Musings #64
August 16, 2004
The Good Old Days and
Chodesh Tov
I’m certainly old enough to mourn “the good old days” when things were “so much better.” Let’s start with dancing, and I’m not just talking about the hora. I’m referring to what was once known as “ballroom dancing.” That’s what we called it then, when people still danced as couples. Even in early “Rock ‘n’ Roll” couples were graceful, athletic and more alluring than anything seen today. I was around then, even on the dance floor, when dancers stopped holding hands and started to “twist.” And it’s no surprise that “The Twist” evolved into “The Jerk” with a serving of “Mashed Potatoes.” Now it’s much worse, “trance” when the individual dancers are oblivious to those around them, only entranced with themselves.
Jewish simcha, or wedding dances have also changed from comfortable reliably choreographed circles to each individual doing something that reminds me Martha Graham movements or the “improvisations” we did in the “Creative Modern Dance” I learned as a kid. Dancers seem to be meditating to their own tunes, rather than “l’same’ach chatan v’kallah,” “making it joyful for the bride and groom.”
Then, again, what can I expect from the products of modern education? Instead of learning to listen to the teacher and sitting facing the blackboard (ok, it’s generally green or white today) these kids sit around small tables in elementary school. They face each other with their backs to the teacher. The goal of these teaching methods is to provide individual attention, each child at his own pace. Yes, it does sound wonderful in theory, but… reading scores have been dropping ever since… and attention/concentration problems have been rising to epidemic proportions. The noise levels in those classrooms, as the pupils wait for the teacher, or ask their friends, or just play, makes concentrating worse than difficult.
The last straw, for me, was listening to one of Israel’s most veteran and professional choral groups on TV. After hearing them introduced, I looked forward to being serenaded by their well-known, beautiful harmonies. Maybe if I had been alert enough to notice that they were all clutching microphones, I wouldn’t have been so shocked. Instead of their unique, unified, blended sound being captured by a few well-placed microphones, the personal, handheld microphones amplified their individual imperfections. They sounded like a spontaneous shout-fest, rather than the well-trained and well-rehearsed group they have been for decades.
I have nothing against individualism, if it’s a personality trait, not an ideology. When people are educated to think of themselves first, the results are anarchy. When I was a gym teacher, I used to remind my students that when playing “catch,” the better one is the one who throws the ball in a way that the catcher can succeed in catching it. Ideally, the aim is to be sensitive to the abilities of others, to enable them to achieve their maximum potential.
In the days when dancing was together in a circle, the better dancers took the hands of the weaker and guided them. Today, those weaker dancers stand shyly on the sidelines, while the “stars” show off, oblivious to all others.
Jewish prayer is supposed to be in a group of at least ten men, a minyan. Individual meditation is not Jewish. We base our prayers on set texts. There is a leader who says the most important sections out loud. If someone cannot read it all, he or she can say: “Amen” following the leader’s prayer. The strong assists the weak. That is our religion, community, People.
Tonight begins the Jewish month of Elul, the month before Rosh Hashanah. This is the month in which we must prepare ourselves for G-d’s judgement. This is the time to take stock of our lives, to repent, since none of us are perfect. And those of us who are strong must help those who are weak.
Chodesh Tov,
Batya Medad
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
Monday, August 16, 2004
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Post Tisha B’Av
Musings #63
August 3, 2004
Post Tisha B’Av
Among the “Minhagei Shiloh” (Shiloh customs) is gathering at the Tel of Ancient Shiloh to read Aicha (the Lamentations for the 9th of the Jewish month of Av) as the fast begins.
With that hard-boiled egg* sitting very uncomfortably in my stomach, I decided that walking a kilometer and a half (a mile) all the way down to Tel Shiloh would be a good idea. I gave myself plenty of time, especially since there really wasn’t anything to do after brushing my teeth.
The air was clean and cool, such a relief from the daytime heat. No cars passed until I was almost there, since those driving didn’t need to leave as early as I did. I live on the eastern slope of the highest hill in Shiloh. My living room is a “morning person’s dream,” with two large windows just perfect for watching the sun come up over Shvut Rachel. The Tel is geographically much lower and on the western side. So, on the Eve of Tisha B’Av I strolled westward, and the sun went down with me to the Tel.
Oranges, reds, pinks, silver and gold guided me. The rainbowed ribbon got thinner and thinner, and the silken sky got darker as I got closer to my destination. The rainbow and Shiloh, yes there’s a connection.
A rainbow appeared after the flood that G-d sent to destroy all but what Noah packed in his floating ark. The rainbow was to reaffirm what G-d commanded Noah “V’atem pru urvu shirtzu b’aretz urvu va” Bereishit, Genesis IX, 7. “And you, be fruitful and multiply, spread out in The Land, and multiply there.” With Noah, G-d had a new beginning, and from him descended Avraham and us.
Many, many generations later, after the exodus from Egypt and the death of the generation of slaves, the Jewish People had a new beginning in Shiloh. Joshua established Shiloh as the capital, religious and administrative center for Bnai Yisrael. For three hundred and sixty nine (369) years, while Bnai Yisrael “spread out,” settled the Land, the mishkan, the Ark of the Covenant rested here in Shiloh, and the Jewish People came here to worship.
Three hundred and sixty nine years is quite a long time. To get some idea, let’s compare. The United Nations is less than sixty years old. Many older people can remember its establishment. The United States is less than two hundred and thirty years old. Shiloh remained the capital over a hundred and thirty years longer. Even more amazing during those three hundred and sixty nine years, the twelve tribes continued with common traditions and educated their children in a common history. Consider that this was a time without easy communication, nor printing presses. Of course it wasn’t perfect. The time of the judges is known as one “when each man did what he thought best.” But delegations from the tribes still recognized Samuel, in Shiloh, as the person to request “a king.” Samuel ended up anointing the first two kings, Saul and David.
Preceding the nation’s transition from priests to kings, Shiloh was destroyed, burned, and the ark was captured. The devastation was legendary. Just over twenty years ago a layer of ash, the remains of that ancient fire was found at Tel Shiloh by a team of academic archeologists. It confirmed the destruction as described in the Bible.
Three thousand years after that destruction, we have returned.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
*It is traditional to end the pre-fast meal with a hard-boiled egg, like what is given to a mourner to eat immediately after the funeral.
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
August 3, 2004
Post Tisha B’Av
Among the “Minhagei Shiloh” (Shiloh customs) is gathering at the Tel of Ancient Shiloh to read Aicha (the Lamentations for the 9th of the Jewish month of Av) as the fast begins.
With that hard-boiled egg* sitting very uncomfortably in my stomach, I decided that walking a kilometer and a half (a mile) all the way down to Tel Shiloh would be a good idea. I gave myself plenty of time, especially since there really wasn’t anything to do after brushing my teeth.
The air was clean and cool, such a relief from the daytime heat. No cars passed until I was almost there, since those driving didn’t need to leave as early as I did. I live on the eastern slope of the highest hill in Shiloh. My living room is a “morning person’s dream,” with two large windows just perfect for watching the sun come up over Shvut Rachel. The Tel is geographically much lower and on the western side. So, on the Eve of Tisha B’Av I strolled westward, and the sun went down with me to the Tel.
Oranges, reds, pinks, silver and gold guided me. The rainbowed ribbon got thinner and thinner, and the silken sky got darker as I got closer to my destination. The rainbow and Shiloh, yes there’s a connection.
A rainbow appeared after the flood that G-d sent to destroy all but what Noah packed in his floating ark. The rainbow was to reaffirm what G-d commanded Noah “V’atem pru urvu shirtzu b’aretz urvu va” Bereishit, Genesis IX, 7. “And you, be fruitful and multiply, spread out in The Land, and multiply there.” With Noah, G-d had a new beginning, and from him descended Avraham and us.
