Dvora Waysman

Festival of light & song

Chanukah lights on Agron Road in Jerusalem, 2012. (photo from Djampa)

History tends to repeat itself or, as Sholem Aleichem put it, The Wheel Makes a Turn. In this story, he wrote about Chanukah, depicting a proud Jew lighting the nine-branched candelabrum, celebrating this festival of dedication and liberation with warmth and affection. Later in the story, this same Jew, now old and infirm, is barely allowed to light the chanukiyah by his assimilated son, while his grandson is not even allowed to watch. The story ends when the grandson is an adult, and celebrates Chanukah with his friends to the dismay of his “modern” parents who cannot understand why their son has rejected their assimilation and returned to his Jewish roots.

Chanukah is one of Israel’s favourite festivals, widely celebrated even by secular Jews. Unlike in the Diaspora, it doesn’t have to compete with the glamour of Christmas, with its shopping frenzy, Santa Claus, carols and other Christian symbols of the holiday, which can be very seductive, even to Jews.

In Jerusalem during the Festival of Lights, you can see chanukiyot and their tiny, multi-coloured candles on almost every windowsill and, at sunset, you’ll hear voices from quivering childish soprano to deep baritone, all singing “Maoz Tzur” (“Rock of Ages”). There is a candlelighting ceremony, as well as free sufganiyot (jelly doughnuts), in my local supermarket every evening for the whole eight nights, and a giant menorah burns atop the Knesset and many public buildings and water tower reservoirs throughout the country. Gifts are exchanged, children receive Chanukah gelt, often in the form of chocolate coins, and dreidels, spinning tops inscribed with the first letters of the Hebrew words for the phrase: “A great miracle happened here.”

The Zionist movement has used Chanukah as a symbol and historical precedent of national survival. The Maccabi sports organization was named after the Maccabees, who are the stars of the holiday, and it holds the Maccabiah Games every four years, just like the Olympics.

The singing of “Maoz Tzur” is a feature of the holiday with mysterious origins. The only clue to its composer is the acrostic of the first five stanzas, spelling out the name “Mordecai”; such naming was a common practice at the time and one used in a lot of zemirot (Sabbath songs). Many scholars believe the composer to be Mordecai ben Isaac, who lived in Germany in the 13th century.

There is a Chabad saying: “Song opens a window to the secret places of the soul.” It is hard to define what makes music specifically Jewish, and many categories exist, including Chassidic, Yiddish, Yemenite, Moroccan, Kurdish, Israeli, secular, religious … the list comprises a broad range.

There is nothing in Jewish law against creating new tunes for hymns. The Gerer Rebbe once stated: “Were I blessed with a sweet voice, I would sing you new hymns and songs every day, for, with the daily rejuvenation of the world, new songs are created.”

Rebbe Nachman of Bratslav wrote: “How do you pray to the Lord? Come, I will show you a new way … not with words or sayings, but with song. We will sing and the Lord on high will understand us.”

When we sing “Maoz Tzur” as a family, grouped around the candles, there is harmony of a special kind. The harmony is not just in the song, but in the sanctity and affection that binds the family and gives it a foundation as solid as a rock.

In painful times for Israel, which has seen so much suffering and loss throughout its history, it brings a measure of comfort to be able to recite the traditional blessing: “Blessed art Thou, O Lord our G-d, King of the Universe, who has kept us in life and hast preserved us, and enabled us to reach this season.” This year, amid the pandemic, the blessing resonates even more deeply. Happy Chanukah!

Dvora Waysman is a Jerusalem-based author. She has written 14 books, including The Pomegranate Pendant, which was made into a movie, and her latest novella, Searching for Sarah. She can be contacted at [email protected] or through her blog dvorawaysman.com.

Celebrating world’s birthday

(photo from pikist.com/free-photo-vqamg)

One of the many names of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, is Yom Harat Olam, the birthday of the world. It is the day on which our tradition says the world was created.

Before we can begin to celebrate this “birthday,” however, something is required of us. During the month prior to Rosh Hashanah, we prepare ourselves spiritually for forgiveness and, in the 10 days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, we are meant to ask forgiveness of anyone we may have hurt during the year, even unintentionally. We are required to atone for wrongs between people, in contrast to the sins that arise between us and G-d. We cannot make a spiritual “return,” if we remain shackled with unresolved guilt and resentments.

More Jews attend synagogue on these two holidays than at any other time. Many of the prayers praise the mighty and wondrous works of the Creator, in keeping with the theme of “the birthday of the world.” We are to recognize that life itself is a Divine gift and has a sacred purpose.

