Ari Fuld, and Living it All on Loan

There is a Midrash on Proverbs 31:10, and it goes like this:

Beruriah was the learned and compassionate wife of Rabbi Meir. While Rabbi Meir was teaching on a Shabbat afternoon, both of his sons died from the plague that was affecting their city. When Rabbi Meir returned home, he asked his wife, “Where are our sons?” She handed him the cup for havdalah and he said the blessing. Again he asked, “Where are our sons?” She brought food for him, and he ate. When he had finished eating, Beruriah said to her husband, “My teacher, I have a question. A while ago, a man came and deposited something precious in my keeping. Now he has come back to claim what he left. Shall I return it to him or not?” Meir responded, “Is not one who holds a deposit required to return it to its owner?” So she took his hand and led him to where their two children lay. He began to weep, crying “My sons, my sons.” She comforted him, “The Lord gave, the Lord took. Y’hei sh’mei rabah mevorach, May the Name of the Lord be blessed…”

I bookmarked the discussion of this particular midrash this past Shabbat as I finished up If All the Seas Were Ink by Ilana Kurshan. It felt so powerful to me, the discussion of how all that we have is merely on loan from HaShem. 

Even further is a discussion in the sixth chapter of Berachot over the blessings over foods. At once it attempts to reconcile the fact that "the heavens are the Lord's and the fullness thereof, the earth and its inhabitants" (Psalms 24:1) and that "the heavens belong to God and the earth was given to men" (Psalms 115:16). While later Rabbi Hanina bar Papa says, "All who benefit from this world without first staying blessing are as if they are stealing from the Holy One Blessed Be He" (35b).

The reconciliation for this, Rabbi Levi explains, is that everything in the world belongs to HaShem, but the moment we make a blessing, it's on loan to us. 

This discussion was so powerful to me, so potent because I struggle intensely with making berachot. One of the things that drew me to Judaism was the level of 100-percent consciousness that is required of the Torah-observant Jew. So I marked this page, it made so real the idea that all that we have is on loan from HaShem, we only need make a bracha, a blessing, in order to take pleasure of it, to enjoy it, to truly be able to cherish something -- or someone. 

And then, this morning, I awoke exhausted after going to bed around 1:30 a.m., turned on my phone, and started looking through my news feed. The first thing I saw? A distant friend, someone who helped me greatly when I made aliyah, someone who was a Lion of Zion, someone who would lay his life down for any person who was on the right side of history ... had been murdered, viciously, by a Palestinian terrorist at the very place I used to go to buy groceries or get a coffee many times every week. My immediate reaction was that I had to be mistaken. Ari, Ari who basically spends 24/7 -- or spent -- at that place in Gush Etzion speaking with soldiers and providing them with chizuk and food and other special gifts from his fundraising -- couldn't have been murdered. He was a soldier. He knew that place inside and out. And yet, there he was. There was the video. The video of him being stabbed by a vicious animal -- not a human, not anyone I would remotely call a human -- and then chasing after him, poised, shooting at the savage, and then collapsing backwards. 

There's something about watching a friend, someone you know, someone who you watch regularly from a distance be murdered ... that just crushes every possible understanding and love you have for life. For Israel. 

And then, as the day went on, and I fought between anger and tears and confusion and the question, "Could I ever take children back to that place?" And then I thought about what I'd bookmarked on Shabbat. About how this life is just on loan from HaShem, and we have to be grateful and send out as many blessings as we can every moment of every day to keep these lives and all that are part of them on loan. For it's all we have. 

Help Fund Coworking in Israel

Once upon a time, I dreamed of starting a coworking space in Jerusalem. After living in Denver and watching the coworking space boom, I dreamed of finding a space in Israel where I could work my remote jobs in a comfortable, forward-thinking space.

But when I moved to Israel in 2012, I couldn't seem to find anyone willing to help fund a coworking space -- it wasn't the time, there wasn't the need, they said. I even put together a Facebook page (that still exists, in private mode, of course) for my venture. I won't even share the name because, well, I have dreams that someday I'll get to start the space up again.

In the meantime, some amazing friends and neighbors of mine in Neve Daniel started up a coworking space in the Gush called Hub Etzion, and they're making what I once dreamed a reality. I'm so proud of them, and super excited with their venture. But they need help with funding, because it's no small task.