Many, many generations later, after the exodus from Egypt and the death of the generation of slaves, the Jewish People had a new beginning in Shiloh. Joshua established Shiloh as the capital, religious and administrative center for Bnai Yisrael. For three hundred and sixty nine (369) years, while Bnai Yisrael “spread out,” settled the Land, the mishkan, the Ark of the Covenant rested here in Shiloh, and the Jewish People came here to worship.
Three hundred and sixty nine years is quite a long time. To get some idea, let’s compare. The United Nations is less than sixty years old. Many older people can remember its establishment. The United States is less than two hundred and thirty years old. Shiloh remained the capital over a hundred and thirty years longer. Even more amazing during those three hundred and sixty nine years, the twelve tribes continued with common traditions and educated their children in a common history. Consider that this was a time without easy communication, nor printing presses. Of course it wasn’t perfect. The time of the judges is known as one “when each man did what he thought best.” But delegations from the tribes still recognized Samuel, in Shiloh, as the person to request “a king.” Samuel ended up anointing the first two kings, Saul and David.
Preceding the nation’s transition from priests to kings, Shiloh was destroyed, burned, and the ark was captured. The devastation was legendary. Just over twenty years ago a layer of ash, the remains of that ancient fire was found at Tel Shiloh by a team of academic archeologists. It confirmed the destruction as described in the Bible.
Three thousand years after that destruction, we have returned.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
*It is traditional to end the pre-fast meal with a hard-boiled egg, like what is given to a mourner to eat immediately after the funeral.
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
Sunday, August 1, 2004
The Chain
Musings #62
July 26, 2004
The Chain
Yesterday I participated in the long chain of people stretching from The Temple Mount in the old, walled city of Jerusalem to Gush Katif. I stood with my friends and neighbors on the shoulder of a major Israeli highway. As far as I could see, in both directions, a colorful salad of people crowded together, spiced with lots of carrot-orange tee shirts and hats. This wasn’t a thinly, stretched out chain, people barely reaching the next closest. We were three, four, five thick frightening the police as we found ourselves spilling onto the road.
Ninety kilometers, sixty miles. That’s all the distance to Gush Katif from Jerusalem. Now is that far? Distance is one of the excuses given why we must abandon and destroy the Jewish communities of Gush Katif. In many parts of the world, such a distance is considered a reasonable commute to work.
Israel, even including all of Biblical Eretz Yisrael, is a very small country, but everything is here. You don’t have to travel far for a change in climate or topography. I remember our first winter in Shiloh, one rainy morning our daughter and her friends were waiting for the van to take them to school in Ofra, just 15 minutes south of us. It got later and later. There were no phones in our neighborhood; finally we managed to contact Ofra via a security communications device.
“Why hasn’t the van come to pick up the kids?”
“It can’t in this weather.”
“Why, not? Just a little rain.”
“What rain? There’s a snowstorm here!”
If you want warmer weather, just a couple of miles east is the Jordan Valley and completely different climate and color scheme. My husband and elder son went on a trip to Poland a few months ago; they couldn’t believe how boring the landscape was. The same topography and vegetation for hundreds of miles in all directions, nothing like home.
A number of years ago we had some very recent immigrants from Russia over for Shabbat. Friday night as we sat at the table, they looked out the window to the east and saw lights in the distance.
“What are those lights?” the old man asked?
“Some cities in Jordan,” my husband replied.
“Jordan, so close?”
“Don’t worry; it’s far, ten, maybe twenty kilometers.” My husband said reassuringly.
“In Russia, anything less than a thousand kilometers is considered close.” The old man explained.
Our whole country is smaller than what many international defense experts think is minimal for a security buffer zone.
Living in Shiloh, even just visiting, puts a very different perspective on everything. Shiloh is the center of the country. In a half hour or less, you can drive to Jerusalem or Petach Tikvah, much less to the Jordan Valley. When the media refer to “ merkaz ha’aretz” the “center of the Land” they’re actually referring to the coastal plain, which is the western strip, by the Mediterranean Sea, not any geographical center. It’s amazing how many people have no idea where Shiloh and other parts of YESHA are in relation to Tel Aviv, Beersheva and other major Israeli cities.
I have to admit that I was surprised that the chain from Jerusalem to Gush Katif was only ninety kilometers long. I had taken granted that it must be much, much more…at least a hundred and fifty. It was quite a lesson to me, too.
We have a very tiny country. Every inch, centimeter is precious. The Jewish pioneers in Gush Katif shouldn’t be ripped out of their homes. Their homes and businesses shouldn’t be destroyed. They’re no less Israeli than the kibbutzim in the Negev or the Galilee, or Tel Aviv or Rishon L’Tzion. We must be united to defend our right as Jews to all of our Land.
Our being here is part of a chain, the chain of Jewish history, from Avraham and Sarah, Moshe, Joshua, King David and thousands of years later to David Ben Gurion, Menachem Begin and all of us here today. Our links are strong; we’re not breaking.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
July 26, 2004
The Chain
Yesterday I participated in the long chain of people stretching from The Temple Mount in the old, walled city of Jerusalem to Gush Katif. I stood with my friends and neighbors on the shoulder of a major Israeli highway. As far as I could see, in both directions, a colorful salad of people crowded together, spiced with lots of carrot-orange tee shirts and hats. This wasn’t a thinly, stretched out chain, people barely reaching the next closest. We were three, four, five thick frightening the police as we found ourselves spilling onto the road.
Ninety kilometers, sixty miles. That’s all the distance to Gush Katif from Jerusalem. Now is that far? Distance is one of the excuses given why we must abandon and destroy the Jewish communities of Gush Katif. In many parts of the world, such a distance is considered a reasonable commute to work.
Israel, even including all of Biblical Eretz Yisrael, is a very small country, but everything is here. You don’t have to travel far for a change in climate or topography. I remember our first winter in Shiloh, one rainy morning our daughter and her friends were waiting for the van to take them to school in Ofra, just 15 minutes south of us. It got later and later. There were no phones in our neighborhood; finally we managed to contact Ofra via a security communications device.
“Why hasn’t the van come to pick up the kids?”
“It can’t in this weather.”
“Why, not? Just a little rain.”
“What rain? There’s a snowstorm here!”
If you want warmer weather, just a couple of miles east is the Jordan Valley and completely different climate and color scheme. My husband and elder son went on a trip to Poland a few months ago; they couldn’t believe how boring the landscape was. The same topography and vegetation for hundreds of miles in all directions, nothing like home.
A number of years ago we had some very recent immigrants from Russia over for Shabbat. Friday night as we sat at the table, they looked out the window to the east and saw lights in the distance.
“What are those lights?” the old man asked?
“Some cities in Jordan,” my husband replied.
“Jordan, so close?”
“Don’t worry; it’s far, ten, maybe twenty kilometers.” My husband said reassuringly.
“In Russia, anything less than a thousand kilometers is considered close.” The old man explained.
Our whole country is smaller than what many international defense experts think is minimal for a security buffer zone.
Living in Shiloh, even just visiting, puts a very different perspective on everything. Shiloh is the center of the country. In a half hour or less, you can drive to Jerusalem or Petach Tikvah, much less to the Jordan Valley. When the media refer to “ merkaz ha’aretz” the “center of the Land” they’re actually referring to the coastal plain, which is the western strip, by the Mediterranean Sea, not any geographical center. It’s amazing how many people have no idea where Shiloh and other parts of YESHA are in relation to Tel Aviv, Beersheva and other major Israeli cities.
I have to admit that I was surprised that the chain from Jerusalem to Gush Katif was only ninety kilometers long. I had taken granted that it must be much, much more…at least a hundred and fifty. It was quite a lesson to me, too.
We have a very tiny country. Every inch, centimeter is precious. The Jewish pioneers in Gush Katif shouldn’t be ripped out of their homes. Their homes and businesses shouldn’t be destroyed. They’re no less Israeli than the kibbutzim in the Negev or the Galilee, or Tel Aviv or Rishon L’Tzion. We must be united to defend our right as Jews to all of our Land.
