As we say in this neck of the desert, life is something something...
I once told an Israeli friend of mine who relocated to the US about some of the Jewish traditions that I grew up with, and he later admitted to me that there was one he hadn't quite believed, until he saw it for himself.
So, what will you be eating on Christmas Day?
Last Saturday afternoon, following a tiring-yet-fulfilling day of wandering around fortresses and waterfalls in the North, I suddenly found myself feeling envious of my blogging pal Benji. Why was I harboring such feelings towards such an upstanding fellow, you ask? Okay. Picture this scene in your mind. You're sitting in the car with your loved ones, heading home from an excursion chock-full of the sights, sounds and smells of the Hermon region. Your mind is all a-jumble, as you think about Nimrod Fortress, the Banias nature reserve and waterfall, the deliciously cold mango slurpee you drank earlier, and the perfectly-timed iced coffee you're drinking now. The day was a success, and you can't help but wonder how it could get any better. And then it does. The radio station that you're listening to starts broadcasting an hour-long tribute to Naomi Shemer, and all of your old favorite songs are suddenly being played one after another.
Seriously. What could be better than spending your time with the words and music of the late Naomi Shemer, one of Israel's most popular and talented songwriters? Who hasn't heard "Yerushalayim Shel Zahav" ("Jerusalem of Gold"), or "Al Kol Eileh" ("For all these Things")? This prolific song writer, who passed away in the summer of 2004, played a definitive role in shaping the Israeli music scene, with her songs often reflecting the national mood of the day. Her music has accompanied Israelis through good times and bad, and her tunes have been sung by Israeli artists from all musical genres.
The clip below shows the Israeli singing group The Dudaim (Yisrael Gurion and the late Benny Amdursky) singing of one of my favorite Naomi Shemer songs. The title is "Tilbeshi Lavan" (You will wear White), and the first verse and chorus are translated as:
This summer you will wear white
You'll think clear thoughts
Perhaps you will receive a love letter
Perhaps we will make choices.
I will choose you and you will choose me
And together we'll mostly be
If this summer you will wear white
And pray for good.
I have spent a fair amount of time during the last week-and-a-half reflecting on our recent trip, thinking about various moments and highlights, mentally rehashing certain experiences as one often does after returning from vacation. There were two events in particular that stand out, each one positively reinforcing my connection to Israel, yet so different from one another. The first one occurred during our flight from Atlanta to Sarasota. I was beyond exhausted, having not slept much on the flight from Israel, and having successfully navigated US customs and Atlanta's massive airport, not to mention successfully keeping the Little One entertained enough so that he fell asleep in my arms shortly before boarding the plane. The flight was full, and our seatmate waited patiently while I got the Little One settled, carefully propping him against the pile of blankets I'd managed to acquire and stack against the window. He even offered to move to another seat so that we'd have more room, and after I assured him that this would be unnecessary, we fell into the usual airplane banter that is so often marked by the knowledge that, in all likelihood, you will never see the person again, nor will you even go so far as to exchange names. He asked where we were from, which inevitably defined the direction our conversation would take, for our seatmate turned out to be a card-carrying member of the unconditional-love-for- Israel Christian right (and a firefighter to boot, which of course led to the Little One – once he woke up – referring to our seatmate as Sam).
What began as an ordinary, in-flight conversation with a stranger led to a fascinating exchange of ideas and experiences as he shared his convictions and I told him about life in Israel. He's never been here, but desperately wanted to visit, to see his belief system come alive, to see that which he'd only heard about, to commune with history. He told me of his great respect and love for Ariel Sharon and shared his opinions about Israel's current state of affairs vis a vis her neighbors. As a result of his religious beliefs, I actually found him to be more "pro-Israel" than many of the Israelis I know, and certainly more in favor of many of Israel's policies than I am. Despite his unwavering attitude that Israel could seemingly do no wrong, it was more than a little refreshing to meet someone who "got it", someone who didn't force me to defend my country, someone who understood that Israelis are not warmongering aggressors out to take over the region, and that neighboring countries are not simply innocent victims of Israeli aggression, that the situation is far more complex than many would have you believe.
