TAKING MUMMY HOME

Leicester Shul

Bringing Mummy home was strangely comforting.
Not because I wasn’t very sad that my Mother had died, not because I wasn’t shocked at her unexpected death. But because her final requests had been fulfilled and Hashem had enabled us to do what she had been asking for a long time.

Over the years Mummy had continually stressed two extremely important requests over and over again .
The first was that despite the fact that she loved us all, her daughters, her grandchildren and great grandchildren, she only ever wanted to live on her own, in her own home, under her own roof and nowhere, absolutely nowhere, else.
The second one was that she wanted to be buried next to my father who had died 32 years earlier.
The first request I tried not to comment on. The best I could say was that I hoped so / if it were possible/ if she was well enough / circumstances permitting etc .
But the second condition we promised , unless totally unforeseen circumstances occurred.

I was no stranger to the cemetery where my father was buried. I had left the town of my birth almost 40 years ago and had been living in Israel for 25 years. But, almost every time I returned to London to visit my mother, I had spent a day to traveling to Leicester, the city in the Midlands, the center of England , where my parents had settled in war time, and where I and my sisters had been born and brought up.

My mother's happiest years of her life were spent in Leicester and although, after my father died, she agreed to move to London, where all her children were then living, her heart had never left this city.

From the bus station, I would take a taxi to the cemetery, ask the driver to wait half an hour and I would visit my father’s and grandparents’ graves and say Tehillim .

When I returned, my mother, who had not been mobile enough to make this journey for many years, always asked me if her ‘spot’ was still waiting next to my father and I always assured her it was.

It never occurred to me, when we had this conversation in the summer, how soon her wishes were to be fulfilled.
A fall in her home and a badly broken leg meant an operation and hospitalization..
In the ensuing time in rehabilitation, severe breathing problems had set in. After two months the doctors decreed that she would have to be released to a facility offering 24 hour medical care.
We dreaded breaking the news to her. Our hearts and minds were mangled with guilt at not being able to avoid what she most dreaded.
Outwardly Mummy appeared to accept the inevitable. We thought she was being kind to us but in retrospect it must have been that her unwavering faith in G’d’s kindness led her to be sure it simply would never happen. .
Twelve days later, as we were trying to arrange for her to be transferred to a Home that we desperately hoped would be acceptable to her, she passed away, calmly whilst sitting in her chair in the rehabilitation ward.
Hashem in His kindness had granted her wish.

Now as my sisters and I tore our shirts in mourning and watched as her body was laid to rest next to my father’s, I could only think, “Mummy, we’re going to miss you terribly, but your wishes were granted and we’ve finally brought you home”.

MAKING HISTORY LIVE

I was visiting Acre recently and although I went mainly to see the renovated Old City and the Knight’s Halls, I decided to also take in, once again, the section of the fortress which had served as a prison for our underground fighters, during the time of the British Mandate, before the founding of the State.




While I was there a group of students, girls in their late teens, arrived.
Throughout their visit they were chattering amongst themselves, sometimes listening to their guide, often not. There were many Ethiopian girls for whom I understood that this was their first taste of pre-State history.

They were on a special two day tour entitled “ From the Holocaust to the State” taking in a variety of sites commemorating the Holocaust ( Yad Vashem, Hannah Senesh’s home, Lochamei HaGetaot,) and sites and memorials connected to the War of Independence ( Atlit transit cap, the Yechiam Convoy, Acre )

From talking to their teachers I understood that despite all the preparations and studying, they hadn’t really succeeded in making the Ethiopian students feel that this was part of their history, and not just ours .

We reached the stark gallows room where several Jewish freedom fighters were hung and the woman guiding the group asked three Ethiopian girls to stand next to the gallows.

Handing them a sheet of paper, she asked them to read the last words of Avshalom Haviv, Yaacov Weiss and Meir Nakar, three fighters who were sentenced to death and hung in this room, after the break-out in 1947.

The courageous and inspiring last words of these brave fighters had a profound effect on the girls. One by one the girls broke down and started to sob as they tried to finish reading the words in front of them.

It was an ingenious idea of the guide . Watching and listening are totally passive activities and can only have a limited effect on making you feel a part of something . But when you step into the role and ‘become’ a part of history – then the effect is much stronger.

I would guess that these girls continued their tour with a far greater feeling of identification with their new home’s history.

BLIND FOR AN HOUR

“Thick darkness” was a concept I had never understood until I visited an exhibition called ‘Dialogue in the Darkness’ in Holon.

