Yarden in Green

In Israel your choice of head covering is a political statement. If you decide to wear a black, velvet kipah and throw a hat on top, people may draw conclusions about where you live, if your kids will serve in the army, and whether you will have matzo ball soup at Pesach. You actually are telling the world a whole lot about your personality that may or may not be correct by wearing a “black top.”

On the other hand, wearing a big, white, knitted kipah could lead observers to conclude that you must believe the only solution to the Arab-Israeli conflict is to find lots of air-conditioned buses, play the movie Shrek Three, and bus our cousins over the Jordan. Again, this may or may not be true, but it seems that one of the few things that we can agree on here is that head coverings are the religious form of personal bumper stickers. Since dati people must wear something, even if you don’t really belong to the “black hat” or “kipah sruga” crowd, you must make a choice and accept the label that comes with it.

Of course, serious observers of Judaism will know that there are huge differences within our major hat groups. Within the “black community,” there are different streimals, homburgs, and Borsolinos that amount to a basic uniform. Chabad and Satmar have some huge, philosophical differences. But without the hat, you would be hard pressed telling them apart. (Important note, if you are mountain climbing in Tibet and need a Shabbos meal, you need Chabad, not Satmar. Find a guy wearing a hat, not fur.)

On the kipah srugah side, I have been told that white with a blue border makes you slightly more right wing than the rest of us, and an orange kipah is making a very obvious political statement. Black knitted is a sign that you want to be considered as frum as the haredi, just without all the mishagas.

So when I showed up in shul wearing a green, velvet kipah – many people started wondering what sort of political statement I was trying to make. Was I letting people know that environmental issues were now a priority for me? Perhaps I was looking to start up a new Jewish movement that mixes bicycling and Torah? Was I hoping to find some lost souls willing to become Yardener Chassidim and eat fish out of my hand?

To tell you the truth, I had found it in the back of a closet. Seeing the green, velvet kipah for the first time in years, I decided it could use a spin around Neve Daniel. The kipah was the last one left from my Bar Mitzvah. When I read my parasha back then, I didn’t know too much about Israel. In 1980, there were no Oslo Accords, no Neve Daniel, and everyone considered Yasser Arafat a terrorist rather than a Nobel Peace Prize recipient. The Camp David Accords had put the Arab-Israeli conflict to rest and there would finally be many years of peace.

Yet I was not thinking about any of that when I picked out my personalized Bar Mitzvah kipah. I was not thinking about how religious I wanted to be or my feelings about giving the land of Israel away. The only political statement I was trying to make was simple: “Hey, I like green.” And while many things have changed in the last twenty-seven years, I do still like green.

Don’t judge a book by its cover or a Yid by his lid.

Shabbat Shalom from our blessed nation.

Running is like biking - same outfit, fewer moving parts

Last Thursday I decided to enter a running race. What makes this decision a little strange is that I cannot honestly describe myself as a runner. You know the type: someone who runs in all types of weather and uses glue to keep their running shoes from disintegrating. No, I like to ride bikes and stay in shape, but until a few months ago, I never really ran anywhere unless I was late.

So for some reason I am not completely sure about, I decided to enter a “half-marathon.” I had heard that there is a race in Bet Shean that is mostly flat and would be fun. But I figured a “half-marathon” would be tough, but how difficult can anything be if it starts with the word “half?”

So I ran about twice a week for a couple of months and then drove up to Bet Shean. I was pretty excited that I was able to register and make it to the starting line. I consider it a success every time I am able to navigate my way through a non-English event using crude Hebrew, facial expressions, and a lot of pointing. Sure enough, I got my number, found a bathroom, and was in the right place for the starting gun.

We started running and I was having a blast. Thousands of runners started off together and hearing everyone’s running shoes hitting the pavement at the same time is really neat. There were all different types of people there: religious, secular, young, old – and there I was right in the middle just thinking how much fun it was to be running in the sun in the middle of the land of Israel. I was getting a little tired but feeling proud to be holding my own and then I saw a flag with a marker under it. The marker said “Three Kilometers.” Hmm… Maybe this would be a long day.

As I ran, I could not help but think that not too long ago, enemy missiles reached all the way to Bet Shean. (Remember that little war where we acted “disproportionately?”) I also thought about the image that most people around the world, including supporters of Israel, see on the news. Israelis are not running around in half-marathons. We are all running screaming away from bombings. We don’t gather in large numbers in public, right? We are afraid to go to public events for fear that someone will start shooting. At least that is the image that is beamed into everyone’s homes around the world.

Now, of course, I am not naïve and know that our nation has suffered more than our share of pain. We do sometimes have to take precautions that you wouldn’t think of in the U.S. “Let’s not take that road today, there were kids throwing rocks at cars there yesterday.” Yet the political situation does not impact our lives as much as you would think. My Israel is not a place of sirens, and guns, and bombs. My Israel is a place of mountain bikes, midnight hikes, and running in the sun. Both places exist, we must each determine which one we see ourselves in.

So as the kilometers flew (well actually crawled) by, I thought about how fortunate I am to live here, in this giant, crazy, lovable playground.