The hour-long flight passed quickly and pleasantly, and while I desperately wanted our long journey to end, I was also a little sorry when this particular segment was over. I had enjoyed the company of our seatmate, who disappeared as we were getting ourselves ready to get off the plane. While we obviously didn't agree on every point (after all, living here on a daily basis, it is becoming increasingly more difficult to love my country unconditionally), and had we discussed other hot topics we might have come to blows, when it came down to it, I liked the guy. It was nice to talk to someone who passionately loved Israel instead of passionately hating it. I suddenly felt that maybe it wasn't so crazy to live here, that there are indeed those who do not believe that we should not exist, or even not have a right to exist. Despite my exhaustion, I was pleased that I had managed to stay awake during the flight and engage an anonymous young firefighter in conversation.
Israel's Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers and Victims of Terror fell towards the end of our trip. It felt strange knowing that I wouldn't be commemorating it in Israel, as I don't believe I've ever missed it in all of my years living here. For me, the day is special, a day of reflection and remembrance, a day when I feel connected to my fellow citizens as we collectively go through a state of mourning, even though it is one that has, to some extent, been imposed upon us (see Lisa's Memorial Day posts here and here, with the latter including a brief video taken during the siren). I imagine it would have been especially poignant this year, given that it would have been the first Memorial Day following the war last summer, and I wondered how I would commemorate the day while in the Diaspora. I was pleased when I discovered that the local Jewish Federation (in conjunction with another Israel-related group) would be holding a ceremony to commemorate Israel's Memorial Day. It was interesting to observe, as those in attendance were mostly from two distinct groups – elderly American Jews who have retired to Florida, and young Israelis and their families who had left Israel, but had chosen to remain connected. The program was led by the local Israeli emissary, and aside from one bizarre, rather long-winded rant given by one of the elderly American Jews (who I assume plays some prominent role in the local Jewish community), the events were rather well-done, if not a little frustrating for those who couldn't understand the Hebrew captions in the video clips that had been taken straight from Israeli television. We stood in silence, we sang meaningful songs, we watched as pictures of the fallen were projected onto the large screen at the front of the room. We said the mourners' prayer, sang Hatikvah, and then a break was taken in order to get the room ready for the next part of the evening – Israeli folk dancing and food to celebrate Israel's Independence Day, which begins at sundown at the end of Memorial Day.
I'm glad I went, but I felt a bit odd nonetheless. I felt like I didn't belong to either group in attendance, yet at the same time, I felt connected to both. To some I was Israeli, while to others I was American. I inexplicably found myself wanting to somehow let the Israelis know that I was "one of them", but was I really, or would they just have seen me as an American who lives in Israel, despite the fact that I have been here for so long, speak the language fluently, and feel that I have successfully integrated? I suppose this comes down to the very core of the expat experience, and knowing that I will always feel the draw of the other, no matter where I find myself. That night, due to the nature of the event, I imagine that I felt more connected to my Israeli side than to my American side, but given the circumstances at hand, I strangely did not feel completely at home with either. I assume this had something to do with the fact that aside from my parents and my son, I didn't really know anyone there, and no one really knew me. I did, however, run into someone I'd met before.
The last time we visited Florida was two years ago. The day after we arrived, my parents took us a beach known as South Lido Park. While we were unwrapping our sandwiches, two people approached from the parking lot, staking out the tables next to ours. As luck would have it, the people were speaking in Hebrew. Within about twenty minutes, we found ourselves exchanging pleasantries with a group of 15-20 Israelis and their partners/families, all of whom, live in Sarasota. It was a surprisingly enjoyable afternoon (and, incidentally, the only time during our entire stay that I felt comfortable nursing the Little One in public, knowing that those around me wouldn't look at me strangely, or even look at me at all), as we all chatted and laughed, and even drank Turkish coffee, which they had in abundant supply. Apparently, we made quite an impression, as one of the women in attendance (an American married to an Israeli) at the Memorial Day ceremony remembered having met me on the beach, two years ago. So very Israeli.