Our being here is part of a chain, the chain of Jewish history, from Avraham and Sarah, Moshe, Joshua, King David and thousands of years later to David Ben Gurion, Menachem Begin and all of us here today. Our links are strong; we’re not breaking.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
Me, An Extremist?
Musings #61
July 21, 2004
Me, An Extremist?
Just yesterday, I saw an old friend, a frequent visitor to Israel, who claims to be proud of preserving friendships with people he doesn’t agree with, people whose politics is very different from his own. We carefully choreograph our conversations, tip-toeing over some topics, gracefully leaping over others and teasing each other like fencers who pretend that winning is effortless.
He always calls me an extremist and alleges that if I was to appear on a panel representing American Jews living in Israel, it would be hard to find enough people to balance my extreme opinions. I consider that a strange allegation, primarily because in reality I’m not an extremist. I would call myself a purist. I see things in clear, simple lines, like an engineer, not like the vague, indistinct dots of a Monet or Sisley painting.
Once I make a life-altering decision, I go forward and don’t look back. Once I understood that being Jewish and believing in G-d demanded following religious laws, mitzvot and halachot, I began doing my best to live in accordance. A natural, logical outgrowth was the realization that I must live in Israel, in the Land of Israel. All of the Land has equal importance, and the “green line” has none. For me, living in a place in which the Bible is set is most meaningful. Shiloh fits the bill.
As a religious, Torah, Orthodox Jew, I take my “orders” from G-d, not the US, UN or even Israeli politicians. It’s all very simple, though not quite simplistic. What confuses me, is that this very same old friend was so supportive and enthusiastic when he realized that I wanted to be religious, to keep Shabbat and kashrut. For me living in Eretz Yisrael is of the same importance. After just under forty years of living as a Torah Jew, I still can’t understand how some people can be so careful and conscientious about keeping Shabbat, kashrut, prayer, modesty, Taharat Hamishpacha, regular Torah learning and more, but they stubbornly stay in Chutz La’Aretz, far from Eretz Yisrael.
How does one pray three times a day to G-d, saying and comprehending the words, but refusing to live in our Land, G-d’s Land, which he gave to us and commanded us to live in? Most of the same people who taught me to follow the laws that G-d gave us live in Chutz La’Aretz. Everyone has their reasons, their excuses. Some friends feel eaten away by guilt, regret and longing that they’re not here, and that I can understand. Sometimes we lose control of our lives, and it’s very hard to grab the reins and lead ourselves in the direction we really want.
As I try to put a positive spin on what my old friend has said, I realize that it’s really a compliment. When he claims that it would be hard to find someone to counterbalance me, it’s not because I’m extreme or fanatic, it’s because, as a religious Jew, defending my life choices and positions is easier than defending his.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
July 21, 2004
Me, An Extremist?
Just yesterday, I saw an old friend, a frequent visitor to Israel, who claims to be proud of preserving friendships with people he doesn’t agree with, people whose politics is very different from his own. We carefully choreograph our conversations, tip-toeing over some topics, gracefully leaping over others and teasing each other like fencers who pretend that winning is effortless.
He always calls me an extremist and alleges that if I was to appear on a panel representing American Jews living in Israel, it would be hard to find enough people to balance my extreme opinions. I consider that a strange allegation, primarily because in reality I’m not an extremist. I would call myself a purist. I see things in clear, simple lines, like an engineer, not like the vague, indistinct dots of a Monet or Sisley painting.
Once I make a life-altering decision, I go forward and don’t look back. Once I understood that being Jewish and believing in G-d demanded following religious laws, mitzvot and halachot, I began doing my best to live in accordance. A natural, logical outgrowth was the realization that I must live in Israel, in the Land of Israel. All of the Land has equal importance, and the “green line” has none. For me, living in a place in which the Bible is set is most meaningful. Shiloh fits the bill.
As a religious, Torah, Orthodox Jew, I take my “orders” from G-d, not the US, UN or even Israeli politicians. It’s all very simple, though not quite simplistic. What confuses me, is that this very same old friend was so supportive and enthusiastic when he realized that I wanted to be religious, to keep Shabbat and kashrut. For me living in Eretz Yisrael is of the same importance. After just under forty years of living as a Torah Jew, I still can’t understand how some people can be so careful and conscientious about keeping Shabbat, kashrut, prayer, modesty, Taharat Hamishpacha, regular Torah learning and more, but they stubbornly stay in Chutz La’Aretz, far from Eretz Yisrael.
How does one pray three times a day to G-d, saying and comprehending the words, but refusing to live in our Land, G-d’s Land, which he gave to us and commanded us to live in? Most of the same people who taught me to follow the laws that G-d gave us live in Chutz La’Aretz. Everyone has their reasons, their excuses. Some friends feel eaten away by guilt, regret and longing that they’re not here, and that I can understand. Sometimes we lose control of our lives, and it’s very hard to grab the reins and lead ourselves in the direction we really want.
As I try to put a positive spin on what my old friend has said, I realize that it’s really a compliment. When he claims that it would be hard to find someone to counterbalance me, it’s not because I’m extreme or fanatic, it’s because, as a religious Jew, defending my life choices and positions is easier than defending his.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
Blogging, Jewish Blogging
Musings #60
July 18, 2004
Blogging, Jewish Blogging
My husband and I are Jewish bloggers. It does sound a bit obscene for those who haven’t heard the term before. Since I only found out what a blog was a few weeks ago, I presume that some of you aren’t familiar with the word. They are internet sites on which one posts whatever one wants on one’s own “page.” We each have our own blogs, and we write about Jewish and Israeli subjects. When I finish this musing, it, too, will appear on my blog.
Our blogs aren’t among the big hits. As far as we can tell, nobody seems to check them but us. In the world of blogs, there are some major celebrities. We’re not among them. We’re still waiting in the wings, unknown and undiscovered. It may be our fault.
From my peeks at the popular ones, I realize that they are like the diaries mine and earlier generations locked, far from prying eyes. I can’t imagine confessing everything to a keyboard and tossing it into cyberspace so that anyone can read it, and even if the writer is careful to put an untraceable address, it’s child’s play for hackers to find out the blogger’s true identity.
I’m from a different generation. I can’t go around in public places shouting intimate details of my life into a cellphone, for all to hear. Socializing has changed so much in recent years. It used to be that when at a wedding, everyone sat around the table talking to each other, or trying to talk over the noise of the band. Now they’re still talking, but they’re talking to others on their cellphones.
I read that most bloggers last about six months, and by then stop writing. Could it be that they gave up waiting to be discovered, waiting for hits and comments? Don’t they realize that a true diary is supposed to be concealed until one dies. Only then should the secrets be discovered.
Back to our blogs. We both applied to get onto the “Jewish Bloggers Webring.” When we were put on the waiting list, we were informed that it would take a few days, and we were in the late thirties, early forties on the list. At one point, we made it into the twenties, but after waiting over a month and a half, I think we’re well into the seventies or eighties now. It seems pretty clear that we’re too staid and boring to catch the eye of the list-owner.
The ones that have been put ahead of us tempt and tease the reader with tales of woe, of “…squirmy details…complaints, …whinges and general bitterness… Rants, raves, and butterfly bellyaches… …rumors and speculations… …Burning thoughts… …dating stories… ….living passionately….” (All the words and phrases are direct quotes from the blog blurbs on queue to be accepted to the Jewish Ring.)
I guess we’re just a couple of bores, dull lives and all that.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il/
July 18, 2004
Blogging, Jewish Blogging
My husband and I are Jewish bloggers. It does sound a bit obscene for those who haven’t heard the term before. Since I only found out what a blog was a few weeks ago, I presume that some of you aren’t familiar with the word. They are internet sites on which one posts whatever one wants on one’s own “page.” We each have our own blogs, and we write about Jewish and Israeli subjects. When I finish this musing, it, too, will appear on my blog.
