Ive been holding off on posting for a while now, as I have been on a bit of a rollercoaster day to day and figured its best to wait it out and make sense of it after. So its after, but I dont know if it makes any sense....
While I was in the US, I saw a job posting online that looked to be fantastic - the kind of job that would be fun and enjoyable and open doors down the road to all sorts of exciting opportunities. I emailed them my resume, and they said they wanted me to come in for an interview when I returned. This was exciting - so much for the "it takes six to nine months to find a job", I found one in three weeks!
So after we landed and (kind of) settled in, I called. Turns out they're in a moshav a bit past Ranaana, and the HR lady decided it was too far a commute.
I didnt decide that, she did.
But okay, she had a point, I guessed, so I turned my attention to a part time social work posting I had seen. Again, I was invited in for an interview. I was invited to a second interview, and after a short weekend was called back, told I had a job, and someone would call me the next morning to tell me the details, hours, salary, etc.
So its a day and a half later, and.....still waiting. Am I (part time) employed? I dont know :)
Anyway, I finally picked up my check from Nefesh B'Nefesh, and discovered it is a dollar check, drawn from an American bank. In today's Israel, check cashers are not happy with American checks (apparently they arent as easy to cash as they used to be), and they want a high rate (about 4-5%). And if you want to deposit it in your bank, good luck - they take a minimum of 30 days to clear, you get charged a fee (then again, your bank in Israel also charges you for meeting a teller and using the ATM, so no surprises there), and that's if they're no MY bank...
...which, the first time I went, refused to cash my check because they decided darling wifey had to be there too (since it is addressed to both of us).
So I tried again, at a different branch. No problems - there was even an English speaking teller there, who was quite nice.
Then I get a phone call today - they wont cash the check, because my signature on it and my signature on file there dont match. Of course they dont, I signed the check in English and the bank has a signature in Hebrew on file. Okay, fine, they tell me, theyll take it.
Which is great, because the Misrad HaKlita has been withholding our sal klitah since we...well, arrived. See, if you leave the country during your first 6 months here, they freeze your payments until you come in person and ask for them back. Which is ridiculous, because they know when you come and leave thanks to the computer system (its how they knew to turn off your payments in the first place!), but fine, Ill ask for them personally, and nicely, right? No. It seems their appointment system is leftover from the advent of the telephone. Literally. You're supposed to call in, leave a message, and they call you back with an appointment. Except the "call you back" part is a little...unreliable. I have called 12 (?!) times since we landed, and never got a phone call. So I went there yesterday unannounced, to discover the place is empty. But they had appointments that time, you see, so can I come back Wednesday?
So I will head there tomorrow, and hopefully, Ill get September and October's payments, and maybe even November's too.
Sigh. Dont you love a long, winding, torturous narrative that has no real completion? Welcome to life here!
The ongoing saga of our family's Aliyah.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
PSA - An Article of Mine is Published on Jewishideas.org
http://jewishideas.org/articles/text-and-context-reflections-contemporary-orthodoxy
Sunday, October 13, 2013
...and We're Back
So we returned to the US on chol hamoed Sukkot to be by my brother's wedding. In some ways, we never left, and in others, boy - we were never here.
We were only gone a month, but in so many ways, we were gone a lifetime. Which, as anyone who has survived a plane trip with two lil kids can testify, we technically were.
But we are back, and the "Adjusting from Jet Lag Project, Part II" has commenced. 2.5's body clock is on Tokyo time, while 8 month old seems to have settled on Chicago time.
But the wedding was nice, and seeing family was too, and all in all it was bittersweet to see old friends and the life we left behind.
And here we are, with our lift arriving tomorrow (finally!), and the job hunt getting into full swing. Hopefully everything comes together soon...
But we are back, and the "Adjusting from Jet Lag Project, Part II" has commenced. 2.5's body clock is on Tokyo time, while 8 month old seems to have settled on Chicago time.
But the wedding was nice, and seeing family was too, and all in all it was bittersweet to see old friends and the life we left behind.
And here we are, with our lift arriving tomorrow (finally!), and the job hunt getting into full swing. Hopefully everything comes together soon...
Friday, September 13, 2013
Yom Kippur
Lo Hayu Yamim Tovim B'Yisrael K'mo...Yom Kippur.