As you have probably noticed, there was no 80s Music Video Sunday today, and I'm guessing that some of you are a bit disappointed. We were away for the weekend and only returned a few hours ago, and though I could probably cobble something together, I've decided not to post, given that Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers and Victims of Terror begins Sunday evening in Israel, and it just seems wrong to post a peppy little 80s song on such a solemn occasion. This is the first year since I moved to Israel more than 15 years ago that I've not been there to commemorate Memorial Day or to celebrate Israel's Independence Day, which begins Monday evening at sundown, and it feels strange. We will, however, be going to an Israeli Independence Day celebration tomorrow at the local Jewish community center, and Memorial Day will be noted as well.
We've generally been having a good trip, and as usual, there's a part of me that doesn't want to return to Israel later this week. The Little One (who has tried my patience on almost a daily basis) is speaking mostly in English these days, albeit with an Israeli accent. We spent the weekend visiting with my brother and his family, and the Little One managed to utterly charm his young cousins, one of whom could not stop talking about how cute he was (she called him "cutie buns") and how all she wanted to do was to hold him and squeeze him. It was all rather adorable, and he kept crying her name for a good part of the trip back home to Grandma and Grandpa's house.
We've seen lots of animals and reptiles (mostly in various aquariums and other such establishments), played in the majority of playgrounds around the city, eaten rather well (the Little One immensely enjoyed the boneless spareribs after we told him that it was chicken), and done a fair amount of shopping (though of course, there's more to be done).
Oh, and I'm very, very tired. I've also developed an even greater respect for stay-at-home- and single parents. I don't know how you do it folks. I love my son to bits, but if I had to do this all the time, I think I'd lose it. I'm absolutely full of admiration for people who can do this, and a bit frustrated because I know I can't. As much as I'd like to stay here, I'm really looking forward to getting back to my husband and allowing him to spend some quality time with the Little One, while allowing me to spend some quality time with myself.
In any event, it is now nearly 9pm, and I've got phone calls to make and a small child to bathe. This week will be hectic, but normal blogging will resume next week.
I've always enjoyed Latin and Spanish music, whether it be salsa (and I even tried to learn how to salsa dance during my university days, but alas, I have no rhythm), Cuban music, Spanish musicians such as Alejandro Sanz or Estopa, the music of Juanes, and, during the summer camp years, Puerto Rican boy band Menudo, which played a pivotal role in launching the career of Ricky Martin.
Here in South Florida, Spanish is everywhere, whether it be ethnic restaurants, Spanish names, Spanish-speaking television and radio stations. I hear Spanish being spoken at the parks, and on many occasions, the elegant women working in the department stores speak Spanish-accented English. In the same way that one can get by in Israel speaking only in English, one can easily get by in parts of South Florida speaking only in Spanish.
As I'm trying to keep to the South Florida/US theme in my postings these days, my natural inclination for 80s Music Video Sunday is to incorporate music that is undeniably connected to the local music scene. For me, there is no one who better represents this theme than Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine. I've always been a fan of Gloria Estefan. I really like her music, and am impressed by her strength as a person. She's a talented singer, dancer and business woman. She sings in Spanish and English, and I love it all. Today's song takes me back to a winter weekend convention on the grounds of one of my old youth group's summer camp, when during a break in the proceedings, someone put this song on, causing us to spontaneously break out into a large conga line and dance around the building while the snow fell outside. Good memories...
Conga
Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga
I know you can't control yourself any longer
Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga
I know you can't control yourself any longer.
Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga
I know you can't control yourself any longer
Feel the rhythm of the music getting stronger
Don't you fight it till you've tried it
Do the conga beat
Everybody gather 'round now
let your body feel the heat.