The visit was part of a general tour of Holon, showing how this town, which was once only famous for its sand-dunes, has now become a paradise for children.
So, after wandering around story-time playgrounds and a hi-tech children’s library , I was totally unprepared for the stark contrast of our visit to this temporary international exhibition which was brought to Holon for a few months and has stayed for several years.

The bare, windowless, corrugated metal hut, compared to the other fun colored and interesting shaped buildings, gives you an idea of its no-nonsense interior.

Before entering, we were each assigned a locker and told to leave our bags there and also to remove all watches and cell-phones, anything which could light up the darkness. We were also warned not to carry anything which could fall, including unpinned kippot.
“If it falls, that’s the end of it . You can’t look for it because you won’t be able to see.”

And with that we were each handed a white stick

“You’ll be guided by the voice of your blind guide, Motti. Listen to him carefully and he’ll tell you where to walk. This stick will help you move around. Move it to the left and right along the floor in front of your feet. Don’t raise it or you may hit the person in front of you If you get stuck, call Motti . He ‘ll find you . He know s how to get around in the dark – you don’t.
And with those words we entered the pitch blackness.

I was terrified.
I had never dreamed anything could be that dark. My eyes were open but they hurt as I strained to see, but couldn’t. Nothing. Not even my own body. Total, complete and utter, thick darkness.
It was easier to just close my eyes and pretend that if I opened them I’d be able to see.
Motti’s soothing voice calmed us down. As we groped in the darkness he greeted each of us by touching our stick and asking our name. He explained that we would be going through several everyday experiences but we would have to use all our senses except sight to find out where we were.
We shuffled slowly along. Suddenly we realized that we could hear birds, we felt the wind on our faces and then –my face brushed against something. I shuddered and put my hand up and felt a branch of a tree. The ground became rough and gravelly and I realized that we were ‘outdoors’.
Suddenly there was a shout from one of the group.
“Motti I’m scared, I can’t move. I think I’m going to fall over. I feel really dizzy.”
“Hold on - don't worry I’m coming” he called, and we all stood still as he made his way over to Sophie the elderly lady in our group. I heard her gasp of relief as she grabbed hold of his arm.
“ Don’t worry it’s quite common to lose your sense of balance when you can’t see” he assured her.
“OK” he told the rest of us. “Turn left when you feel the wall in front of you.”
We shuffled left and felt the wind get stronger.
“Well” he said, We were in the forest before. Now where do you think we are?”
We listened hard and heard a different type of bird – and then there was a familiar smell of …..what was it ………. Then someone called out ‘it’s the sea.’
“Yes”, said Motti, “We’re going for a ride on a boat.”
…………………………………………..
I won’t ruin your visit by telling you any more.
It’s an amazing, if unnerving experience.
You’ll need to book your tickets well in advance, days, maybe even weeks.

Dialogue in the Darkness, Peres Park Holon.

Telephone 1599 585858 / 03 6503005
Entrance to over 9 year olds only .

HOW MUCH ARE YOUR CHILDREN WORTH?

At least once a year many magazines run an article along the lines of “How many children can you afford?”

In cold, objective figures the writer informs readers just how much it costs to feed and clothe a child, provide him with toys, games, hobby equipment, extra curricular activities and put him through school and college. Then there’s the cost of a large family car, mortgage for a large house and how many kilograms of meat a teenage boy eats.

My first reaction is to laugh, my second is one of anger.

As I think of our family of 7 children, I know that if I had allowed such articles to influence our ‘family planning’, on our income , we should have stopped after child number one.
Maybe that one child would have had more toys, more vacations, more pocket money and more designer clothes. But then I think with horror what life would have been like without the other 6, who have brought us and so many other people so much joy and happiness, who are such wonderful people and who have so much to contribute to ‘klal yisrael’ and who are now going on to have families themselves that, according to this article, ‘they can’t afford’.

Some things can be reduced to dollars and cents, but not life. No one has the right to try and convince another human being that he can’t afford children. Publishing such articles runs the risk of making lower income, and even many middle-income, families worry and, especially in today’s precarious financial climate, could easily make young couples decide against having children.

But those figures don’t by any means tell the whole story.

People on lower incomes manage to afford children by making them a priority in their life. Prioritizing is something we do all the time. Making choices, usually involves either time or money. There are the simple everyday choices made without thinking too hard; what to buy in the supermarket and what meals to cook, whether to eat out or at home , whether we can afford to go on vacation this year and if so whether it will be a hotel, youth hostel, apartment swap or camping.

There are the far-reaching decisions such as where to live, whether to buy or rent a home, what type of education our children will have.

Sure having a large family on a lower income means that designer labels are rarely seen in our closets. Clothes were handed down, as were games and toys .Out of school activities were limited and only a small amount of pocket money was given to the younger children, just enough to teach them the difference between spending it all at once and saving it a few weeks to buy something they really want.

