Bat Mitzvah

Our daughter has her bat mitzvah coming up soon.
As we are active members of our local Reform congregation our daughter will be leading the congregation in the Friday night Kabalat Shabbat service and on Saturday she will read from the Torah (Bible).

Because we regularly frequent our synagogue the religious aspects of the bat mitzvah have been no surprise to us or our daughter (I did my own bat mitzvah in 2006). She has settled happily into her study sessions with the Rabbi and can focus most of her attention on her Torah portion as she is well acquainted with the songs, prayers and order of service. She has already taken part in our yearly Rosh HaShanah Youth Service where, in addition to reading, she and her brother played on the flute and trumpet accompanied by the Rabbi.
As a rehearsal, this month she assisted the Rabbi in leading the Friday Night service and read the drash(sermon) she had written (with a little help from her mother.)

But there are more banal aspects to a bat mitzvah:
There is the celebratory party. For most bnei mitzvah this is a large party in a local wedding hall. I can't remember the last time I went to an 'aliyah l'Torah' (reading from the Torah scroll) of a bnei mitzvah who wasn't a member of our congregation but we are frequently invited to such parties. There is food, music, dancing and lots of guests. Normally resulting in a fat overdraft for the parents.

The only times we have organised large, fancy parties in a wedding hall was for the brita and brit after the birth of our children. Both times we felt both over- and underwhelmed. (as well as exhausted and broke!)

Luckily for us Daughter decided to pass on a fancy party as she preferred a trip to England.
Last time were in England, in fact the last time we went abroad, as a family was in 2001. The children were quite young and remember very little. Daughter is intrigued by my mother's stories of friends and family and ever year, when my mother return from visiting the UK, the daughter asks when we will be going.

Apart from the trip to England there is still plenty of planning to be done - friends and family will be invited to services so lists must be made and invitations printed. I also need to provide kiddush snacks after Friday evening service and a light brunch for after Saturday service.

And then there are the clothes. We may not need party clothes but this is a major life cycle event and Daughter will expect us to be looking our best. However Israeli we maybe, this time jeans and a t-shirt will not do.

First and foremost we have the question of clothes for the bat mitzvah herself. Her wardrobe is surprisingly thin on party clothes which is a good excuse for some retail therapy.
For the boys of the family we must check they have smart trousers and matching shirts, neatly ironed and ready to be worn.
For me - well, can I justify buying new clothes? Do I have anything suitable in my wardrobe? When did I get so old that shopping for party clothes became a chore?

Succot

"Welcome" to our succah

When I lived in England I had mixed feelings about Succot. It was this funny little festival coming after all the hullabaloo of Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur.

When I went to cheder on Sunday morning there would be a couple of my classmates' fathers dangling from ladders in the JCC's small courtyard and our lessons would be accompanied by the sounds of rustling leaves and hammering nails. The younger classes would troop in after a while to hang their decorations. Inevitably it would rain at some point.
Following the Succot service itself the congregation would huddle in the cold, damp Succah and say a blessing. Then after devouring a symbolic morsel we would shuffe out again. It was all a bit of an anti-climax.

But the service itself held a touch of magic. In cheder class the teacher explained to us about each element of the Four Species letting us gently examine the lulav and etrog used in the synagogue and explaining a few basic rules of what made them kosher.

What stuck most in my teenage mind was the symbolism of the taste and smell of the various elements.
The lulav (palm) has taste but no smell, symbolizing those who study Torah but do not possess good deeds.
The hadass (myrtle) has a good smell but no taste, symbolizing those who possess good deeds but do not study Torah.
The aravah (willow) has neither taste nor smell, symbolizing those who lack both Torah and good deeds.
The etrog (citron) has both a good taste and a good smell, symbolizing those who have both Torah and good deeds.
All these elements must be combined for the Four Species to be kosher. If one is lacking then the mitzvah has not been performed. A good lesson in Jewish unity and heartening for those of us who weren't quite so expert in the laws and ritual of Judaism.

I would sit alone at the service, my friends with their families, my father in the men's section and my mother at home, glad to actually be able to understand something about this fascinating festival. As the lulav and etrog were shaken in my direction I would feel blessed by the power of these plants that had been grown in the soil of Israel and gave a wry smile as we half-heartedly repeated the prayer for the rain we could already hear pit-patting as it dripped through the roof of the Succah.