Don't you worry if you can't dance
let the music move your feet.
It's the rhythm of the island
and like sugarcane, so sweet.
If you want to do the conga
you've got to listen to the beat.
Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga
I know you can't control yourself any longer
Feel the rhythm of the music getting stronger
Don't you fight it till you've tried it
Do the conga beat.
Feel the fire of desire
as you dance the night away.
'Cos tonight we're gonna party
till we see the break of day.
Better get yourself together
and hold on to what you got.
Once the music hit your system
there's no way you're gonna stop.
Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga
I know you can't control yourself any longer
Feel the rhythm of the music getting stronger
Don't you fight it till you've tried it
Do the conga beat.
Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga
I know you can't control yourself any longer
Feel the rhythm of the music getting stronger
Don't you fight it till you've tried it, do the conga
Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga
I know you can't control yourself any longer
Feel the rhythm of the music getting stronger
Don't you fight it till you've tried it
Do the conga beat
Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga
We've been ensconsed in American life for approximately 52 hours, and the culture shock is palpable. So many television commercials! And hey! Why are there commercials for adult party phone lines on Nickelodeon during the day? We haven't been to Target. We've been to Super Target. Seriously! It's really called Super Target! Because regular Target just isn't big enough, I guess. The place is massive. I've already been to two supermarkets, and the sheer variety of products and brands has left me dumbfounded.
The flight was surprisingly not nightmarish. The Little One slept for eight out of thirteen hours (having managed to stay awake until the plane started to taxi down the runway in preparation for takeoff), and the rest of the time was spent reading and playing. At one point he told me that he wanted to get off the plane, but other than that, he was quite the little trooper. I actually apologized to one of the flight attendants for his behavior and she responded with, "he was good. Trust me." By the way, for those of you flying from Israel to the southern US, you should definitely consider Delta's direct flight from Tel Aviv to Atlanta. The service was excellent (everyone was so nice and so incredibly helpful!), the food surprisingly good, and the entertainment system kept me thoroughly entertained.
I drank my first cup of Starbucks coffee at the airport in Atlanta. Aside from being surprised to see that my medium-sized latte was larger than any large coffee that one can find in Israel, I was saddened to discover that what my husband and some of my friends had been saying was indeed correct. The coffee was nowhere near as good as the coffee in Israel. It didn't seem to bother anyone else in the terminal, though, as everyone seemed to be walking around with large cups of Starbucks coffee, and the garbage bins were full of empty Starbucks cups. They do, however, make a lovely chocolate chip scone, and I don't envy the person responsible for cleaning the area where the Little One ate his precious scone.
We've had an easy few days so far, aside from the jetlag and the fact that the Little One is barely speaking any English, chattering away to everyone in Hebrew, not at all bothered by the fact that almost no one understands him (he's even gone so far as to repeat answers in Hebrew, saying them louder and more slowly after his grandparents told him that they didn't understand). We've visited with friends, gone to a birthday party and made some new friends, and I've even managed to do a little shopping, after the Little One went down for an afternoon nap. The Official Shopping Count stands at two pairs of capri pants and one short-sleeved shirt (and sorry, NRG, but they're all in my "usual" colors. I did try on a red top, but it bunched funny under the arms...).
So, in honor of our trip to the US, today's 80s Music Video Sunday entry is devoted to an artist who I find to be quintessentially, unquestionably American. Our rocker was born in the USA, in the state of New Jersey. I've always been a Bruce Springsteen fan, and really enjoy his tunes from the 80s. Oh, and a gold star goes to the first person to name the girl dancing with Springsteen in the video below.