Our blogs aren’t among the big hits. As far as we can tell, nobody seems to check them but us. In the world of blogs, there are some major celebrities. We’re not among them. We’re still waiting in the wings, unknown and undiscovered. It may be our fault.
From my peeks at the popular ones, I realize that they are like the diaries mine and earlier generations locked, far from prying eyes. I can’t imagine confessing everything to a keyboard and tossing it into cyberspace so that anyone can read it, and even if the writer is careful to put an untraceable address, it’s child’s play for hackers to find out the blogger’s true identity.
I’m from a different generation. I can’t go around in public places shouting intimate details of my life into a cellphone, for all to hear. Socializing has changed so much in recent years. It used to be that when at a wedding, everyone sat around the table talking to each other, or trying to talk over the noise of the band. Now they’re still talking, but they’re talking to others on their cellphones.
I read that most bloggers last about six months, and by then stop writing. Could it be that they gave up waiting to be discovered, waiting for hits and comments? Don’t they realize that a true diary is supposed to be concealed until one dies. Only then should the secrets be discovered.
Back to our blogs. We both applied to get onto the “Jewish Bloggers Webring.” When we were put on the waiting list, we were informed that it would take a few days, and we were in the late thirties, early forties on the list. At one point, we made it into the twenties, but after waiting over a month and a half, I think we’re well into the seventies or eighties now. It seems pretty clear that we’re too staid and boring to catch the eye of the list-owner.
The ones that have been put ahead of us tempt and tease the reader with tales of woe, of “…squirmy details…complaints, …whinges and general bitterness… Rants, raves, and butterfly bellyaches… …rumors and speculations… …Burning thoughts… …dating stories… ….living passionately….” (All the words and phrases are direct quotes from the blog blurbs on queue to be accepted to the Jewish Ring.)
I guess we’re just a couple of bores, dull lives and all that.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il/
Friday, July 16, 2004
The Wizard of Oz
Musings #59
July 13, 2004
The Wizard of Oz
The Wizard of Oz was right, at least according to the Judy Garland movie. The Great and Powerful Wizard told Dorothy that the power to return home had been with her all the time. She didn’t need his help at all.
Over the years, ok decades, as my Hebrew slowly improved, words developed new connotations for me. One of them is “Oz.” If you pronounce it “oze,” with a long “o,” you have the Hebrew word meaning: valor, courage, strength, fortress, glory.
This week the news has been filled to overflowing with reactions to the World Court’s decision that we have to take down the security fence. Everyone’s hysterical about it, for various reasons. There are those who are against the fence, because it’s an inconvenience for the Arabs and is on “their” land. Others are hysterical because they fervently believe that the fence will bring security, so they are terrified that there won’t be one. Some Israelis are less concerned about the fence than the fact that “the world” is angry with us. That puts them in a real panic, since they want “the world” to love us and approve of us.
Sometimes I think I’m the only one who doesn’t care. I’m not even going to get on the issue of the fence right now. I just don’t care what the World Court, or Europe or the UN or the US, or any foreigners think of our policies. I’m also not impressed by something, just because “everyone” may be doing something or may think a certain way.
When I was growing up, I wasn’t allowed to use the word “everyone.” If I dared request something or permission to do something, “…because everyone is…” I’d get the lecture:
“If everyone was jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you jump, too?”
I learned very young to make my own decisions and not be swayed by the “great and powerful” “everyone.” In actuality “everyone” frequently ends up as weak and pathetic as the “wizard” who was hiding behind the curtains.
I don’t understand why our pre-State leaders felt it so necessary to receive the permission of the infant UN to declare statehood. I don’t understand why our politicians and media crave the approval of American and other foreign politicians. I don’t understand why our government accepts aid vouchers for military equipment from America, which results in the destruction of our own military industry. I don’t understand why our ancient and distinguished Jewish People keeps begging the wizard to do what we can and should do for ourselves.
Only when Toto, the dog, pulled the curtain away, and the wizard’s humanity and weakness were exposed did the Wizard of Oz admit the truth. He had no magic powers. Dorothy, who had killed the wicked witch, was much more powerful than himself. If Dorothy wanted to go home, she had the power to do it herself. If we want true security, it won’t come from the UN, US or any foreign body. It’s up to us, only us, to use the “oze” inherent in us.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
The Wizard of Oz
The Wizard of Oz was right, at least according to the Judy Garland movie. The Great and Powerful Wizard told Dorothy that the power to return home had been with her all the time. She didn’t need his help at all.
Over the years, ok decades, as my Hebrew slowly improved, words developed new connotations for me. One of them is “Oz.” If you pronounce it “oze,” with a long “o,” you have the Hebrew word meaning: valor, courage, strength, fortress, glory.
This week the news has been filled to overflowing with reactions to the World Court’s decision that we have to take down the security fence. Everyone’s hysterical about it, for various reasons. There are those who are against the fence, because it’s an inconvenience for the Arabs and is on “their” land. Others are hysterical because they fervently believe that the fence will bring security, so they are terrified that there won’t be one. Some Israelis are less concerned about the fence than the fact that “the world” is angry with us. That puts them in a real panic, since they want “the world” to love us and approve of us.
Sometimes I think I’m the only one who doesn’t care. I’m not even going to get on the issue of the fence right now. I just don’t care what the World Court, or Europe or the UN or the US, or any foreigners think of our policies. I’m also not impressed by something, just because “everyone” may be doing something or may think a certain way.
When I was growing up, I wasn’t allowed to use the word “everyone.” If I dared request something or permission to do something, “…because everyone is…” I’d get the lecture:
“If everyone was jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you jump, too?”
I learned very young to make my own decisions and not be swayed by the “great and powerful” “everyone.” In actuality “everyone” frequently ends up as weak and pathetic as the “wizard” who was hiding behind the curtains.
I don’t understand why our pre-State leaders felt it so necessary to receive the permission of the infant UN to declare statehood. I don’t understand why our politicians and media crave the approval of American and other foreign politicians. I don’t understand why our government accepts aid vouchers for military equipment from America, which results in the destruction of our own military industry. I don’t understand why our ancient and distinguished Jewish People keeps begging the wizard to do what we can and should do for ourselves.
Only when Toto, the dog, pulled the curtain away, and the wizard’s humanity and weakness were exposed did the Wizard of Oz admit the truth. He had no magic powers. Dorothy, who had killed the wicked witch, was much more powerful than himself. If Dorothy wanted to go home, she had the power to do it herself. If we want true security, it won’t come from the UN, US or any foreign body. It’s up to us, only us, to use the “oze” inherent in us.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
Thursday, July 8, 2004
They’re Not The Same
Musings #58
July 6, 2004
They’re Not The Same
Last night my husband and I were vastly outnumbered at the official “American Independence Day Reception” of the U.S. Consulate, Jerusalem. We were the minority of the minority. Just being Jewish Israelis made us different from most attendees; then add my husband’s crocheted kippah and my hat. To put it mildly, we were easy to spot, and that’s just the superficial aspect. No other Jews from our type of neighborhood were there either.
The vast majority of the guests were Arabs, church clergy, or a combination of the two. We all had to pass through security checks and be on the official invitee list. There were live music and lots of food, but the only food reliably kosher was the ice cream.
Of course there was a ceremony. Four U.S. Marines marched as a tightly choreographed unit with flags. I have no idea how the two, in the middle, holding the flags could see where they were going, as the flags covered their faces. They just kept blindly following their flags, with that American confidence; they know what’s right.
Then we heard the speech describing the past year in Jerusalem, which included a phrase that was both so wrong and so typical of American policy: “…more deaths on both sides…” It’s the same as lumping Japanese kamikaze pilots and U.S. Navy sailors killed by Japanese torpedoes as “…more deaths on both sides…” I think I deserve a medal for self-control, since I didn’t make a fuss right then and there.