There is much made of the "Bike Day" phenomenon in Israel. Many feel it is a sad thing, where the richness and beauty of a Day of Cleansing ("atonement" is such a Christian word!) is warped into a "hey, we can ride a bike on the Ayalon backwards!"
Ynet reported a fascinating poll in which something like 3/4 of Israelis reported that they plan to fast this Yom Kippur. Some for some truly weird reasons ("for the challenge of it"), but still, they plan to fast. On one level, the ink spilled lamenting those who do not know is in vain...
But there is something else I want to point out, and to share.
My family took a little trip to Geula, which is a 20 minute bus ride and a journey to another universe. We went to pick up some things friends in the US asked us to bring back for them, and to meet a seminary girl who is a friend of our family.
Walking down Rehov Meah Shearim, we passed a toy store that had stuffed singing Torahs in a bin outside. Daughter 2.5 saw them and announced "I want to hug it!" And she proceeded to squeeze it tight, with an angelic smile on her face, saying "I love the Torah!"
This alone is a moment that all parents would know is a heart melting, eye tearing one. But it got me thinking on two levels...
Firstly, on a simple level, one that is repeated ad nauseum by tourists, seminary girls, and aliyah propagandists alike, it is absolutely gorgeous that this is what is on our streets, what our children are raised to know and love, and what the cultural atmosphere in Israel is like.
But secondly, and more deeply, there is something we all tend to overlook sometimes, and that is that we live WITHIN the Torah's universe (literally - uni, one, verse, saying. Hu amar vayehi...). As adults, we debate about how to keep mitzvot, the "issues" of the day, we question and learn, debate and ignore...and forget. We forget that our worldview itself, the space of our minds, the way in which we process the world (as Creation!), is within Torah. My daughter doesnt know a word of Torah, and happily does not care, but she instinctively recognizes that Torah is who we are, is what we are defined by, and live within.
And Yisrael, as it grows up, does the same. Whether someone lives within the Daled Amos shel Halacha or not in the physical sense/actions, all of Yisrael does in their hearts and minds. They each know that Yom Kippur is the day HaShem lovingly begins again with Yisrael, with Creation, with an imperfect universe that has stumbled and meandered through almost 6000 years trying to find its way, and they each respond in the way they are able. For some, it is to sit back on that day and bask in the love HaShem gives us all, wanting to fix all they've broken in their lives and in the world; they may not know how to connect to this in an Avoda kind of way, nor even fully understand why they feel the mixture of dread and excitement in their hearts on this day, but Yisrael revels in the dichotomous and heart wrenching Existence of Man and begs and longs for the renewal and returning to, and of, the relationship between HaShem and His Lovers, and Love - Yisrael.
There is much made of the "Bike Day" phenomenon in Israel. Many feel it is a sad thing, where the richness and beauty of a Day of Cleansing ("atonement" is such a Christian word!) is warped into a "hey, we can ride a bike on the Ayalon backwards!"
Ynet reported a fascinating poll in which something like 3/4 of Israelis reported that they plan to fast this Yom Kippur. Some for some truly weird reasons ("for the challenge of it"), but still, they plan to fast. On one level, the ink spilled lamenting those who do not know is in vain...
But there is something else I want to point out, and to share.
My family took a little trip to Geula, which is a 20 minute bus ride and a journey to another universe. We went to pick up some things friends in the US asked us to bring back for them, and to meet a seminary girl who is a friend of our family.
Walking down Rehov Meah Shearim, we passed a toy store that had stuffed singing Torahs in a bin outside. Daughter 2.5 saw them and announced "I want to hug it!" And she proceeded to squeeze it tight, with an angelic smile on her face, saying "I love the Torah!"
This alone is a moment that all parents would know is a heart melting, eye tearing one. But it got me thinking on two levels...
Firstly, on a simple level, one that is repeated ad nauseum by tourists, seminary girls, and aliyah propagandists alike, it is absolutely gorgeous that this is what is on our streets, what our children are raised to know and love, and what the cultural atmosphere in Israel is like.
But secondly, and more deeply, there is something we all tend to overlook sometimes, and that is that we live WITHIN the Torah's universe (literally - uni, one, verse, saying. Hu amar vayehi...). As adults, we debate about how to keep mitzvot, the "issues" of the day, we question and learn, debate and ignore...and forget. We forget that our worldview itself, the space of our minds, the way in which we process the world (as Creation!), is within Torah. My daughter doesnt know a word of Torah, and happily does not care, but she instinctively recognizes that Torah is who we are, is what we are defined by, and live within.
