We are Jews First

An Israeli friend said to me, "This (Yom Hazikaron) is a very sad day for Israelis." 

So I said to him, "In the US (and I'm sure across the world), Jews commemorate Yom Hazikaron also. It's sad for us too, because we are all Jews first."

We're all Jews first and we forget that all the time.

We aren't American or Israeli or South African, or British, or Irish, or Greek or Spanish.

We aren't black hat, white kippa, kippa sruga, or black velvet.

We aren't shaitels, tichels, hats or bare headed.

We aren't democrats, republicans, leftists, right-winged, conservative or liberal.

We aren't them and us.

We are just Jews.

First and foremost, we share an incredible legacy and an incredible bond because we are brothers and sisters.

It's not that just Israelis were killed in the war, it's Jews that were killed.

We are Jews.

You and me.

And the guy next to us.

We are Jews.

You are hurting, so we are hurting.

Because we are all Jews.

No matter where we are in the world, what other values and beliefs we ascribe to and what other cultures we are part of.

We are all Jews.

You must not forget.

We are on the same side. Don't cut off your nose to spite your face.

Because, most importantly, we are Jews.

His name used to be"Ronnie"

I’m sitting here in my freezing, new and empty apartment, wrapped in a blanket and eating dried mango I just bought from the shuk. Tears are streaming down my face as I read the heart-wrenching stories from R’ Paysach Krohn’s book, In the Spirit of the Maggid. He marvels, in many of his stories, both tragic and joyous, how one small act or word changed someone’s life forever. I have experienced this phenomenon many times and speak about it in this poem I wrote a few years ago, and now in this story I want to share with you.

In the 1970’s my father and mother both became religious while they were in their early 20’s in Seattle. My father was born and raised in Seattle (in fact my Great-grandmother was as well) and my mother, originally from Chicago, came to Seattle in her early 20’s to live near her sister. My parents had both been involved with Chabad at the beginning of their process of becoming religious, but not long after had moved to NY and joined the community in Far Rockaway before returning to live in Seattle 10 years later. I never really thought much about their process of becoming religious and how life may have been very different if they had not become more observant.

About 30 years later, in 2005, after two years of seminary in Israel, I moved to NY and studied at Lander College for Women. I met a girl name Chani Raskin and we connected right away but it wasn’t until after a year or two of knowing each other I finally made it to her house one Friday night to join her family for Shabbat dinner. 

We were sitting around the table with her family, and her father starts asking me the usual ‘get-to-know-you’ questions about where I am from etc. I responded that I was from Seattle and he responded curiously, “Oh really?” “I was a bachur there on shlichus many years ago.”

  

I always get excited when I meet people who have been to Seattle so I respond, “How cool! When were you there and who do you remember?” 

It turns out that he was there in the mid-70’s at the same time that my parents were there and becoming religious. Since he was involved in Chabad I mentioned that my parents were both involved in Chabad a bit when they were becoming religious. 

Now it was his turn to get excited, “Who are your parents? What is your last name?” I tell him my family name and he says, “Wow that sounds so familiar! What is your father’s name? So I reply, “Isaac Velvel but he used to go by his English name, Ronnie/Ronald.” 

His response still gives me chills when I think about it.

WOW, “he astounds, I remember your father! I kashered his first kitchen! 

My eyes started tearing up as it hit me; I was sitting there as a religious girl, studying in an Orthodox college at the table of the man who kashered my Dad’s first kitchen. A man who saw the beginning of my Dad’s journey of re-connecting to God, and may have even been someone who encouraged and motivated him to continue learning Torah, is now seeing the “result”. All of the sudden I saw what could have been and what was; my dad became religious and now here I am, religious too. If my Dad had not become religious, I may not even exist, let alone be sitting at my friend’s Shabbat table in Crown Heights. The incredible amount of divine providence involved in every detail that led up to that moment felt literally awesome. And for my friend’s dad to see the product, so to speak, of the work he did in Seattle 30 years before - how powerful.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this story recently. Of the deep connections we make and the powerful impact we have, even when we are unaware. It is incredibly difficult to live life being constantly conscious of what we are saying, to whom we are speaking, what we can do for someone and how we can make an impact. But, as you can see from this story, we have no idea how far-reaching our words and actions are. If you would have told my dad and this young bachur in the 1970’s that their daughters would become friends at an Orthodox college in New York, I’m sure they would have laughed. 

But look who’s laughing now?

Strangers? I think not.