According to our tradition, everything we do is recorded in the Book of Life. No deed, word, thought, good or evil, goes unrecorded. The record is supposedly kept in heaven. One belief accords this job to Elijah the prophet, keeper of the records of humanity’s deeds. On Rosh Hashanah, the Book of Life is examined, our acts in the preceding year weighed and judged. On this basis, it is decided “who shall live and who shall die … who shall be brought low and who shall be exalted.” For this reason, we wish for one another, “May you be inscribed for a good year.” We are taught that the only way to avert a severe decree is by “penitence, prayer and charity.”

According to Rabbi Kruspedai, in the name of Rabbi Yohanan, three books are opened on Rosh Hashanah – one for the wholly righteous, one for the wholly wicked and one for most of us, those in between. The wholly righteous are inscribed and sealed in the Book of Life, the wicked in the Book of Death and the rest of us are held suspended until Yom Kippur, when we are judged worthy or unworthy. The zodiacal symbol for the Hebrew month of Tishrei is, fittingly, a balance – the scales of justice.

Many people accompany all meals at this time with apples and honey. In addition to its other symbolism, the apple represents the Shechinah (Divine Presence), which kabbalists refer to as an apple orchard.

With the emphasis on creation at this time, it is customary to eat an apple dipped in honey on the first night of Rosh Hashanah, after the blessing on the wine and bread, and say: “Blessed art Thou, O Lord our G-d, King of the Universe, who created the fruit of the tree.” This is followed by: “May it be Your will, our G-d and G-d of our fathers, to renew unto us a good and sweet year.”

On the second day of Rosh Hashanah, we eat a new fruit – one we have not yet tasted this season – and we recite a blessing over it.

How do we know on what day of the year the world was created? We know that the first word of the Torah is Bereishit, in the beginning. When the letters are changed around, they read: aleph b’Tishri, the first of Tishrei, when G-d began to create the heaven and the earth.

May we all be inscribed for a good year.

Keeping busy in lockdown

When someone suggested this as the title of an article I should write, I roared with laughter. Me, who has been climbing the walls, thinking of taking to drink, or killing myself or others. But, after all, I pride myself on being creative, so I decided to have a stab at it.

I am very communal-minded, so I thought I should entertain the neighbours. I don’t play any instrument, but I know hundreds of songs dating back to the 1940s. In my imagination, I saw all my Jerusalem neighbours coming out to join in, sending their children to the street below to dance, keeping their social distance, of course. Well, that’s not exactly what happened. After I began singing – I chose my favourite aria from Madame Butterfly, “One Fine Day” – what I heard was doors being closed with great force and windows being slammed down. But, I persevered, until all the birds in the trees outside my balcony decided to migrate early this year and flew off to Australia or Siberia (whichever was the furthest), and even the cats that hang around our building also disappeared.

I next decided I could keep busy by tidying up my office. I know I have a very nice writing desk. I haven’t actually seen it for a few years because my printer sits on it, plus a pile of ideas for articles and stories that I intend to use one day. I decided to be ruthless and get rid of them, but then I thought I should read them first, after which I decided maybe to keep them for happier times. At least, this activity kept me busy for a couple of hours.

By then, it was lunch time, and I decided to use my creativity to prepare a gourmet meal for my husband from the ingredients I could find, after not having gone shopping for about five weeks. I put things on the kitchen counter and looked at them: one sad-looking turnip, some potatoes, three packets of desiccated coconut (where did they come from?), a tin of chickpeas and a packet of potato flour left over from Pesach. This assortment really taxed my imagination, especially as my husband, these last few days, has been giving me looks that say, “You don’t really expect me to eat this!” I haven’t done violence to him yet, which is a tribute to my self-restraint. Oh, I’ve thought about it, and I think a good lawyer could get me acquitted if I did – I’m sure there’s something called “justifiable homicide.”

I did the laundry, and then made the mistake of looking in the mirror. My hair hasn’t had the tender ministrations of a hairdresser for more than a month. I’m reminded of the song “The Surrey with the Fringe on Top” from the musical Oklahoma. I now have a fringe – or “bangs,” as I think North Americans say – and a strange triangle of hair that sticks out on the side. It is very depressing, but, if I put on my facemask and use the elastic to push it away, it doesn’t look too bad. In fact, when I wear the facemask, I look quite good.

So, I guess I am keeping busy under lockdown after all. I would like to say that I keep a balanced diet – a block of dark chocolate in one hand and a block of milk chocolate in the other – but I don’t actually have any chocolate. I like the story of a doctor who told his elderly patient that it would be a good idea if she put a bar in her shower, and she did – with bottles of whiskey, brandy, wine and vodka. I can’t do it though, because my soap holder won’t support even a bottle of wine.

