An Israeli soldier, guarding the border. (Source: WikiMedia Commons)

I’ve written about the Haredi draft problem before, and I guess I don’t really have anything new to say. My thoughts are still the same. I still don’t understand how the ultra-Orthodox, who claim to learn God’s Torah all day, can blithely ignore the massive chunks of the Torah that don’t fit in with their “All We Need Is Torah” theme. You know, the parts that talk about Joshua conquering the land of Israel, about King David charging out to war, or about the hundreds of great sages and rabbis who also held down ordinary, every day jobs (employment going hand-in-hand with army service in this country). They revere the David who wrote Psalms, but are more than willing to ignore the David who went out into battle. They like the part about the Hasmoneans sacrificing everything to learn Torah and perform brit milah and ignore the part where the Hasmoneans had to actually grab some spears and fight the Greeks. OK. Fine. You believe that Torah study alone is what keeps us going and ignore the parts where we have to get our hands dirty.

This past Sunday, there was a beautiful display of unity in New York. Two warring Satmar groups came together to protest the Israeli government’s latest efforts to draft Haredim into the military. The enemy of my enemy, after all … So there were lovely placards stating “Orthodox Jews will proudly go to jail rather than join the Zionist army!” and statements about how ONLY Torah learning has kept our people alive.

I am actually not arguing with that premise, per se. I agree that Torah learning is what makes Jews, Jews. Without Torah, and people studying it, Judaism is just matzah balls and latkes (not that there’s anything wrong with matzah balls and latkes, of course). I am not arguing the necessity of studying Torah. “V’hagita bo yomam v’laylah (immerse yourself in Torah study day and night.)” That’s good stuff, right there.

What’s bothering me today, though, is how the Haredim have decided that they, and they alone, have the monopoly over Torah study. And we somehow have gone along with it! When did we all agree that only the ultra-Orthodox know how to learn Torah? Who decided that the Haredim must sit and learn Torah, and everyone else can go risk their lives in the army? I agree that there should be an army exemption for scholars. True scholars, who excel at learning and can commit to a lifetime of study. But who says Torah scholars have to be “Haredim?” Shouldn’t a “scholar exemption” apply across the board? A national religious, or yes, even secular Jew who shows true prowess at learning should be able to devote him (or her) self to the rigor of full-time study. And aside from those exceptions, everyone else should enlist or perform national service.

To the ultra-Orthodox, I am curious: Why is your Torah learning worth more than mine? And why is my son’s life, conversely, worth less than yours? Your way of life is not more or less “right” than mine. So why have we drawn this arbitrary line, deciding who should learn and who must serve?

My children are still young. Army service seems a far-off thing, as far off as a Shabbat nap or not having to hire a babysitter. But it’s coming. Every day, like the song says, it’s-a gettin’ closer. I look at them and know, improbably as it seems now, that one day they will leave home and proudly serve their country. And then I think about the devastating, unbearable sadness of Yom Hazikaron (Memorial Day) and then my mind refuses to go any further. So part of my riled-up-ness is that it feels very personal. I am hurt that my fellow Jews are totally OK with sending other people’s children—my children—off to fight and defend them. I am hurt that to them, my Torah study and my life are worth less.

Learning Torah makes us “Jewish.” Serving in the army makes us safe and able to continue learning all that Torah. And all types of Jews should proudly engage in both.

"It's simple. I'm right, you're wrong." (Or is it?)

Do you believe strongly in stuff? Great! Belief is terrific. Having convictions is a wonderful thing. We shouldn’t just float through life, never feeling passionate about what we do and what we believe in.

However, a little doubt, even self-doubt, can be a healthy thing. (In case you haven’t guessed, I’m going on a rant)

I live a certain lifestyle. I live this way because I believe it is the right way. Mostly, because I think it is the right way for me. I do not believe everyone else has to make the same choices as I do. I do not think people are wrong for choosing to live differently, for interpreting Torah differently, for being a different kind of Jew. I can even wonder, sometimes, if I am indeed making the right choices. I may question my own practices and change.

Recently, there has been a lot of Wall (as in Western) controversy. Who can pray there, and how? You can read all about it here. But whether you are For the Wall, Of the Wall or maybe just off the wall, a tiny bit of allowance for others mixed in with all those lovely convictions and beliefs can make this world a happier place to live.