And Yisrael, as it grows up, does the same. Whether someone lives within the Daled Amos shel Halacha or not in the physical sense/actions, all of Yisrael does in their hearts and minds. They each know that Yom Kippur is the day HaShem lovingly begins again with Yisrael, with Creation, with an imperfect universe that has stumbled and meandered through almost 6000 years trying to find its way, and they each respond in the way they are able. For some, it is to sit back on that day and bask in the love HaShem gives us all, wanting to fix all they've broken in their lives and in the world; they may not know how to connect to this in an Avoda kind of way, nor even fully understand why they feel the mixture of dread and excitement in their hearts on this day, but Yisrael revels in the dichotomous and heart wrenching Existence of Man and begs and longs for the renewal and returning to, and of, the relationship between HaShem and His Lovers, and Love - Yisrael.
Monday, September 9, 2013
Breathe....(3am)
Sorry for the horrible music references, yet again :) [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V8rtJRlLdI8]
There is something poignant about the human subconscious' ability to worm its way into your consciousness at the most inopportune times and set your reptilian brain alight in fear and fright.
There is also something, on an elemental level, about aliyah that forces you to abandon caution (on some level - I am truly NOT advocating coming to Israel on a song and a prayer; coming with savings and a plan is a far better idea, and allows for many more songs and prayers with a roof over your head afterwards) and trust the destiny you claim as ancestral birthright, bought with a bowl of lentils and sealed with a mustard and cold cuts sandwich.
Those two things are a heady brew, one that can leave you sleepless in Jerusalem.
For how does one know that which he believes? In less pedantic and obscure terms, how does one reassure his doubts in his destiny, his self, his abilities to make something work and flourish when that very thing can be against normal odds, if not common sense?
Who in their right mind moves to another country when they dont speak the local language, nor have a job? Where the society runs on who you know, and you dont know anyone? Where your children will one day be strangers in your own land to you, speaking a different language, with incomparably different worries and dreams than you had at their age, to the point you may not understand them at all? Who leaves family, friends, and support networks behind for a dream?
And who knows if we'll make it.
I think many failed olim fail because they keep one foot in either world, looking at the lights at both ends of the tunnel...the words in the song are prophetic in that regard - trying to leave the way you came in will only have you make all your mistakes again, in reverse order, as you return to where you were.
This is a fantastic teshuva metaphor as well, by the way.
So here is to diving headfirst, to "absorption" (I think the Hebrew term is so hilariously accurate, in that Israeli blunt way), to making it to the other end of the tunnel. And to breathing...and maybe, even, perhaps, sleeping.
There is something poignant about the human subconscious' ability to worm its way into your consciousness at the most inopportune times and set your reptilian brain alight in fear and fright.
There is also something, on an elemental level, about aliyah that forces you to abandon caution (on some level - I am truly NOT advocating coming to Israel on a song and a prayer; coming with savings and a plan is a far better idea, and allows for many more songs and prayers with a roof over your head afterwards) and trust the destiny you claim as ancestral birthright, bought with a bowl of lentils and sealed with a mustard and cold cuts sandwich.
Those two things are a heady brew, one that can leave you sleepless in Jerusalem.
For how does one know that which he believes? In less pedantic and obscure terms, how does one reassure his doubts in his destiny, his self, his abilities to make something work and flourish when that very thing can be against normal odds, if not common sense?
Who in their right mind moves to another country when they dont speak the local language, nor have a job? Where the society runs on who you know, and you dont know anyone? Where your children will one day be strangers in your own land to you, speaking a different language, with incomparably different worries and dreams than you had at their age, to the point you may not understand them at all? Who leaves family, friends, and support networks behind for a dream?
And who knows if we'll make it.
I think many failed olim fail because they keep one foot in either world, looking at the lights at both ends of the tunnel...the words in the song are prophetic in that regard - trying to leave the way you came in will only have you make all your mistakes again, in reverse order, as you return to where you were.
This is a fantastic teshuva metaphor as well, by the way.
So here is to diving headfirst, to "absorption" (I think the Hebrew term is so hilariously accurate, in that Israeli blunt way), to making it to the other end of the tunnel. And to breathing...and maybe, even, perhaps, sleeping.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Rosh HaShana Musings
There is something that feels arbitrary about Rosh HaShana, as if it intrudes into our minds during the last days of summer.