When I first came to Israel I lived on a Kibbutz. I remember the parties for Purim, yellow cheese on Shavuot and the disco turned synagogue on Yom Kippur but although I'm sure they must have built a succah I have no recollection.
In fact I have few memories of Succot in Israel until my parents moved here. Their second rental was an 'arab' (ie built of local stone in the Ottoman era) house in Akko and we constructed a thoroughly non-kosher succah under their pergola. It was kind of nice and we invited friends but most of the decorations were shop bought. And the shiny Christmas-style decorations that had made us laugh in the shop seemed sort of tacky when combined with the fruits of the Seven Species. For the next few years I always found building our succah a little disheartening and preferred visiting our friends in theirs.

My Dad fixing up the succah

And then we had children. The first year my daughter was in daycare she came home clutching a Succot banner and clear CD decorated with small circular stickers. By the time the both children were in kindergarten we had quite an assortment of banners and Torah scrolls, fruit and doves.
I threw out all the shop bought decorations, found a new set of lights adorned with pomegranates to make them look less like something destined for a Christmas tree, and decided that Succot was actually quite fun.

This year, between work and Shabbat, we were a little delayed and ended up decorating the morning before the start of Succot. After building the actual Succah we dug out the decorations. Or at least we intended to; problem was they seemed to have disappeared. Thinking back to last year we had vague a recollection of throwing out most of the children-made decorations, that had began to fall apart from years of use.
As my father was going to cook the meal I made a detour to the local office/craft supplies shop on the way home and instead of dedicating my afternoon to a siesta the children and I crafted doves, apples and Succot banners from card, crepe paper and glue.

Even the cats 'help' with the succah

In the evening we went as a family to synagogue and enjoyed kiddush together with our friends in the congregation's succah. We listened to our Rabbi's, now traditional, Succot sermon reminding us that Succot is zman simchateinu, the time of our joy, and that the Torah commands us not only that "thou shalt rejoice in thy feast" but also "thou shalt be altogether joyful".
When we pray for rain I though mean it with all my heart and am thankful for the cool breeze on my bare arms that brings with it the hope that the rain is not too far away.

The only thing I miss is the shaking of the lulav. In our congregation such pleasures are reserved for those able to convince their families to get up early for the Shachrit (morning) service. So far I have succeeded only once and that was the year Succot coincided with Shabbat when the shaking of the lulav is not permitted.

On Reflection

This evening is the start of Yom Kippur and although I am certain that my usual problems with dehydration and low blood sugar levels, brought on by the long summer and exacerbated by the vicious virus that is still plaguing my body, will prevent me from fasting the whole 25 hours I will be refraining from TV, knitting and the computer until late tomorrow evening.

However, I have spent the last hour or so translating this week's drasha (sermon).

The Torah portion this week is Ha'azinu in which Moses is informed he will not entering the Promised Land. Supposedly, this is a punishment for his disobedience to G-d in the water and the rock incident.

What caught my attention as I was reading out the Hebrew version was the phrase במי מריבה- waters of contention. The phrase is used frequently in Hebrew when discussing an argument. Moreover, I know the story of the rock and the water quite well. But until now I had never connected the two

I am not quite sure why but I am always delighted when I discover the source of idioms in common use in Hebrew especially when the source is Biblical. Israelis casually pepper their conversations with these thousand-year-old phrases in a way that most English speakers do not anymore.

In the same way that many Israeli pop singers quote prayers or refer to G-d in their songs without every considering themselves an Israeli version of 'gospel' , these biblical quotes are used without any reference to whether the speaker is religious or secular or Reform.

Oneg Shabbat

Today has been a little weird.

I am not hosting the meal tonight but still had to cook a couple of dishes. No problem except that in my usual fashion I had left the purchasing of certain vital ingredients until this morning and then I didn't feel well enough to go out.

After a while I began to feel better. Luckily as I was about to go out my Dad came round, delivered the lemons I needed and gave me a lift up the hill to the shops.
By this time it was 10:30 and I had to be home by 11:40 for the children.