Nonetheless, I hope I’ve given readers some ideas of how to keep busy under the restrictions that COVID-19 requires. It’s just a matter of initiative and creativity, and the time will pass constructively. I wish everyone good health until this traumatic time comes to an end.

Importance of this tradition thing

Passover traditions like the seder connect family and friends, and remind us who we are. (photo from flickr.com)

“I know I read an article somewhere that the greatest number of suicides happen on holidays,” Naomi said to her mother.

Rebecca ignored her. “Just keep lining the shelves.”

“But it makes sense, truly it does. Why are we taking this perfectly clean kitchen apart and practically rebuilding it? Does it say anywhere in the Bible that you go straight to hell if you don’t drop with exhaustion the week before Pesach?”

“This is the way my mother did it, and her mother did it, and one day you’ll do it for your kids, too.”

“You’re kidding yourself. If you think I’d ever inflict all this work on my daughter, you’re crazy. And why doesn’t Joe have to help?”

“He will. He’ll kosher the stove and the sinks.”

“And that’s another thing. Two minutes with a blowtorch and then he’ll pour a kettle of water. Big deal. And Dad doesn’t even do that.”

“He conducts the seder.”

“Another big deal. We take the place apart, vacuum chairs and wash curtains and change over dishes, not to mention 40 kilos of kneidl and all that stuff that gives you indigestion. What am I saying, indigestion? All those eggs – you’re probably giving us a gift of coronary heart disease. Jesus!”

“Naomi, stop it.”

“I’m sick of it. I want to escape like Faye.”

Rebecca’s lips tightened. “Fagie’s coming to the seder, too.”

But Naomi was not to be sidetracked. “Fagie, what a name! No wonder she rebelled. Naomi and Joseph, they’re bad enough. But Fagie, what were you thinking of?”

“It’s a good Jewish name. I was thinking of my grandmother. If you and your sister could have known her, you’d understand. The least I could do was keep her name alive.”

The spotless refrigerator was being polished within an inch of its life. Naomi sat down and watched her mother.

“I thought Passover celebrated freedom from slavery. But every year, you become a slave and you make me one, too. If you think you’re giving me wonderful memories, forget it. As soon as I can leave home, I will. Faye told me the best thing about marriage was being able to run her house like the 20th century. Now we’re in the 21st, for chrissake.”

“I hate it when you talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“So tough. All those profanities. What happened to femininity?” she asked her daughter sadly.

“Feminism came along, only you’ve never heard of it. Dad and Joe get out of everything ’cos they’re men. You’re the biggest chauvinist ever, because you not only condone this status quo, you actually perpetuate it.”

Rebecca sighed. “You don’t understand. Neither does Fagie.”

“You bet we don’t. Here, I’ve lined the last bloody shelf. I’m going out.”

“Where?”

“Out, as in O-U-T.”

“When will you be back?”

“If I had my way, it’d be around May or June – after Pesach.” She slammed the door. Rebecca heard the car start up. Her eyes filled with tears. She was exhausted. “This is gratitude,” she thought bitterly. “Here’s Naomi, barely 18, with her own car. We were married six years before we had one.”

Fagie started her marriage with all the things that she and Sam still don’t have after 27 years. And look how she is bringing up Brendan. Brendan! What sort of name is that? No wonder Fagie and Joel hadn’t wanted to give him a brit. If she and Sam hadn’t insisted, their grandson wouldn’t even have had that. They’d treated his Hebrew name, Baruch, as some sort of joke. Well, maybe in their circles it sounded strange. But at least among the family…. Everything with Fagie was a war. If she bought the child a kippah, Fagie would get upset. If she wouldn’t eat in her daughter’s treif house, it meant another argument. What did you have children for?

She heard loud music from upstairs. The Grateful Dead. No wonder they were grateful – they can’t hear the cacophony, she surmised.

When the key turned in the lock, she didn’t have the strength even to go and say hello to Sam. He wandered into the kitchen. “It looks beautiful,” he said, patting her shoulder and taking in the sparkling clean room.

“To us, maybe.”

“What’s wrong? Fagie been getting to you?”

“Not just her. Naomi’s just as bad now.”

Sam sat down heavily. “I don’t understand it. We sent them to day school – forked out in a year more than our education cost in a lifetime. And what do they give back? Where’s Joe?”

“Can’t you hear? He’s studying. That’s his usual accompaniment.”

“Even so, he’s a good student. He’ll make us proud one day. He’s talking about medicine or law, maybe architecture….”

“We’re kidding ourselves, Sam. Even if we’re proud of him, he’ll be ashamed of us.”

“No, not Joe. Why do you say that?”

“Because we’re fighting a losing battle. The things that are important to us are hateful to them.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged. “Joe’s turning his back on our traditions, too?”

