The Power of A Plastic Poppy

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Last week, Canada buried a fallen soldier.  There was press coverage across the country. Newspapers dedicated several pages to the story, displaying images of the funeral procession, the bereaved family, bouquets of flowers, garlands, flags, notes and tears. There was live news coverage of the procession where hundreds of people lined the streets of Hamilton, Ontario. Some wore red poppies, some red jackets.

This event touched a chord in most Canadians, whether they knew Corporal Nathan Cirillo or not. Here was an innocent man protecting a Canadian memorial. He was unarmed. And he was shot and killed simply doing a job he loved. He was young and, like us all, yearned to live a full, long life.

This was terrorism; an act of the most despicable kind of war where the enemy is disguised and the targets are innocent civilians. I have been in Canada as this whole story unfurled and have heard the comments, read the news stories and the editorials.

As I was sitting in a hospital TV room, nurses and families sat glued to the TV to watch the procession. One family discussed the merits of a private funeral. “Well, it should be private, for the family’s sake,” one woman commented.

And then it all came back; the agonizing summer in Israel when we lost over 70 young soldiers; times when there were several funerals a day. Intense mourning only to replaced with more mourning; and the fear, the trepidation every day that there would be more bad news.

In Israel, all funerals are open and people will drive across the country to attend. And when a funeral time is announced, Israelis often drop what they are doing to be there. This is because we are all family. We are united in our sorrow and we are united in our will to fight for our survival, to battle for our liberties, our freedom and our right to exist.

With last week’s Canadian tragedy past, the event seemed to be neatly filed away, perhaps interpreted as tragic, random.

I sincerely hope that Canada will not forget. Yet, now, ironically, Remembrance Day is the new debate. The Canadian Parliament is passing a bill to make November 11 a national holiday. Many believe this will belittle the day, while others feel Canada needs another day off.

And how will Canadians celebrate Remembrance Day if it is a day off work and school? I heard one radio talk show host lament that average Canadians, including new immigrants who do not even know what the day signifies, will sleep in and go to the mall.

And here I turn, yet again, to Israel. Our Remembrance Day for soldiers is not just a ‘day off.’ People do not go to school or to work, but they do not forget. Our Remembrance Day starts in the evening. All shops and restaurants shut down tightly. People gather in central areas of their communities for 8 p.m., in time to stand at attention for the siren that wails across the country. Every car, pedestrian, phone call and mundane matter is silenced.

And everyone remembers.  After the siren, the names are called; the names of soldiers who were lost in combat in that particular town and the names of those who were victims of terror. TV stations broadcast stories about the soldiers and the radio plays low-key music.

The next day, people visit the graves of the fallen and serving soldiers make sure every lost soldier, from the founding of the state 65 years ago to those who fell this summer in Gaza, has someone standing by his or her grave. It is somber and it is unifying. It makes us remember who we are and why we are here. 

Unlike Israelis, Canadians generally lead a calm, peaceful life with few threats and no known enemies. However, since Canada is fighting overseas in the name of democracy and freedom and the threat is now on Canada's shores, Remembrance Day should be extended to reflect our new world reality.

Given the events of the past few weeks, it is time Canada gave Remembrance Day more power than a plastic poppy and the wail of a bagpipe.

Show and Tell

Canada, once described by a historian as a “peaceable kingdom,” has been struck in the heart. 

To their horror, Canadians experienced two terror attacks this week. In the first, a soldier was killed in a hit and run. In the second, a lone gunman killed a solider guarding the War Memorial in Ottawa, then fled to the Parliament Buildings for a shootout. The connecting thread? Radical Islam. An ideology of death perpetrated by Canadians on Canadian soil.

The headline on The Globe & Mail’s Thursday edition screamed ‘Attacked’ with huge letters pulsing in front of an image of the Parliament buildings. News stations ran a constant update of the events. The country was paralysed.

Having lived in Israel for nine years and being in Toronto during both of these events, it really brought out the difference between living in a shire and a cauldron. As an inhabitant of the cauldron, the boiling waters seethe with threats, attempts to harm civilians and tragedy. The country has adapted to this situation in order to protect civilians’ liberties and lives.

For example, there is security outside all shopping malls. When you want to enter, an armed guard looks in your bags, wands you with a metal detector and could ask you to pass through a machine that could detect weapons. In public parking lots, guards look in the car for suspicious passengers or baggage and open the trunk for an inspection. There is security at banks, museums, airports, bus stations, train stations, concerts, city gatherings and parks.