Dancing in the Dark
Bruce Springsteen
I get up in the evening
And I ain't got nothing to say
I come home in the morning
I go to bed feeling the same way
I ain't nothing but tired
Man, I'm just tired and bored with myself
Hey there baby I could use just a little help
You can't start a fire
You can't start a fire without a spark
This gun's for hire
Even if we're just dancing in the dark
Message keeps getting clearer
Radio's on and I'm moving 'round the place
I check my look in the mirror
I wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face
Man, I ain't getting nowhere just living in a dump like this
There's something happening somewhere
Baby I just know that there is
You can't start a fire
You can't start a fire without a spark
This gun's for hire
Even if we're just dancing in the dark
You sit around getting older
There's a joke here somewhere and it's on me
I'll shake this world off my shoulders
Come on baby the laugh's on me
Stay on the streets of this town
And they'll be carving you up all right
They say you gotta stay hungry
Hey baby I'm just about starving tonight
I'm dying for some action
I'm sick of sitting 'round here trying to write this book
I need a love reaction
Come on now baby gimme just one look
You can't start a fire sitting 'round crying over a broken heart
This gun's for hire
Even if we're just dancing In the dark
You can't start a fire worrying about your little world falling apart
This gun's for hire
Like many of my like-minded friends, I find myself becoming tired - overwhelmed, even - by the way that Israel is always being portrayed in the news. It is exhausting to see the constant stream of bad press because of our actions in the Territories, our behavior at checkpoints, targeted assassinations etc. It is frustrating, because I know that we are capable of so much more than these acts of violence and humiliation, and that there are so many other faces that we can be showing to the world, which is why it was so refreshing to come across this article in Haaretz today, proving once again all that Israel is so much more than just an oppressor of Palestinians. Envoy to El Salvador recalled, reportedly found naked, drunk According to reports, two weeks ago San Salvador police approached a man that seemed to be in need of help. Upon reaching the man, they discovered that he was inebriated, his hands were tied, his mouth was gagged with a rubber ball and he was carrying accessories that implied he had been involved in sexual activity. In spite of his inebriated state, the naked man identified himself by his full name and explained that he is Israel's ambassador to the country.
By Haaretz Service
The Foreign Ministry recalled Israel's ambassador to El Salvador,
Tzuriel Refael, after he was reportedly found on the street naked, drunk, bound and gagged, Israel Radio reported on Monday.
Over latte in Ramat Gan with one of my favorite local bloggers this week, I came to the conclusion that the Arab-Israeli conflict is similar to the abortion issue, in that those who fervently believe they are on the side of God simply cannot accept the validity of the beliefs of those who are on the other side, and feel the need to portray the "Godless" individuals in the most negative way possible. Consider the terminology. When the anti-abortion camp defines itself as being "pro-life", it broadcasts to the rest of the world the implication that those in the pro-abortion camp must be "anti-life", when this is clearly not the case. Being in favor of a woman's right to make her own decisions regarding her body does not make me anti-life any more than being in favor of a two-state solution for Israel and the Palestinians makes me anti-Israel.
There are many who would have you believe otherwise, would have you believe that my ilk and I are the greatest threat to Israel's existence as a sovereign state. We are called "stupid", "ignorant" and "naive", to name but a few of the terms often used against us, or we are gently reprimanded for "not understanding" the situation at hand, as though our beliefs reflect a lack of knowledge and experience rather than having opted for a different path. The name-calling and bullying tactics are pathetic, a reflection of the insecurities felt by some with regard to their own identities. Otherwise, why would they feel the need to resort to such childish antics when faced with an opinion with which they don't agree? As I've mentioned on other occasions (and if I haven't, I should have), I am always shocked by the degree of petty viciousness with which those of us who are opposed to the occupation and in favor of a just, two-state solution are regularly attacked, whether it be a full-on attack in any one of a variety of forums, or through periodic, thinly veiled barbs that may seem innocuous to others, but obvious to us.