Reading the various articles and comments on the topic, I was amazed at how people who claim to be God-fearing Jews could be so arrogant as to claim they know exactly what God wants: How He wants Judaism to be observed, how He wants us to pray and dress. Oh, the certainty! It must be lovely! All I know for sure is that I certainly don’t know enough to know for sure. And I can’t understand how anyone can be so arrogant, so smugly convinced of their own rightness, that there is no room left to see that, just maybe, theirs is not the only, or even the right, way to live.

Are we really so naïve as to think there is one “right” and everything else is “wrong?” And so superior to think that “my way” is right?

I will admit that sometimes, when I read something about long-ago cultic religions that eventually died out, a small piece of me says, “Ohmigod, what if that’s us? What if at the end we find out that we Jews have got it all wrong?”

Excuse me while I duck the incoming lightning bolt.

Yes, it’s just a tiny little piece, an itsy-bitsy flickering doubt that accompanies me as I keep kosher, observe Shabbat and go to the mikvah. But does it make me a worse Jew? I hope not. I hope it means that I have simply left a little room in my life for humility and respect for others. At the very least, it keeps me from arrogance.

About a week ago, I read this cutesy Facebook story, the kind I usually scroll past, but for some reason I clicked on it. It was a conversation between two twins in utero. One was talking about leaving one day, about meeting “Mother,” about life on the outside. The other was convinced that there was nothing other than this life. After all, no one ever came back from “out there” to tell them otherwise. They never met “Mother” and had no proof they could even exist outside the womb. It resonated with me because, in the end, we don’t know. We really just don’t know. We don’t talk to God, we don’t get celestial confirmation in the form of a booming voice telling us, “Hey there! You, over there! You are doing it right! Congrats!”

Yes, we pick a path, we believe it’s right, and we stick to it. But we shouldn’t stick to our beliefs and passions so strongly that it causes us to frenetically raze every other path in sight.

Tikkun Leil Shavuot: Fun for the whole family!

This year, Shavuot is going to be my Pesach do-over.

Well, not do-over exactly. I loved Pesach. I thought our seder was wonderful, the kids were engaged, the food was delicious. Etc., etc. But as I mentioned, it can be so stressful preparing for the cooking and cleaning part of seder that it can be hard to find time to think about the educational aspects.

Luckily, we have another chance, a mere seven weeks after Pesach, to engage in some kid-friendly Torah learning. But this time, bread crumbs are welcome, and there is not a bowl of salt water in sight.

Shavuot night is known as “tikkun leil Shavuot.” The story goes that the Jewish people overslept on the day that they were to receive the Torah. God was seriously exasperated, “It’s Torah day, and I have to wake you up?” And so, we have spent the last few centuries atoning for the error. We spend all night engaged in Torah study, proving to God that we are here, ready and excited, to receive his Torah.

[Note: The word “tikkun” is often used to mean “fix,” as in “tikkun olam,” our responsibility to repair, or improve, the world. It can also refer to a specific, fixed time to study, or a set of texts to learn. In this case, there’s a little bit of both of those meanings.]

Many synagogues have all-night learning programs on a variety of topics. There are often even classes, in the earlier part of the evening, that are geared toward children so they, too, can partake in the Torah study. I have fond memories of staying up all night Shavuot studying for finals (hey, the timing worked out, so why not?) and drinking very sugary coffee, and then finally passing out sometime during the early morning shacharit service.

Even if all-night study is not your thing, you and your family can still engage in learning from the comfort of your home and your pajamas. And since this holiday requires significantly less work than its counterparts of Sukkot and Pesach—blintzes and cheesecake vs. sukkah and seder—there may even be some time before Shavuot to sit down and plan a mini-tikkun leil Shavuot for your own family. Some ideas:

1. Ruth. The megillah we read on Shavuot is Megillat Ruth. Though it lacks some of the drama and heroics of Megillat Esther (no one gets hanged, for example), it has some very thought-provoking topics. For example: conversion. Ruth, the heroine, decides to convert to Judaism. What does it mean to convert? Why did she want to be Jewish? How does the Torah want us to treat converts? The megillah also touches on how to treat those less fortunate than ourselves, as the poor gather at the field of Boaz (the hero) to collect leftover grains.
2. Seven species. During this holiday, back in the old days, the Jewish people trekked with their first fruits (bikkurim) to the Beit Hamikdash in Jerusalem. The shivat haminim, Israel’s seven special species, play a big role in the holiday. (First activity: try saying “seven special species” 10 times fast). Your local Jewish bookstore will probably carry books on this topic both for kids and adults. (We have one with pictorial descriptions of the ancient processes of food preparation, including stamping on grapes and throwing wheat chaff in the air.) If you don’t live near a Jewish bookstore, you can even buy something on Amazon.
3. Your choice! Learn anything you want! Last year, my son decided he wanted to read parts of Breishit with me. Why not? He enjoyed hearing the familiar words and stories. Ask your kids ahead of time if there’s something they would like to learn more about or study with you.
4. Be the student. Let the kids teach you. During the rush of the school week, there’s not always time to sit and talk about what they learned that day. Ask them before the holiday to think of something they can teach you during the evening. (Warning: You may have to sit in little chairs for the full effect.)

Whether you buy some new books or simply familiarize yourself with old texts, whether you learn all night or pass out at 9:30, tikkun leil Shavuot is a natural time for Torah study with the family.

(Note: I have nothing against the 33^rd day of the omer, per se. In fact, I have nothing against any days of the omer. My dislike is related to this quasi-holiday of “Lag B’Omer” that we’ve created.)

I love living in Israel. I really do. In fact, this post was originally going to be about why I love being a parent (and why I wish I had been a kid) in Israel. Don’t worry, that post will come. But for now, I am grieving over my ruined view.

You might remember my view. I posted it a while back. It looks like this. Well, it used to.

Last night, an out of control fire turned it to this.

Last night marked the beginning of Lag B’Omer. I tried to explain about Lag B’Omer in this space last year. It’s a funny little holiday, one that we’ve more or less made up. If you were going to rank the holidays in terms of importance, I would say (and keep in mind, I am neither a rabbi not do I play one on JVO) that we start with Shabbat and the holidays (that are biblical), then come Purim and Chanukah (rabbinically ordained), then probably the 9^th of Av (our day of mourning). Then Tu B’Shvat. Then, maybe, maybe comes Lag B’Omer. Even though the only actual mitzvah of the day is to count the omer (something we’ve been doing since Pesach and will continue to do until Shavuot), we’ve created a number of traditions around the holiday that have become as binding as reading the megillah on Purim.

In America, the day is often marked by picnics and other outdoorsy activities. In Israel, it starts with theft and ends with arson.

Lag B’Omer in Israel is all about the medurah (bonfire). The youth of this country, religious and secular alike, adhere to it pretty, well, religiously. Everyone has to do a bonfire. Youth groups, synagogues, schools, families and groups of friends. Last night, driving down one of the streets in my city, there were no fewer than 20 bonfires raging in one of the “sanctioned” bonfire areas.

No one is exactly sure where this bonfire tradition comes from. You can almost imagine the educators of yore sitting around, discussing this strange tradition of lighting things on fire, and saying, “Alright, we’re saddled with this bonfire thing. It’s not going anywhere. I guess we should tack on some historical/religious significance to it.” Theories range from a “ner neshama” (yahrtzeit/memorial candle) for the students of Rabbi Akiva who died in the weeks prior to Lag B’Omer, to a ner neshama for Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, a great sage who died on Lag B’Omer. Or maybe it’s because R’ Shimon taught lots of Torah, which lights up the world, just like the bonfire lights up the mountains behind my home. Or because during the Bar Kochba rebellion, they lit bonfires to send messages.

Guys, if you have to work that hard at coming up with a reason, well …

In Israel, at least, this tradition with very shaky and hazy reasoning has led to some clear and serious transgressions. Because there is a dearth of trees in Israel, kids have to go to great—and unscrupulous—lengths to obtain wood. So they pillage building and construction sites for “krashim,” planks of wood. Any flammable item sitting in your yard is considered fair game. And they cart off their haul in shopping carts they often pilfer from nearby supermarkets.

Then comes bonfire time, which usually starts a few days before Lag B’Omer. The city offers sanctioned bonfire sites, cordoned-off areas where it is “safe” to build a bonfire. You are only allowed to light your fire in one of the sanctioned areas at one of the specified times. It’s kind of like the city sighing with resignation—if you’re going to do this thing people, let’s try to make it as safe and controlled as possible.