A few minutes later, after “The Star Spangled Banner” blared from very loudspeakers, and then the Marines blindly marched back. American policy is blinded by their “principles” of “even-handedness.” This concept ignores right, wrong, terror, murder and victims.
Our annual invitation to this American Independence Day event is rather recent, even though we’ve been on official “consulate lists,” as “contacts” for at least twenty years. I remember, it must have had been about twelve years ago, an American “official” was visiting our humble Shiloh home, when my husband broached the subject. “I understand that there are consulate events to which you invite various Israelis, Arabs, but no Jews from YESHA.” The official very smoothly answered: “But we don’t invite anyone from the Chamas terror organization, either.” Well I couldn’t stay quiet. “Do you mean that you’re equating us with the terrorists who murdered my friend, Rachella Druk, just a few short months ago?” Ok, I’m not very diplomatic. I’m neither sorry, nor embarrassed by my outburst. He deserved a lot worse than I gave him. Imagine, in my home, served my food and telling me that I was in the same category as terrorists.
I can’t say that absolutely nothing has changed, since now we’re on the invitation list to the American Independence Day bash. But in terms of policy, nothing has changed. Not since hundreds of Israelis have been murdered by terrorists all over Israel, and not since thousands were murdered in the states on 9-11.
Americans haven’t learned a thing. They don’t realize that the terrorists who attacked American targets are inspired by the fact that the terrorist, Arafat, is now accepted by the U.S., U.N. and even some Israelis, as legitimate national leader. The coordinated terror attacks that so traumatized America derived from the same terrorism plaguing us here in Israel.
By lumping together victims of Arab terror with the perpetrators, the American government shows a total lack of comprehension. They are blindly following their flags and policy according to their presumptions and theories, never letting facts get in their way. It may prove dangerous to them, again, and for sure it endangers us here.
Alas, if we had real leadership in Israel, it wouldn’t matter at all, because a true leader would never follow another country. A true leader leads.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
July 6, 2004
They’re Not The Same
Last night my husband and I were vastly outnumbered at the official “American Independence Day Reception” of the U.S. Consulate, Jerusalem. We were the minority of the minority. Just being Jewish Israelis made us different from most attendees; then add my husband’s crocheted kippah and my hat. To put it mildly, we were easy to spot, and that’s just the superficial aspect. No other Jews from our type of neighborhood were there either.
The vast majority of the guests were Arabs, church clergy, or a combination of the two. We all had to pass through security checks and be on the official invitee list. There were live music and lots of food, but the only food reliably kosher was the ice cream.
Of course there was a ceremony. Four U.S. Marines marched as a tightly choreographed unit with flags. I have no idea how the two, in the middle, holding the flags could see where they were going, as the flags covered their faces. They just kept blindly following their flags, with that American confidence; they know what’s right.
Then we heard the speech describing the past year in Jerusalem, which included a phrase that was both so wrong and so typical of American policy: “…more deaths on both sides…” It’s the same as lumping Japanese kamikaze pilots and U.S. Navy sailors killed by Japanese torpedoes as “…more deaths on both sides…” I think I deserve a medal for self-control, since I didn’t make a fuss right then and there.
A few minutes later, after “The Star Spangled Banner” blared from very loudspeakers, and then the Marines blindly marched back. American policy is blinded by their “principles” of “even-handedness.” This concept ignores right, wrong, terror, murder and victims.
Our annual invitation to this American Independence Day event is rather recent, even though we’ve been on official “consulate lists,” as “contacts” for at least twenty years. I remember, it must have had been about twelve years ago, an American “official” was visiting our humble Shiloh home, when my husband broached the subject. “I understand that there are consulate events to which you invite various Israelis, Arabs, but no Jews from YESHA.” The official very smoothly answered: “But we don’t invite anyone from the Chamas terror organization, either.” Well I couldn’t stay quiet. “Do you mean that you’re equating us with the terrorists who murdered my friend, Rachella Druk, just a few short months ago?” Ok, I’m not very diplomatic. I’m neither sorry, nor embarrassed by my outburst. He deserved a lot worse than I gave him. Imagine, in my home, served my food and telling me that I was in the same category as terrorists.
I can’t say that absolutely nothing has changed, since now we’re on the invitation list to the American Independence Day bash. But in terms of policy, nothing has changed. Not since hundreds of Israelis have been murdered by terrorists all over Israel, and not since thousands were murdered in the states on 9-11.
Americans haven’t learned a thing. They don’t realize that the terrorists who attacked American targets are inspired by the fact that the terrorist, Arafat, is now accepted by the U.S., U.N. and even some Israelis, as legitimate national leader. The coordinated terror attacks that so traumatized America derived from the same terrorism plaguing us here in Israel.
By lumping together victims of Arab terror with the perpetrators, the American government shows a total lack of comprehension. They are blindly following their flags and policy according to their presumptions and theories, never letting facts get in their way. It may prove dangerous to them, again, and for sure it endangers us here.
Alas, if we had real leadership in Israel, it wouldn’t matter at all, because a true leader would never follow another country. A true leader leads.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
Words
Musings #57
June 23, 2004
Words
“Perish” is a strange word. I’m an English teacher, and I had never thought about it until yesterday when I went to Yad V’Shem with my parents. According to whoever wrote the signs, the explanations, in that enormous holocaust museum, there was no “murder” of Jews by the nazis; nobody died of forced malnutrition and nobody from lack of proper medical care or warm clothes in the winter. The Jews just “perished.”
According to The Concise Oxford Dictionary, Ninth Edition perish: “be destroyed; suffer death or ruin; deteriorate; rot…”
There’s something arbitrary in the resulting death, not at all like the “Final Solution,” the systematic murder of German and then European Jewry. People perish in a blizzard or perished when the Titanic sank, but Jews were murdered in the gas chambers, by cruel sadistic medical experiments, by forced malnutrition, etceteras, ad nauseum. The word “perish” is much too weak to describe what happened to the six million Jews who were murdered.
Linguistically, “perished” has a “passive” feeling about it, “be destroyed…suffer death.” This year I taught my 9th grade, top level group, the Passive Tense. I tore a piece of paper and had them say it in Active Tense: “The teacher tore the paper.” Then in Passive Tense: “The paper was torn by the teacher.” To me, reading that people “perished” demands that I know by what means they perished, just like in the Passive Tense.
I admit that I’m rather hyper-sensitive to the subtlest nuances of words. When a newsreader states that: “A settler was killed in a drive-by shooting.” My linguistic antennae buzz and shriek in alarm. The sentence may be grammatically correct, but its every word and term are filled will political messages.
A settler: by not using the term “Israeli citizen” we are being delegitimized as Israelis.
was killed: as if the person incidentally died in a car accident. And the accident could have had been his own fault.
drive-by shooting: A “drive-by shooting” could be criminal, or even some sort of sick prank, but it wasn’t. It was a terror attack, an ambush. An Arab terrorist deliberately aimed at Israelis in an Israeli car fully intending to murder them.
In my opinion, the announcement (if G-d forbid it ever happens again) should be: “An Israeli was murdered by an Arab terrorist, who shot him as he was traveling on the road.” Think of the differences in the messages of the two sentences. They both report the same event, but they imply different things. Language is very powerful. It’s a major weapon in psychological and political warfare.
Sticks and stones can break my bones,
But words can never harm me.
I grew up hearing that rhyme, and it’s a lie! Words can be very harmful, very dangerous. Each word has its message. No two words are exactly the same. News editors, politicians (their advisors and speech writers), public relations and advertising consultants put enormous efforts into choosing the exact words to get their messages across.
We must not be shy or wary about correcting words “loaded” with potentially dangerous messages, whether they are used intentionally or even unintentionally. This “battle” is one in which we can all take part.