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Will you help fund Hub Etzion? The amount of people in the Gush who work remotely for their own or for U.S.-based companies would blow your mind. Help provide them with a space to work, to thrive, and to build an amazing community of workers in Eretz Yisrael! Also? Please spread the word!

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From Webb City to the Gush

I'm such a weirdo. This absolutely made my day. Yes, a scale that measures in kilograms made my day. Why? I'll tell you why.

Mr. T and I went to the doctor to go over some blood test results as well as to discuss my ultrasound from last week. The baby is great ("Nothing spectacular," says the doctor) and growing at the right rate ("But why nothing spectacular," asks Mr. T) according to all of the measurements so far ("You don't want spectacular!" the doctor says with a smile). After getting referrals for a 32-week ultrasound and a dietician (if I happen to need it) and the three-hour glucose test (which, hopefully will come back negative for gestational diabetes so I can rip up the dietician referral), I decided to hop on the scale since I neglected to make an August appointment with the nurse to check my weight and all of that good and fun stuff.

Of course, I made Mr. T turn around (he went to the bathroom) and started moving the scale around to detect my weight. As I landed on the same figure (less one pound or 1/2 a kilo) that I had in July when I weighed in (huzzah!), I noticed -- next to the brand name of the scale -- ", MO U.S.A." so I moved the weights a bit and bam!

Webb City, MO U.S.A.

You guys, I practically squeeeed with joy at this. I know, I sound like a nutcase, but you have to understand: Webb City was right down the road from where I grew up in Joplin. Webb City was where I spent my summers going to the drive-in movie theater. Webb City was like a mini-vacation from Joplin.

From 1921 E. 33rd Street to the Drive-In Movie Theater!

[And, please note my devastation as I just discovered that the movie theater was torn down to build a Walmart Supercenter ... sigh ... ]

Seeing a little piece of "home" from so long ago in a medical center in Efrat, Israel is like ... wow it's a trip for me. A real trip. It makes me wonder how a scale made in Webb City (in kilograms at that) made it all the way to the Gush of Eretz Yisrael.

It really is a small world after all.

The Gush in a Moment

Tonight after Shabbat, Mr. T asked me to take the car to the gas station at Tzomet ha'Gush (the sort of central point where there's a grocery store, some restaurants, electronics shop and more) while he and iBoy ran the compost down the street. Not feeling a 100 percent but needing some fresh air after spending most of the day in bed, I zipped down the 60 to the well-lit gas station and pulled into the full-service lane.

Israeli gas stations still make me very nervous, I don't know why, but they're different than in the U.S. while living in New Jersey, I had to get used to the mandatory full-service fill-ups because it was state law that you simply couldn't get out of your car and fill yourself up on your own. But there, it was a simple process. You handed them your card or money, they filled it up, that was that.

Here, they ask you if you want them to check your oil (and even if you don't, they will), and tonight the attendant, Ishmael, asked if I wanted something to drink or maybe purchase something to eat. It was a slow night at the gas station -- the only people floating around were IDF soldiers, both those dressed down with guns slung about their backs and those dressed in full military garb, including a medical vehicle with an Ethiopian troupe in it.

I thanked the man, signed my receipt, and as I started to turn the car on, he shocked me.

Shavua tov!

I responded, stuttering, with the same greeting. It was surprising and completely unsuspected. I smiled and pulled away.

This, folks, is what I love about the Gush. This man, Ishmael, clearly not Jewish, offering up the classic Jewish Saturday night greeting. It makes me want to learn something worthwhile for my Muslim and Arab neighbors, something to say in response to show a "thanks" for caring enough to notice who I am, how I live, and the state in which we live.

That is the Gush, in a moment.

Oh a Tremping We Will Go!

If there's one thing in Israel that I still haven't latched on to like a mosquito on fresh, pale skin, it's the entire concept of "tremping."

For the uninformed, tremping is when you stand by the side of the road, stick out your finger or hand or hold up a sign saying where you need to go, and hitch a ride with a perfect stranger to your destination. It's basically hitch-hiking, but much safer. Sort of.

My dad used to tell me about how he'd pick up hitchhikers in the 1970s, but nowadays in the U.S. it's highly illegal and incredibly dangerous to do so. In Israel, however, it's normal. In fact, some people get around solely by tremping, never needing a bus ticket or to buy gas for the car.