But, unfortunately, there are always those who believe the law is for other people. For example, the people that decided to make a bonfire on the mountains across from my building. Those mountains are an archaeological site; you can’t build on that area, you can’t barbeque there and you certainly can’t have a medurah. But someone—or someones—did, and the fire raged for most of the night.

Aside from the aforementioned theft, the lack of respect and appreciation for nature is appalling. As a religion, we generally have great respect for the environment. There are many, many halachot that discuss the care of trees and crops. We have a shemittah year, where we need to let the land lay fallow. Each of the major holidays (Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot) is not just celebrating a milestone in the Jewish people’s history; they are each agricultural holidays as well. The Torah spends a significant chunk of time discussing the agricultural significance of Chag Ha’aviv (the spring holiday), Chag Ha’asif (reaping) and Chag Hakatzir (harvesting). In fact, one of the themes of the upcoming holiday of Shavuot is bringing bikkurim, first fruits, to the Temple. We even have a special “Rosh Hashanah” just for trees (Tu B’Shvat).

And then on Lag B’Omer we go ahead and cheerfully say, “To heck with you, environment! Bring me more planks! Bwahahaha!”

Maybe kids all over the country will hate me for saying this, but perhaps it’s time to start letting Lag B’Omer go. Last night’s fire was another reminder that the risks and dangers of this holiday—or “holiday”—simply outweigh the fun. Even though it’s “something we’ve always done,” that’s not necessarily a reason to continue a tradition that poses such great risk to man and to nature.

My poor blackened hills would certainly agree.

Victims of the Boston Marathon Bombings. (Source: AP)

What can you say after the horrific events of last week? The bombing at the marathon, the shooting at MIT, the fear gripping Boston while one of the terrorists was still armed and at large, and the entire city on lockdown? In the end, the terrorist was found hiding and bloody, in a boat in someone’s driveway. He was arrested and is currently in the hospital.

Not exactly a happy ending, but at least an ending to a week of terror.

How do we respond to something like this? This indiscriminate murdering and maiming of innocent people? Each time I hear about a horrific event like this one, it is hard for me to comprehend how a person could do this to another person. Pictures of the bombers show them milling around, elbow-to-elbow with the people they would shortly kill or injure. The two brothers were able to stand mere inches from their victims and apparently feel no remorse for the terror they were about to unleash. I am amazed and dismayed that as a human race, we have given birth to monsters such as these. In addition to the four innocent people murdered—three at the marathon, plus a security guard at MIT—a number of marathon-goers sustained severe injuries. Including the loss of limb, or limbs; injuries that will require several surgeries, prostheses and years of physical therapy. A few moments in the wrong place have irrevocably altered their lives.

So how do we respond? Well, for starters, I know a few things I’m not going to do. I’m not going to take the attitude of, “Well now you know what other parts of the world (Israel, Syria, etc.) experience.” This picture from Syrian sympathizers sums up that uncomfortable combination of sympathy and smugness. Maybe there’s a time for teaching eye-opening lessons about life under terrorism. But it is not now.

I’m also not going to jump to conclusions about why this happened. There are lots of very smart people working on the answers to that question. I’m not one of them. My job now is not to listen to or spread rumors, or make sweeping generalizations about ethnicities and religions. My job is to sympathize and help.

Speaking of which, if you are looking for ways to help, CNN has an extensive list of ways you can help, both with your body and your money. The list includes donations and funds for the families of the victims and the injured. If you’re not sure how or where to start, well, you can always give blood. It’s always needed, always appreciated, and gives you an excuse to eat cookies and juice for the rest of the day. (“I’m still a bit lightheaded! Time for another Oreo!”)

In addition, if you are a runner, walker or stroller-pusher, join the Facebook group Run 26.2 for Boston. You can create your own local version, like a friend of mine did for Modiin.

And of course, we have prayer. We often end discussions about tragedies with the phrase, “Our thoughts and prayers are with you.” Because sometimes, when things are bleak, when we feel helpless or angry, when we feel we can’t even muster up the strength to march forward, thoughts and prayers are all we have. So we talk to God. We pray to Him to help the grieving, heal the wounded and to please, please, make this week a better one.