We rarely eat out and vacations are on a tight budget. When they were old enough, all of our children were encouraged to earn some money either by babysitting or other jobs that don’t interfere with their school work but give them a small measure of financial independence.
The joys of our family far outweigh any of the drawbacks . There is always someone to play with, someone to help with homework, someone to share the chores with, to share good times and difficult ones, someone to borrow clothes and make-up from, someone to share a joke and a tear with, someone to help change the car tire or paint the bedroom, someone to ask dating advice from.

So please don’t tell me or anyone else how many thousands of dollars we need to have in the bank before we can afford children, or how much must be put aside every month for our children’s future.

Children are precious and priceless. They should never be viewed as a liability, as columns of numbers to be added up and totaled. They are not bills to be paid but gifts worth more than money can ever buy .

It’s all a question of priorities.

Why Blog?

Since I started my blog last month , by far the most common questions I’ve been asked are:
“Why are you blogging?”
“If you’re paid to write why give work away free?”
“ I'm a writer. Should I blog?”




The reasons I set up a blog are:

1. As an interim website.
So far I haven’t got round to building a website and I wanted somewhere online to upload and link my published articles.
Now when I send a query to a magazine I can give the link to my blog where they'll find a selection of my published articles.

2. To show that I can blog.
Online blogs are becoming more and more common and many companies hire bloggers to write for them.
The only way you can prove that you can write a blog…… is to write one.
Blogging is different from regular article writing in that it requires regular, original, often short, interesting content.
Unless a prospective employer can see that you can and are blogging you’re unlikely to be hired to do so.

3. To share unsold essays.
I always ‘sell’ my articles by query before I write them, but the every nature of essays means that the editor needs to see the finished piece before deciding if it’s suitable for his publication.
Not all mine have been sold and so occasionally I’ll upload one as part of a blog .

4. I love writing and a blog is another way to share things with readers.

---------------------------------------------------

If you’re a writer should you blog? That depends ….

If any of the above reasons that I blog apply to you then why not consider it.

If you have published a book or an ebook then a blog is a great way to advertise and increase sales.

If you have never had any articles published yet, then a blog is a way to show you can write. When you query an editor you can provide a link to your blog to see samples of your writing. But make sure that what’s up there is your best work.

HAPPY BLOGGING

From the Outside Looking In

I was recently more determined than usual not to be late for a wedding I was attending. It wasn’t just that I didn’t want to miss the chuppah, but I had a special ‘job’, taking care of and explaining everything connected to the wedding ceremony to the kallah’s non-Jewish family.

Most brides are nervous on their wedding day, but a kallah who has only recently joined the Jewish People and made our life, her life, is inevitably going to be extra nervous. Added to that she was worrying about her family. How would they mix with her new orthodox Jewish family and friends. How would they react to all the “strange” things going on around them that they didn’t understand. .
I glanced around the ladies’ side of the hall quickly, assuming I would spot them easily. Amongst the small group of religious women who were already there my eyes searched for any ladies whose manner of dress appeared different..
But I saw none.
I asked the chatan’s sister where the kallah’s parents were.
She pointed out a middle aged lady dressed in long sleeves with her hair fully covered by an attractive beret and two young ladies in their twenties with long dresses.

I sighed with relief. Sarah was right. They really must be taking her decision well and were obviously trying hard to comply with all her requests.

Sarah, the kallah, had said her parents and siblings, all religious Christians, had accepted her decision happily. She had remained in constant contact with them and had been back to visit them in Europe several times since she started on her new path.
But she was still worried that maybe when they came over to Israel and saw her in her new surroundings, things might not be so clear-cut.

“This is all so wonderful”, her mother said, after I introduced myself .”Everyone is so happy and there is such lovely music.”
She’s right, I thought. The chatting, laughing, smiling friends and family as well as the good wishes and mazel tovs which were poured on Sarah and her family, as she sat radiantly in her kallah chair, made a stark contrast to the silent formality of most non-Jewish weddings.
“If you have any questions or don’t understand what’s going on” I said, “I’ll try and explain it to you”
“Oh” one of her sisters said excitedly. “ We know what’s going to happen now and it’s so beautiful”
I wondered what she was going to say.
“Her groom is going to come and check that she’s Rachel and not Leah” she said smiling. “ I think it’s the most wonderful, beautiful thing. You remember your Bible so well and all these years later you want to make sure that the groom is marrying the right bride and is not being cheated. It is so beautiful”.
I’d never heard the “bedecken” ceremony described with such joy and praise as it was with her lilting European accent.
I turned to look at the kallah, so pale and shy; so beautiful and so nervous.
Her chatan was orthodox from birth, so he had his family and long standing friends as a support system, surrounding him.
But Sarah was comparatively alone with her thoughts. She was surrounded by her friends and her new family and the people with whom she had learnt all about her new life. But she had only known most of the people here for a relatively short time.