When I first moved to Neve Daniel, tremping became a necessary reality. Yes, Mr. T and his business partner have two vehicles, but most of the time they're needed on the job site (and one of them is manual, which I just don't do). Every now and again, I wander up to the entrance of Neve Daniel and stand, somewhere between the tremping bench and the bus stop, hoping and praying that the bus comes soon so I don't have to tremp. Why?

I'm a scaredy cat, that's why.

I've tremped roughly a half-dozen times, and during all of them I've been perplexed. Do I tell them where I'm going? Where I need to get off? Do I just sit here? Do I say something? Do I offer a tip? WHAT DO I DO!?

Today, for example, I was at home and realized that the construction going on in my building was going to push me off the ledge for the umpteenth day in a row. The floor was vibrating, my head was banging, and I needed to get out. I packed my things and headed to the trempiada (the fun word for where people stand to catch a tremp). A few other women joined me there, and eventually a car came along heading to Tzomet HaGush, the central spot in the Gush where there's a grocery store, some restaurants, an electronics store, and so on. It's also a place where all of the buses in and out of the Gush always stop, and it's home to a gigantic trempiada. So I tremped to Tzomet HaGush and then walked over to the trempiada and hitched a ride into Jerusalem. Backwards way of doing things? Probably, but guess who was fresh out of cash for the bus? This chick!

Now here's the thing. The guy said he was going into Mercaz ha'Ir (center of the city), which can mean a lot of different things. So what did I do? I just stayed in the car. We kept passing places where I could have gotten off, but me not being sure how to say "Dude, let me out here, please," decided to just ride along. This guy could have driven to Taiwan and I would have sat there quietly like a nice, Midwesterner.

Luckily, he was traveling to a place where I could hitch a bus back to where I needed to be that we drove past. My carbon footprint was big on this one, and I feel bad, but seriously, I don't know how to get out of a tremp unless the other trempers say "I need out here." So that was the impetus for me to get out of the car -- someone else needing out.

I haven't learned all of the hand signs yet, but I've learned that they're largely irrelevant these days. People pull over, roll down a window, announce where they're going, and people either get in the car or they don't. It's a fairly efficient system, if you ask me.

The question is: When I'm driving, do I pull over and pick up trempers? When I'm alone, it feels really weird and unsafe to me. You can tell the girl out of Nebraska, but you can't take Nebraska out of the girl. The one time I did stop, no one needed a ride, and the only time anyone has ever gotten into the car was when I pulled in to Neve Daniel and gave a guy a ride up the gigantically ginormous hill.

Either way, tremping is something that I feel like I'll never be good at. I don't have the chutzpah or patience or ... whatever it takes ... to be a skilled tremper.

Is it just me (and the U.S. at that), or is hitchhiking a thing of the past? Is it common in Europe? Asia? South America? 

Ask Chaviva Anything: A Life Illegal?

This is going to be a rather tense edition of Ask Chaviva Anything, simply because of the nature of several questions I have received in recent weeks. The first one is easy, and then come the tough, emotional, complicated ones.

How did you choose Neve Daniel? 

This is an easy question. In my past visits to Israel, I've been able to experience the Golan (northern Israel), Jerusalem, Ramat Bet Shemesh, Neve Daniel, Tel Aviv, and Caesaria. Since moving here, I've also experienced a few other small, beautiful towns and neighborhoods. When I first moved to Israel, I was utterly pleased to live in Jerusalem in the Nachlaot neighborhood, because of its proximity to the shuk, centrality in Jerusalem, and the vibe of the neighborhood.

Mr. T, too, lived in Nachlaot until the beginning of November. Yes, we've wondered whether in those few short weeks I was living in Nachlaot whether our paths ever happened to cross.

That being said, when you meet someone amazing and decide to get married, you want a place that can and will be all your own -- a place that is "yours" as a collective couple. My apartment in Nachlaot was a shoebox, and Mr. T's apartment was (unfortunately) falling apart and not a place that we felt like we could be a "we." Thus, moving.

Why Neve Daniel? The short answer has two components: It is absolutely freaking beautiful there, and the bulk of my closest friends in Israel live there. (They call it Har HaBloggerim -- mountain of bloggers -- for a reason.) Lucky for me, Mr. T is an absolute dream and wanted to be in a place that made me happy, where we could be happy together. Neve Daniel is most perfect for what we need and where we are right now. They're even building a Beit Knesset right across from where we live!