As for the desire to convince us that if we only knew better, we'd surely see the light, well, suffice it to say that I find this scenario far more troubling, as I refuse to be treated as a child who thoughts and ideas are deemed inconsequential by those who claim to know better. Making the situation even more absurd is that many of the more critical individuals do not even live in Israel (or do not have any direct ties to the country), popping up to throw in their passionate two cents before returning to their own lives, with either little or no actual comprehension of the intricate facts on the ground. Ironically, these same people who judge from abroad, claiming to know what is happening in my own backyard far better than I, make the irrational assumption that because I am in Israel, I have no concept of what is "really" going on in the rest of the world, or how the rest of the world views Israel, as though I do not have the very same access to global media as they do. We are keenly aware of what the world thinks of us, and more in touch with reality than you could possibly imagine, though perhaps it is not the reality of life in Israel and the Middle East that you choose to accept.
I am inclined to make another abortion comparison, as I watch people with no direct, vested interest in the situation (those living abroad) attempt to dictate the rules of the game for those of us whose lives will be directly affected by the outcome, often (though not always) invoking God and religion (as in "God promised this land to the Jews", and other such sentiments that are simply unrealistic in light of the fact that such an argument will not cause the Palestinians to pick up and leave en masse) to justify their need to be involved in matters that do not concern them. I am awed by the strident, almost militant, tones, the manner dismissive of all opinions that differ from their own, and the attempts to belittle and invalidate those who proffer such opinions, as though the opinions of those individuals directly affected by such decisions are irrelevant. Opposition to my life choices should not be anyone's cause celebre. Several of those on the right (though certainly not all) who live here are not much better, though obviously, the abortion comparison doesn't work in this case, as they have just as much of a right to their opinions as I do to mine.
It is rather telling when people who fail to see the occupation and subjugation of an entire people as a bad thing are the ones who consider me to be the radical, anti-Israel, self-hating Jew, don't you think?
I am a child of the 80s, a decade of contrasts. On the one hand, outstanding music (if you don’t like it, I don’t care), and on the other, fashion statements and hairstyles that would probably be best forgotten. I was reminded of both yesterday after discovering a wonderful link to hundreds of 80s music videos. I reminisced through viewings of Scritti Politti’s Perfect Way, singing along (quietly) to the Psychedelic Furs, and tapped my toes to And We Danced, by The Hooters, to name but a few. Aaaah, bliss. And of course, such joy is not limited to the music from my coming-of-age years, but also to the movies and the television shows of this gone-but-not-forgotten era. Who could forget such classics as The Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, and virtually every other Brat Pack film? What teenage girl didn’t envy Molly Ringwald for always beating the odds and getting the cute guy at the end? With half the population of the United States running around saying, “Whatchu talkin’ about, Willis?”, and the other half running around trying to figure out the words to “Pass the Dutchie” and “Come On Eileen”, the 80s were glory days indeed.
The 80s were happy, more innocent times, where no one worried about planes being flown into buildings, toxic white powder being sent through the post, or people not being able to accompany their loved ones to the airport gate. We wore our hideously loud, patterned (remember paisley?), oversized shirts with no fear, went preppie (remember the pink and green combo, Izod shirts with the collars up?) with no immediate concerns for our safety. They were good years for growing up. Our parents weren’t afraid to let us be outside after dark during lazy summers, nor were they worried when we wandered around the mall with friends, boys and girls eyeing each other over the 45s in the record store.
Oh, how the times have changed. Here I am, twenty years older and about a hundred years wiser, and to say that I’m troubled by the times in which we live would be an understatement. Today’s youth are far savvier than I could ever hope or want to be, robbed of their innocence at increasingly younger and younger ages. I long for the good old days, before violence became so normal, before drugs became so prevalent, before coffee became so expensive.
And now, it seems I may have to chance to go back, at least in a sense. Without me noticing, it seems that my twenty-year high school reunion has crept up on me, and will be held this summer. To my great fortune (though Husband is clearly less keen), it coincides with our annual trip to the US to visit family and friends, and I find myself greatly looking forward to the reunion events. I look forward to catching up with old friends, and to showing everyone how far I’ve come. I look forward to seeing how people have changed, who they’ve married, how they’re doing. I look forward to showing off my little family. Ever since the reunion was announced, there’s been a flurry of emails between old classmates, and the excitement is steadily growing. One thing that I find kind of scary is how many of them still live in the area where we grew up, how many of them are still friends who regularly spend time together. Some of them are parents of children who go to school together, and even run into each other at school sporting events. Some of them are high school sweethearts, miraculously still together twenty years later, which is just amazing.
