 israel365.com-Wednesday marks the first day of the Hebrew month of Cheshvan, which is the second month in the Jewish calendar counting from the New Year (Rosh Hashana). Cheshvan is the only month in the entire Hebrew year in which there is no Jewish holiday, festival or special mitzvah (commandment). Therefore it is also known as “Marcheshvan”, or the “bitter month”, as the prefix “mar” means “bitter.” Jewish tradition holds that this month is empty because it is reserved for the Moshiach (Messiah), who will inaugurate the Third Temple in Cheshvan.
Read more... by Darwin Ball The way they are constructed, makes double hung windows very popular. Cleaning double hung windows are easier than windows based on a spiral or string system because they won't allow the sash to drop out when you are cleaning them. Double hung windows tilt in a way that uses a flush fitting tilt release which is more attractive than screwed in tilt release systems that are more commonly used. You may find that choosing a quality window is difficult because of the overwhelming number of options. A solid warranty offered by a quality manufacturer as well as your budget should be important factors in the window decision you make. Windows are a large investment and if you pick wisely you can save money over the long run by improving your energy efficiency. In order to save money in the future you may be wise to spend a little more on your windows now.   I waited more than a year and a half to write about my impressions of life in Israel. Many times I sat down at the computer to describe the differences between the food here and in America, or tell funny or exasperating stories about the Israeli bureaucracy, or remark at the children’s unbelievably fast progress in school and how they prefer salad to doughnuts, or complain about the physical condition of a school that more closely resembles a migrant workers’ camp somewhere in the US. It’s so much more drab, but so much more beautiful I have read, and can sympathize with, the hundreds of blogs about the experience of the oleh chadash, the new immigrant, moving at middle age from a wealthy country where no one really bothers you unless your lawn isn’t being taken care of, to a place where your neighbor’s teenagers, and yours, are standing at the border some ten miles away with their Uzis defending your right to exist. People feel they have a right to tell you that you aren’t feeding your baby correctly, and they just may be right. I jotted down hundreds of lines about the unbelievable kosher food in the supermarkets, bakeries, restaurants, wineries and even gas stations (sushi to go). A liter of wine from the Tishbi vineyard down the street is twenty shekels (five dollars). You bring an old bottle, and they fill it from the vat for you, and stick on a new label and a cork. Every little hole in the wall has an espresso/cappuccino maker better than the one in the best Italian restaurant at home. I’ve marveled at the fact that all of Israel knows that it is Shabbat, even if they don’t observe it. And Yom Rishon (Sunday) really is a workday. The only official day off is Shabbat. The holidays really make sense here . . . they fall at the right times with the right weather. The pomegranates ripen just before Rosh Hashanah, and the almond trees really do start blooming on Tu B’Shevat. You never wake up and say, “I wish it wouldn’t rain today.” Rain is essential, a blessing, and very rarely bothersome. The Mediterranean color palette is astonishingly beautiful . . . blue sea and sky, olive terrain, red dirt, white stones. I took an art class when I first arrived, and the colors that came out on the canvas were not right . . . my art teacher told me that my head was using lingering shades from my Vermont summers. “Look again,” she encouraged me. “See how the browns and grays and olive greens dominate the landscape.” It’s so much more drab, but so much more beautiful. In Israel, just when you think the ground and the brush are so dry they will literally crumble, the winter rains come, and everything turns green—in winter. I’m used to it now.  Sometimes it is tense here. I have gas masks in the closet, and regularly walk past homes where people have decorated the doors of the bomb shelter with paintings of flowers. It’s the Israeli way of turning a dark necessity into something normal. I often catch myself thinking about my boys as future soldiers. Many times, the experience is not something that can be put easily into words. The feeling that we belong here, and that while we are immigrants, we were not just welcomed but courted to come and live in our own home. In a short time, we have developed very deep relationships. We offer each other help and friendship, and share laughter and tears with new friends . . . when we come to terms with what we have actually accomplished. Our kids are bilingual, and the other day, my husband and I watched a movie in Hebrew without subtitles . . . it was big step. I add up all of these stories up, and it still doesn’t become the full picture. It is a whole other realm of existence... And then I realized, living in Israel is more than just the sum of its parts . . . It is a whole other realm of existence. It’s