“Not yet. He’s only 14. But he will – give him a few years.”

Wearily, Rebecca made dinner. The three of them ate in near silence. Joe had a book next to his plate and didn’t seem to notice. He had already left for school next morning when Rebecca, Sam and Naomi sat down for breakfast. Naomi avoided her mother’s eyes. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“No, you’re not,” Rebecca answered, “you meant it.”

“I just wanted you to understand….”

“Oh, I understand. Your father and I made a decision last night. You tell her Sam.”

He cleared his throat. “Naomi, since Pesach is so distasteful to you, you can go and stay with your sister. Your mother and I are taking Joe and going away for the week. That kosher guest house in the mountains –”

“You mean no seder?”

“What for? For Fagie’s family, who barely tolerate it. For you, who finds it such a chore? You know what it says in the Zohar? It says a little hurt from kin is worse than a big hurt from a stranger. Who needs it?” He pushed his chair back abruptly and, a minute later, they heard the front door close.

Naomi pushed the food around on her plate. “I think you’re overreacting. We always have a seder.”

“We always used to have a seder. We’re not going to do it any more. I didn’t care about the work, the exhaustion, because I thought it meant something. If it doesn’t, there’s no point.”

“It meant something to you and Dad.”

“So, we’ll sit at someone else’s seder. Naomi, go to university. You’ll be late for class.”

An hour later, the telephone rang. “Mum, it’s Fagie.”

“Oh, it’s Fagie today. What happened to Faye?”

“Don’t be sarcastic Mum – it doesn’t suit you. Listen, are you home? Can I come round?”

“What for?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m not babysitting if that’s what you want.”

“Brendan’s at play group. I just want to talk to you.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. But come if you want.”

Thirty minutes later, Fagie’s car drew up. Rebecca poured her a coffee and pushed it towards her.

“So?”

“It’s about the seder.”

“Naomi didn’t waste much time. What’s wrong? You don’t want your sister’s company for a week?”

“Please listen. It’s not right what you’re doing.”

“Not right? For whom?”

“For anyone. Dad will hate not conducting the seder.”

“He’ll survive.”

Fagie’s voice trembled. “Maybe we won’t.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know how to say this. It’s just….”

Rebecca remained silent, not attempting to help.

“It did mean something to us – me and Naomi – even Joel.”

“What did it mean?”

“It meant we were a family. It kind of bound us together. We need it. Brendan needs it. That once a year at least – to remind us who we are.”

“Who are you exactly? You can go and celebrate Easter. It’s all the same to you.”

Fagie’s voice trembled. “You’re making it hard for me. Mum, it’s true we don’t keep all the things you and Dad do. Most people don’t anymore.”

“And that makes it right?”

“Yes – no – I don’t know. It’s hard for us, to be different from our friends. But we need something. We need to know it’s there for us.”

“Not good enough. What happens when we go?”

“Maybe we’ll take it on then. When there’s no one else.”

“Why would you want to do that, if it’s not meaningful now?”

“For our children. I can’t explain. We can only give up these – traditions – because we know you still keep them. That they’re there for us to come back to. Sure, we ridicule them, but it’s like a family. We insult one another all the time because it’s easier than saying, ‘I love you and I need you.’ Do you understand me?”

Fagie was crying openly now. Rebecca didn’t trust herself to speak.

Three nights later, the candles were lit in the candelabra in Rebecca’s dining room, the flames casting shadows on the snowy white tablecloth. Sam sat at the head of the table and inspected the seder plate with its three matzot, the parsley, saltwater, horseradish, charoset, shank bone and roasted egg. He planned where to hide the afikoman, so that it would not be too hard for Brendan to find. Joe was filling the wine glasses, with the extra big one for the prophet Elijah, while Naomi handed out Haggadot. His grandson sat between Fagie and Joel, his face flushed with excitement. Sam’s eyes met his wife’s, which were moist with unshed tears, as were his.

“Baruch atah,” he began. “Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who created the fruit of the vine.”

Dvora Waysman is a Jerusalem-based author. She has written 14 books, including The Pomegranate Pendant, which was made into a movie, and her latest novella, Searching for Sarah. She can be contacted at [email protected] or through her blog dvorawaysman.com.

Beauty of spring in Israel

Spring. Every year, it returns like a miracle and Israel is carpeted with wildflowers. There are nearly 3,000 types of wild plants in this tiny land, a wonderful profusion, among the most abundant on earth. Israel boasts a variety of different ecological systems – deserts and marshes, high mountains, dense forests and open fields, with wildflowers to suit each habitat.

Wildflowers are protected in Israel and nature reserves prohibit the picking of any flowers, even the most common, which helps them to propagate over wider areas. In turn, this brings the sunbirds, which feast on their nectar.

