Yihyeh Tov

All will be well

Chanukah Miracles

First candle was tearful for me, missing the Chanukah of my childhood.
A Child's Chanukah in Canada.
Now as we were young and happy under the chanuka tree boughs.......
And then I realized: I'm here where it happened.
A Great Miracle Happened Here
They actually say it this way. Nes Gadol Haya Po.
"Shahm" is "There". "Po" is "Here".
The miracle is right here.
So, what's the miracle of the first day? We had oil for one day, and it shed a lovely light. That's no miracle.......
Light's no miracle?? Think about it! Just think about a flame, what it's made of, how it is not physical, and yet so physical.
Light at all is a miracle. But more than that, think about the miraculous emuna, the trust, that impelled us to bother lighting the one candle. The Temple was a mess, and here was this piddly bit of oil. Give up. Why bother? There's no use. There's the miracle!! We didn't give up. We took a tiny step. And opened our hearts to let the miracle happen.
We invited the miracle in!

Off to Eilat Where It's Sunny and Hot

Away from email for a few days. But just before I leave you, remember Beginnner's Mind. Carry a tiny orange seed in your pocket. Remember to wonder at the miracle every time you touch the seed: If this hard little thing can grow into a beautiful tree bearing fragrant juicy oranges, surely I can believe in miracles.

Viva Wolbromski

I just read on Geni, a note from Mitzi Wolfe Zohar to Veronica Wolbromski, "How lucky you are to still carry our family's last name. Ours was changed to Wolfe when my grandfather came to Canada in the twenties."
By all odds, the name Wolbromski should have disappeared by now. Pogroms over the years, and a final rounding up of all the Jews in our village, Staszow, in 1941, could have ended the name forever. What a triumph, then, this past Sukkot, when 61descendants of Rachmiel and Aidl Wolbromski gathered and ate and sang at our home in Israel. There were the children and grandchildren of:
*Abchu, who came in the thirties, a real chalutz, pioneer in Israel, to build kibbutz Beit Alfa.
*Golda, who brought her artistic energy to Kibbutz Yad Mordecai, long before the Nazis.
*Rachel, who cleverly made it to Uruguay
*Volv, who managed to come to Canada before the war
and
*Shimon and his wife Hinde, who actually didn't leave Staszow before the Nazi's came in. Through their own unimaginable bravery and the outrageous, risky kindness of a family who are now honoured among "The Righteous of the Nations", Shimon and Hinde hid in a hole in the yard of this family, and survived the war in hiding. After the liberation, they went to Uruguay, and raised a family. The children and grandchildren of Shimon and Hinde still go by the name Wolbromski.
And now, descendants of every surviving Wolbromski are in Israel.
60 Wolbromskis and more
Feasting together.
The best triumph
Over history and entropy.
We’re here! We’re here!

It's Beginning to Look Alot Like Chanuka

Chanuka at the Sachneh. Gan Eden. The air's a little cool, but the water is so warm you want to float and float forever. A taste of the world to come.

To Splash Blessings

Wonderful picnic up on Har Gilboa today, with our kibbutz cousins who have become so comfy, so close, over the year. See how they bundled up as if it were 40 below. To me, it was a Victoria summer day. See, from high up on Gilboa, the fish pools, brechot dagim. Brecha is a pool, and bracha is a blessing. Same root.
A bracha is a blessing,
a braycha, a cool, flowing
place to swim,
to splash water,
fresh,
onto our faces,
to make ourselves new;
to remind ourselves
of the way we felt
the day the world began.

To Life! To Malca!

Of course this whole project is dedicated to Malca. Even when she was here in this earthy world (though I'm not sure she ever really touched down in her short 52 years) I used to say, "Every page I write secretly begins, 'Dear Malca....'" For Malca, writing was a matter of opening onto the page, spilling, splashing colour and taste and image, rhyming. For Malca there was no prose. Malca and I used to sip caffe latte together, writing and writing and writing. The last time we wrote together, she told me that the doctors gave her a 1% chance of surviving the cancer that was taking over her thisworld body. The synchronicity of it (and Malca saw significance in synchronicity) was that I had just read in a book of Kabbalah, that 1%, or less, of the world is the physical world, and 99+% is the spiritual, real world. The doctors gave her 1%, and we laughed and laughed. "That's just for the physical world". I don't see the world now as 1% physical and 99% spiritual. I see it as 100 this, 100 that. A 100% physical world. And hovering in and above and under and through, the 100% world of idea and concept and ideal form and spirit. Sitting at Holt Renfrew's gorgeous cafe, Malca and I chose a line at random from a book I had with me, to prompt our writing: "Spiritual reality may choose to reveal itself in physical form". The decor at Holt Renfrew's cafe was pure white, with shelves of glass vases in many shapes and bright colours. Water was served in a red glass decanter. We pulled out our pens and wrote.

