot by a security guard. And he was wearing a shiny black suit. It was the same clothing as the man who he saw on the road. He had heard there was a gunman at large...and now he knew this killer was in his own living room, sitting with his family.

Moshe felt cold sweat drip down his neck. He groaned and began to run, pushing and shouting at people to get out of the way. He grabbed a few policeman and together they ran.

Images flashed through his mind. He’d seen it all in his many years of police service and now it his family were in danger, sitting with a murderer who Moshe had invited inside.

He tore his way back home, flew up the stairs and his heart pounding, he opened the front door. Panting. Breathless. Sweaty. The policemen entered and pointed their guns, fingers on the trigger.

Sara and her parents looked up in shock. The stranger in the black suit stared away vacantly, his glass of water still full. And Moshe moved towards him quietly, surely and pulled him to the floor, pinning the gun in his back.

*not the true names

These are the seconds between a night out at the movies and killers on a rampage. It is all calm until mayhem breaks out. And then the calm returns as people try to fill life with 'normalcy.'

Max Brenner’s was filled with people on Thursday night and then again on Friday. It will always be packed with people who refuse to give in to fear. The evening after the attack, as people sat sipping coffee, a small memorial of flowers lay tucked into a corner.

People are not callous. Quite the opposite. We will never forget and never stop mourning. But we will never stop living and laughing and, as Moshe did, helping.

You're invited...

Yesterday we mourned, united. Today we celebrate our independence, united.  We made the switch from Memorial Day to Independence Day last night as the shofar blasted in synagogue and people burst into dance and song:

"Ani ma'amin b'emunah shleimah beviat haMashiach, v'af al pi sheyitmameiha, im kol zeh achakeh lo b'chol yom sheyavo."

"I believe with perfect faith in the coming of the Messiah, and though he may tarry, nevertheless I await his coming every day."

People wished each other 'chag sameach,' happy holiday, and then took to the festivities across the country. There were concerts, fireworks, BBQs and dancing in all towns across the country. It was a night dedicated to family fun with small children out late, dancing on their parents' shoulders.  

This love and unity, fun and freedom brought to mind the recently released InterNations Family Life Index, a survey listing the best places for families to live in the world. Of the 41 countries listed, Israel came in fourth.

Yes, teeny, war-torn, demonized Israel with its huge security budget and enemies on all sides was voted as the fourth best country to have a family. The wealthy, well-established, socialized countries of Austria, Finland, Sweden took the first three places.

This survey is made for people looking to relocate countries by analysing four categories:

Availability of childcare and education

Cost of childcare and education

Quality of education

Family well-being

But what about wealthy, educated, civilized US and Britain? Well, the US came in 25^th place, while the UK scored 22nd place due to its poor availability of childcare and expensive education.

Israel’s education is not expensive and it may not be the best (the army seems to be the true educator in Israel), but as for lifestyle and family wellbeing, there really is no other place to be. Australia and Austria were the only countries to outrank Israel in the category of family wellbeing. 

And what about the US and the UK in the area of family wellbeing? They did not fare so well; the UK ranked 21 out of 41 while the US ranked 16 (Keep in mins that Saudi Arabia came in last, ranking 41).

Shofar and flag.

We cry and we laugh. We mourn and then we get up and dance. Life here in Israel is fuller than in any other place I've been. If people cannot feel this, then let the results of this study speak out. But then why are the aliyah numbers from Britain and North America not higher?

We encourage all to come home and live in this miraculous country; a place where kids can dig their toes in warm sand by a sparkling sea and dance atop your shoulders waving flags, Jewish and free.

You're all invited to join the party. Happy 68^th Birthday Israel. 

No better place to be

Remembrance Day for the Fallen Soldiers is one of the hardest days here in Israel. Every town and city, moshav and kibbutz has a gathering the evening before. 

When the siren wails across the country at 8pm sharp, every adult and child stands still and quiet. I am always saddened to see that even very young Israeli children know how to stand so still, arms at their sides, heads bowed, unflinching. 

Then the names are read; these are the names of soldiers from the town, those who have fallen in the line of duty since Israel’s founding in 1948. And then the names of the victims of terror are read out.

In our small sleepy town of Ra’anana, a place that, some 60 years ago, was once swampy, mosquito-infested citrus farms, the number of fallen is 258. During the first week of the Yom Kippur war, 30 Ra’anana boys were killed, half of them losing their lives in the first two days of this war. I cannot imagine the cries, the many funerals, the grief and the tears that soaked the ground during those days. And the pain never leaves.

Last night, at the ceremony at Yad Lebanim in Ra’anana, the widow of a fallen soldier spoke on stage. Her husband, a new immigrant from Columbia, was proud to be serving in the IDF. He was killed at the age of 25, leaving behind a young wife and one-year-old son.