Especially for me this year, as the momentous occasion of our aliyah has superseded a good portion of my consciousness of time this past year. Much effort and time has been spent on this move; it is not an exaggeration to say it has been a year long process. It isnt over yet, either.
But while the changing from one year to another may feel arbitrary in some aspects, in others it feels concrete, almost as if it imposes itself on daily life; the furtive cry of "Ura yisheinim mishinat'chem" in the shofar blasts its way past the hevlei hazman we get lost in, asserting a measure of reality over the pitiful self contained bubbles we tend to mistake as being real.
Here is to wishing for health, wealth, love, wisdom, knowledge, peace, and growth in all things, for all of Yisrael. And most of all, here is a fervent and heartfelt wish that we all know and renew our commitment to HaShem and the relationship we have with Him.
Especially for me this year, as the momentous occasion of our aliyah has superseded a good portion of my consciousness of time this past year. Much effort and time has been spent on this move; it is not an exaggeration to say it has been a year long process. It isnt over yet, either.
But while the changing from one year to another may feel arbitrary in some aspects, in others it feels concrete, almost as if it imposes itself on daily life; the furtive cry of "Ura yisheinim mishinat'chem" in the shofar blasts its way past the hevlei hazman we get lost in, asserting a measure of reality over the pitiful self contained bubbles we tend to mistake as being real.
Here is to wishing for health, wealth, love, wisdom, knowledge, peace, and growth in all things, for all of Yisrael. And most of all, here is a fervent and heartfelt wish that we all know and renew our commitment to HaShem and the relationship we have with Him.
You saw my pain washed out in the rain
Broken glass, saw the blood run from my veins
But You saw no fault, no cracks in my heart
And You knelt beside my hope torn apart
But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view
We'll live a long life
So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
'Cause oh that gave me such a fright
But I will hold as long as You like
Just promise me we'll be alright
So lead me back, turn south from that place
And close my eyes to my recent disgrace
'Cause You know my call
And we'll share my all
And our children come and they will hear me roar
So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
'Cause oh that gave me such a fright
But I will hold as long as You like
Just promise me we'll be alright
But hold me still, bury my heart on the coals
And hold me still, bury my heart next to Yours
So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
'Cause oh that gave me such a fright
But I will hold on with all of my might
Just promise me we'll be alright
But the ghosts that we knew made us black and all blue
But we'll live a long life
And the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view
And we'll live a long life
Broken glass, saw the blood run from my veins
But You saw no fault, no cracks in my heart
And You knelt beside my hope torn apart
But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view
We'll live a long life
So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
'Cause oh that gave me such a fright
But I will hold as long as You like
Just promise me we'll be alright
So lead me back, turn south from that place
And close my eyes to my recent disgrace
'Cause You know my call
And we'll share my all
And our children come and they will hear me roar
So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
'Cause oh that gave me such a fright
But I will hold as long as You like
Just promise me we'll be alright
But hold me still, bury my heart on the coals
And hold me still, bury my heart next to Yours
So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
'Cause oh that gave me such a fright
But I will hold on with all of my might
Just promise me we'll be alright
But the ghosts that we knew made us black and all blue
But we'll live a long life
And the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view
And we'll live a long life
("Ghosts that We Knew", Mumford and Sons)
Here is to leaving those ghosts behind, to being lead back from that place, to being able to throw them off a cliff come Yom Kippur; here is to that long life, which all of Yisrael continues to hold on to with all our might. May we all hear HaShem tell us "my child, my beautiful child, I Promise all will be alright."
Of course, preparing (however belatedly) for Rosh HaShana in a Place that is under the watchful and longing Gaze of HaShem [eretz asher tamid einei elokecha ba] is extremely different than elsewhere. It feels different, viscerally so; there is an undercurrent of renewal and of Love in the air that one can almost taste if they look for it. Living in the gaze of your Lover's Eyes is so different than a long distance relationship, after all. <Sorry for another Mumford and Sons reference here, but their music has a wonderful element of Teshuva in it. It is self aware, it is conscious, and it is reflective.>
Well, love was kind for a time
Now just aches and it makes me blind
This mirror holds my eyes too bright
I can't see the others in my life
Were we too young? Our heads too strong?
To bear the weight of these lover's eyes.