I had good luck in finding the birthday present I needed pretty quickly. Then I walked to our small shopping centre keeping my eyes alert for any sign of the children as they walk through the centre on their way home.

Nearly forgot one vital ingredient in the supermarket but remembered at the last minute and got out of there quickly as my efficient friend was working the till and when she is around the queue moves fast.

Then to the greengrocer who also had just what I needed and finally to the cafe where they sell the eggs. Lucky again - I bought the last tray of eggs.

I arrived home and began to cook. The children turned up after about 10 minutes and as I was putting the quiche in the oven, my husband walked through the door.

He was home earlier than usual because today was the azcara (yahrzeit or memorial day) for his paternal grandmother.

He helped the children practice on their musical instruments to keep them occupied and out of the kitchen while I made a chocolate mousse and then, while they tidied up, I finished off the tabouleh. I have been a little cautious about making tabouleh recently as the quick couscous often becomes lumpy and tasteless. Today I added the seasoning first, with lots of fresh lemon juice and olive oil. When that tasted good and the couscous was well separated, I added the chopped mint, and finally the tomato and cucumber. According to my husband, this house's expert taster, it is delicious!

I changed quickly and we left for the cemetery. We travelled the road through the Arab villages, Kfar Yassif, Yarka etc. The traffic was heavy and when we got to the junction the traffic coming from the direction of Akko was blocked solid for more than a kilometre. We phoned to warn my in-laws but luckily it was a problem traffic light, which was at that moment being sorted out. The traffic dissipated quite quickly so no one was delayed.

The original Akko cemetery, like the one in Nahariya, is next to the sea on what used to be the edge of town. When they ran out of space a new local cemetery was created far out of town, along the road to Carmiel. It is impossible to reach without a car as there is no public transport and there is a steep walk uphill from the main road. However, it does have a lovely view across the fields to Haifa.

In some cities the Chevrat Kadisha (burial society) makes a lot of fuss about anything non-Hebrew on gravestones. In Akko I think they have given into the inevitable: Along with the Hebrew there was plenty of Russian as well as a smattering of English and Amharic (Ethiopian).

Next to the grave of my husband's maternal grandfather there was a grave with a chessboard etched into the covering slab and there were several graves where the corner of cover slab and been cut away and flowers planted beneath so they poked through - pretty if a little creepy.

One grave had been turned into a rock garden. There was no flat covering stone. Instead there was a mountain-shaped chunk of rock, roughly carved on one side and 'terraced' on the other. The 'terraced' side was covered in smooth stones and nestled in the stones were small pots of hardy but colourful plants. It was quite beautiful.

After paying a quick visit to the grave of my husband's maternal grandfather, the relatives arrived. There were the hugs and hellos, then we made our way to the grave of my husband paternal grandmother and my father-in-law read the appropriate prayers followed by a few moments of reflection.

Then we washed our hands and ate some cake.

As we got in the car and drove home the sky was already starting to darken even though it was only 3:30pm.

We drove past Regba, which is between Akko and Nahariya, and maybe I subconsciously recognised her but my eye was caught by a young woman at the bus stop trying to hitch a lift. At that time of a Friday afternoon there are still plenty of cars but no buses or taxis.

A glance at her long sleeves and long skirt told me she was religious. She was definitely cutting it fine to get home in time for Shabbat. I almost told my husband to stop for her but we would have had to pull across three lanes of heavy traffic. Instead she got a ride with someone who took her to the main junction into Nahariya.

She immediately started trying to hitch another lift from the drivers stopped at the red light. Again, she attracted my notice and when she caught my eye she asked if we could take her to Shlomi. Of course! I immediately called her over and her face lit up with relief.

As she settled into her seat she thanked us profusely. My husband remarked on the lateness of the hour and the fact that Shabbat came in at 4:15pm. She replied that she had though she had until 4:15 pm but her mother had just phoned in a panic because Shabbat started at 4:05 pm. Either way she had been worried she would be stranded somewhere in Nahariya.

My husband drove along at his usual smart clip and we chatted with our pleasant hitchhiker. Shlomi being so small it was no problem driving her to her doorstep and we left her there at 4:01 pm.

It was a pleasing way to start the Shabbat.