The Song of Songs, which we read every Passover, is a most beautiful love poem. King Solomon wrote it as a dialogue between a young shepherd and his beloved: “Rise up, my love, my fair one and come away / For lo, the winter is past / The rain is over and gone / The flowers appear on the earth / The time of singing is come / And the voice of the turtle is heard in the land.”

The flowers he refers to, nitzanim, still carpet the fields – shiny red poppies flaunting scarlet beauty in the grass.

In Jerusalem Forest, delicate cyclamens bloom in the crevices between the rocks. Called Solomon’s Crown (in Hebrew), they lift their pink, cream or lilac heads on slender stalks. Clumps of wild violets, the dew shimmering like diamonds, add their touch of magic.

Israel’s rainy season, mid-October to late March, leaves a bequest of green. Sharon Valley is dotted with tulips and narcissus. “I am the rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys” – it is believed that King Solomon was referring to the magnificent black tulips of the Galilee.

In spring, even the weeds in Israel are pretty – the milk vetch, which is a thistle, adds purple blooms to the roadside. The rockrose is abundant in forest glades and the orange ranunculus bursts into bloom. Like its velvety cousin, the anemone, it is a protected wildflower in Israel.

The perfume of daffodils – which suffused the winter – still wafts on the breeze and the white, cream, yellow and blue noses of lupins are pushing through the soil. Oleanders are in bud, growing wild by the banks of the River Jordan and near streams in Galilee, promising a burst of summer beauty. And the blue statica reminds us that we, too, have a Mediterranean coast like the famed Riviera. This lovely sea plant flowers from mid-spring to mid-summer, when its corolla drops off and only the sepal remains.

Who says Israel has almost no natural resources? When you see the splendour in the grass of the land’s spring glory, the wildflowers glowing like jewels, you’ll echo the poet’s words: “Had I but two loaves of bread / I would sell one of them / And buy white hyacinths to feed my soul.”

A counselor’s import

At sleep-away camp, the camp counselor is the person your child is going to turn to as a replacement for you. Even if it’s a day camp, it is the counselor who will be there to comfort, encourage, discipline and befriend your child. Therefore, you need to understand the counselor’s role before you drive away, looking in the rearview mirror at the teary-eyed or over-excited son or daughter you are leaving behind – especially if it’s their first experience of going to camp.

While it can be wonderfully rewarding, camp counseling is a 24-hour-a-day commitment and the job requires a lot of skills. Most camps have training sessions, sometimes very intensive ones, before the start of the summer sessions, and only the most qualified are chosen, as they can make or ruin kids’ experiences.

New counselors who think that camp will be a long, outdoor holiday for themselves are mistaken – they are being paid to work. Theirs is a leadership role, and having fun is only part of the equation. They may have to deal with all kinds of personal problems, such as homesickness, or a child who feel inadequate at or left out of various activities.

The most dedicated counselors make time to get to know their campers. They explore why the kids came to camp and what they are looking forward to doing. They need to keep up with their charges’ accomplishments and help them get involved in whatever activities are being programmed. The object is to spend quality time with each child so that, in the new world they are in, the campers feel that there is at least one person on their side and available to help them if the need arises.

Parents should make sure to inform the camp of any special occasions or events in their child’s life that will take place while the child is at camp, such as a birthday.

A counselor has many roles to fulfil. Sometimes, if a child is homesick, for example, a counselor will need to remind them of the reasons they came to camp, get them enthused about the good times they will have once they settle in, and the great friends they will make. It’s often a good idea for counselors to discuss their own experiences when they were young campers, such as funny incidents, exciting adventures, or pranks that were played on them.

In talking to camp counselors, some of the adjectives they used about the experience were “exciting,” “rewarding,” “memorable,” “fun.” They also said, “I hated leaving my new friends”; “I felt so proud of the kids”; “it was a fantastic time.”

Most of these counselors lived in a cabin or tent with three to eight kids for whom they had full responsibility over the camp sessions. Sometimes, they had to be referee or an impartial adviser, if any disputes arose between the children.

For kids, camp is about trying new things, becoming independent and widening their horizons. Try and confirm that the counselors responsible for your child are sympathetic, conscientious, have a sense of humour and are concerned with security and safety before you wave goodbye to your child.

Camp should be “wow!”

Hanging out around a campfire with friends is one of the things many kids love about summer camp. (image from pxhere.com)

Every year when I was a child, the first day back at school after the summer break, we’d be expected to write an essay on “What I did during my summer holidays.” Back then, my family were so poor I rarely did anything much, but I was blessed with a fertile imagination so I concocted an amazing list of activities. After all, the first rule for a writer, which was my ambition even then, is never to let the truth interfere with a good story. Oh, how I would have loved to go to a summer sleepaway camp.

