Week 12 | November 15-November 23, 2014

Me and Naomi in Tzfat

I told myself that this week would be different. I told myself that no matter what, this week, I would not talk about terrorism. It seems like my blog has becoming a running commentary on Jewish tragedies, and that's the last thing I want. Judaism is not a religion of suffering, it is not a cross we must bear, we are not eternal victims pushing through constant persecution in hopes of something better in some other life. Judaism is a religion of love, laughter, truth, and wisdom. It is a religion of kindness, unity, empathy, and togetherness. When I think of what it means for me to be a committed Orthodox Jew, the hatred and ruthless murders I have seen in the last few weeks between Poland and my return to Israel are the last things I think of. I think of children running through the streets of Jerusalem, screaming and causing a general ruckus, and of the sun setting over the hills as shabbat comes in, and of my friends and family and everything good in my life. So I don't want you to think I see Judaism in any other way. Still, it would be ridiculous to talk about the past week and not talk about the massacre in a synagogue in Jerusalem.

Doubtless, you have all seen the pictures and read the harrowing news reports. The images are hard to shake-bloodied sefarim and siddurs (holy books), dead arms wrapped in tefillin (phylacteries), devastated widows sobbing and clutching their children for support. For me, it's more than the pictures. I'll never forget where I was on Tuesday morning when I found out about the attack. We were rushing downstairs to load the buses to go to a "human chain" event in support of the previous week's terror victims in Gush Etzion. The plan was to gather as many people as possible and hold hands in a chain that would wrap around the area, a show of unity and love in contrast to the violence and hatred of the terrorists. It was 7:30AM, and as I bounded down to the lobby (excited, clad in my usual skirt and sweater combo with a big Israeli flag wrapped around my back like a cape), I saw a group of my friends huddled around their phones, and heard something a synagogue. I don't know how, but I knew right away, from the looks on their faces and the way their shoulders had tensed up, that something horrible had happened. We've had enough horrible that I've gotten used to the look of it.  I ran over to the crowd, and we sat around, waiting for news to unfold. Girls with family in the neighborhood of the attack were crying and frantically texting relatives. Everyone else was texting parents and friends to reassure them of their safety. It soon become clear that we wouldn't be going to any rally-in fact, we wouldn't be going anywhere, so we said a schoolwide Tehillim (Psalms), and went to class.

The rest of the day was heavy. The names of the victims were released, among them Rabbi Moshe Twersky (grandson of Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik) and many other people with whom I share one degree of seperation (friend of a cousin, cousin of a friend, you know how it goes) That night, we learned from Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik's teachings in memory of his grandson and went to bed with heavy hearts. The next morning, a Druze (non-Jewish) police officer, Zidan Sif, who was crucial in ending the attack succumbed to injuries sustained the day before and passed away. The community bounced into action. The generally insulated and segregated Hareidi (ultra-Orthodox) community of Har Nof rallied around this police officer, and thousands of Hareidi men decided to attend his funeral. An ex-IDF soldier, who was Jewish but secular, heard about this effort and decided to donate buses to transport the Hareidim to the funeral. An Orthodozx Zionist woman heard about this man's generosity and split the bill with him. It was a moment of such profound unity between so many different sects and groups of people in Israel, in contrast to the usual tension and disagreement we see. And imagine the shock of Zidan Sif's family when thousands of black-hatters arrived at the modest funeral they planned in their small Druze village. On the streets, the security level was upped to the second to highest alert level, meaning that the streets were teeming with hardworking soldiers who stood on street corners and all over town for 18 hour shifts. Communities mobilized to support them-women baked for them, schools (like mine, which bought 200 pieces of pizza to give out between 10 and 11PM) bought pizza pies and drinks and drove around handing them out, families made coffee and tea at 2AM to keep soldiers alert and warm and everyone now says thank you when they see a soldier-the amount that they are doing to protect us is unthinkable. For every attack, hundreds are stopped, and the soldiers are constantly on alert.

