"Spot the Jews" -- Does Anyone Else Play This Game?

When Moshe and I were in Orlando for the first time, we made up a game:  Spot the Jews.

We had noticed an interesting phenomenon: Frum (Orthodox) Jews were walking around in baseball caps, rather than wearing a kippah, tichel (scarf), or hat, like they would in New Jersey or New York.

For whatever reason, these Jews choose to "hide" their Judaism.  To us, it is obvious they are Jews.  Between the baseball caps and the modest dress, they stand out like violets in a field of daffodils.  I imagine they feel like they are "blending in."

We find this fascinating. 

Why the need to "pass"?

Why not just dress the way you normally dress, and be who you are?

Why pretend that you are not different?

Moshe and I wear our kippot and tichels (respectively). 

It never occurred to us to dress any differently.

As a result, Jewish staff workers share with us their identities.  Many are excited to learn that we are visiting from Jerusalem and share with us their hopes to visit Israel.  (I gave our contact information to several people I met, Jews and non-Jews)

This visit, we noticed a few Jewish families who dressed "normally," with kippot, etc.  Two of the families were Chabbadnikim, so that was not so surprising.  Two of the families were from Israel, one from Tel Aviv, the other from a yishuv (settlement/suburban community -- I don't remember which one, maybe Beit El).  We also met some Israelis who were not religious, but were communicating freely, in Hebrew.

It was nice to see other Jews, who were openly Jewish.

Of course, we still spotted groups of "Jews in disguise."

Fascinating.



Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.

With love and optimism,
RivkA

"But She's Not Wearing Any Clothes!"

I thought that would get your attention!!

(Who says a blog about cancer can't be controversial?)

But, seriously, this post isn't about cancer, it's about S'rugim (or Srugim)... and going to the mikveh.

S'rugim, (lit. "knitted items", slang for the dati-leumi (religious Zionist) community, based on the knitted kippot that dati-leumi boys/men wear), is a TV series about 30+/- singles, living in the "bitz'ah" (lit. "swamp", slang for the Katamon/Rehavia singles scene, where singles can get stuck for years).

To our surprise, Moshe and I are totally into the show!

One night, Moshe brought home a DVD with three episodes. After the first episode, I suggested we watch the second. After the second, I suggested we watch the third. Moshe hesitated, pointing out the late hour. "I know," I responded, "let's watch it anyway!"

I was hooked!

Now, Tuesday nights, Moshe brings home the most recent episode, and we watch it together.

Afterwards, because we are such geeks, we analyze the episode. (I was not always such a geek. What can I say? I fell in with the wrong crowd....) We love analyzing TV shows together; it is one of the few things we both really enjoy!

We are not the only ones analyzing the show. After each episode, we check out Jameel's and Lurker's blogposts about the show.

This past Tuesday night, I was in bed by 8:00, feeling pretty miserable because of my toothache.

Moshe asked me if I wanted to watch something. At first, I did not feel like moving. But when he reminded me that he had the most recent episode of S'rugim, well...., let's just say I wasn't about to miss it for a lousy toothache!

But I digress....







-----------------SPOILER ALERT--------------------



















In episode ten, Hodaya is not quite sure what to do at the mikveh. The balanit ("mikvah lady", who is there to assist women) gently guides her. After Hodaya immerses the first time, the balanit reminds her to say a b'racha (blessing).

"What?!?" shouts out my husband, "But she's not wearing any clothes!"

I burst out laughing!

My husband, with his yeshiva background, and all his knowledge, was completely unfamiliar with the rituals of women's immersions.

"Is that really how it is done?" he asks, incredulous.

I laugh again, and answer "yes, that's really how it's done."

"But how can she say a b'racha without any clothes?" he insists, beginning to quote various sources that discuss b'rachot.

I no longer remember the answer. I learned the laws of ritual immersion years ago, just before I married.

"You mean," my husband continued, not quite grasping the concept, "that every night women are saying b'rachot...." he left the sentence dangling in the air.

I laughed again, at my sweet, innocent husband, who was getting a glimpse into my ritual world, thanks to a TV show.

"Yes," I concluded, "every night, religious women are saying b'rachot, wearing no clothes."



Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.

With love and optimism,
RivkA

Tisha B'Av -- Part II -- Fasting, or Not

I don't fast well. By mid day, I have a terrible migraine headache, and I am quite miserable by the end of the day. I spend the last few hours in bed, and I do not have patience to help or take care of anyone. Fasting does not help me to be more spiritual.

The only thing worse than fasting, is not fasting when the rest of Am Yisrael is fasting.

During the fast day, and for several days leading up to the fast, people, even strangers, wish you an "easy fast," or an "easy and meaningful fast."

There is a national consciousness surrounding fast days.

It is strange to know, in advance, that you are not going to be fasting when everyone else is fasting. It is strange to eat when everyone around you, including your children, are not eating. It is strange to feel the national loss, so strongly, and yet feel separate, different, from the nation.

And then there is the subtext: why am I not fasting? Healthy people fast. Not fasting is a statement. I am not fasting, because I am not healthy. But I do not want to make that statement. I do not even want to acknowledge that statement.

At night, as I lay in my bed, thirsty from the walk, I had to force myself to drink. I was not even supposed to fast a little bit. But I had to force myself. It felt wrong.

The next day, I ate. Privately, in my own home. I felt a little like a thief. I had to remind myself that I was doing what I was supposed to be doing.