This tragedy happened 40 years ago and his widow was still so heart broken, she had to stop speaking to control her sobs. The loss of so many young sons and husbands over the few years of Israel’s existence is massive.

At the same ceremony, we saw a film about a Ra’anana boy who was killed in the first Lebanon war during a patrol. Guy was 21 years old and a week away from being released from the army. The film showed photos of a gorgeous blue-eyed boy with long, dark curls and, at his side in almost every childhood shot, stood his blue-eyed, blond brother.

Guy’s mother spoke of her intense grief over the death of her son, then said she felt guilty about being so absorbed in her loss, she had not paid attention to her other son who was also grieving. Beside her stood the blond-haired brother. He is now grey, around 50 years old and choked with tears.  The pain never leaves. And this pain accumulates as Israeli lives continue to be broken almost daily.

Yet we stand here and we grieve for each other and then we sing Ha Tikvah, the hopeful national anthem, understanding that we have longed for a homeland for over 2,000 years.

The siren wailed again at 11 am today. This time I stood in Ra’anana’s military cemetery. The ceremony ended with a gun salute. The bullets pierced the air and our hearts, echoing across that innocent blue sky, leaving us with the silence and the memories. 

Again, the ceremony ended with HaTikvah. We are here today and, thanks to all of these soldiers, we sing together about remaining strong and free.

The irony of all this pain is that Israel is one of the best places to live in the world. The InterNations Family Index just published their results and the numbers are there for us to see. As we stand in silence and tremble, we know there is no better place to be.

Nobody said it was easy

Nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it would be this hard…

This is the headline of a blog posting I recently read. It appeared on April 5 in the Times of Israel and was written by a woman who is 20 years old and who recently made aliyah all by herself. 

She writes about scrubbing the floor of her room when the phone rings. It's her younger sister calling and she knows the sound of her voice will make her feel homesick and alone. While her sister lives worry-free with with her parents, this young olah must buy groceries, do her own laundry, shop, make her meals and then deal with the idiosyncrasies of living in Israel. 

She is happy she made aliyah, but when she hears her sister’s voice calling from that cosy world of comfort, a place that is so known and predictable, spoken in a language she knows so well, she just has to break down and have a sob. Us olim, we all do at certain times.

But what was even more remarkable about this piece were the comments. Everyone who read this article could relate to the frustrations and hardships. They had been there and done that...and now they all wanted to adopt this brave young woman. From all ends of the country, Israeli olim offered to have her over for meals and for Shabbatot.

These are a few of the responses….

Hang in there! I'm going on thirty years and I'm still proud of myself. You are welcome for a meal any time...we are near Acco. Be in touch if you're passing through.


Hard but worth it. Closing in on 20 years now and it's definitely the best decision I've made other than my wife. Youre welcome to come for shabbat any time!

Dearest Yaf, I too cried when I read your blog. You have to be one of the bravest young people I know doing this all on your own. Hang in there it will get better - I have every faith in you. I am so proud of you and enjoy your blogs immensely!! Sending all our love

Maybe it is time to move inside Judea and Samaria, so the feeling of togetherness there will be stronger, because you will be part of something meaningful.

I blew it! Yup, in 1978...I could have stayed....and I'm so jealous of you. America is in the toilet now anyway, so stay, and hold onto your dream. It's a good dream and the right thing to do. We all have bad days, keep chugging. We are right there with you.

We are an English speaking family living many years in the far north. you are welcome to come for a Shabbat, a vacation break, or just to get away from it all/ let me know how to get in touch with you if you want to come/

It is an emotional test 100%. Not sure why, well the sages could tell us smile emoticon Hang in there, you are not alone. At least you have many years ahead of you for it to improve, and it will!!

I made aliyah over 20 years ago. There's a secret to staying in Israel...stay in Israel. You will change, slowly and become a person you never could have had you not stayed. It gets better if you can hold out.

I also happen to live in the student village. If you need anything- please let me know.
The messages here tell Yaffa and all olim that they must persevere and to stick it out. Scrubbing those floors is hard work, literally and metaphorically. 

Yes, it is hard work but every ache and stretch is part of the growing pains. It is worth it.

These heartfelt replies are reminders that we are all family here and that we do understand each other. As we enter into the holiday of Pesach, this message is loud and clear. We must think of the other and care for each other. 

Sitting around the seder table, we should keep this in mind. Our homes should always be open to all, strangers and family, newcomers, olim and vatikim. We once came out of Egypt and ventured through the unknown. We came to Israel and then, again, we wandered for millennia.

Now, finally, we are here in Israel, a unified and free nation. So stick with us, Yaffa. We are right there with you.

Chag Pesach Sameach

A Drop in the Bucket

We all have our wish lists: places we want to see and things we want to do. Being part of an archaeological dig is on my list. Maybe it’s my passion for history, my penchant for digging around in the garden and getting my hands dirty. Or maybe it’s my love for being outdoors. 