It is not an inconvenience and it is something I have adapted to and am grateful for.  It takes one second to do a security check and it saves lives. When I come to the US and Canada, I am often shocked by the lack of security and feel vulnerable in large crowds, often looking suspiciously at the number of unattended parcels, bags and strollers. If a distracted Israeli child were to leave his school backpack on a street for half an hour, chances are it would be ‘sapped’ by a policeman’s robot.

In Israel we do not take chances. In Israel we cannot afford to. Yet despite this, Israelis do enjoy freedom and democracy and a high quality of life.  Just stroll down Diezengoff Street in Tel Aviv, take in the surf on a Mediterranean beach or enjoy a falafel on Jerusalem’s  Jaffa Road. 

So when I hear alarmists cry that giving Canadian security forces increased power is a breach of democracy, I bang my head on the wall.  The Globe & Mail’s editor wrote that the security changes they choose to make should be done “carefully and calmly, with an understanding of the limited scale of the threat and the natures of tradeoffs between freedom and security.” He goes on to say that these recent tragedies  pose “no threat whatsoever to the survival of Canada.” True, they cannot and will not get their way. Canada will remain strong and free just like Israel.

Yes, Canada, you have been attacked and it is an inside job. Canadians should take these two events as a wake up call that radical Islam is growing and is enmeshed inside Canada.

The logical solution is to take this threat seriously by beefing up security and being aware. The soldier who gave his life while guarding the war memorial in Ottawa was carrying a gun without bullets.

Are security forces in Canada purely ‘for show?’  Please, Canada, oh shire, wake up, rub your sleepy eyes and use your forces ‘to tell.’

We are not in Oz

Picture on Etrog Box 

Wednesday felt a bit like a marathon. It was erev Sukkot, the holiday that takes place five days after Yom Kippur. Also known as the Festival of Booths, the holiday is centered around a Sukkah.

Most people traditionally start building their sukkahs right after the Yom Kippur fast. This was not an option for our family; we were in Ra’anana, our Sukkah parts were in Tsfat and we could not assemble it any earlier than Wednesday. Our personal challenge was driving north two hours, building a Sukkah, decorating it and having special meals ready to entertain guests for the holiday that started at sundown.

This required organization and planning.  My daughter cleverly suggested she make the decorations ahead of time. I cooked and froze and cooked and froze. Our real challenge was arriving in Tsfat in good time. Getting anywhere in Israel erev chag is a challenge as everyone clogs every road with cars so overstuffed with suitcases and kids and grandparents and food that children’s cheeks are plastered against windows.  With this in mind, we eyed each other and asked, ‘anyone up for an adventure?’

Sukkah decorating 

When you have little time in the day, take it from the night. We set our clocks for 3 am and placed our bags by the front door. At 3:15 am, I was stuffing my frozen food into coolers, while my daughter was placing her decorations in the car. We were on the road by 4 am and sped off in the cool darkness with barely a car in sight. We made a brief 5:30 am stop at my daughter’s army base to pick her up. We could barely make out the shapes of the soldiers who were making their way home in the pitch darkness.

The sun rose as we wound around the mountain roads, arriving in Tsfat by 6:30 am. We were exhausted but felt ahead of the game with so many hours of the day yawning in front of us. Our task was becoming achievable.

We built the frame of the sukkah, adorned it with our pre-made decorations and organized the food for the next two holiday meals. It was time to set the table. Out came the tablecloth, silverware, wine glasses and china plates. The final touch was arranging our elegant black and white napkins.

As we basked in our accomplishment, there was a clap of thunder. Lightning flashed overhead and the wind whipped up dust and leaves. I ran to our roof to see a bolt of lightning sizzle in front of Meiron Mountain. Looking up to my friend Susan’s house,  I saw her holding a sukkah wall in place while a piece of golden tinsel flew out like a spooked swallow. “Hey Dorothy,” I yelled to her through the cyclone. “Tap your slippers three times.”

I ran down to save the flimsy bamboo roof of our sukkah, senselessly perched atop an aluminum ladder with daggers of lightning above.  The rain came next. We stripped the table, cut down the hanging decorations and prayed our sukkah would not end up in Oz. Within seconds, the sun was out and the birds were chirping. I picked up a shiny tinsel that had blown in from a neighbour’s sukkah and asked ‘why’?