We all have a job to do. Don’t be embarrassed to use the “correct” words, even if you’re the only one. And don’t be shy about reminding others, whether in polite conversation or by writing to newspapers, news editors, politicians and others.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@gmail.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
June 23, 2004
Words
“Perish” is a strange word. I’m an English teacher, and I had never thought about it until yesterday when I went to Yad V’Shem with my parents. According to whoever wrote the signs, the explanations, in that enormous holocaust museum, there was no “murder” of Jews by the nazis; nobody died of forced malnutrition and nobody from lack of proper medical care or warm clothes in the winter. The Jews just “perished.”
According to The Concise Oxford Dictionary, Ninth Edition perish: “be destroyed; suffer death or ruin; deteriorate; rot…”
There’s something arbitrary in the resulting death, not at all like the “Final Solution,” the systematic murder of German and then European Jewry. People perish in a blizzard or perished when the Titanic sank, but Jews were murdered in the gas chambers, by cruel sadistic medical experiments, by forced malnutrition, etceteras, ad nauseum. The word “perish” is much too weak to describe what happened to the six million Jews who were murdered.
Linguistically, “perished” has a “passive” feeling about it, “be destroyed…suffer death.” This year I taught my 9th grade, top level group, the Passive Tense. I tore a piece of paper and had them say it in Active Tense: “The teacher tore the paper.” Then in Passive Tense: “The paper was torn by the teacher.” To me, reading that people “perished” demands that I know by what means they perished, just like in the Passive Tense.
I admit that I’m rather hyper-sensitive to the subtlest nuances of words. When a newsreader states that: “A settler was killed in a drive-by shooting.” My linguistic antennae buzz and shriek in alarm. The sentence may be grammatically correct, but its every word and term are filled will political messages.
A settler: by not using the term “Israeli citizen” we are being delegitimized as Israelis.
was killed: as if the person incidentally died in a car accident. And the accident could have had been his own fault.
drive-by shooting: A “drive-by shooting” could be criminal, or even some sort of sick prank, but it wasn’t. It was a terror attack, an ambush. An Arab terrorist deliberately aimed at Israelis in an Israeli car fully intending to murder them.
In my opinion, the announcement (if G-d forbid it ever happens again) should be: “An Israeli was murdered by an Arab terrorist, who shot him as he was traveling on the road.” Think of the differences in the messages of the two sentences. They both report the same event, but they imply different things. Language is very powerful. It’s a major weapon in psychological and political warfare.
Sticks and stones can break my bones,
But words can never harm me.
I grew up hearing that rhyme, and it’s a lie! Words can be very harmful, very dangerous. Each word has its message. No two words are exactly the same. News editors, politicians (their advisors and speech writers), public relations and advertising consultants put enormous efforts into choosing the exact words to get their messages across.
We must not be shy or wary about correcting words “loaded” with potentially dangerous messages, whether they are used intentionally or even unintentionally. This “battle” is one in which we can all take part.
We all have a job to do. Don’t be embarrassed to use the “correct” words, even if you’re the only one. And don’t be shy about reminding others, whether in polite conversation or by writing to newspapers, news editors, politicians and others.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@gmail.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
Not A Joke
Musings #56
June 22, 2004
Not A Joke
I thought of that joke when I was at a wedding last week. It was a regular religious wedding in Jerusalem. The men wore kippot, mostly crocheted; the women were in dresses with sleeves, and the married ones wore hats. The difference was that the chattan, kallah (bride, groom) and most of the guests looked like Peruvian Indians.
Half a millenium after their ancestors fled the Spanish Inquisition, their “pinteleh yid,” the spark of Judaism is burning brightly in Peru. Clans of Peruvians are discovering the source of “secret family customs.” They are no longer afraid to be Jewish. Hundreds of years after fleeing Spain and hiding their true religion, entire families of three and even four generations are rejoining the Jewish religion and then making aliya to Israel.
Over ten years ago, when the chattan’s family made Shiloh its home, I asked his father, in a combination of Hebrew and my remnant of high school Spanish, why they wanted to live in Shiloh. Binyamin explained that for many years he had taught his community Bible and felt that in Shiloh he needed to live. They bought a home and added rooms. Binyamin’s wife’s parents moved in with them, and then four generations lived here in Shiloh until the eldest couple passed away were buried in our cemetery. Binyamin and Ruth’s eldest child, a daughter, met a young moshavnik, the younger brother of a neighbor, married him and now have children. They also bought a home in Shiloh. The youngest generation has their mother’s coloring and features with their fair-skinned and light-eyed father’s curly hair.
The wedding music was Jewish-Israeli with a Latin beat, as only our neighbor, Yehuda Glantz, can play. As we all danced, celebrating with the young couple, I looked around and saw such wonderful people. There was the warm-hearted, welcoming family from Alon Shvut that had adopted the kallah, whose family is still in Peru. A dvar Torah (Torah lesson/speech) was given in Spanish by my Bible teacher, who is from Majorca and discovered his Jewish roots when still a child.
I can only admire all of those who have the courage to publicly embrace the religion their ancestors hid. And to think that despite their fears, they had passed on just enough knowledge that they were “different” for their descendents to be able to discover their secret five centuries later. This is so different from the voluntary assimilation in recent centuries.
At the wedding, I felt that I was dancing as part of a miraculous performance in praise of G-d. Our hands of different colors symbolized the chain of Judaism that connects us all to those exiled after the destruction of the Holy Temple, that connects us to Bnei Yisrael that entered the Holy Land with Joshua, that connects us to those who fled Egypt with Moshe and those who entered Egypt with Yaakov and those who were born from Yitzchak, Avraham and Sarah's only child.
We are one People, and we will not be destroyed. We survived the nazi holocaust, the pogroms, the Inquisition, Haman, the Greeks, the Philistines, Amalek. And with the Help of G-d, we will survive our new enemies, even those among us.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
June 22, 2004
Not A Joke
There’s a well-known joke that you’ve most probably heard about the Jewish tourist from New York, who, when in China, found a synagogue to pray in. Imagine his surprise when he looked around, and noticed that it was filled with Chinese men. Just before he was about to ask if he was in the right place one of the Chinese came up to him and asked:
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to pray in a synagogue,” the tourist answered.
“Why a synagogue?” the local man asked.
“I’m Jewish,” he answered.
The Chinese men all stared at him in surprise, and one finally said: “Funny, you don’t look Jewish.”
I thought of that joke when I was at a wedding last week. It was a regular religious wedding in Jerusalem. The men wore kippot, mostly crocheted; the women were in dresses with sleeves, and the married ones wore hats. The difference was that the chattan, kallah (bride, groom) and most of the guests looked like Peruvian Indians.
Half a millenium after their ancestors fled the Spanish Inquisition, their “pinteleh yid,” the spark of Judaism is burning brightly in Peru. Clans of Peruvians are discovering the source of “secret family customs.” They are no longer afraid to be Jewish. Hundreds of years after fleeing Spain and hiding their true religion, entire families of three and even four generations are rejoining the Jewish religion and then making aliya to Israel.
Over ten years ago, when the chattan’s family made Shiloh its home, I asked his father, in a combination of Hebrew and my remnant of high school Spanish, why they wanted to live in Shiloh. Binyamin explained that for many years he had taught his community Bible and felt that in Shiloh he needed to live. They bought a home and added rooms. Binyamin’s wife’s parents moved in with them, and then four generations lived here in Shiloh until the eldest couple passed away were buried in our cemetery. Binyamin and Ruth’s eldest child, a daughter, met a young moshavnik, the younger brother of a neighbor, married him and now have children. They also bought a home in Shiloh. The youngest generation has their mother’s coloring and features with their fair-skinned and light-eyed father’s curly hair.