The emblem of Israel: A menorah flanked by two olive branches.

You are invited!

What: Celebration for Israel’s 65^th Independence Day.

When: Tuesday, April 16, or the 6^th of Iyar. Immediately following Yom Hazikaron, Memorial Day for fallen soldiers.

[Ed. ( very long) note: Technically, the Hebrew date for Yom Haatzmaut is 5 Iyar, the Hebrew date of the declaration of Israel’s independence in 1948. However, we rarely end up celebrating on the actual date. Because of concerns of Sabbath violations, we frequently push off (or back) the memorial/celebration of Yom Hazikaron and Yom Haatzmaut. For example, this year 5 Iyar is actually on Monday. However, that would cause Yom Hazikaron to be on Sunday, which means memorial ceremonies would start Saturday night, which means they may begin before the Sabbath has ended, which would violate the Sabbath. So instead, we push off Yom Hazikaron to Monday, and Yom Haatzmaut to Tuesday. (We also don’t have a Thursday-Friday combination, again for fear of celebrations running into Shabbat). End of note.]

Time: We will transition from Yom Hazikaron to Yom Haatzmaut at a ceremony on Monday evening. Yom Hazikaron, Monday, will be a somber, serious day. Places of entertainment close starting on Sunday evening. Restaurants and cafes close early Sunday evening and many operate only a half day on Monday. They also refrain from playing music over their loudspeakers. There will be commemoration ceremonies throughout Sunday evening and Monday; most TV stations will replace the usual shows with televised ceremonies or other Yom Hazikaron-related programming. Both Sunday evening and Monday morning a siren will sound, and the country will come to a halt. Shoppers in the mall, drivers on the road, bosses and employees, teachers and students—everyone will cease what they are doing and stand in remembrance. It is no coincidence that Yom Hazikaron immediately precedes Yom Haatzmaut. Tying our Independence Day so closely to our Memorial Day makes us acutely aware of the price of freedom, at the extraordinary lengths we have traveled, and continue to travel, to ensure we will be a “free nation in our land.”

Then, Monday evening, the “tekes maavar” (transition ceremony) will bring us from the somberness of Yom Hazikaron to the celebration of Yom Haatzmaut. At the end of the ceremony, many congregations hold a festive evening prayer service, complete with Hallel, the collection of praises we sing on holidays. Later in the evening, citywide celebrations will take place, involving loud music, lots of crowds and fireworks.

Food: Barbecue is the theme of the day! Whether you have yours on Monday evening or Tuesday afternoon (or both), grilling meat is practically a mitzvah on Yom Haatzmaut. Portable grills and coal go on sale immediately after Pesach as the country starts to get into gear for our big day. Barbecues start early and end late, and you may end up attending more than one, as everyone tries to pack in as much fun (and food) as they can.

Place: Our national parks! The parks will be overflowing with visitors on Tuesday. If you plan to barbecue at the park (combining BBQ and park is an extra mitzvah!) you better get there early. And I mean EARLY. Families arrive with picnic baskets and police tape at six in the morning, cordoning off choice spots of the parks (choice = lots of shade and picnic benches), ready to party. And I am not exaggerating about the 6:00 a.m. or about the rope. Our first Yom Haatzmaut barbecue, we arrived at the park at 11:00 a.m.; we figured it was pretty early. And there was not a single spot of grass left. The celebrants at the park had a settled-in look about them. Their extensive furniture and food setup said, “We have been here for a while. And we have no plans to move,” as they coolly observed us newbies driving deeper and deeper into never-before-explored areas of the park. (Veteran tip! While getting to a park anywhere in the 10:00 a.m.—2:00 p.m. range guarantees you will be barbecuing on the hood of your car—which, by the way, Israelis would find perfectly acceptable—the crowds do start to thin out around 4:00 p.m. So if you can hold out, pile into your car in the late afternoon and you can most likely have your pick of the spots.)

Dress: Here’s where it gets tricky, where knowing how to dress distinguishes the newbies from the veterans. The national colors of blue and white (known in Hebrew as one word, “kacholavan”) are for ceremonial purposes only. So for the tekes maavar—get out those dark pants and white shirt. But Yom Haatzmaut during the day is strictly a vacation day. You will notice a distinct lack of anything formal or ceremonial, both in terms of activities and dress. The citywide and synagogue celebrations were all held the night before. Now it’s time to relax. So when you wake up, break out your t-shirt and shorts. Nothing screams “I just moved here!” like showing up at the park on Yom Haatzmaut in your kacholavan.