Fortunately, times have changed and my kids and various grandchildren have had that opportunity. So, I’ve rounded up relatives, kids, their friends and my friends, to ask what they loved and hated about summer camp.

These are some of the reactions I got in the “hate” department. “The toilets and showers – ugh!” “The mosquitoes, which feasted on my blood every day.” “My girlfriend, who was prettier than I was, got all the boys interested in her, especially the one I liked.” “The others were better at sports than I was, and I couldn’t swim. They laughed at me.”

None of those I quizzed however, failed to have lots of reasons to list under “things I loved.” “We put on a musical at the end of camp, and we did everything, including painting the scenery. It was great!” “Parents Day, when they would visit the camp and bring us wonderful things to eat, that they rarely bought for us at home. The chocolates were divine.” “I learnt all kinds of crafts, that I still do sometimes. We were taught basketry, jewelry-making, ceramics and how to press flowers.” “One day, we had a Backwards Day – it was terrific fun. We even wore our clothes inside out.” “I loved the campfires, under the stars. We’d sing together, roast potatoes and onions, it was heaven. I can still remember the feeling of being among friends under a sky filled with stars, and the wind in the treetops. I think that was true happiness.”

Whether or not a camp will be a positive experience for a child largely depends on the parents’ preparation. Don’t send them to a camp you once attended and enjoyed without considering how the camp may have changed or the difference between your needs and desires and those of your child.

Think about what your child needs – to learn new skills, develop more self-confidence and independence, maybe to improve proficiency in certain areas. For the latter, there are lots of specialty camps such as tennis, horse-riding, hiking, adventure, backpacking or gymnastics.

The camp you choose will depend on the age and level of independence of the child. The first sleepaway camp can be very frightening for a young child and sometimes the best way to prepare them is to take them beforehand to the campsite and explain all the activities that will take place there.

Teenagers usually welcome escaping home and discipline for awhile and spreading their wings. No matter what the age, you need to consider and investigate the accessibility of the camp, its medical facilities and security arrangements. You also need to consider any fears your child might have, such as if a below-average athlete will feel comfortable trying new skills and be allowed to work on them at their own pace. Often it helps if they have a friend or two among the campers and, of course, try to meet the counselors to assess that they are competent and sympathetic.

A camp has the potential to offer a child many positive and rewarding experiences. They can be fun, healthy and relaxing. Many of the programs provide an opportunity to develop new skills, and become more responsible and independent. The main reaction I got from kids who’d been to a good camp was: “Wow! It was great. I want to go again this year!”

Dvora Waysman is a Jerusalem-based author. She has written 14 books, including The Pomegranate Pendant, which was made into a movie, and her latest novella, Searching for Sarah. She can be contacted at [email protected] or through her blog dvorawaysman.com.

The beauty of creation

In Israel, Tu b’Shevat is a day for planting saplings. (photo from JNF via israel21c.org)

“Keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps the singing bird will come.” This lovely quotation is not from our sages, but is an old Chinese proverb. Nevertheless, it seems appropriate for Tu b’Shevat, the New Year of the Trees, which falls this year on Jan. 21.

Of course, we have our own Jewish sources. For example, “When you see handsome people or fine trees, pronounce the benediction, ‘Praised be He who created beautiful things.’” (Tosefta: Berakot 7:4) Trees have a great significance in Judaism and, long before “ecology” became a popular word, Jews were commanded, even in times of war, when besieging a city, to not destroy its trees. (Deuteronomy 20:19)

Trees were sacred to many people. Pagans believed that gods inhabited them and took their forms. They were druidic, rising out of the earth and tossing their hair. They cooled, sheltered and calmed. It is easy to understand reverence for the splendor and dignity of trees, but only Judaism has a new year for them, which falls on 15th day of the Hebrew month of Shevat (Tu b’Shevat).

In Israel, this date once marked the time from which to count the age of the tree for reasons of tithe or taxes, and also to indicate the maturation of the fruit of the tree. Even today, fruit cannot be eaten until the fourth year, so Tu b’Shevat standardizes the birthday of trees.

The holiday doesn’t commemorate any great historical event, and there are no special prayers in the synagogue. It is a lovely time, ushered in by blossoming white almond trees with their promise of warm summer weather.

Tu b’Shevat is traditionally a time for planting every variety of tree. The Talmud mentions “the joyous planting” on happy occasions. There was a delightful custom of planting a cedar when a boy was born and a cypress sapling at the birth of a girl. When a couple married, the wood of the trees would be used as poles to support the wedding canopy.