Spiritual reality may choose to reveal itself in physical form.
January 30, 2005.
I look at you across the table.
This physical smile
is more luscious,
more elegant,
than ever before,
taking on short hair
with a glamour
that makes it
the most playful, radiant,
fashioned choice
instead of survival.
One percent
is for the physical world,
and we all know about the physical world.
**************************
It is spirit,
playfully deciding
to juggle strawberries,
to splash watercolours,
to fingerpaint on clear glass,
to pour cool clear water
into ruby red vases.
**************************
Physical reality
is cool clear light
poured into vases,
tall green glass,
ruby pomegranate glass,
stout olive green.
**************************
Reality is spirit,
poured into coloured glasses.
******************************
"That's extraordinary", said Malca. Her smile triumphs, still.
**************************
What is a smile made of?

Are You Here For Good?

"Are you here for good?", asked the eye doctor, to find out whether I was just here for a visit, or planning to stay. Am I here for good? "For good and for bad", I answered, "for better or for worse". For the honey and the stinger, for the bitter and the better. But "for good", in this place, can't mean for receiving good. I've been told that if you come to Israel expecting to receive, to get, to be given all good things, you'll fail here. Only if you come expecting to GIVE goodness, you'll succeed. I'm here for good, for giving, for offering, for sharing, for lending a hand, for doing my part. And that's good.

Is There a Physical World?

"Geshem" means "Rain". "L'hitGaSHeM" means "to materialize" or to become real. The term applies to plans, or to hopes, or to dreams. L'hitgashem: To turn from vapour to real, wet, tangible stuff that waters trees and quenches thirst and makes life possible.

Two Ways to Improve Your Vision

Toronto's squeegee kids stand at intersections, and pounce unbidden at your windshield, to clear your view. Instead of dreadlocks and tiedye, the youngsters at Israel's intersections sport payis and black velvet keepas. They have a different way of wiping off your windshield, clearing your view: just the amount of Torah they can squeeze in before the light turns green. Sometimes these guys are remarkably on the mark. On a particularly bothersome day of Israel's infamous bureaucratic red tape, our squeegee Torah man gave us this quick and useful thought. "When someone is really bugging you, know that this person is a messenger, bringing you the opportunity to be your best self. Be grateful for this chance, to see your qualities of patience, problem-solving, persuasion, compassion, tolerance, kindness. That nudnik is an angel, bringing you the chance to be the person you aspire to be". Ah! In this part of the world, there are angels everywhere you turn!
Today's photo is by Eleanor Enkin. Permission pending?

Pesto for Henry Schwarcz

Glass windowdoors open right off our kitchen onto a garden of basil, mint and flat parsley. When Molly Ann and Henry came to visit, we didn't cook at all. We simply feasted on anona, that mystical white manna of a fruit, bright pink dragon fruits, and a bounty of vegetables. The one food that was at all prepared was this pesto.
Buzz in the food processor, equal quantities by weight, of
fresh basil leaves
pine nuts
walnuts
olives
hot pepper
Season with olive oil, lemon and salt.

All Will Be Clear When Eliyahu Arrives

Netanya's Market in December is fragrant with guavas, enormous ruby pomegranates, and mountains of sweet sweet strawberries. From stall to stall, voices call you to taste and buy, "Yalla yalla tut sadeh! Bring some home for Shabbat". Two men are betting across the walkway. The one selling 14 kinds of shiny olives says that Maccabi Netanya will win tonight's soccer game, the one squeezing pomegranate juice insists it will be teko. "Teko": a tie in a soccer game, or a stalemate in chess. You hear the term often. It's actually an acronym right from Talmud, meaning that we won't reconcile this difference now. Eliyahu HaNavi, Eliyahu haTishbi, will tell us the answer, when he comes. In that perfect time, of course we'll find out who really won all those games across the millenia. Until then, all of those undecided matches are flippantly declared "teko". When will we learn, in this troubled part of the world, to say "teko": this side is right, that side is right. We'll find a way to live the question for now. And bimhera, soon, soon, in our days, it will all come clear.

Shir HaMaalit

"Maalit" means "Elevator". And, of course, "Shir HaMaalot" is the familiar "Song of Ascents" in the Book of Psalms. "Shir HaMaalit", a sort of psalm of the elevator, is one of the many phrases my psyche has served to me, to teach me the ancient stirrings that resonate in Israel's hightech highrise present. A Psalm of the Elevator is not so far removed from the original. You may be thinking that the biblical "Song of Ascents" refers to some sort of spiritual elevation to heights of pure, ecstatic connection with the Divine. But in reality, these were a series of words to say on each stone step as you climbed up to the Temple in Jerusalem. A panel of verbal buttons to press as your dusty, thisworld feet walked the walk, climbed the climb. Does "Ascents" refer to the the physical climb or the spiritual climb? Yes. The answer is "Yes". One hundred percent physical. One hundred percent spiritual. Like every climb we ever do. Why? Because it's there.
My psyche proclaimed this modern day physicospiritual climb again and again in the car on the way to Tzfat:
The road to Tzfat
Winds
This way
That way
Look! Kinneret to your right.
Look! Kinneret to your left.
Look! Kinneret to your right.
It all depends
On where you are
Along the journey.
It all depends
On your point of you.
**************************************
Shir HaMaalot
A Song of Ascents.
On the road up to Tzfat
Mommy’s ears popped.
*************************************************
“I’m not even short of breath”,
Realized Daddy
As we lifted ourselves
Higher and higher
to the elevated city.
Automatic steering
Makes the ascent a breeze.
******************************************************