By the end of the week, we were exhausted. The whole country, really. We needed a break, and shabbos is that perfect time to step back from the world and all the badness and spend time with the best people doing the things we love most. For shabbat, my program, along with the program in our school for girls with special needs, and many of our teachers and their families, went to Tzfat (Safed). It was such a beautiful, uplifting, interesting and meaningful shabbat spent in a city rich with culture, history and spirituality. Now I'm home, curled up in my bed with a cup of tea, eating a jelly donut in honor of the new month (and the impending holiday of Hanukkah!). Every week, it seems, there's at least one attack, and a part of me is just wondering when this week's attack will occur. I know that sounds so horrible, but after 6 attacks like this, it's hard not to think that way. Human beings are the most adaptable beings on the planet, which is a necessary component to our survival. If it gets too hot, our bodies send blood to our extremities, if we have no food, our bodies conserve energy and calories, if we lose one of our senses, the others are strengthened, and if it gets too dark, our pupils dilate and our eyes adjust to the darkness. One of my teachers used this metaphor of eyes and darkness to illustrate how easy it is to get used to this-and the importance of never letting that happen. I cannot let my eyes adjustment to the darkness. I won't let this become something I anticipate and something that no longer shocks me. This cannot become the new normal. We cannot accept terrorism as a part of life-we need to fight it in all ways, militarily, diplomatically, politically, religiously, communally and emotionally. When I think about the funeral of Zadin Sif, I cannot think of a better way to fight this evil force off. I hope you all will keep Israel in your prayers, so that at this time on Friday, when I summarize the week, I don't need to talk about terrorism or murder, because it doesn't have to be that way. Love you, RTS

Week 11 | November 8-November 14, 2014

Good (almost) shabbos everyone! I am so happy the weekend has come, and I think that sentiment is shared by most right now. The feelings of relief and gratitude for the impending arrival of shabbat are unmissable. Shabbat signifies relaxing, retreating from the world with all of its ups and downs and scariness and into the safety and unconditional love and appreciation of family and friends. It means good food, lots of laughs, and long naps. And after the week the Jewish people and the state of Israel have had, shabbat is exactly what we need right now. In case you don't know what I am referring to, this past Monday, two successful terrorist attacks were carried out and two more were attempted. There were two victims-both in their 20s, and many others injured. Throughout the week, terrorist have been throwing "scare grenades" into heavily populated areas-grenades that explode and make a loud noise, but have no gunpowder, and thus, no ability to hurt or kill anyone. Until they fully explode, it is impossible to detect whether or not they are real, so they send all nearby people, police, and soldiers into a frenzy. Although harmless, they just add more terror to the tension radiating throughout the country. They reveal just how truly corrupt our enemies are-even without the proper ammunition, equipment and infrastructure to carry out as many deadly attacks at they would like, they will spend time and money to simply infuse the Jewish population with fear. Their motives are so impure are so evil. Their cruelty, however, can be matched and exceeded by all the great things that happened this week.  

 

^ with friends on Saturday night 

 

^^on a school trip to Chevron, the ancient city in which our matriarchs and patriarchs resided and are buried

^^^selfies with my special needs students, Lauren and Deena. Every week I teach them the weekly Torah portion. In this week's Torah portion, we learn about the death of Sarah, the matriarch, and the quest for Abraham to find Isaac a wife (my namesake, Rebecca)

 

^^^at the color run on Friday in Tel Aviv. You can see which pictures were pre-run (the ones where we look clean and put-together) and which are post-run (those colorful, fun ones)

On Monday, I began writing this week's post after a somber schoolwide meeting about the current security standards (i.e. we were put on lockdown) and a mournful recitation of Psalms in memory of the day's victims. The atmosphere was so heavy it was hard to bear, and sadness and anxiety feeds off itself, so everyone was in a state of gloom and stress. Things just looked bleak-two stabbings in one day, along with the events of prior weeks, suggested to many people that a third intifada was upon us, something Israelis live in constant fear of. Even the word intifada sends chills down my spine. I called my daddy (he's my rock- my logical, fact-bound, stoic and unflustered papa who never falls victim to crowd panic or exaggerated claims) who calmed me down, but I still fell asleep feeling unsettled and down (only to be woken up at 4:30am by the Muslims's call to prayer, a reminder to never again sleep with the windows open). In my original post on Monday, I talked about how hard it was, how stressed I was, how bad I felt for the victims and their families and how much suffering our people seem to endure. But then life went on-I had classes, I did laundry, I laughed and learned, I watched The Mindy Project, I ate a chocolate bar every day, I puzzled through pages of Talmud. I felt uplifted by my Torah learning with my special needs students and reveled in an amazing talk I had with one of my favorite teachers over lunch. I complained about the fact that skim milk isn't a thing in Israel as I made my coffee, I walked 6 kilometers, I vacuumed, I tweezed my eyebrows, I chewed too much gum and exacerbated my TMJ, I took money out of the ATM, and I sang to myself as I painted my nails. I lived my life.

