Crossing the Yarden

By Yarden Frankl

Beginnings and Endings

Ten years ago I was in Israel for only my second time. I didn't know much about observant Judaism, or even Israel for that matter. A friend invited me to his house in Efrat for Shabbat. Always being open to new experiences, I decided to give it a try.

I arrived late in the afternoon on Friday. My friend's wife was busy in the kitchen getting everything ready for Friday night dinner. Like a good guest, I asked her if there was anything I could do to help. She replied that she was just fine, and did I need to take a shower.

Now, not being knowledgeable about the rules of Shabbat, I was really stunned by the question. I mean I had never been asked at 4:00 in the afternoon if I needed a shower! It didn't help that I had never met this person before. I tried to subtly sniff the air to see if I was giving off some sort of bad aroma. Not sensing one, I told her that I was just fine, ("thank you very much!")

She then told me that her son would show me to the room in which I would be staying, and that I should "do whatever I need to do to get ready for Shabbat." So I went into the guest room and closed the door.

Now there was no way I was going to admit that I had no idea what one actually does to "get ready for Shabbat," so I sat on the bed and watched the minutes go by. After a little while, the son knocked on the door and asked if I was ready. Just to make sure everyone bought my little ruse, I said "just a minute" and continued sitting on the bed. After a minute or two, I got up and opened the door and informed my host that I was "all set."

Friday evening came and I found myself in a shul that I was told was located below another shul. The "service" was about as foreign as I could imagine. I mean I thought it was odd that there were no long speeches, fund-raising appeals, or choirs. It was actually quite neat that the people there all seemed to be praying! Everyone, good voices and bad were singing together.

We walked with the crowd along the moonlit streets. The sounds of automobiles had been replaced by the sounds of people of all ages greeting each other and kids running around playing. That night, we had an excellent meal and I was told to ask any questions I had. So I asked away. I asked about Israel, I asked about Shabbat, I asked why anyone would want to raise children in an Orthodox "West Bank" settlement (Is it dangerous? Restricting? Limiting?). By the time I went to bed, my head was as full as my stomach.

The next day there was one thing that I will never forget, and it may seem a bit silly. It was not the morning davening, although that was nice. It was not the lunchtime cholent, although that was even nicer. It was not the early mincha (gee whiz, how many times do you guys need to go pray already!). What really made the difference to me is when one of my friend's kids brought over a "Where's Waldo" book and asked for my help.

I realized that despite this amazing setting and these somewhat weird religious practices, these kids were really no different than any others. They were not fanatics or brainwashed cult members. They were wonderful children who were more concerned with growing up in an amazing place than making a political statement. The community appeared to me to be a warm, protective, inspiring place where kids had a great deal more independence than kids in the States. Hardly the "dangerous, isolated outpost" that I had heard about.

And I remember sitting on a porch watching the sun set beautifully behind the Yishuv on the next hill and thinking, what a wonderful place this is. It felt perfect. I wondered if my hosts knew how fortunate they were to live there.

We make our own fortunes. Ten years later I am sitting in my home in the Yishuv one hill over, and the sunsets are even more spectacular from here. My children can speak Hebrew, they don't bathe on Shabbat, and will one day proudly serve their nation Israel. But for now, they like "Where's Waldo" books.

This will be the last Crossing the Yarden for a few weeks. I hope to be able to return after that along with all your regular AlHamakom columnists. But if not, thank you for reading and send me an e-mail if you would like to be on my e-mail list.

And hopefully not for the last time,
Shabbat Shalom from our blessed nation.

© 2006 Yarden Frankl