a parallel world. I can wake up, get the kids off to school, run to the gym, the grocery store, a quick coffee and errands, a bit of work, and then back to get the kids . . . and then I realize that I am sitting under the scorching Mediterranean sun, looking at the sea, through the branches of a craggy lemon tree in my back garden, an hour’s drive from Jerusalem—which is the center of the universe, as far as I am concerned. Of course we have daily struggles, but a Jewish life has a different quality here . . . everything is filtered through a different prism. G‑d lives everywhere, but this is His billing address. These hills, trees, and rocks, He made especially for the Jewish people. We bless things and pray differently here . . . nes gadol hayah po (a great miracle happened here). This is where He wants us to be, and we are here! Have any stories youd like to share? Send them to the editor at onthemovejerusalem[at]gmail[dot]com
The colder months are coming. It's a great opportunity to let go of summer and embrace the coming winter with a great story. Remember Shavuot? Here's a book created especially from holiday inspiration; we hope you enjoy this lovely piece of writing.  David's Garden by Amy D. Goldstein, Ph.D.  The Jewish people have been scattered across the world for generations. Between exile and immigration, moving around is a part of our national history. Inevitably, this has also become a part of our national culture and identity. But that doesn’t make settling into a new home any easier for our children. In my new children’s book, David's Garden, I weave together a parable that connects the holidays of Pesach and Shavuot with a story of renewal and redemption through the land. His family’s move to a new house has a strong impact on young David - from his loneliness during a cold winter to his excitement as he watches the garden come to life in Spring - all of which is brought to life by award-winning illustrator Robert Sauber. This is a book that speaks not only to young Jewish children, but we the parents who are seeking to raise them with a consciousness of our history alongside a positive sense of self and Jewish identity.   A parallel is drawn between the winter and slavery in Egypt, and Spring's thaw and the Exodus. Only when David is in the fully blooming garden – and his favorite flower opens that the feels truly happy. Woven into the story is David's relationship with his grandmother, an avid gardener, with whom he shares the garden's progress while she visits for Passover. Moving from Passover to Shavuot, David waits for his favorite flower to appear. By the end of the story, David has changed, mirroring the growth and emergence of his garden. David's story reflects a variety of themes in Judaism: slavery and freedom, the giving of the Torah (marked by Shavuot), the connection to the Land of Israel (the garden), and the completeness that David feels when he is in the garden, and the rose finally blooms). This final episode reflects Yehuda ha-Levi's view that the epitome of human potential can only occur when the Jewish People are in the Land of Israel living a life guided by Torah values.   Lots of books exist for Hanukka, Passover, and Rosh Hashana. Very, very few books address the holiday of Shavuot, which is often called the “forgotten holiday”, as it comes in the summer. David's Garden seeks to fill that vacuum in the marketplace. Amy D. Goldstein is passionate about teaching others about Jewish history and religion. Born in Detroit, Amy she grew up with a deep appreciation of Jewish history, pursuing a Ph.D. at the Jewish Theological Seminary, specializing in the cultural history of medieval Sephardic Jews. Amy worked for more than 20 years working for the Jewish community in various organizations, while teaching classes and writing articles on Jewish subjects. Amy lives in Houston, Texas with her daughter and two cats. See Book's Website here. This article originally appeared on The Israel Forever Foundation.  by Chana Perman
The questions give way to answers: answers that sustain me as I sort through my worldly possessions. Mr. Appleby, an esteemed family friend, describes the process of moving as “traumatic.” Upon hearing this quietly announced proclamation, I study his expression for clues. Does he mean traumatic as in sirens blaring trauma? Or does he kindly offer sympathetic hyperbole, having been told of my family’s move to a new home? Being the adheres-to-the-facts lawyer Mr. Appleby is, I suspect he means traumatic as defined by the Merriam Webster dictionary: “. . . refers to an experience that is emotionally painful, distressful, or shocking, which often results in lasting mental and physical effects.” It seems that nothing is permanent, it all feels transient Where to begin? Four children, thank G‑d (check). Parents (check). And then the gargantuan umbrella: “stuff.” Lots of it. Big stuff like a glass table with iron legs. Little stuff like Silly Bandz and doll shoes. Medium stuff—lots and lots of it. Taking my hereby copyrighted Noah’s Ark Approach to Packing, I employ a three-tier packing strategy. Or should I say, stacking tragedy? Move-ing right along, the Torah relates that Noah’s ark consisted