I concluded the week with the annual Color Run in Tel Aviv, run by an organization that supports victims of terror and their families. I ran for team Yachad (special needs children and adults), along with over 450 American students learning for a year in Israel, and most of my friends. It was a 5k run in which you run through 7 colorful balloon arches and colored paint and chalk is thrown at you-yes, you come out dirtier than you can imagine, but it is so fun, unifying, and happiness-inducing. I just got back to school and am spending shabbat here, eating at teacher's houses but sleeping in my own bed. Friday always makes me feel hopeful and reflective, and I realize now that the mindset I had on Monday, while understandable, is wrong. Yes, it can be hard and scary, and yes, it sometimes feels like the Jewish people have it rough, but we are also strong, smart, and doing amazing things every day. There is so much light all around us-it may be the darkness that gets the headlines, it may be the stabbings and murders and riots that catch the eye, but if you look a little deeper, you can see infinitely more light. No matter what, I am so grateful to be here, to have the opportunities I have and to be Rebecca Siegel. I am so grateful to be a Jew (shoutout to you, Mom, for making this all possible) and so grateful for the many gifts I have that others don't. I hope everyone has a blessed weekend. Please pray for Israel and the Jewish people. XXOO Rebecca

Weeks 9-10 | October 28-November 7, 2014

....and it's Friday again :)

Time is flying, and somehow, classes are turning into days which are turning into weeks which are turning into months. I entitled this post "Weeks 9-10" because I will be covering here everything from my return to Poland until today, which is really almost two weeks. These weren't very photographable weeks, as I spent a lot of time indoors learning, and as it is now fall, early nights and blustery weather et all. Getting back home from Poland was surreal and incredible. I was just so happy to be home, to fall into a regular routine and to be in my school, in my home, and in Israel. We spent shabbat in Gush Etzion at our teacher's houses, which was lovely and relaxing, as we didn't have to make any plans or coordinate anything (it was a school shabbat) but still got to leave Jerusalem. Saturday night I went out with school friends, and Monday night I went out for dinner with my friend Kayla from home. We are also spending shabbat together at her cousins house, so as I am writing this, I am simultaneously mentally packing for the weekend.

^^^pre-shabbos last week

 ^^^ out with my friend Kayla on Monday night 

 As you can see, I didn't get out much this week. I spent most of the week with my school friends, learning and hanging out. This is for three reasons-one, we've been here for two and a half months, so the social scene is definitely dying down and the pressure to go out is nearly nonexistent, two, because it's cold, dark, and frequently rainy at night, and three, because of the current security situation in Israel and particularly in Jerusalem.

I'm not sure how much of the current situation in Israel is being broadcasted and publicized in America,  but here, it is real life and it is everywhere, every day. There have been three confirmed terrorist attacks (Hamas took responsibility) and two unconfirmed attacks in the past two weeks. Although the casualties have been relatively small, the constant presence of terror in Israeli life is pervasive. People stay inside more, and are more cautious and reserved on the streets. There is an unmissable atmosphere of tension that permeates every part of life. This isn't a dire situation-there have been many times, unfortunately, when life has been much more stressful here and when terrorism and war loomed larger. Still, with the huge uptick in terrorism, rioting, violence, and shootings, it is definitely something everyone feels and suffers from. In the past two weeks, our school has been on lockdown three or four times while they clarified the situation, and we are advised as much as possible not to go out. At the same time, life goes on. It has to. Laundry still needs to be done, friends still need to be seen, groceries still need to be bought, and the buses still must run. Israelis are, tragically, not unaccustomed to this-there are times of greater and lesser tension, and they make it through them. But I'd be lying if I said we didn't feel it.