Open! Open to the Song

Now the wind is holding me
Clears my mind so easily
Open open to the song
Wind and Sea have sung so long

I am carried by the sea
Something broken mends in me
Hold me til the day I die
Stone and Sand and Sea and Sky
Rose Vaughn

Wherever we live, we open our home to singers and musicians, so we have had front row seats to some amazing talents. To this past Thursday's song circle, our beloved Liron Mann, who plays that mystical flying saucer of a musical creation, the pantang, brought along the astounding SanYa Kroitor, a fiery young Israeli Paganini. What sparks rose, as the two lifted "Shir Hamaalot, Esa Einai" to the firework passion young King David must have felt that day he first sang those words.
Check out http:www.saniakroitor.com/video.htm

Hebron, from Haver, friend

and one more sad word derivation: The name "Hebron" comes from "Haver", friend.

Daily Holiness, Holy Dailiness

Sometimes you think it's a regular day. You go for a morning bikeride, you fill the car with gas, you park at the shuk, pick up a few vegetables. But look inside! Peak at the words for all this dailiness. Your bike, in Hebrew, is an "ofanayim". A wheel within a wheel a'rollin, right from Ezekiel's prophecy. The car you get into is your "ReCheV", a version of the meRCaVa, just the latest model of Eliyahu's chariot of fire. The bright modern sign at the gas station says "Delek". See the D-L-K root in the Hebrew word? Same word as "l'haDLiK". L'haDLiK ner shel Shabbat, and soon, L'hadlik ner shel Chanuka. See how the letters dance, invert upon themselves, turn upside down with roots in heaven, infuse now's ordinary with history, with sparks of the Torah they come from? Delek. To light the miracle candles, to fuel your car, to remind you, moment by moment, that just to be here is to kindle a light.

and the Joy of Living

"Eagerly savour each new day
and the taste of its mouth.
Never lose sight of the thrill
and the Joy of Living"
I will offer a taste thrill each day, along with my reflections on life in Israel.
For Israel is a feast
Eretz chemda, tova, urchava.
Today's taste"
On a charcoal barbecue, real coals, grill small black shiny eggplants, and bright red peppers. Grill them black. Slide the blackened skin off, and lay them nicely on a platter. Pour velvety techina (sesame paste, blended with water and lemon, that's all) generously, lavishly, over the whole thing, letting the beautiful eggplants and peppers peak enticingly through. Serve with hot fresh pitas.
That's how you
Eagerly savour each new day
and the taste of its mouth.

One

14 Rockets Pound South Israel.
I'm baffled that the Israel I see, as far as my eye can see up and down the coastline, looks tranquil, playful, sunny, beautiful. I don't see rocket attacks. I not yet learned to be fearful in this place. I try hard to feel anything other than exhilarated by my sea run, by the sheer beauty of this place, and for a moment I feel Israel as One. My toes are receiving rocket attacks, and I am just paying attention to the top of me. It is as easy to say, "Oh that's far away. It doesn't touch me", here in Israel, as it is in Canada. You read the Globe, and you say, "I'm glad I'm not there". I am trying to understand a teaching,
"What is the difference between kindness and compassion?
Kindness gives to another.Compassion knows no "other"."
I want to practice knowing that there is one Israel. That if you pinch my toe, all of me feels it. I want to practice Shma.

To Life ! To Hope !

A dreamy run in sunshine, along the shoreline, barefoot in the waves, in December. From the beach by our house you can see the shoreline for miles and miles up and down the coast. Feels like you see the whole coastline of Israel, quiet, serene, playful, sunny. I came home, shook off sand, and as I always first do, touched Canada for a moment by checking my email. And in today's Globe and Mail from Canada, I read about Israel: "Hopes for Peace Overrun by Endless Conflict. Neither the Israelis nor the Palestinians are likely to stop the violence." What no-tikva words! "Hopes for Peace Overrun". "Endless".
That line wouldn't appear in an Israeli paper. Hatikva, the hope, is the fuel that keeps this place running. "Israel is the land where miracles are part of state planning". You wouldn't read here, ever, words that say other than, "Yihyeh tov". It will be good, it will all be fine. It will. To Life ! To Hope ! Let's get to work ! I have a job to do here.