I can’t wait to take this trip down memory lane, to remember the good times from my youth (while conveniently forgetting the bad times, of course!), to dance to the songs that we danced to twenty years ago, to laugh about simpler times and long gone bad hair days.
“What a long strange trip it’s been…”
I recently met up with my friend Helen, who was here visiting family in Israel. Helen currently finds herself in a rather strange – and very stressful – situation. When she is in Israel, she is an accepted member of the Jewish faith. When she is in her native England, she is not.
Quite a number of years ago, Helen converted to Judaism in Israel, a conversion that was accepted without question by the Israeli rabbinate. She married an Israeli and they lived together in Israel with two of their young sons (a third has since been born) for more than six years. Just over three years ago, Helen and her family relocated to England, and have been living there ever since, making annual trips to Israel to see family and friends and helping their sons to stay connected to their Israeli roots.
When Helen and her husband wanted to enroll their eldest son in the prestigious JFS school in London, the problems began. Her son was denied entry to the school because, they claimed, he wasn’t Jewish. Despite Helen’s successful conversion in Israel many years previously, London’s Chief Rabbi decided that Helen’s conversion was not acceptable, therefore rendering her sons gentiles. The family was shocked by the decision, especially as it seems to have been based on Helen’s Jewish practices since the conversion. Apparently, the rabbinate in Britain has decided that it’s simply not enough that the family only celebrates Jewish holidays and festivals, based on the traditions that they brought with them from Israel. Essentially these power-wielding, rabbinical pen-pushers have arbitrarily determined that an individual who chooses to convert to Judaism must be more religious than those who were born into the religion, otherwise, the conversion is deemed unkosher and invalid. How fortunate that those of us “lucky” enough to have been born Jewish are not subjected to the same assessments, as most Israelis would suddenly find themselves stripped of their Jewish identity, in much the same way as the unfortunate Sagal family, who must either continue their public battle to be recognized as Jews, or somehow try to explain to their young sons (one of whom was born during this whole ordeal, whose birth was the impetus for trying to resolve the issue as quickly as possible in order to determine whether or not he would be Jewish and allowing them to perform the brit milah (ritual circumcision).
If Helen had been converted in some vague, third-world country, perhaps I could understand the British Chief Rabbi’s reluctance to accept the conversion. I would even understand if it had been a Reform or Conservative conversion (though this would have angered me greatly, but discrimination against these popular streams of Judaism by the Orthodox is accepted in some circles, especially in Israel). What it comes down to, though, is that Rabbi Sacks has decided that an Orthodox conversion performed in Israel and approved by the Israeli rabbinate is not good enough for the British rabbinate, which is a very dangerous precedent indeed. As Helen responded when the man himself offered to personally oversee and guide her through a new conversion, “what if, following the conversion in England, she were to move to the US? What if the rabbinate in the US decided that the conversion performed by the British rabbinate wasn’t good enough for them? Would she have to convert yet again?” Helen tells me that the chief rabbi became quite indignant, unable to imagine that his conversion would not be acceptable elsewhere.
What makes this case even more disturbing is that approximately twelve years ago, when Helen's oldest son was born in London, this very same rabbinate that has now chosen to deny their Jewishness, authorized his brit milah, essentially accepting him into the Jewish faith, based on the fact that his mother was Jewish. This alarming discrepancy makes me highly suspicious, makes me wonder why they changed their minds nearly twelve years later. It also makes me think of a question with even farther-reaching connotations. Now that the rabbinate has decided that Helen isn't Jewish, does this mean that their marriage, performed by an Orthodox rabbi in Israel, is no longer valid in the eyes of the British rabbinate? As far as I am aware, Orthodox rabbis do not condone "intermarriage", let alone perform such unions, so it would be most interesting to hear the rabbinate's opinion on the status of Helen's marriage, performed in accordance with Orthodox traditions.