The answer was obvious to me. Hashem tells the Jewish people “You shall live in booths seven days; all citizens in Israel shall live in booths, in order that future generations may know that I made the Israelite people live in booths when I brought them out of the land of Egypt.” (Vayikra 23, 42-43) The sukkah is a temporary dwelling because life is transient. The gusting 60 kph storm winds that blew across the whole country? A firm reminder that we should not become too attached to our physical comforts because they can separate us from our spiritual connection. And here we were, placing our energy into creating a perfectly designed,  elegant, Martha Stewart-style sukkah.

Well, at least our sukkah had not flown to Oz. After the storm, it was still standing but was bare, humble, stripped. Fragile and impermanent just like all of us. The sukkah is supposed to be open to the elements and we are to accept that life will blow and tousle and howl and break us. Yet we are to have trust and acceptance and this is why Sukkot is also called “Zman Simchateinu,” a time of rejoicing.

We are to sit outside, live simply, study the stars twinkling above our heads and experience wonder. I often try to plan ahead but am shown that my frail plans simply do not work out. 

I put away my ladder and realized that there is no time left to give my sukkah a makeover. But that is fine; the less decorations we have on our walls, the greater is my opportunity to marvel at the stars above.

A Meaningful Life

The days between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur are called the Aseret Yomei Teshuvah, the ten days of repentance.  This sounds very heavy and it actually is. In the Midrash Tanchumah, it is written that G-d says, “The gates of Heaven are open, and I will listen to your prayers.”

During these days, we feel that Hashem is closer to us and many people take these days to reflect on their deeds and chart a path to reflect positive change for the new year. People also make time to attend Torah classes, give charity and do mitzvoth.

For the past 21 years, Rabbi Weiss of Ra’anana has been hosting a morning of inspiring lectures during these ten days. The city opens the doors of the large Yad Lebanim theater to a packed audience of people eager to learn, be inspired and make positive, impactful changes in their lives.

This week, Rabbi Weiss explained that we are in this world because “we each have our own potential to fulfill. We are singular and unique, and that reality is reflected in our faces, for, remarkably, no two faces in the mass of humanity are exactly alike. We are all different, but each of us is part of a great symphony in the totality called klal Israel, and if we don't perform the music that we can perform, the Torah that we can learn, the kind deeds that we can do, the tefila that we can pray, the job that can contribute to society, it makes a difference because He knows our potential, He notices everything, He can tell when someone or something is missing.

Who am I?

Rabbi Weiss concluded, “I am someone who never existed before, and will never exist again, and so I must “face up” to my intrinsic holiness, and complete my holy mission before my time is up. I must maintain my sense of modesty, while at the same time acknowledging my lofty lineage and awesome capabilities. I make a difference in this world.”

He then introduced the next speaker, Racheli Fraenkel. She took center stage this summer after her 16-year-old son Naftali was kidnapped by Hamas terrorists. She was seen in front of TV cameras and addressing the United Nations, uniting us all in hope and prayer.  Her son, along with two other innocent teens, Gil-Ad Shaer and Eyal Yifrah, was later found murdered. Yet Racheli Fraenkel continues to give the same inspiring words of unity and dignity.

When I heard she would be speaking, I imagined she might address her personal tragedy. But she did not. Sure, she suffers. And certainly, her life will never be the same again. But she is a pillar of strength and is one of the most dignified, intelligent, self-actualized people I have ever heard speak. I learned that Maslow later modified his hierarchy of needs to include three higher levels with transcendence being at the top. Racheli Fraenkel, with her grace, glow and wisdom stands bravely atop this peak.

She explained that we are human and are limited. Many things happen in life that are out of our control. Yet must work on joy (simcha) and give it space in our lives as it is our natural state of being. Simcha gives us energy to make life more meaningful and realize the blessings that we have.

These words of wisdom came from a Torah scholar and a mother whose son was murdered in July by terrorists. She did not once speak of hate, revenge, power or bloodshed.

Who is she?

Rachelli Fraenkel is a shining example of what living a life of Torah truly is. She is a sensitive, dignified, forgiving, peace loving and hopeful human being.

Echoing the words of Rabbi Weiss, she maintains her sense of modesty, while at the same time acknowledges her lofty lineage and awesome capabilities.

Rachelli Fraenkel makes a difference in this world.

And the world should open its eyes and learn from her.

You can hear her on this inspiring Aish video for Rosh Hashana.

