Trading places

A little compassion is a marvelous thing. Too readily, we forget what it is like to sift through the tests of earlier portions of life. We fail to recall the feeling of being a height-challenged person, of being illiterate, or of possessing any of the other challenges of children.

Likewise, much too often we neglect to take into consideration that life's late portion, too, might incur challenges. Sadly, we often only focus on the stage in which we're standing.

It's not too late to be more inclusive in our perspectives. Consider the following story.

Hashem's cool creations

We used to get ladybugs dripping out of our faucets, in my in-laws' vacation home in Vermont. In the spring, those small, valuable beetles would get into the pipes, likely from arteries that linked their ground nests to my in-laws' abode. Those tiny champions would spill out of the spigots, hungry to chomp on household pests, their red and black wings all aflutter.

Years ago, Missy Youngest developed chomping habits, too. Spring, in the New World, meant to her, the consumption of "cat whiskers," of the long strands of wild onion grass that grows in the beginning of spring. She also enjoyed tasting violets, and later, when the air shimmered with heat, eating day lily buds.

Pepper and salt

My friends and I joke that I wear my glasses on test days because they make me smart. I might look smarter, but unfortunately, my specs have no affect on my abilities. The only reason I wore them to the bagrut I had today was because one of my eyes was hurting from my contact lens.

First impressions are the strongest, and it's peoples' exteriors that we look at first. So, basically, how you look is how people think about you, often forever.

For example, when I wear my glasses, I look "smart." When I don't wear them, I look "blonde." I've learned to wear them when I have an interview because they give me a look beyond that of "the-blonde-next-door." Without them, I am be boxed into the "blonde" category, or the "female" category, or the "Israeli" one. Some things I just can't change.

Emunah/Faith

It's almost Shabbat, the time when we are blessed to receive, temporarily, another dimension/a second soul. Soon, the holy air, in this holy land, will be infused with the chanting of prayers. Men will sing niggim. Women will lift their voices to bench lecht. Children will scurry in search of Shabbat treats, their joy expressed in all manners of shouting and of sing-song.

In the morning, the birds, the lizards, and the other indigenous creatures, too, will proclaim their part in this holy day. Few cars, at least in some neighborhoods, will dirty up the audible world. The hum of Shabbat will envelope us for twenty-five hours.

Holy Land

When, in the beginning of each day, we offer up morning prayers, i.e. the Brachot HaShacharit, we make a point of thanking Hashem for our breath, for our ability to walk, and for other physical basics. In some cases, we addend the formal text with personal thanks. For my family, these extra gratitudes include our appreciation of dwelling, each day, in the land of holiness.

Whereas our ethnic cousins sound their culture through the loudspeakers mounted on their minarets, so, too, do our children's schools announce our presence in our land. Twinkling reverberations of voice, or of instruments, ring in one learning session after another. Shabbat sirens sounds from our hilltops at the requisite times. The music of weddings drift from catering halls.

Relationships as achievements

I'm sort of scared at the moment. Tomorrow is my last official day of high school and my eighteenth birthday was a week or so ago. If I want to buy something and I don't have the cash, I can use my credit card to spend last summer's wage. I'm growing up. I'm learning how to stand on my on own feet and how to fall flat on my face.

I was told, for years, just how "cool" I was. Whether it was my doting grandparents (first-grandkid-syndrome) or my first grade teachers, who were shocked that I knew how to count M&Ms, I was encouraged and helped on my way to "bigger things." I always had someone to ask and someone to guide me. Rules are part of growing up.

Friends - gold and silver

I can't wait for the fall; it's going to be awesome. In the fall, two great things are happening.  The first is that I will be filling an amazing national service slot. I'll get to be a guide for a place I believe in and I will be able to learn important things from the people who work there. Also, I'll get a chance to interact with other girls who feel the same way about things as I do. In addition, I'll have a chance to see my former high school friends. The relative freedom that the next year will offer me is sublime. 

The other great thing that will be happening is that most of my friends from the US are coming to Israel, for their year of seminary. While I was able to see those friends, a few times, during the past four years, our visits were superficial, and, for the most part, short. This fall, I'll have the chance to finally "hang" with them the way we used to before I made aliyah.

Yom HaZikaron and Yom Ha'atzmaut

Sixty-one years ago, the modern State of Israel was born. The national holiday that marks this event, Yom Ha'atzmaut, is a time of national pride, of visiting with friends and family, and of barbecue.

It's said that all Israelis observe the "big fast day" in the fall, and the "big barbecue day" in the spring. No empirical evidence supports these claims, but the silence on the highways infers the truth of the former and the clouds of cooking smoke infer the truth of the latter.

As religious Jews, Yom Kippur is, for our family, as natural as waking up in the morning. Yom Ha'atzmaut, though, was something we embraced more closely in Israel than we did during our previous life as New Worlders.

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Lotsa Matza: Pessach reflections

My "former friends" had a theory. Their theory was that my hair is blonde with white-blonde highlights because I put eggs in it...raw eggs, that is. In fact, they were so sure about their theory that they decided it was best to help me along with my hair coloring and smash a raw egg on my head...during a picnic...across the city from my house, two bus rides away. Forgetting for a minute that the only water I had to wash my hair with was water from the ma'ayan (the "pee pool," as we called it) and that I was wearing a brand new shirt (no saying shehechiyanu during s'fira!), who wants to take two buses looking like they were standing under a chicken at an unlucky time, and smelling like an omelet? There was only one thing left for me to do; I took the egg off of my head and placed it onto theirs. 

Passover should be about thanksgiving

Somewhere between Yaacov praising Hashem, albeit indirectly, by telling Esau that he, Yaacov, has everything and us contemporary Jews offering up our thanks, each year, at the Seder, with our singing of Dayenu, it's in our blood to be grateful. Our gratitude, in turn, helps us cleave to The Boss, especially when we are challenged.

I have friends for whom the acquisition of the latest gewgaw is an art. Be the objects of their desire clothes, electronics, or other items, they "obsess 'til possess" and then want everyone to know what they acquired. If we were meant only to focus on physical pleasures, we would be brutes, like the ones we will again offer in sacrifice, in our service of Hashem.

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