Sarah’s new family had accepted her into their midst with love, explaining everything carefully and completely trying to never let her feel lacking or out of place.
But having never been in her situation we could only guess at her feelings and probable inner turmoil.

She was led to her chuppah flanked by her mother-in-law on one side and the Rabbanit with whom she had learnt on her other side . The Rabbanit was also holding Sarah’s mother’s hand so she too would feel a part of the ceremony.

“It was so beautiful” her mother said to me after the chuppah was over. “ She will be happy. I know she will have a good life here. I see it here and in the streets. People are happy. I understand that many religious people here don’t have much money, but they have much joy and many children and that is so much better. In our country people have money, they have big houses. They have many big cars and they work all day. But they aren’t happy.”

The dancing started and I linked arms with Sarah’s mother and her sister. Within minutes they had caught on to the simple dance steps and were whizzing round like pros. They were whirling and diving and humming along to the tune while Sarah in contrast stayed shyly in the center of the circle moving her feet slowly a gentle smile on her face.

And then as I looked at them all I understood the difference in their behavior. Sarah’s non-Jewish family were looking at us from the outside. Yes, they saw the beauty of our customs , our families and our way of life . But it was a detached admiration. It had nothing to do with changing their way of life. Tomorrow they would be on their plane home to Europe, their Jewish experience just a happy, interesting memory.

But Sarah was moving slowly , probably thinking about her future, considering her new role as a Jewish wife; thinking about all the new mitzvot she would now be taking on. Her soft smile and the faraway look on her face showed her thoughts were not completely on the dancing going on around her.
She had many other more important things to think about.

Living Within a 15 Second Window

Last week I visited a new project of JNF USA, a fantastic indoor children’s recreation center in Sderot.

This center was built to bring some measure of fun and freedom to children who for almost ten years have lived in terror, with thousands of Kassam rockets fired at them from Gaza . All of the children in this area suffer from some form of post-traumatic stress disorder.

The best way to describe the play area is simply, children’s heaven. It has everything any child or teenager could possibly want to wile away their free time.

There are dolls and teddies, cooking corners and swings, a room for holding birthday parties, a giant bouncing-castle, a mini-mall with its own ‘caspomat’ (ATM machine) cafes, bookstores and supermarkets complete with mini- trolleys.

For the older kids there are computers, table-football, a boxing corner, a snack bar, a climbing wall, play-stations, disco hall and a small football pitch

There’s plenty of opportunity and equipment here to release pent-up energy and exhaust everyone – which is just what the children in this area need.

And , the most important factor is that every part of the playground is within a few meters of one of the shelters built along the sides of the recreation area and which are an integral part of it.
Those of us who don’t live in Sderot may have been naive enough to think that since the ‘Cast Lead’ IDF operation in Gaza last winter, it’s been ‘all- quiet-on-the-southern- front’ – but of course it hasn’t. There have been several rocket attacks since the operation ended.

It may be calmer than before, but while Hamas is recharging its batteries in Gaza, the residents of Sderot have to continue to live with the possibility that the Kassam rocket attacks could start up again at any moment.

So when this center was built, the IDF were in on the planning at every stage.

The ‘magic’ number was always 15.
Fifteen seconds is the amount of time between the sirens sounding and the rocket falling.
Fifteen seconds is the time you have to find a safe shelter.

So when the designers wanted to build a colorful, fun merry-go-round in the center of the playground for the little kids to enjoy - the IDF nixed it.
It takes 25 seconds to bring a merry-go-round to a complete stop , and that's way too long – so no merry-go-round.

When the designers wanted to make the floor more user-friendly and have it padded with foam , the IDF nixed it .
It will slow up the kids when they’re running for the shelters.

Every bus stop in Sderot is a bomb shelter so that anyone who is on the streets when the siren goes, is hopefully within 15 seconds of some safe shelter.

Outside playgrounds and sports pitches are sadly deserted, even on a pleasant, quiet sunny afternoon – they’re too risky, too far away from safety.

How many of us can even imagine living life always checking that we're no more than 15 seconds from safety?

This secure indoor recreation center is a happy solution to some of Sderot’s children’s problems.
As one young boy put it; “ It’s great. For the first time in almost ten years my friends from the center of the country are jealous of me.”