Crossing the Yarden

By Yarden Frankl

Don't Cry Over Spoiled Milk

It seems like every week since Pesach has brought us another special "Yom" here in Israel. We have had Yom Hashoah, Yom Hazichron, Yom Hatzmaot, Yom Yerushalaym, and finally, Yom HaGavina, the Day of Cheese, one of the many names for the sacred festival of Shavuot.

An article in the Jerusalem Post detailed how dairy consumption triples in the weeks before Shavuot. Every mall was filled with temporary stalls selling every type of cheese and cheesecake you can imagine. What I love seeing is that both dati and secular people were all getting into the holiday in their own way. True, Shavuot has a very different meaning to me as a religious Jew. But I am still very excited to see a whole nation preparing for this celebration.

You see, in America, Shavuot is one of those holidays that simply does not exist for most of the non-Orthodox crowd. Most people work and kids go to school. It's usually around America's Memorial Day, so American Jews are far more likely to be eating grilled meat than cheesecake at this time of year. Even in places like New York which have a sizeable Jewish population, the holiday could pass outside of religious circles and not even the cows would notice.

Here, the holiday is felt by everyone, especially the cows. According to the Israeli cattle farmers, the consumption of dairy products reaches its peak for the year around Shavuot. That's quite a lot when you consider the astonishing fact that Israeli cows are the most productive in the world. Now I'm not sure why Israeli cows lead the world in milk production. The dairy farmers say that it is because of the outstanding quality of life of Israeli cows. (Somehow, they all take vacations in Europe although they are living in "minus.")

Now certainly within Frum America, Shavuot does take its place as one of the major holidays. In Potomac, we always had all-night learning sessions (well, for me it was all night learning/eating/falling asleep on the floor of the Rabbi's office sessions). In the same way, I found interesting shiurim with plenty of cheesecake throughout the night here. Yet it was different.

First, there was such a huge variety of choices. There were classes for men, classes for women, classes for every age of kid. (It was kind of interesting to see roving bands of kids around the Yishuv at three in the morning, obviously on their way to do some more "learning.")

But the real difference was in the morning. In Potomac, Shavuot morning we would walk home after davening, while cars full of curious people slowed down to stare at these crazy people walking along the road in fancy clothes at daybreak. Here, staying up all night and davening at daybreak is normal. There were no cars driving through full of people going to work.

Of course, my story would not be complete without another shot of life in the Gush. Our refrigerator, full of leftover fish and cheesecake decided to stop working the day after Shavuot. No problem, I thought, I have a service contract, someone will come out and fix it. Little did I know that the repair service would only come out to Neve Daniel once a week, with an armed escort. I explained that although I was a little upset about the spoiled cake, the technician had little to fear from me as long as he fixed the fridge.

At first they were confused, then they explained that I live in a, you know, "dangerous" area. Now when you are sitting next to a refrigerator that smells like spoiled milk, the last thing you want to do is have a political conversation with the repairman. You already know that the service department in Petach Tikva will not accept your statistics when you tell them they are in greater danger if they go their local mall than if they drive out here. No, according to the map, Neve Daniel is dangerous and Petach Tikva is safe. Have a nice day, don't drink the milk.

But hey, I am not going to cry over spoiled milk. I am happy knowing that despite the fact that I can get pizza delivered to my door, there are still many Israelis who consider me a "pioneer." Let's not tell them that it's really not so bad.

Shabbat Shalom from our blessed nation.

© 2006 Yarden Frankl