Did I used to play for hours in the sandbox as a kid? Who knows? But when I finally sat down with a bucket, a pick and a brush, I was transported to another world.

So here is yet another adventure that one can easily do in Israel. Given that this country is one big archaeological dig, one doesn’t have to look too far. In Israel, there is a limited budget to excavate, so many sites sit untouched, unearthed, looking like much large hills.

In Hebrew, we call such a hill a ‘tel,’ an ancient mound that is piled high with remains of multiple settlements. Underneath the grass and earth of these tels are remnants of towns, villages and farms that date back millennia.

Thanks to my friend Rina, who did the research and organizing, we were able to join the Israel Antiquities Authority as volunteers. We were given a time to meet and a location, eventually meeting up with our contact who had us follow his car along a bumpy, twisting road for what seemed like miles.  We then walked into a large tent which served as a canteen and a meeting hall where we were given a hot coffee and told to sit and wait. The archaeologist would soon be there, we were told. He would explain everything.

“First we give you the big picture and then you will be ready for the small picture,” we were told.

Soon enough the big guy arrived. Wearing khaki pants with a gun sticking out from a holster, hiking boots and a wide brimmed hat, he reminded me ever so slightly of a more scholarly, younger, bespectacled version of Indiana Jones. He arrived with a large group of seniors who were on a field trip from an archaeology course.  We all sat down in front of a map and he started to explain where we were and who lived here over the last 2,500 years.

Turns out this area goes back to the late Hellenistic era during the time of Hasmonean rule and there are signs that it dates back further, to the Persian period when, in 539 BCE under the rule of the Persian King Cyrus the Great, some Jews returned to Israel from exile and started to rebuild the land.  The Hellenistic Seleucids then took over the area and ruled from 312-63 BCE. However, the Judeans rebelled against them, forming their own semi autonomous kingdom called the Hasmonean Dynasty which lasted from 140-110 BCE. After the Seleucid Empire crumbled in 110 BCE, the Jews then had complete autonomy until the Romans conquered in 63 BCE. Farmers continued to live in this area right up until the Ottoman times (1517-1917 CE).

Going from the big geopolitical picture to this small grassy tel, we find a farming area. But because of the political instability and constant threats from enemies, especially the Romans, these farming villages had to be fortified. This particular place was walled and had two watch towers plus an underground tunnel system for protection.

Inside the walls, remains of a large wine press with a mosaic treading floor, a deep stone vat for the grape juice plus an olive press were found.  Cisterns and purifying baths, mikvaot, were uncovered. There were also remains of animal pens and evidence that grains were grown here. On the nearby hills, rows of rocks were still neatly etched, delineating terraces where olive trees and grape vines once grew.

The archeologist then held up oil lamps that were excavated on this site. We oohed and aahed over these ancient treasures, then set off to discover more.

We were given a bucket with two brushes, a small pick ax, shovel and a pan then set to work under a black tarp on a hillside. “This is part of a wall,” we were told. “Continue digging here.”

“You want gloves?” We shook our heads.

“You sure?” No way.

We plopped ourselves down on the dirt and set to work.  I picked a spot between two large stones and started to dig and brush. I took the pick beside the newly exposed rock and gently pulled away weeds and earth beside it, then brushed. I felt as if I were a dental hygienist pulling away the bad to reveal the gleaming white underneath.

I was exposing part of a wall that had been hidden for possibly a thousand years. I sifted the earth and took out pottery shards, placing them in a separate bucket. Rina happily unearthed a handle to a jar. We felt like kids in a sandbox.

We dug and exposed a bit more of the wall, piece by piece, rock by rock. It was breezy and cool. It was as if we were transported into a highly focused zone where accomplishment was measured by a sweep and the plop of a shard in a bucket.

Given the massive size of this site and the depth of the hidden antiquities, our uncovering of this seemingly insignificant bit of wall was ‘a drop in the bucket,’ but on a more microscopic, individual level, it was as if time had stopped. No wonder Freud used archeology as a metaphor for psychoanalysis; digging slowly into the past, carefully uncovering fragments, unearthing memories and later, interpreting them.

The sounds of sifting, the feel of pebbles and soil falling though my hands and the soft sweep of the brush was a type of meditation. Of simplicity. It was as if I were being connected to a past time that lives on.

Some four hours had passed in what felt like a second. It was somehow already 2 pm and the site was closing, time to pack up the brushes and collect the buckets. The archeologist tagged our buckets of findings, explaining that the shards would be sent for analysis.

I reluctantly got up, leaving my newly uncovered portion of that fortified wall, the wall that was once built by hand to protect those within – the wall that is now buried, the people within long gone. But this site will soon be unearthed to tell its tale.