This morning I sat by myself at breakfast this morning speeding through the pre-conference survey for the Muslim-Jewish Conference until I got up to the part that asked questions about how I interact with Muslims. I have NO idea, I thought, I’ve never really interacted with Muslims before. Anyone that knows me will tell you I will talk to any stranger (much to my grandmother’s chagrin) but I started getting nervous; is there a specific way I’m supposed to interact with Muslims, am I going to say something offensive? I looked around the room and saw women with hijabs and men with traditional Muslim garb and thought, oh shoot, I should have been more prepared. 

But then we started talking; one conversation after another, and then we shared a joke and connected over trying to find flat water in a country of carbonation (and potatoes). And after an intense day of speaking about sensitive and emotionally charged issues, both on a collective and individual level, and scouting out the local pubs in Bratislava, these survey questions are no longer relevant. I learned, yet again, that humanity is universal and people are people everywhere.

Amidst our visual differences lies a human soul, a human spirit, and a human psyche that has experienced joy, pain, loss, suffering, challenges, happiness, ecstasy, peace, turmoil, humility, embarrassment, shame, guilt, loneliness, misery, depression, sadness, goodness, times of plenty and times of lacking, spirituality, anger, rebellion and much, much more.

I won’t pretend that in one day we solved the world’s problems, or that I now know everything about Muslims and I no longer have any stereotypes, but I can tell you about the people I met. The people who are kind, interesting, wise, open and warm. The people who share my sense of humor and sarcasm and can laugh at themselves. The people who can speak honestly and respectfully, who are curious and genuine and who are here to make a human connection with people who are truly foreign to them.

So next time I’m meeting a new person I won't be fooled by the language they speak or the clothing that they wear, because underneath it all we are both speaking the same language; the language of the human experience, the language of the soul.

P.s. Savta, some strangers are okay :) 

That was just my stomach talking

I just wanted to get lunch. But the sidewalk was crowded with protestors, and barricades because of the protestors. "Anarchists, is what they call themselves," one policeman said, "we're here because of potential looting and vandalism."

"Great, a bunch of aimless hippies and hooligans who are wasting MY tax payer dollars on police force, and for what?" I grumbled.

But that was just my stomach talking.

And as the protests went on I ranted to a friend, "I agree with their message, but they are so scattered and they aren't fighting for something specific. They have no action plan!"

Who was that, making those cynical comments about activists?? I didn't recognize myself as I touted my nose at them.

But tonight, they sparked my soul.

I just wanted to get to the subway and go home. But there were thousands of people in the streets; protestors, journalists, spectators and police, who were yelling, singing, handing out newspapers and fliers, and chanting. And as I walked those 10 blocks filled with thousands of  hippies, business men and women, activists, students, doctors and mothers who just want justice, I remembered my soul.

Every day I go to work to help create a more just world and everyday I forget that we live in a world full of people who are struggling and suffering. I get caught up in the stresses and busy-ness of life and work, I get caught up with e-mails and logistics and I forget the fight. I forget who we are fighting for, what we are fighting for and why we are fighting!

And these hippies and hooligans; they filled me in.

We are fighting for the people. For us. For our families. For the children we don't yet have.

We are fighting because we are human and our greatest need is to unite with others, survive and actualize.

We are fighting because we care and because the world needs our passion.

We are fighting because there's a world of generosity and kindness waiting to erupt.

We are fighting because a world of greed and lies is poison.

We will fight today, tomorrow and even after the protestors go home.

Because we know deep inside that something's not right.

My stomach has quieted and my soul is now yelling.

Will you care?

Will you join the fight?

Invisible Heroes

It felt historic. The cavernous walls, the sweet scent of incense and the warm candles danced off the room creating the perfect ambiance as everyone took a seat and greeted one another. The air was rich with kind and eager eyes as Ilan Sibony, owner of Darna, spoke to us and I felt everyone's guards begin to fall away. Ilan explained to us that his dream for his restaurant was to be a home, "for all those who dream about a true peace between ourselves and our neighbors." What better place to bring together people who are so courageously fighting for peace?

 Just 30 minutes earlier we had walked into Mamilla hotel lobby and were greeted with a mixture of "Shalom" and "Hello" from the group of men standing there. The group was comprised of 1 Rabbi, 5 Jewish Israeli soldiers, 4 not Jewish American soldiers, the Attorney General of Washington State, the First Gentleman (the Governor's husband), the Director of Veterans Association of Washington State and his wife who is a bodyguard for the Governor of Washington.

 Then there was us.