How are you planning on celebrating Israel’s Independence Day? (If the answer includes “grilled meat on sticks,” then you are off to a good start!)

My son, ready for Seder at 7:00 a.m. (And yes, he sang his Ma Nishtanah before and after, but not during, the Seder.)

So, Pesach is over. You’re probably thinking, “Phew! We made it! Don’t have to think about it until next year!”

Au contraire, my friends. Right after Pesach is in fact the very best time to think about next Pesach. All of your thoughts and ideas are fresh in your mind, not yet driven out by work and kids and summer plans. (“Pesach? Was that just last week?” you will be thinking shortly.)

My husband and I always update our “Pesach” file on the computer right after the holiday. We write down what new items we bought and items we may need next year. (Things like, “Our hot water pot broke! Buy new one!” Or, “Don’t buy so much jelly!” Or “We have enough cheese graters! Stop buying them!”) We update recipes and add new ones.

But post-Pesach is also a good time to reflect on the less purchase-y aspects of the holiday as well. It’s a time to take stock of the week that was, especially Seder night, and think about what worked and what you would do differently.

The much-anticipated Seder night is one of our most important nights of the year. The age-old rituals. The traditional foods. The focus on children, family and education. It’s a night of carrying on family customs and memories and creating new ones, ones that will be etched in our children’s minds forever. We spend weeks preparing for those few hours.

The problem is that by the time Pesach preparations roll around, I’m so busy cleaning and doing other stuff (like buying a new hot water pot and not buying cheese graters), that it’s hard to focus on the night itself, on what will happen when the house is clean and ready, and we are—finally!—sitting down around the table, making kiddush on that first cup of wine. I always feel guilty before Seder that the physical preparations always seem to overtake the spiritual and educational ones.

So in addition to my shopping notes, I am going to add some Seder notes for next Pesach.

Haggadot

Pick Haggadot beforehand and familiarize yourself with it. One year, my daughter picked a Haggadah she really enjoyed—enjoyed so much, in fact, that she spent most of Seder absorbed in the little stories and anecdotes dotting the pages and wasn’t really following what was going on around the table. This year, she spent much of Shabbat Hagadol (the Shabbat before Pesach) reading through the Haggadah, getting her fill of the stories and pictures. By the time it came to Seder night, she was able to fully participate and share what she had read and learned. (In fact, there is a minhag on Shabbat Hagadol to read part of the Haggadah in order to prepare ourselves. I would always forget about it, but now—since it’s in my notes—I’ll be pulling out those Haggadot on Shabbat afternoon.)

Similarly, beware of overly interesting Haggadot. Because of the educational focus of the holiday, along with the necessity of keeping kids engaged during the long evening, there is no shortage of made-for-kids Haggadot, with colorful pictures and activities. We have a “Where’s Waldo”-type with hidden pictures that you can look for on each page. The problem is that the Haggadah may become more interesting than the Seder happening around it. So, note to self: When looking for a new, exciting Haggadah, keep in mind that the goal is to keep the kids engaged with us, not on their own.

Seder Games: Delegate

Get kids involved in preparing the activities to do on Seder night. As friends all around me were concocting elaborate games to play during Seder, I was panicking because I didn’t know when I was going to have time for that. I finally turned to my children and tasked them with preparing questions and activities for everyone to do. Not only did it help fill those pre-Pesach vacation days, but when it came time for Seder, they were much more invested in the activities they had created.

No Pressure

A yearly reminder to myself. I’ve worked so hard for this night that I want it all to go perfectly. I want my kids to show off everything they learned. But we’ve all had (or been) the kid who’s suddenly shy, won’t share a thing and simply refuses to say Mah Nishtanah. So no worries—Seder can continue to roll merrily along, the kids participating as much or as little as they want. And whenever little Sammy decides to belt out his Pesach songs (the next day, three weeks later, next Pesach), we will be just as enthralled as we would have been Seder night.

Those are my tips. What about you? How was your Seder? Anything you want to share for next year?