of three levels. The topmost level housed the humans: Noah, his wife and their children. The ark’s middle floor sheltered the animals, and its lowest level contained garbage. Keeping the humans of my home in mind foremost, I commence by packing items used on a regular basis. Such items are assigned to labeled boxes—coats, clothes, shoes, boots . . . the boxes are speedily filled, bringing to mind a time-lapse film. Behold! A ten-foot wall of snow magically formed in sixty seconds. Fast forward. Done! That went rather well, I remark to the thirty-eight-percent-boxed apartment. With bated breath, Mr. Appleby’s words await. The “middle floor packing” is more painstaking. There is a preponderance of toys and knickknacks. It feels wrong to throw them out; it feels ridiculous to take them along. The process of deciding becomes fraught with deliberation. Time is money, and I cannot afford circuitous trips down memory lane. I shift into amnesia gear and hurl anything hurl-able into the oversized garbage bags I have tied to various disposal outposts in my quickly disappearing apartment. Fast forward. Sort of done . . . but maybe not. I need to throw out more stuff. Tug of heartstrings. What if my children want to see my doodles from Grade Eight? More importantly, what if I want to see their doodles from age two? There are no easy answers. “Garbage level” packing proceeds with little pomp and ceremony. A threadbare rug, hobbled lamp, cookbook embalmed in batter and random keys, as well as things that go chink and clang in the night, are hurled into garbage bags. But wait . . . but wait . . . but waaaaaait! The incinerator door slams shut over and over again. Each time it opens its metal jaws there is a taking away, moving away. We are moving. Mr. Appleby says moving is traumatic. Esther, in her charming cursive, encourages me to remember the treasure trove of talents I’ve been gifted with. Bobby (grandmother) wishes me a wonderful summer. The postcards and letters—hundreds of them—swim before me. Mommy! Totty! I sit on a broken chair, crying. The chair will soon be trashed, but I fiercely tuck away my letters—preserved for posterity. There is only one thing to do upon having reached a packing impasse. Order a butterscotch sundae with fudge topping. And ponder. Over time, I have less and less answers. What to keep, what not to keep—for which reason. It seems that nothing is permanent, it all feels transient, slipping out of my hands into boxes, into the incinerator, into the dumpster. Falling away. Is this what we feel at the end of life? How alienating, how frightening. Get a grip, my Not Packing Self intones. You’ve got your anchors; reach for them! All you need now is a grounding thought—something to propel you from point A to point B without being catapulted into outer space. I own two treasured copies of Hayom Yom—an anthology of Chabad aphorisms and customs arranged according to the days of the year. I have not packed either yet, for, as the title states, such books are best used on a daily basis. Indeed, it is time for an emergency briefing, to which I invite myself. Why am I here? (Hayom Yom, 3 Elul) Whoever has faith in individual Divine Providence knows that “man’s steps are established by G‑d,” that this particular soul must purify and improve something specific in a particular place. The questions give way to answers: answers that sustain me as I sort through my worldly possessionsFor centuries, or even since the world’s creation, that which needs purification or improvement waits for this soul to come and purify or improve it. The soul too, has been waiting—ever since it came into being—for its time to descend, so that it can discharge the tasks of purification and improvement assigned to it. What matters? (Hayom Yom, 9 Nissan) Jewish wealth is not houses and money. Jewish wealth, which is eternal, is the observance of Torah and mitzvos, and bringing children and grandchildren into the world who will observe the Torah and its mitzvos. What is my purpose? (Hayom Yom, 7 Adar I) “It is imperative that every Jew know that he is an emissary of the Master of all, charged with a mission—wherever he may be—of bringing into reality G‑d’s will and intention in creating the universe, namely to illuminate the world with the light of Torah and avodah (divine service). This is done through performing practical mitzvos and implanting in oneself fine character traits.” The questions give way to answers: answers that sustain me as I sort through my worldly possessions. Yes, Mr. Appleby, moving is indeed traumatic. I emphatically agree. At the same time, it has proven to be other things for me as well: meaningful, paradigm-shifting, and—in the interest of finding a rhyming word for traumatic--emblematic. It would be dishonest to say moving has not been traumatic. At the same time, I would also be telling the truth if I said it’s not so much about leaving as it is about returning home. |
Interviews and Culture PageHere we share the (moving) moving stories of our fabulous clients, plus tidbits of information on Jewish culture and community to make your reading experience unforgettably enjoyable. Archives
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