Crossing the Yarden

By Yarden Frankl

Tu B'Shvat

In America, my "celebration" of Tu B'Shvat was someone in shul whispering "no tachnun" when we started davening.

I wasn't quite sure how we would "do" Tu B'Shvat here in Israel. Like many things, we sometimes need help understanding just what the possibilities are. Fortunately, our ulpan teacher invited us to a Tu B'Shvat Seder at her home. We ate the seven species (and then some), sang songs, and sometimes peeked at the children, who we were glad to see are quite comfortable playing with Israeli kids.

The next day at Ulpan, our teacher told us something very moving. She said:

"When you go to plant a sapling in the soil, in the beginning the sapling will wilt. You must carefully tend to it and keep turning the soil and gradually the sapling will begin to get stronger until it is able to stand strong on its own. This holiday of Tu B'Shvat is really about you because as olim, you are those saplings right now and a little bit wilted from all of the stresses and adjustments of making aliyah. However, in time you will become stronger and stronger and I am able to be here to watch you grow in the soil that you are best suited to grow in."

When people ask us what was the hardest part of making Aliyah, we always say it was the weeks before we left America. There is no better way to describe leaving than "uprooting." We had firmly planted roots in our old community. Our shul was a second home to us, and our community was an extended family.

Aliyah is living a dream, but that doesn't mean it can't be painful. We felt pain at leaving those who did not understand our decision. And we shared pain at leaving those who did. We had "good-bye parties" that were nothing more than cake and tears.

At one party, my son's best friend got up to say something. While all of us adults stood by in amazement, this nine year old kid, who has been a brother to Max since they were in diapers, said "Max is my best friend. I am very sad that he is moving, and I am really going to miss him." Tears started rolling down his cheeks, and he looked up at Max and could not continue. Max went to him and they embraced. It was a powerful, emotional moment for all of us as the pain of our decision, our "up-rooting," was made clear in a simple, poignant way.

When we arrived in Israel, we felt lost. Our first night in the empty house, we listened to the wind roaring outside and wondered quietly, maybe, maybe we had made a mistake. We had left everyone and everything behind. This was our dream, but dreams are much safer in bed than in reality. Could we really handle living in Israel?

Things were difficult at first. Our lack of Hebrew skills was trying. I went to a gas station and was asked "Ashrei?" I looked up at the attendant and said "Yoshve B'Techa?" I tried to pay my rent online and paid it a few times. We went to a grocery store and stood bewildered in the aisles trying to figure out how to say "taco shells" in Ivrit.

But, fairly quickly, we started to extend new roots and started to grow again. We met people, both former olim and Israelis who came to us and said, "Don't worry, we know it is very difficult, but everything will be o.k. We'll help you."

Five year old Rivka is having the hardest time adjusting. I took her and two of her friends to plant a tree. I noticed that both Rivka and the tree looked so small and fragile. Then I looked at Rivka's friends, who used to be our neighbors in Maryland and made Aliyah the year before us. I saw that these little children are well on their way to growing up as proud Israelis. Like all olim, they had made a difficult transition. But now, they are growing strong.

I have faith that with a little help, we also will continue extending our roots until we stand on our own like trees, tall and proud. After all, this is Eretz Yisrael. The holy soil and the holy people are here to help us.

Shabbat Shalom from our blessed nation.

© 2006 Yarden Frankl