The wedding music was Jewish-Israeli with a Latin beat, as only our neighbor, Yehuda Glantz, can play. As we all danced, celebrating with the young couple, I looked around and saw such wonderful people. There was the warm-hearted, welcoming family from Alon Shvut that had adopted the kallah, whose family is still in Peru. A dvar Torah (Torah lesson/speech) was given in Spanish by my Bible teacher, who is from Majorca and discovered his Jewish roots when still a child.
I can only admire all of those who have the courage to publicly embrace the religion their ancestors hid. And to think that despite their fears, they had passed on just enough knowledge that they were “different” for their descendents to be able to discover their secret five centuries later. This is so different from the voluntary assimilation in recent centuries.
At the wedding, I felt that I was dancing as part of a miraculous performance in praise of G-d. Our hands of different colors symbolized the chain of Judaism that connects us all to those exiled after the destruction of the Holy Temple, that connects us to Bnei Yisrael that entered the Holy Land with Joshua, that connects us to those who fled Egypt with Moshe and those who entered Egypt with Yaakov and those who were born from Yitzchak, Avraham and Sarah's only child.
We are one People, and we will not be destroyed. We survived the nazi holocaust, the pogroms, the Inquisition, Haman, the Greeks, the Philistines, Amalek. And with the Help of G-d, we will survive our new enemies, even those among us.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
The Sandwich Generation
Musings #55
June 13, 2004
The Sandwich Generation
The “New” Sandwich
“Middle age” is known as the “sandwich generation.” That’s because we’re pressed between our parents’ and our children’s (and grandchildren’s) needs. Some of my friends, blessed with living parents and lots of children and grandchildren have a full-time job, with lots of overtime, just helping everyone “a little.”
Recently a neighbor had to deal with a sandwich of a different flavor. He had to postpone his murdered son’s azkarah, memorial ceremony, until after he got up from shiva, the seven day morning period, for his mother.
The “Open” Sandwich
A few years ago, at a shiva for a child, the mother said that she was glad that her parents had already died. She would have no had been able to deal with their grief at the murder of her own child.
A More “Cheerful” Sandwich
Some sandwiches are more festive. Life here is more than terror and tragedy. Last week I experienced a “miracle” sandwich experience. On Wednesday I had to go to the airport to pick up my parents, visiting to celebrate their first great-grandchild’s (and my first grandchild’s) first birthday, and bring my son who was leaving for the states. Now miraculously, without their planning together, it ended up that my parents were due to land three hours before my son was to take off. The simplest part of the miracle was that I only needed one trip to the airport. The extraordinary part of the miracle was that they got to see each other for a few minutes.
Between Two Real Slices, or “The Glue”
My parents (may they live and be well) are both first generation born in America. Their parents, who immigrated to America in their teens and twenties, were proud that their children were “real Americans,” speaking unaccented English and able to effortlessly fit into American society. My father’s mother was the only grandparent I had most of my life and she lived long enough to see all but my youngest child. She was my role model of how an immigrant functions. Even though she spoke English with us and followed American politics on TV, she read the Yiddish papers. I considered that perfectly normal, and today, after over thirty years in Israel, though I can follow Hebrew lectures and can easily converse in heavily accented and strangely syntaxed Hebrew on any topic, I read the news in English. And my children are the real Israelis.
I’m an Israeli in the sense that we’re experiencing the “ingathering of the exiles,” and I am definitely part of it. But I’m one of the “odd colors,” not yet blended in. Honestly, I never quite fit in America either.
I’m the filling, or the glue, in that American-Israeli sandwich.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
June 13, 2004
The Sandwich Generation
The “New” Sandwich
“Middle age” is known as the “sandwich generation.” That’s because we’re pressed between our parents’ and our children’s (and grandchildren’s) needs. Some of my friends, blessed with living parents and lots of children and grandchildren have a full-time job, with lots of overtime, just helping everyone “a little.”
Recently a neighbor had to deal with a sandwich of a different flavor. He had to postpone his murdered son’s azkarah, memorial ceremony, until after he got up from shiva, the seven day morning period, for his mother.
The “Open” Sandwich
A few years ago, at a shiva for a child, the mother said that she was glad that her parents had already died. She would have no had been able to deal with their grief at the murder of her own child.
A More “Cheerful” Sandwich
Some sandwiches are more festive. Life here is more than terror and tragedy. Last week I experienced a “miracle” sandwich experience. On Wednesday I had to go to the airport to pick up my parents, visiting to celebrate their first great-grandchild’s (and my first grandchild’s) first birthday, and bring my son who was leaving for the states. Now miraculously, without their planning together, it ended up that my parents were due to land three hours before my son was to take off. The simplest part of the miracle was that I only needed one trip to the airport. The extraordinary part of the miracle was that they got to see each other for a few minutes.
Between Two Real Slices, or “The Glue”
My parents (may they live and be well) are both first generation born in America. Their parents, who immigrated to America in their teens and twenties, were proud that their children were “real Americans,” speaking unaccented English and able to effortlessly fit into American society. My father’s mother was the only grandparent I had most of my life and she lived long enough to see all but my youngest child. She was my role model of how an immigrant functions. Even though she spoke English with us and followed American politics on TV, she read the Yiddish papers. I considered that perfectly normal, and today, after over thirty years in Israel, though I can follow Hebrew lectures and can easily converse in heavily accented and strangely syntaxed Hebrew on any topic, I read the news in English. And my children are the real Israelis.
I’m an Israeli in the sense that we’re experiencing the “ingathering of the exiles,” and I am definitely part of it. But I’m one of the “odd colors,” not yet blended in. Honestly, I never quite fit in America either.
I’m the filling, or the glue, in that American-Israeli sandwich.
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://shilohmusings.blogspot.com/
http://www.shilo.org.il
Thursday, June 10, 2004
On My Mind
Musings #54
June 7-10, 2004
On My Mind…
Olmert’s Right
Please calm down. I’m not agreeing with his policies, just his statement that “that vote” was “historic.” It definitely was historic.
Just because it’s “historic” doesn’t make it good. I know that old show biz saying: “It doesn’t matter what they write about me, as long as they spell my name right.” But it doesn’t work in history, diplomacy and security.
A Little Linguistics-Euphemisms
I’m not the type for euphemisms; I’m more of a straight talker, as you may have noticed. In politics, especially in this part of the world, some words have added significance. When a Jew’s home and community are destroyed, it’s “good,” for “peace,” so they can “just go home,” (even if he has no other and never had any other.) However if the person to be “moved” is an Arab, it’s an evil sin, called “transfer.” But I’m sure that you know all that.
I’ve been trying to figure out the new word, just recently coined, for withdrawing from land and destroying its communities, homes and residents, hitnatkut from the verb lehitnatek. This is what’s known as a “reflexive” verb, that means it’s done to oneself. The root is nun-tof-kuf, meaning “short-circuit” or “disconnection.” Basically, it means to “disconnect from oneself.” From the same root, a person described as “minutak,” (an adjective derived from the passive verb,) is divorced from reality.
Actually, this is an excellent word to describe Arik Sharon, his supporters and the “left.” In actuality, they are disconnecting themselves from reality. There’s definitely a short circuit in their thought processes. Their “plan,” their entire philosophy is a hitnatkut from our Land, our People and our History.
It’s very sad and tragic; hopefully the “tragic” will remain only a personal tragedy for them. We have hard work to do to prevent a full national tragedy. Tonight I heard a woman from Gush Katif on the TV news, who reminded the interviewer that the withdrawal is scheduled to be a good few months away, and lots of things can happen before then. She’s right. This is only the beginning.
More Linguistics
Another example of a reflexive verb is lehitabed, which can be translated as “to make oneself disappear, or get lost.” It is generally translated as “to commit suicide.” That’s why I don’t agree with the term “suicide bomber.” I think that “human murder weapon” is a much more accurate term.