As far as I am concerned, the real Israel is not on the news, it’s under our feet.

Shabbat Shalom from our blessed nation.

I have decided that were I to try and convey the words my mother just wrote to me, I would be accused of writing what I wanted to hear, not what my mother really thought. Many of you will remember from columns written over two years ago how the most difficult part of our decision to make Aliyah was leaving our families. We left amidst much bitterness against us, against Israel, and even against friends who had helped us make our decision. That is why the following is so stunning.

Isn’t Chanukah a time of miracles?

“CROSSING THE CONTINENTS”
By Yarden’s Mom

Having just returned from a trip to see my children and grandchildren in Neve Daniel, I find myself full of thoughts that are so overwhelming I must put them to paper (even though it’s now e-mail). When my children decided to move to Israel, I was very angry and sad. They would no longer be close enough for me to enjoy the everyday experiences of life and the growing moments in my grandchildren’s life. Like the gymnastics shows, dance classes, and games: soccer, baseball and any other sport the grandkids would choose to try. And, of course, those music concerts when you wished your ears would shut down!!! They would forget who their grandparents were and would miss having incredible family knowledge passed on to their generation.

Yes, I still miss them desperately, but I see how they have found a life that is so right for them I must salute their choice. They live in a community that enhances all they believe in (even though it does have some quirks). The grandkids are doing well: despite the normal prejudices they encounter – not so different than the ones I encountered when I was growing up in South Wales. The house they have built is so perfect for them – it truly is their home. And in a few days, we managed to catch up and reminisce enough to keep us going till the next visit.

I have tried to think about what went into their decision to make this incredible move. My parents’ generation struggled to make sure their children got the education they would need. My father used to call education the Jewish life insurance. My generation worked hard to succeed so that our parents could be proud of us and not worry about our future. But my children’s generation did not have to worry – we provided for them to the very best of our ability. We gave them the great life insurance policy – a first rate education. But, without meaning to, we depleted their drive to achieve. That is what they are now doing in Israel. They are driving to achieve a land where all Jews can go, if they wish. A land where our people will always feel safe and secure. Will this ever be achieved – who knows? But my children are trying to ensure that it will happen. And so, Jordan and Stella, I salute you.

With much love and respect, Mom

Anthea Frankl lives in San Mateo, California when not visiting Neve Daniel.

Since the subject of this column is about mothers, I am dedicating this column in memory of my friend Paul’s mom, who in his words “made everyone she spoke with feel truly special.”

Shabbat Shalom from our blessed nation.

A friend of mine recently returned from a trip to the States where she was trying to raise funds for an organization called Standing Together. This group does something simple and wonderful. They get a whole bunch of pizzas, cake, coffee whatever, and drive around to military bases giving the soldiers a nice little surprise.

She received a lot of support from many people, but ran into one problem. Some guy in New York was very concerned that giving to this organization might not qualify as tzedakah. He went to a New York rabbi who hit the books and delved into the subject. The Rabbi decided that giving to Standing Together was not, in fact, tzedakah. He based his decision – made I am sure from extensive research – on the basis that active duty soldiers do not really NEED a hot cup of coffee. This answer then got passed around to a whole assortment of characters in New York who decided not to risk upsetting G-D by giving to the organization.

Listen up my friend, I hope this column reaches you. If you were not aware of it, in Israel kids serve in the Army. They do so because millions of people living around and even inside our land would like – to put it simply – to kill us. If there were no Army, there would be no Israel. If anyone believes that there should be a State of Israel, rather than yet another mass grave of Jews in the Middle East, you must support the kids who accept the obligations of the State and do their duty.

When it is cold and pouring rain, I don’t go out. I stay inside and read a book. The kids in the Army cannot do that. They stand in the freezing rain, in mud, in ice and hail protecting us, protecting the Jewish nation. I can think of no greater act of self-sacrifice then what they do.

Now, Standing Together wants to drive up to the soldiers in the pouring rain and say, “Hey kid, have a cup of coffee, take a slice of pizza.” Maybe the soldier gets a friendly smile and a minute of warmth in a twelve hour shift. Maybe this small act of kindness is what enables him or her to keep going, knowing how much he is appreciated. Maybe it helps stop the next guy with dynamite strapped to his body on his way to blow up a café full of people.

So now someone in America decides that he is going to sit in his warm house and tell others that giving funds to this organization is not tzedaka. He can rest happily knowing that none of his hard-earned money will go toward giving a cup of hot coffee or a slice of pizza to some kid with a rifle who really does not NEED it.

Look my friend, I don’t know who you are and I don’t wish to. But next time you visit Israel, on your way to your hotel look into the eyes of the teenagers guarding the checkpoint and try and think if YOU owe them anything. If you are still unsure, at least ask a Rav who lives here your question. Someone who has to daven that his kids come home alive every evening. Ask him if he thinks supporting the soldiers is Tzedakah. You might get a different answer.

Go ahead, I’ll give you some phone numbers. I don’t think G-d will be upset with you.

Shabbat Shalom from our blessed nation.