Good Morning

Craaaaakaboom!
is the sound that woke me up this morning almost immediately followed by 'Eeemma!' - Mummy in Hebrew.
Before I was fully conscious or even had my eyes open I bounced out of bed and yelled at my daughter to run into the security room, more commonly known as my son's bedroom.

Yes, this morning I was snuggled under the cover trying to ignore the annoying rooster alarm tone from my mobile phone that does its best to irritate enough to get us out of bed every morning.
Today it wasn't having much success. Both yours truly and son were tucked under the covers though my daughter had managed to get up and dressed.
The thought was just passing through my dreams that if I didn't move soon the children would be late for school when a great cracking noise ripped across the sky above us.

I had no problem recognising that sound having heard similar almost every month since we moved to Shlomi in 1996 and with a much greater intensity during the summer of 2006.

My body leapt into action even before my brain was able to process the recognition.
Of course, my body was still in my nightclothes and I hopped around my dark room trying to drag on something decent while yelling at my concerned daughter that she must stay in the security room and I would be with her soon.
After a while I realised much of my clumsiness was due to the fact that I had forgotten to put on my glasses or switch on the light.
Finally, after a couple of extremely long minutes I joined my children sheltering behind 55cm of reinforced concrete. Then I texted my husband and phoned my parents so they would know we were OK.

Everything was so familiar from 2 and a half years ago: exiting the safety room after waiting the required amount of time, phoning friends to check they are alright, checking the news on the internet and TV, trying to recognise where the missiles have landed from news photos.

My daughter stayed calm by phoning all her classmates to exchange a few words of comfort while my son relaxed with the Sims.

After I had contacted my local friends and compared notes with my parents about the people they had contacted I received a call from my father in law who had just stepped out of the shelter at his work in Naharia. He joked that my phone had been busy all morning.

Then I began to reassess our plans for the day.
School was cancelled so I insisted the children tidy their rooms.
I work at the local library which was closed and nobody had phoned me so they obviously didn't expect me to take part in any emergency measures. Despite this I felt perversely guilty about staying at home!

I warmed up a snack to replace the breakfast the children had missed in all the confusion and then prepared lunch. I made an effort to tackle the laundry that has piled up since our broken dryer and the damp weather had combined to make drying laundry Mission Impossible.
Basically a normal day at home except for our dash into the security room when the sirens went off just before midday

Then there were our plans for the afternoon. Obviously I wasn't going to be walking around Naharia in the company of my children in order to visit friends but before Lebanon II there were frequent 'love' missiles from Hizbollah and after an hour or so we would all return to our routine.
Was the new reality that we now expected every 'booming' to turn into Lebanon III?

Not quite - life still goes on in a limited fashion; ballet was off, the bat mitzvah party was on.

So as soon as I finish writing this I need to get ready for a party

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.