'Cause I feel numb, beneath your tongue
Beneath the curse of these lover's eyes.
But do not ask the price I paid,
I must live with my quiet rage,
Tame the ghosts in my head,
That run wild and wish me dead.
Should you shake my ash to the wind
Lord, forget all of my sins
Oh, let me die where I lie
Neath the curse of my lover's eyes.
'Cause there's no drink or drug I've tried
To rid the curse of these lover's eyes
And I feel numb, beneath your tongue
Your strength just makes me feel less strong
But do not ask the price I paid,
I must live with my quiet rage,
Tame the ghosts in my head,
That run wild and wish me dead.
Should you shake my ash to the wind
Lord, forget all of my sins
Or let me die where I lie
Neath the curse of my lover's eyes.
And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow
Take my hand, help me on my way.
And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow
Take my hand, I'll be on my way.
And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow
Take my hand, help me on my way.
And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow
Take my hand, I'll be on my way.
("Lover's Eyes", Mumford and Sons)
We do walk slow, it has been over two thousand years and we have not yet fully found our way. And there has been much pain in learning and discovering ourselves and our mission - the price paid has been steep! But we continue to walk, continue to follow in Avraham Avinu's footsteps; Yisrael is they who are "hit'halech lifanai v'heyei tamim".
It is my dream that I, my family, our loved ones, and all of Klal Yisrael, have another year of walking, of learning, of discovering, of growing, of loving, and of Living.
Shana Tova from Jerusalem.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
A Tekes and a Snapshot of Israel
My dear brother in law was sworn into his battalion today. He is part of Nahal, and as such, swears in at the Kotel Plaza. Since, as darling wife, his parents live in the US, we went along to be there for him on this momentous occasion in his life.
We arrived late, as we had to meet up with grandmother in law at the Tachana Merkazit and then sit on the 1 bus as it meandered through black and white Jerusalem on its way to the Kotel, where it ran smack into traffic and took 25 minutes to make it from the road around the Old City to Sha'ar Ha'ashpot. By the time we made it, the soldiers were in their "chet" formation (doorway shaped, for those non-Hebrew speakers), the music was playing, and the formation was surrounded (mobbed may be a more accurate term) by family and onlookers. We settled in a few feet behind the throng.
Many people spoke. I wish I knew who, but the emcee spoke too fast for me to make out the individual words. I assume most were commanders, generals, and the like.
Different speakers said different things, but one stood out, to me. He ended his speech to the soldiers with a blessing - he repeated Birkat Kohanim, and Hamalach. His voice was full of emotion; understanding that not all the assembled boys in green are necessarily going to make it home in one piece, and hearing the plaintive plea "yivarechicha HaShem viyishmirecha...ya'er haShem panav eilecha vichuneka...yisa haShem panav eilecha viyasem lecha shalom. Hamalach Hagoel oti mikol ra, yivarech et ha'ne'arim viyikarei bahem sh'mi, u'v'shem avotai Avraham v'Yitzchak...." my eyes teared a little. A secular army, yet so connected, in a visceral way, to the underpinnings of the Jewish enterprise of yore. It is one long story, one in which we all have our part...
Another speaker told the assembled soldiers that they are going to be given two weapons tonight. One was their rifle, and the other, their Tanach. The Tanach, he told them, is where they will learn the history of the Jews, their army, and the incredible prophecy of Yeshaya that has come true, where we have returned to our Land, proud and free. This is why we are here, why sometimes we must fight, and what we are fighting for.
The soldiers then were sworn in, their triplicate cries of "Ani Nishbah" echoing off the walls of the plaza. Then HaTikvah was played, and the crowd and soldiers sang along. I embarrassingly admit I do not know all the words, but when everyone sang "od lo avda tikvateinu..." again I teared; the proverbial man on the street, placing his children on the altar as Avraham did, only in green clothes and a chance he may not come down from that altar free, still sees this in the context of the 2000 years of Exile and the knowledge that we have now returned to our Land, to live as Jews, at last. And following this, as the soldiers received their Tanach and their rifle, they played "Shir Ha'maalot, esah einai..." in its entirety, twice. Each soldier, upon receiving his weapon, heard "Ezri me'im HaShem, oseh shamayim va'aretz". It was beautiful. It truly was.