Separating the Wheat From the Chaff
On the bright side, the false leaders have been showing their true colors, and we are discovering who are the authentic ones. I must admit that I hadn’t accurately judged some of the politicians. A few years ago, I was one of those who thought that Olmert would make a good Prime Minister. Now we know the truth about him. We also know, for sure, no doubts, how weak Bibi is. He didn’t stand up to Sharon. Limor, also, knuckled under; she and Bibi voted “for,” even though they admitted the plan was bad, showing how extremely unprincipled, weak and unreliable they are. Tzachi voted against but didn’t campaign publicly, a disappointment; we’ll have to watch him carefully in the future. The National Religious Party, known as the Mafdal, seems to be disintegrating, and even at its best it has been unable to provide national leadership. About the National Union Party, now that Rav Benny Elon is not longer Minister of Tourism, maybe he’ll show some national leadership with his political partner Avigdor Lieberman. And for some good news, Natan Sharansky, Uzi Landau and Ruby Rivlin haven’t been afraid to campaign against Sharon.
Democracy
Democracy, the rule of the majority, as if the majority is always right, is a modern religion. Many people are horrified when it’s criticized. The same people may have no compunctions about sinning in terms of the laws G-d gave, but democracy for them is holier than holy, holier than G-d. This weeks parsha, Torah Portion, includes an example of how the majority, democracy, is wrong.
Shlach Lecha, Bamidbar, (In The Desert) Numbers XIII, 15
In preparation to enter Eretz Yisrael, The Land of Israel, Moshe is ordered to G-d to send an elite scouting unit, with one representative from each tribe, to check out The Land. Twelve of Am Yisrael’s finest set out on what could be called The First Pilot Trip. (For those who aren’t familiar, a “pilot trip” is a pre-aliyah visit to facilitate an easy, early-aliyah.) This was not supposed to be a feasibility study. They were supposed to “spin” a positive “pr” spiel to enthuse the people. Somehow, everything went wrong, and ten out of the twelve, the majority, took this as an opportunity to convince the people that Moshe was just leading them the wrong way. Only two scouts out of the twelve, Yehoshua and Calev, had faith, and therefore, trusted that G-d would help the Jewish People to flourish and succeed, in The Land.
My Ripped Flag
Democracy. When Joshua and Calev saw that the majority of the people wanted to appoint a new leader and return to Egypt, they ripped their clothes as a sign of mourning. Over ten years ago, in response to the “Oslo Accords,” I wore a ripped Israeli flag. I wore it everyday, all the time, to work, to my son’s Bar Mitzvah and more. I wonder if I should take it out again.
G-d punished the People by delaying their entry to the Promised Land. The Jewish People wandered forty years, until that generation died out, and the ten scouts were killed by plague. Only then did a new generation, led by Joshua, of the Tribe of Judah, enter The Land. How long will we have to wander? And who are our Joshua and Calev?
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://www.shilo.org.il
June 7-10, 2004
On My Mind…
Olmert’s Right
Please calm down. I’m not agreeing with his policies, just his statement that “that vote” was “historic.” It definitely was historic.
Just because it’s “historic” doesn’t make it good. I know that old show biz saying: “It doesn’t matter what they write about me, as long as they spell my name right.” But it doesn’t work in history, diplomacy and security.
A Little Linguistics-Euphemisms
I’m not the type for euphemisms; I’m more of a straight talker, as you may have noticed. In politics, especially in this part of the world, some words have added significance. When a Jew’s home and community are destroyed, it’s “good,” for “peace,” so they can “just go home,” (even if he has no other and never had any other.) However if the person to be “moved” is an Arab, it’s an evil sin, called “transfer.” But I’m sure that you know all that.
I’ve been trying to figure out the new word, just recently coined, for withdrawing from land and destroying its communities, homes and residents, hitnatkut from the verb lehitnatek. This is what’s known as a “reflexive” verb, that means it’s done to oneself. The root is nun-tof-kuf, meaning “short-circuit” or “disconnection.” Basically, it means to “disconnect from oneself.” From the same root, a person described as “minutak,” (an adjective derived from the passive verb,) is divorced from reality.
Actually, this is an excellent word to describe Arik Sharon, his supporters and the “left.” In actuality, they are disconnecting themselves from reality. There’s definitely a short circuit in their thought processes. Their “plan,” their entire philosophy is a hitnatkut from our Land, our People and our History.
It’s very sad and tragic; hopefully the “tragic” will remain only a personal tragedy for them. We have hard work to do to prevent a full national tragedy. Tonight I heard a woman from Gush Katif on the TV news, who reminded the interviewer that the withdrawal is scheduled to be a good few months away, and lots of things can happen before then. She’s right. This is only the beginning.
More Linguistics
Another example of a reflexive verb is lehitabed, which can be translated as “to make oneself disappear, or get lost.” It is generally translated as “to commit suicide.” That’s why I don’t agree with the term “suicide bomber.” I think that “human murder weapon” is a much more accurate term.
Separating the Wheat From the Chaff
On the bright side, the false leaders have been showing their true colors, and we are discovering who are the authentic ones. I must admit that I hadn’t accurately judged some of the politicians. A few years ago, I was one of those who thought that Olmert would make a good Prime Minister. Now we know the truth about him. We also know, for sure, no doubts, how weak Bibi is. He didn’t stand up to Sharon. Limor, also, knuckled under; she and Bibi voted “for,” even though they admitted the plan was bad, showing how extremely unprincipled, weak and unreliable they are. Tzachi voted against but didn’t campaign publicly, a disappointment; we’ll have to watch him carefully in the future. The National Religious Party, known as the Mafdal, seems to be disintegrating, and even at its best it has been unable to provide national leadership. About the National Union Party, now that Rav Benny Elon is not longer Minister of Tourism, maybe he’ll show some national leadership with his political partner Avigdor Lieberman. And for some good news, Natan Sharansky, Uzi Landau and Ruby Rivlin haven’t been afraid to campaign against Sharon.
Democracy
Democracy, the rule of the majority, as if the majority is always right, is a modern religion. Many people are horrified when it’s criticized. The same people may have no compunctions about sinning in terms of the laws G-d gave, but democracy for them is holier than holy, holier than G-d. This weeks parsha, Torah Portion, includes an example of how the majority, democracy, is wrong.
Shlach Lecha, Bamidbar, (In The Desert) Numbers XIII, 15
In preparation to enter Eretz Yisrael, The Land of Israel, Moshe is ordered to G-d to send an elite scouting unit, with one representative from each tribe, to check out The Land. Twelve of Am Yisrael’s finest set out on what could be called The First Pilot Trip. (For those who aren’t familiar, a “pilot trip” is a pre-aliyah visit to facilitate an easy, early-aliyah.) This was not supposed to be a feasibility study. They were supposed to “spin” a positive “pr” spiel to enthuse the people. Somehow, everything went wrong, and ten out of the twelve, the majority, took this as an opportunity to convince the people that Moshe was just leading them the wrong way. Only two scouts out of the twelve, Yehoshua and Calev, had faith, and therefore, trusted that G-d would help the Jewish People to flourish and succeed, in The Land.
My Ripped Flag
Democracy. When Joshua and Calev saw that the majority of the people wanted to appoint a new leader and return to Egypt, they ripped their clothes as a sign of mourning. Over ten years ago, in response to the “Oslo Accords,” I wore a ripped Israeli flag. I wore it everyday, all the time, to work, to my son’s Bar Mitzvah and more. I wonder if I should take it out again.
G-d punished the People by delaying their entry to the Promised Land. The Jewish People wandered forty years, until that generation died out, and the ten scouts were killed by plague. Only then did a new generation, led by Joshua, of the Tribe of Judah, enter The Land. How long will we have to wander? And who are our Joshua and Calev?
Batya Medad, Shiloh
Shilohmuse@yahoo.com
http://www.shilo.org.il
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