My aunt, Paula Begoun, who is an incredible firehouse of a woman, was sponsoring a dinner for Hope for Heroism, an organization that helps wounded Israeli soldiers heal their physical and emotional wounds and piece their lives back together.

 Passing by any of these unsung heroes on the street, one would ever know what they have done and what they continue to do for their country. There was no pretense, there were no false cheers or placating; there were just people trying to connect and understand one another, creating a true feeling of brotherhood between people, who from face value, couldn't be more different. But here we all were, breaking bread and sharing stories, advice and blessings, at a Moroccan restaurant in Jerusalem.

 The soldiers began to speak and my heart did as well:

 My heart broke as the soldiers described how they had to fight for their benefits once they left the army, either because they were injured or because their service was up.

 My heart raged as they explained that they had to get proof that they were injured with letters from their superiors and their doctors and tests and more.

 My heart cried as they described the loneliness and pain of living with PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) at a time that no one knew what it was.

My heart cried again when they spoke of returning to a home where no one understood what they had gone through, who called them lazy and good for nothings demanding, "What's the matter with you?”

They felt their sense of manhood and sense of self wither away day by day.

But then my heart rejoiced when I saw a room of soldiers, politicians, civilians and rabbis from all religions and ethnicities unite over a shared experience, as their guards came down, religious difference were swept aside and all that remained was their humanity and their longing to be whole and to heal.

 As an American, and a Jew I have immense amount of gratitude to both the countries that I call my home.

Everyone in the world should have immense amount of gratitude to any army that is fighting evil and uprooting destructive forces. Even if it's not in your neighborhood, it reverberates throughout the world. Even if you don't support the actions, we must support the men and women who, too often and literally, sacrifice their lives so we can live in a safer world.

 It is so easy to forget that we are at war and that there are people every day, people who are mothers and fathers, wives and husbands, sons and daughters who are fighting for us; for our safety, for our peace of mind and for our lives.

When they come home from war is the time our support is needed most. For many people who can no longer serve, who are disabled in their early 20's, a time when most others are at their physical prime, we need to remember that it is because of them that we can sleep at night. It is because of them that we can send our children to school and know they will be safe and it is because of them that we can live.

 Next time you get upset about the war and want to complain, instead, say a kind word to a neighbor, smile at a stranger, give your seat to someone who looks weak, or make peace with a relative.

These brave men and women are giving their lives to bring peace in the world; at least let's support them in that.

Cinco Pesos?

Tienes cinco pesos?

Que?

Cinco pesos.

That's all he wanted.

5 pesos.

The young boy of 11 had seen us arriving in the wooden row boat and had come running. His face was serious and curious and his eyes followed our every movement as we got out of the boat and walked towards our car.

Cinco pesos. It's less than 5 cents.

I only had a few big bills in my hand that I needed to give to our guides who took us to Los Haitises so I said in my broken Spanish, "No tengo. Es por hombres."

As I walked back to the car I felt his eyes pore through my back. I wanted so badly to give him something so when I got to the car I sifted through my bag and found a one dollar bill.

My flip-flops shuffled through the unpaved lot and I kept eye contact as I approached the boy.

I reached out my hand and asked, "Quieres es?"

What a beautiful smile he had.

I have never seen someone's face light-up the way this young boy's did and I have never seen one dollar mean so much to anyone.

It was bittersweet and I felt both enlivened and saddened that I had the power to transform this boy's day with one dollar bill.

This is tragic.

This is poverty.

Back to Basics

*
While walking in Central Park I was struck for the first time in my life by the beauty and blessing in the lack of color that the winter months bring to the world. The winter allows us a break from the intense sensory stimulation of the other months in a lot of ways and gives us the opportunity and reminds us to move away from our distractions and re-focus our minds, hearts and souls.


The sky and ground are white and the trees are brown and bare

Stillness and simplicity mark the world of winter

"Stop," it says

The distractions are gone, it's time pay attention

There are no luscious, green swaying trees or magnificent, brightly hued flowers to marvel at

There are no dogs barking on the street or the squeals of children playing in the bright sun

There is just you

Your steamy breath

Your careful steps

Your silent thoughts

Walk carefully over the white powder so you don't slip

And make sure to breathe the fresh air as you walk out the door

It's time to get back to the basics of breathing and walking

To find peace and stillness within as there is peace and stillness without

To once again become centered within yourself

So you can grow from within instead of reacting from without

Use the silence to reconnect

Just breathe and walk back to your basics