Last night, I went to a teacher's house for a siyum, which is basically a party made when the learning of a book of the bible is completed. We took the bus there, but it was a nice night, so we decided to walk back. It was only a 15-20 minute walk in an area we know well, and we were four girls with cell phones and common sense. But as we walked, every time a car came closer to the curb, every time there was a loud noise, we flinched. We didn't really think anything was going to happen to us, but that's what terrorism does-you never really know who will be the next victim and when or where it will happen. Lately, Hamas's shtick is to drive cars into crowds of people waiting for buses or walking on the street, which is truly freaky because everyone needs to leave their house, and anyone can drive a car. In a way, I guess it's brilliant of them-it means you always need to be on the lookout, cautious and apprehensive. But like I said, life goes on. In the midst of this, so many beautiful things have happened.

Last week, I told you I didn't know what the takeaway from Poland was. I've been thinking about that all week, and although I haven't come to any definite answers yet, I feel something is different in me. We have a program in our school called Darkaynu, for girls around my age and older with special needs, typically Down's syndrome. I have never been heavily involved in working with special needs kids, it often made me uncomfortable, as loathe as I was to admit it. We had a chance to sign up for a Darkaynu chevruta (partner-style learning) at the beginning of this year, and I immediately said no. I thought it wasn't for me. Then, when we returned from Poland, I saw the Darkaynu girls-they hadn't arrived till after Sukkot, so my first day back from Poland was the first time I met them. I had this strong desire to talk to them and be close to them that I have never had with special needs people before. I kept reaching out to them, and their enthused responses made me so happy. Two days after I got home, I signed up for a Darkyanu learning partner, and was matched with two girls who I would we learning with once a week. I showed up enthusiastically on Wednesday for my first learning session with them, in which I decided we would learn the weekly Torah portion. This week's Torah portion happens to be chalk-full of great stories (the destruction of Sodom and Gomorra, the birth of Isaac, the sacrifice of Isaac) so it was fun to tell the stories to my girls. When we got to the sacrifice of Isaac, I paused-how was I supposed to explain this to these girls? They posses a beautiful but childlike innocence and cannot grasp complex ideas-how did I make this understandable to them? I began by explaining that a parent's love for a child is unmatched, just like their parents love them so much, so too, Abraham and Sarah loved Isaac so much. We talked about their parents and families and I watched their faces light up (literally, they were grinning ear to ear). I then explained how hard it must be for a parent to have to give up a child, and they nodded, seeming to understand. Then, one of my girls, Lauren, said something so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes. "Parents always love their kids a lot. My parents love me a lot, even though I have a disability". "Just imagine how hard it would be for your parents to give you up, and how lucky they are to have you" I said, and they nodded. We finished the summary of the Torah portion and talked about life, family, friends, and adjusting to a new country. I left feeling so happy and fulfilled, it stuck with me the rest of the week.

I don't know why I chose to do this now, if it's because of Poland or because of the terrorism here or for no reason, but I am so happy I did. The only influential factor I can point out with confidence is the following that I read in a book about prayer by Rabbi Avi Weiss:

Two friends were discussing some of the more difficult issues of life. One said, "Sometimes I would like to ask God why he allows poverty, famine and injustice, when He could do something about it" The other replied, "Well, why don't you ask Him?" The response came quickly: "Because I am afraid that God might ask me the same question" 

We talked so much in Poland about our ability to do both good and evil. This duality in us is something unique to the human being, and I have seen so many examples of both in the past weeks. On the one hand-senseless hatred, brutal murder, and unfathomable evil, on the other, the giving spirit of so many people, the love between friends and family, and the unity of the Jewish people in the face of all challenges. It's up to us what we want to do, what energy in ourselves we want to harness, and I'm trying my best to harness the light.

I know I've been very serious lately, but I promise, I am still having an amazing time and lots of fun. I am always smiling and couldn't be happier or in a better place. Have an amazing shabbat/weekend everyone! I love you guys and miss you very much. XXOO RTS