In Israel, it is a day for children and teens to go with their teachers into the hills and valleys and plant tens of thousands of saplings. There is also a custom to eat all the fruits of Israel – olives, dates, grapes, figs, citrus, apples, bananas, nuts and pears, which grow in great abundance.

Many scholars stay up late on the eve of Tu b’Shevat, reciting biblical passages dealing with the earth’s fertility. They read from Genesis how trees were created along with all the plants; from Leviticus how the Divine promised abundance as a reward for keeping the commandments; and from Ezekiel 17, the parable of the spreading vine, symbolizing the people of Israel.

Many people hold a special seder to celebrate the holiday, the New Year of the Tree of Life. They drink four cups of wine, beginning with white wine and ending with red, with the second cup a mixture more of white and the third more of red wine. It is rather like the landscape, as it changes from white (pale narcissus and crocus) to red (anemones and tulips) as Tu b’Shevat approaches.

As well as being a birthday, Tu b’Shevat is also a day of judgment for the trees, which ones will thrive and be healthy, which ones will wither and die. Chassidim pray for the etrogim, that they may grow in beauty and perfection for Sukkot.

Planting trees is very significant for Jews, the indestructible people for whom faith in the future is almost an emblem. We plant trees whose fruit we will not eat and in whose shade we will not sit. The one who fears that the world will end tomorrow or next year does not plant trees.

As well, Tu b’Shevat affirms that the soil of Israel is holy. The people and the land have a mystic affinity in Judaism, and the New Year of the Trees reminds us every year of the wonder of God’s creation.

The achievements of Israel

The anthology Miracle Nation: Seventy Stories About the Spirit of Israel; A Tribute to Rebirth in the Land of Our Ancestors by Israela Meyerstein (Mazo Publishers, 2018) highlights the amazing achievements of Israel in the 70 years since its rebirth in 1948. It contains the stories of ordinary people leading lives of courage, altruism and inspiration; stories that embody tikkun olam, repairing the world, which is at the heart of Judaism.

Meyerstein, a family therapist for more than 40 years, dedicated the book to Israel’s 70th birthday and in memory of relatives who perished at Treblinka. Each of the stories, many of which are contributed by writers other than the author, reminds us of how much there is to be proud of, as well as offering hope and optimism for the work still to be done.

Shlomo Alima, in “Destination: Return to Zion,” tells of his Iraqi ancestors, who were from the oldest Jewish Diaspora community in the world. His family left everything behind in 1925 to pursue their destiny in Israel. Their long, dangerous journey was made on donkeys, camels, bicycles and taxis – a two-month trek through Syria and Lebanon. They settled in Bet Yisrael, near Mea Shearim, and, in a two-room house, his grandparents raised 12 children. (Sadly, at only 30 years old, his father was murdered.)

Rabbi Micha Odenheimer contributed “Tevel b’Tzedek: Creating a Just, Compassionate and Beautiful World,” about a caste called the Mahji, who lived on the hills nearby rivers cascading from the majestic snow-covered Himalayas. They lived by fishing, both for feeding themselves and for trading with their neighbours, who grew rice, corn and wheat. Eventually, however, new roads brought people from other castes, who used explosives to kill the fish and bring them to the surface, and the Mahji ended up working in a brick factory, in order to survive. In addition, logging depleted the forests such that, during the monsoon season, the torrential rain couldn’t be absorbed into the earth quickly enough to recharge the springs that were needed in the dry season. Their life became unbearable.

But, a few years ago, something changed. An Israeli organization called Tevel b’Tzedek came to the area and joined up with a Nepali group, helping them grow enough crops for their own needs as well as for sale. Tevel b’Tzedek is Hebrew for “earth in justice.” Founded by Rabbi Micha Odenheimer in 2007 with 15 volunteers, there are now 800 volunteers, working with others to help some 40,000 Nepalese living in slums and villages.

Tevel b’Tzedek is just one of the many such Israeli organizations featured in this book. Another is Eco Peace Middle East, an environmental project that brings together young people from both sides of the Jordan River and the Dead Sea to try and prevent the waters from drying up, and to conserve water.

Pikuach nefesh (saving a life) is illustrated by stories of amazing acts by the Israel Defence Forces and of field hospitals for wounded Syrian civilians. Israeli hospitals offer medical care to Jews, Christians, Muslims, Druze – all nationalities and ethnicities without bias. There are wonderful organizations like Magen David Adom, Natal, Zaka and others that are always ready to save lives.

Another notable institution is Leket Israel, started by Joseph Gitler, a lawyer from New York. He found a way to garner good, surplus food – thrown out by supermarkets, caterers at event halls and farmers who grew too much – and collect it for those who need it. Leket is now an enormous food rescue network, which annually has 50,000 volunteers and feeds hundreds of thousands of Israelis every week.