It doesn't come as a surprise that some people become so fed up with organized religion. When power plays between different religious bodies become personal, when arbitrary, highly suspect decisions play with the lives of others, when a young boy is suddenly forced to redefine his entire identity based on these events, it is no wonder that we become so disappointed, so disgusted, that the very thought of building a stronger connection is simply anathema.
Oh, and here's one last question, that I believe Helen has asked as well. If she is Jewish in Israel, but not Jewish in England, at what point during the journey does the transformation take place? Does it gradually begin once the plane has entered international air space, meaning that the transformation is not complete until the plane lands at its final destination, or is there one particular spot over which the transformation happens suddenly, sort of like passing over the international dateline or the equator? So, Rabbi Sacks, what's your take on this issue, hmmm?
When I booked the airline tickets, I hadn't realized that my plans to visit one of my college friends in New Orleans coincided with the NCAA's Final Four basketball tournament, also taking place in - where else - New Orleans. I don't remember my flight to Newark, so I'm guessing that it passed rather smoothly. That all changed with the connecting flight to New Orleans, though. The flight was overbooked. Seriously overbooked. There were also other problems. I can't recall what they are (hey, this goes back more than ten years!), but I do remember that they were serious enough that they considered canceling the flight. I'm sure you can imagine how well that news went over with a large number of sports fans (a number of whom were bookies - one of whom, I had the distinct "pleasure" to sit next to on the plane. He was involved in a variety of card games for the duration of the flight). In the end, we took off, and I made it to New Orleans, several hours late, but I got there.
I remember it being a beautiful, exciting city, with lots to see and do. I can remember having coffee and beignets at the Cafe Du Monde, right by the French Quarter. I tried my very first (and last) crayfish in the colorful marketplace. One end of it is really spicy - wish I'd known that before eating it, though was pleased to be able to provide entertainment for the locals. The food in New Orleans was spectacular, and needless to say, I ate quite well.
I was only there for the weekend, but I can still remember what a vibrant city New Orleans was, and what a wonderful time I had there. This makes it all the more difficult to see the horrible images being shown on television, following the devastation wrought by Hurricane Katrina across the Gulf of Mexico. It is truly frightening to watch, and absolutely heartbreaking to hear the stories of loss. Who could have imagined such utter destruction, where so many Americans are suddenly turned into refugees? The scale of the damage is simply incomprehensible.
I've got lots of family on both coasts in Florida, and while everyone has been really fortunately so far, they are certainly no strangers to these monster storms. Aside from intermittent power outages and broken tree branches, my family in Florida got away scott-free this time around - a nice change from last year's battering, but nevertheless, having family in the hurricane-prone areas has turned me into an avid storm watcher, and I have seen with my own eyes what these storms can do. Last Winter, we drove from family on the West Coast of the state to family on the East Coast. It was already several months after the end of the hurricane season - several months since the last deadly storm. Yet, during this drive down the highway, we saw electricity poles that had been snapped in two, towns where all buildings still had blue tarp covering them, as the roofs had still not been repaired. We saw highway road signs that had been destroyed, whole towns that had been destroyed. It was an arresting sight, to say the least. And now, this all pales in comparison to the destruction wrought by Katrina.
I heard on the news this morning that the mayor of New Orleans is saying that people may not be able to return to the city for six months or so, and it is difficult to fathom. And of course, we shouldn't forget that it's not only New Orleans, but also big parts of the rest of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, parts of the Florida Panhandle, etc. It is difficult to make a connection between the beautiful, lively city I once visited and what remains of that city today. May the waters recede as soon as possible, may the destroyed cities and towns repair and recover, and may the South rise up and return to its former glory.