Now ... the following are actually two different questions from two different people at two different times, but I've combined them for ease of answering.

How do you justify moving to a settlement that is considered to be in violation of international law? || I agree with you that the west bank in general, and the gush in particular, as stunning, and have a very special feel to them, and some lovely people living there.  But does it bother you to live in a place where there are two sets of rules for two groups of people, with unequal access to roads, water, healthcare, and civil protections under the law?

I knew this question was coming, and to be completely honest I haven't spent much time thinking about it. I've found that a lot of people outside of Israel don't necessarily understand what a "settlement" is in Israel. Many people think of caravans or tents or people living in trailers -- not the community in which I'm now living where the homes are built, completely permanent, where there is infrastructure, and a complete sense of permanent living. That being said, I think some history is necessary here.

Neve Daniel was established in 1982 on the site of the Cohen Farm -- which itself was founded in 1935 on lands purchased by Jews from an Arab village. In 1943, the land was transferred to the Jewish National Fund, abandoned during the Arab riots, and remained under Jordanian control until 1967. By this account, the land is Jewish-owned, period.

The question about legality comes from Article 49 of the Fourth Geneva Convention relative to the protection of civilian persons in time of war, which says,

"The occupying power shall not deport or transfer parts of its own population into the territories it occupies."

So my first question here is whether we're currently in a "time of war." My second question arises from the fact that no "state" held exact control over Judea and Samaria/the West Bank prior to 1967 anyhow.  According to the 1935 purchase and 1943 transfer, the land which Neve Daniel occupies is Jewish-owned. If we're neither at war nor was the area controlled by one state from which Israel then "occupied," then this isn't problematic.

As for the question about the inequality of access and lifestyle, I have to say that I just don't see it. Almost daily I ride through the checkpoints, I shop at the grocery store with Arabs and Jews alike, I travel the same roads, I live the same life, except I cannot enter certain places because I am Jewish -- like Bet Lechem, for example. The giant warning signs are explicit: It's dangerous to enter these Arab towns for Jews. There is no sign at the entrance to Neve Daniel telling Arabs not to come in out of danger to their lives, and you won't find one at any entrance to any "Jewish" town in the Gush either. (Lots of Arabs come in to Neve Daniel every day for work, at that.)

At Tzomet HaGush (near Neve Daniel where the grocery store and several other shops are), I park side-by-side with Arabs. We wait in the same checkout lines. We buy the same groceries. We ask the same questions. We travel the same roads home. In Jerusalem, we wait in the same waiting rooms, drink coffee at the same cafes, get annoyed at the same bank tellers, and run to catch the same buses.

It isn't a life apart like you think. Take, for example, the fact that Beitar -- the Jerusalem soccer team -- has Muslim players on its team, but the team they're playing this evening is a Muslim-only team. It's like Bet Lechem, precisely.

Of course, we could argue about it until we're blue in the face. This is simply my perspective, and this is my experience in nearly four months here and several years visiting the country. There are people who want all Arabs to die, to occupy every last inch of this small land, and who treat Arabs and Muslims like rats rather than people. Guess what? I'm not one of those people. I believe in an equal opportunity to succeed, to be happy, and to live life. But I also know my history, my politics, and I know that so much of what the world sees of Israel is either not based in fact or is based in fact and skewed. I know that Arab nations have rejected those who call themselves Palestinians and only acknowledge them when it serves a greater purpose for Arab and Muslim nations. They're a pawn, and it's disappointing and depressing. Israel does more for Palestinians than any of the nations of Arabs, period.

I'm debating whether to leave comments open on this post. I think, against my better judgment, I'm going to leave them open. Be kind, but be honest and realistic if you want to comment, please. I have no interest in fighting with anyone about this subject. I do, however, appreciate intelligent discussions that stick to productive dialogue.

Side note: The name "Neve Daniel" comes from the name of a bend in the road southwest of Bet Lechem where a convoy bringing supplies to Gush Etzion was ambushed in 1948. According to reports, 15 Jews were killed, 73 wounded, and tons of supplies and vehicles were destroyed when Arabs blocked the roads and swarmed the Jewish convoy.

Cherry Picking My Way to Calm

Last night, after returning from an exciting weekend at the Cherry Festival in Gush Etzion and a Shabbos in Neve Daniel with @tripnmommy and her band of merry munchkins, I wrote a really long and, what I thought, emotional post about the weekend. And then? Well, my computer went wonky and the app quit and my work was lost to the annals of time. So here we are, again. Let me try this one more time.