Another miracle in Miracle Nation is described in “Oasis of Peace: Can a Song Heal?” by master musician Yuval Ron. Neve Shalom (Oasis of Peace) is a village where Jewish, Christian and Muslim families remain faithful to their own religious traditions, while dedicating their lives to advancing peace. It began as a dream of Father Bruno Hussar, who was born in Egypt and brought up in France. Only in adulthood did he discover that his family was Jewish. He started Neve Shalom on a monastery hillside, living alone until five families joined him. Today, the community is thriving – visitors from all over the world, including those who work for nongovernmental organizations and the United Nations, come to study in Neve Shalom. Friends of Oasis of Peace now exists in 11 countries.

On every page of this inspiring book, you will find a reason to be proud of this “miracle nation” – Israel – and its contribution to making the world a better place.

Israel’s assets versus liabilities

Israel’s beauty is a definite asset. (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)

During the month of Elul, as we approach Rosh Hashanah, which this year falls on Sept. 9, Jews traditionally practise a kind of spiritual stocktaking. These are days when we look inward – assessing what happened to last year’s dreams, asking pardon for the wrongs we have committed and hoping, by repentance, charity and prayers, to be written into the Book of Life for the coming year.

I doubt if you would find many people in Israel who would say that 5778 was a particularly good year. The facts speak for themselves – no progress in the peace process, international isolation and antisemitism. These are the liabilities, and they are not figments of the imagination – they are real, and have led to a fall in the general morale.

But what is there to put in the assets column? There must surely be something to balance the account. Otherwise, why are there olim (immigrants) who stay on year after year, new ones motivated to come, and Israelis who go on trying to find solutions for seemingly insoluble problems, both on the personal and the national planes?

There were times during the last year when I was tempted to despair. But, even as I said the words, I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all myself. Because the positive things I have found in Israel I know cannot be duplicated anywhere else in the world.

First, I have found a family – the whole house of Israel. How wonderful to walk the streets and know that everyone is your brother or sister. Of course, just like in a real family, there are times that this same sibling is rude or aggressive and you react with bitterness towards their manners, opinions, behaviour. But, while you feel free to criticize them, let a stranger do it and you jump to their defence.

You argue that they live under continual tension, are wearied from fighting five wars and from the ongoing hostilities; that they have lost many dear ones and must always be prepared to cope with terrorist attacks. And, while you are explaining them and defending them – just like in a real family – you know even more that you love them.

With this realization comes another. You know that, if you are ever sick or in need, you are among people who care about you. There is nowhere else in the world where people take so much responsibility for one another, who care so much, become involved so much.

Nor is there any other country in the world where the youth are so magnificent. At an age when teenagers elsewhere may be sowing their wild oats and are their parents’ despair, our boys and girls are putting on uniforms and quietly devoting the fun years of their lives to serving their country. There is no fanfare or extraordinary praise. They do it as a duty, conscientiously, modestly. They are Israel’s riches that no inflation can ever devalue; they are our hopes and our future.

Israel is a unique ethnic mosaic. It has taken in Jews of every background, language and social level; it has provided a home for the homeless; a refuge for the persecuted. It doesn’t ask an immigrant, “What are you bringing to us – what skills, what capital?” Those who bring little or nothing are no less welcome. Israel, as a whole, really cares.

And it is a beautiful country, no matter where you travel. Haifa, seen at night from Mt. Carmel, is diamonds scattered on black velvet. The Galilee – terraced rows of grey-green olive trees and lush vegetation of date-palms. Cosmopolitan sidewalk cafés in Tel Aviv. Scarlet sunsets over the Dead Sea and deep indigo twilight over Eilat. And Jerusalem – our eternal city – the special, spiritual, abiding jewel in our crown.

Yet, that is not all. There are so many more things you could add. Really, there is no end to them. It is a country of enormous achievement – in agriculture, in science, in high-tech, in the arts. It is a country where every festival – religious or secular – is celebrated, to a greater or lesser degree, by the whole population. With all their troubles, Israelis are a spontaneous people who don’t need expensive entertainment. They can have a wonderful time singing around a campfire, having a backyard barbecue or dancing in the streets.

Thinking it over, you realize that the assets column far outweighs the liabilities column. And then you ponder the fact that, even if the opposite were true, Israel, with and without the blemishes, is yours.

Happy New Year to us all.

Dvora Waysman is the author of four books, one of which, The Pomegranate Pendant, has been made into the movie The Golden Pomegranate. Her latest novel is Searching for Sarah. Australian-born, she has lived in Jerusalem for 47 years.