I knew from Yom Kippur that, though I am allowed to refrain from eating, I must drink at least 3 liters of water during the 25 hour fast. However, on Tisha B'Av, once I am already drinking, there is no merit to not eating.*

On Thursday night, a few days before Tisha B'Av, I attended our local Women's English Shiur (Torah class), given by one of the local Rabbis. In answer to a question I asked, the Rav gave an interesting perspective on the differences between our feelings on Tisha B'Av and Yom Kippur:
On Yom Kippur -- who needs to eat? (i.e. we are on such a high spiritual level, who needs food?)
On Tisha B'Av -- who wants to eat? (i.e. we are so miserable, who can stomach food?)

Though I don't fast well, even in the best of circumstances, I totally identified with what he said.

On Tisha B'Av, I ate like I was supposed to. But the food tasted like dust.

Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.

With love and optimism,
RivkA

* According to my Rav, since fasting on Tisha B'Av is not d'orayta (a law ordained in the Torah), the guidelines governing fasting on Tisha B'Av are quite different from those governing Yom Kippur. There is no inyan (concept) of shiurim (amounts) On Yom Kippur, if one eats/drinks less than a specific amount, one is technically still fasting. On Tisha B'Av, once you eat/drink anything, the fast is broken, and there is no merit to refraining from eating/drinking.

Kever Rachel (Rachel's Tomb)

כֹּה אָמַר יְהוָה, קוֹל בְּרָמָה נִשְׁמָע נְהִי בְּכִי תַמְרוּרִים

רָחֵל, מְבַכָּה עַל-בָּנֶיהָ; מֵאֲנָה לְהִנָּחֵם עַל-בָּנֶיהָ, כִּי אֵינֶנּוּ

(ירמיהו ל"א:י"ד)

So God said: A voice is heard in Ramah,

lamentation, and bitter weeping;

Rachel weeping for her children;

she refuses to be comforted for her children,

because they are absent. (Jeremiah 31:14)

For years now, I have wanted to visit Kever Rachel.

A few years ago, "they" built this big new complex.

I was curious how it looks.

I remember Kever Rachel as a small, rather run-down, old building. I was there almost 25 years ago (when I first came to Israel). Back then, visiting Kever Rachel was an educational experience, not a political statement.

I am not big on davening (praying) at k'varot (gravesites). I do not need some dead person to act as my "intermediary", even if he/she was a really important person when he/she was a living person. (Except for my grandmother, who I believe is up in heaven, looking over me and making a lot of noise on my behalf!)

Moreover, I know that historically, it is unlikely that Kever Rachel is really Kever Rachel. (Though the tradition of that location probably dates back to the time of the Crusaders).

Nevertheless, do not try and take it away from me and my people!

As soon as it became difficult to go to Kever Rachel, it became important to davka go to Kever Rachel. But getting there is not so easy anymore. You can no longer just hop in your car and go.

Again, my friend MG, who is visiting from the US, wanted to go. So, I decided to go with her.

I could not take MD with me, 'cause he is a Cohen. But I did take A.

A few minutes after boarding the bus, we passed through a checkpoint and entered a concrete corridor. A minute later, the bus stopped opposite the entrance of a large building with a façade of Jerusalem stone. Across the street, a flowered traffic circle, and an empty parking lot, beckoned for cars that no longer come.

We entered the complex. Our footsteps echoed along the marble hallway.

There inner room was crowded; there was no where to sit. A did not feel like reciting Tehillim (Psalms) or her morning prayers. Instead, she said a short personal prayer. Then we went and sat in the larger, outer room.

"Are you always going to have cancer?" my sweet and innocent 10 year old asked quietly, as soon as we sat down.

We spoke about God and miracles.

We also spoke about living with cancer.

My heart felt like it was breaking.

I could not protect my little girl from the pain and sorrow, even though I was trying so hard.

I felt grateful that she felt comfortable asking the question. She is so acquiescing, so accepting. Yet, clearly, she is also sad and hurting.

Then, just as suddenly, A started talking about something else. I was a little surprised at how quickly she changed topics. But she was done, and moving on. So, I did too (at least on the outside).

A few minutes later, A went to get some water, and I went inside the inner room and recited some Tehillim. She joined me for a few minutes. When MG finished davening, we all left to catch the next bus.

For those who are interested: There is a subsidized bus (Egged #163), that runs along Derech Hevron. The round trip costs only 7.50 NIS, from anywhere along the line.

On the way home, MG explained the significance of Kever Rachel to A.

"Rachel," she explained, "is the spiritual mother of the Jewish people. Rachel suffered her entire life. Rachel grew up among idol worshipers; she delayed marrying her love, so that her elder sister could marry first; she died in childbirth, after her second son was born; she never lived to see her children grow up. Because of her suffering, Rachel's prayers are powerful. We hope that by praying at her tomb, our prayers will join hers. We hope that God will pay special attention to our prayers, because we are praying together with Rachel Imeinu (Rachel, our mother)."

We were on a bus full of religious people, mostly women, many of whom regularly pray at Kever Rachel. No demonstrations. No slogans. Just simple religious people on a spiritual quest. The passengers spoke in hushed tones, as though still within the prayer halls.

We left behind the large, beautiful complex, with marble halls and a façade of Jerusalem stone. The bus lumbered through the silent corridor, lined with towering concrete walls.



Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.

With love and optimism,
RivkA