These were her words to the UNHRC on June 24, 2014.  

Of Ceasefires and Cinnamon

When I last wrote, so long ago, I felt that the world had veered in a new direction and that reality, as I knew it, would never return. We endured a horrendous war in Israel this summer, dubbed Operation Protective Edge.  Some 4,382 rockets were shot into civilian areas and we suffered the tragic death of some 70 brave, young soldiers. Two soldiers died from their wounds just last week.

Some seventy percent of Israel’s population was within rocket range, including the most populated cities. Living in Ra’anana for nine years, we used our bomb shelters for the first time this summer. We understood that we had ninety seconds (a luxury for many who have 30 seconds or less) to run for shelter.

We soon became accustomed to the screeching siren, the initial panic of where to run for shelter, the fear as we huddled inside a stairwell or shelter, counting in our heads until a ‘boom’ thundered above. And then we serenely walked off to finish our errands or we returned to bed, often calling our children to make sure they were fine.

We became accustomed to this?

At first, I was floored by the bravery of Israelis who pulled their cars to the side of the road, cupped their hands over their heads, then complacently drove off to work. Or the children, who calmly knew where to run and stay and wait before returning to their games. This was their summer holiday, supposedly time to relax and play with friends and swim at the beach.

Not.

And then we flew to Canada. As the rockets continued to fly into Israel, despite one broken ceasefire after another, the average Canadian seemed to be a little tired of Israel’s mess. Canadians were intent on embracing the few days of summer they are granted each year, and many flocked to cottages on sparkling lakes for some summer fun.

We did the great Canadian thing and drove up to Muskoka where we watched loons bob atop soft rippling water, and heard the whir of ski boats pulling laughing children on water skis. The sun set crimson and it rose again to the smell of pines. There were no ‘booms,’ no sirens. No agony.  No crying. Polite Canadians tipped their baseball caps and wished us ‘Good morning.’ They spoke of the weather and fishing and the summer barbecue.

I, who still listened for a boom and imagined I heard one, was gripped by my Red Alert phone app that rang day and night, screaming of rockets falling in Ashkelon, Ashdod, Eshkol and Nitzan. Israel was being bombarded despite a ceasefire and Lake Muskoka simply grinned back at me with a yawn. A woman in a kayak paddled by and gently lifted her oar in a greeting.

I had crossed into another reality. I soon adjusted and Israel started to feel so, so far away – even though I had left two children behind who are soldiers in the IDF.

Just before Labour Day, when Canadian kids were getting ready for ‘back to school,’ the newscaster announced a new school safety campaign run by the police. I, who knew the schools in Israel did not want to start on time because of the ‘matzav,’ (situation) wondered what the dangers were? Perhaps the police were nervous about unsafe pedestrian crossings? Or just maybe kids did not signal properly on their bicycles.

Meanwhile, back home, the school principals were complaining that the school year could not start because many schools did not have adequate space in their bomb shelters. And many schools did not even have bomb shelters at all. I remember my daughter coming home from school a few years ago and telling me of a mock emergency. The kids heard a siren and were directed into the playground where they curled up on the pavement with their hands over their heads. Outdoors. Completely exposed.

Two worlds in one small brain.

It is hard to contain two worlds in one small brain. And it is challenging to accept that rockets should be the acceptable norm here. Israelis may be laissez faire about this, but no human being should have to live like this.

The school year started on time and kids flocked back to the classrooms. Rosh Hashana is now coming. Trying to get back to a peaceful reality, I looked up some recipes and earnestly started to think about apples and honey and sweetness for the new year. But I felt unsteady, like a kid who just learned how to ride a bike. Could I trust this calm? As I was chopping my apples yesterday, the read alert rang loudly on my phone. My pulse raced and I ran to see. Could it be true? Rockets in Ashkelon and another ceasefire broken.

Did the world hear about this? Was it on the BBC or CBC? Who cares that this ceasefire has been breached?  Who has heard that children and frail grandmothers and panicked parents are running to shelters to save their lives at this moment?

No one. We are alone in this insanity. And yes, I now know, as I sprinkle cinnamon on apples, that reality will never be the same. We must just relish small moments of beauty. We must be good and treat people well. We must think positively and speak well of others.

Although we may not have peace outside,  we should strive for inner peace. The sirens may rage, but inside, we must be calm and strong.

I wish everyone a Shana Tova, a year of positive thoughts, of strength and understanding.