The great thing about Israel -- or maybe the Jewish community in general -- is that in an instant everything can change. I'm not talking anything philosophical here, but merely the fact that what I had planned for Shabbos fell through and I ended up opting (at the advice of a few folks) to go to the Gush for the Cherry Festival and then staying in the environs for Shabbos.

@freeves and I schlepped out to the Gush together, and when we got there we made a b-line for the Chocoholique booth so I could drop my Shabbos bags and to meet my meal hosts. Yes, I managed to land meals with the folks behind probably the most delicious chocolate liqueur on the planet. The funny thing is that I knew about this liqueur before going to Israel. See, when we were in Linden, NJ, for a Shabbaton, the rabbi there filled us in on the glory of spicy chocolate liqueur and said that he'd hook us up when I went to Israel. Of course, that conversation happened and was forgotten, so imagine my surprise when realizing that not only were my meals by the makers of Chocoholique, but that their next-door neighbors were related to the rabbi back in New Jersey. (Cue "It's a Small World After All ...)

You can only buy this in Israel, but it's worth having someone schlep back. Any distributors in the house?

After dropping my things, we traversed the booths, which carried every ware from falafel (if that's a ware) to tableclothes to mitpachot (head coverings) and more. It reminded me of everything I love about Middle America, actually, in that it felt very small town and quaint. Families sat around under gigantic shade tarps and ate lunch, kids crawled around and devoured gigantic cones of cotton candy. And the cherry picking itself? Wow. Now that was quaint. It reminded me of apple picking in Connecticut, but to a much more awesome level. Children and adults alike were up in the cherry trees dropping down handfulls to passersby, and babies were covered in cherry juice. People plopped down under the shade of the cherry trees and simply relished in the communal experience of harvesting cherries.

I walked away from the festival with some mitpachot, some of the delicious Espresso and Coconut @Chocoholique, as well as some Honey Liqueur (sorry Gottliebs!), which I had never before seen. I had about a pint of cherries in my possession, not to mention the countless cherries I ate while scrambling around the grove, and I was prepared to do something that I had never had the chance to do before: separating terumah and ma'aser.

Halachah requires the separation of terumah and ma’ aser from Israeli produce. When the Temple was extant, these separated portions were distributed in a specified manner to the Kohanim (Priests), Leviim (Levites) and the poor, or eaten in Jerusalem. While terumah and ma’ aser are no longer distributed or eaten in Jerusalem, the requirement to separate and designate them is still in effect. 

After the festival, we rushed back to Neve Daniel to prepare for Shabbos. All I can say about the experience of Shabbos with the @tripnmommy family is that it was outstanding. The kids treated me like a big sister and the peace the hovers over the community could be felt at all times. And the view? Well, the view was killer. 

There's something about Israel that I can't really explain to those who haven't spent a good deal of time here, and maybe even Israelis will think I'm nuts, but it's what I love most about this country: an overarching sense of chaos that breaks down at ground-level into complete peace. While standing outside in Neve Daniel, looking out over the communities in the distance, I felt calm. The kind of calm that makes you want to cry (and even as I write this, I feel surprisingly emotional) because you've reached this point of happiness, as if HaShem is walking with you, near you, around you. I felt this more on the mountainous Yishuv of Neve Daniel than I often do in many places in Israel, so maybe that is saying something. I really think that the location seems perfect for Tuvia -- him being a "country mouse" and all.

Residence in Israel is equivalent to the observance of all the biblical precepts.                           

Elazar ben Shammua, Sifre #80 to Deuteronomy 13:29

More photos? Of course!



And, don't forget, I'm in Jerusalem until late Thursday night, so if you want to grab a nosh or coffee, just let me know!

Note: If you haven't already considered it, think about donating to the Barry Shuter Family Trust, which I blogged about recently. If you hadn't put two-and-two together yet, Amy (aka @tripnmommy) is Barry's wife. Their kids, I can tell you from first-hand experience that hold a powerful light within themselves, and they should know only happiness and success in this world. My own father lost both of his parents before the age of 12, and he struggled with the help of those around him. Losing a parent and a husband is impossibly difficult, but there is so much that we can do to make life easier for the family.