And, I think, a snapshot of Israel as a whole. For it is far to easy to hide behind newspaper headlines, be they Ha'aretz or the Yated, and snipe at "them". It is easy to think you know how Am Yisrael is supposed to look, pray, act, or be. It is easy to denigrate, to put down, to find fault. But secular or religious, chiloni or dati, man, woman, child, all of Israel (both meanings intended) knows it is their Father in Heaven to Whom they direct their prayers, and in Whose image they walk, and Whose Mission they take part in. They stand as One as such, in knowing that the Nevi'im have spoken Truth, that we follow in their footsteps; that the One G-d is Our G-d, ezreinu me'im HaShem.
The Zohar has a funny sounding drashah it makes on the pasuk of "Mi K'amcha Yisrael goy Echad Ba'Aretz" - it simply sticks in a comma. Mi K'amcha Yisrael, (when? when they are) goy echad Ba'Aretz.
To see this, even if only in caricature form perhaps, is why I cried.
We arrived late, as we had to meet up with grandmother in law at the Tachana Merkazit and then sit on the 1 bus as it meandered through black and white Jerusalem on its way to the Kotel, where it ran smack into traffic and took 25 minutes to make it from the road around the Old City to Sha'ar Ha'ashpot. By the time we made it, the soldiers were in their "chet" formation (doorway shaped, for those non-Hebrew speakers), the music was playing, and the formation was surrounded (mobbed may be a more accurate term) by family and onlookers. We settled in a few feet behind the throng.
Many people spoke. I wish I knew who, but the emcee spoke too fast for me to make out the individual words. I assume most were commanders, generals, and the like.
Different speakers said different things, but one stood out, to me. He ended his speech to the soldiers with a blessing - he repeated Birkat Kohanim, and Hamalach. His voice was full of emotion; understanding that not all the assembled boys in green are necessarily going to make it home in one piece, and hearing the plaintive plea "yivarechicha HaShem viyishmirecha...ya'er haShem panav eilecha vichuneka...yisa haShem panav eilecha viyasem lecha shalom. Hamalach Hagoel oti mikol ra, yivarech et ha'ne'arim viyikarei bahem sh'mi, u'v'shem avotai Avraham v'Yitzchak...." my eyes teared a little. A secular army, yet so connected, in a visceral way, to the underpinnings of the Jewish enterprise of yore. It is one long story, one in which we all have our part...
Another speaker told the assembled soldiers that they are going to be given two weapons tonight. One was their rifle, and the other, their Tanach. The Tanach, he told them, is where they will learn the history of the Jews, their army, and the incredible prophecy of Yeshaya that has come true, where we have returned to our Land, proud and free. This is why we are here, why sometimes we must fight, and what we are fighting for.
The soldiers then were sworn in, their triplicate cries of "Ani Nishbah" echoing off the walls of the plaza. Then HaTikvah was played, and the crowd and soldiers sang along. I embarrassingly admit I do not know all the words, but when everyone sang "od lo avda tikvateinu..." again I teared; the proverbial man on the street, placing his children on the altar as Avraham did, only in green clothes and a chance he may not come down from that altar free, still sees this in the context of the 2000 years of Exile and the knowledge that we have now returned to our Land, to live as Jews, at last. And following this, as the soldiers received their Tanach and their rifle, they played "Shir Ha'maalot, esah einai..." in its entirety, twice. Each soldier, upon receiving his weapon, heard "Ezri me'im HaShem, oseh shamayim va'aretz". It was beautiful. It truly was.
And, I think, a snapshot of Israel as a whole. For it is far to easy to hide behind newspaper headlines, be they Ha'aretz or the Yated, and snipe at "them". It is easy to think you know how Am Yisrael is supposed to look, pray, act, or be. It is easy to denigrate, to put down, to find fault. But secular or religious, chiloni or dati, man, woman, child, all of Israel (both meanings intended) knows it is their Father in Heaven to Whom they direct their prayers, and in Whose image they walk, and Whose Mission they take part in. They stand as One as such, in knowing that the Nevi'im have spoken Truth, that we follow in their footsteps; that the One G-d is Our G-d, ezreinu me'im HaShem.
The Zohar has a funny sounding drashah it makes on the pasuk of "Mi K'amcha Yisrael goy Echad Ba'Aretz" - it simply sticks in a comma. Mi K'amcha Yisrael, (when? when they are) goy echad Ba'Aretz.
To see this, even if only in caricature form perhaps, is why I cried.
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