Coming to America: The First Shabbat

Conflict of Interests

At home in Ramat Gan, we have a very clear, set schedule for Friday night.  During the summer, we start Shabbat early (what's call Plag HaMincha) so that the younger children can participate in the meal and still go to bed at a reasonable hour.  Being away from home, we had to strategize with conflicting interests.  On the one hand, we wanted to have a pleasant and calm Shabbat dinner with the whole extended family.  On the other hand, we wanted to attend synagogue, which only started at 7:30 pm.  Normally, the meal is eaten only after services.  And on the third hand, the earliest Shabbat can be started is one and a quarter hours before sundown, which came out to be 6:30 pm.  In order for the meal to count as one of the three Shabbat feasts, it needs to be held on Shabbat.

In the end our plan was to do the afternoon prayers at home, earlier, so that we could aim to get to synagogue for just Kabbalat Shabbat, which I estimated to start close to 8 o'clock.  That way, we could start Shabbat at the earliest possible time and have a leisurely meal before leaving the house at 7:40.  What actually happened was that we didn't finish preparing the meal until after 7 o'clock, then we ate a somewhat abbreviated meal and left the house to run to synagogue (just Binyamin and I) at 8:04.  We arrived just in time for Adon Olam, the hymn said at the conclusion of the Friday night prayers.  Oh well.  Better luck next time.

Feast of Goodness

For Shabbat lunch, which, due to our insistence that children have relatively standard bedtimes even on weekends, is the only opportunity for us to go out for a Shabbat meal, we had been hooked up with a family that has a kind of open house every Shabbat.  The mother of a former college roommate of Michal's, who lives in the area, had suggested we take advantage of their hospitality, since they're always happy to have more people join them.  She suggested we meet around noon at the synagogue, since guests usually head to their house in a group, using the synagogue as a departure point.  Shabbat morning was overcast, and by 11 am it was raining fairly hard.  At 11:40, when it was time for us to leave, it was basically pouring.  We borrowed raincoats from Sonya and Adam (umbrellas are prohibited on Shabbat), put a nylon cover on the stroller, and started to make our way in the rain.

We made it to the synagogue in good spirits but quite wet, only to hear from our host that the group wasn't leaving until 12:45.  So we nibbled on cookies and vegetables at the kiddush that was still going on, and chatted a little with some of the members of the community who recognized us as out-of-towners.  By the time 12:45 rolled around, the rain had completely stopped.  We threw all the wet rain gear over the top of the stroller and joined the lunch party for a 20 minute stroll.  Eventually we reached a stone house with a piece of paper taped to the front door.  It read, in Hebrew, "Cohen family - Welcome!"

Inside we were warmly greeted by our hosts, an elderly couple who were impeccably dressed and overly welcoming.  As everyone filed in and got comfortable, the kids were invited to play with magnet sets and scoot around the floor on little kiddie vehicles they referred to as "flying turtles".  Within a few minutes we were called to table for kiddush.  The table was very long, and set with very stylish, almost lavish, dishes and decor.  Everyone, even the youngest children, had a tall crystal glass to drink from.  Bottles of flavored soda were distributed equally down the table.  A towering centerpiece with large flowers was set in the center of the table, but somehow was slender enough not to block our view of anyone else.  Booster seats and high chairs were available for all our children.  Even though five other guests had come with us (for a total of 16 people at the table), in the end there were two extra place settings.  I was mesmerized.  What was this place?

The host pronounced the blessings with a thick Brooklyn accent, grape juice was drunk, hands washed, and bread broken.  The meal was underway.  The hosts were exceedingly courteous and gracious.  While a constant barrage of chicken and deli meats flowed from the kitchen, along with kugel, cholent, salad, and other dishes, the hosts inquired after each of the guests.  Henry, the host (I don't recall his wife's name), would casually toss out a dvar torah from time to time, and he also invited one of the guests (our guide, as it turned out) to deliver some of her own insights on the Torah reading.  She chose to speak about the mitzva of caring for the stranger, the sojourner, and the greater social meaning of the commandment.  When she finished, I commented that we have before us, in this house, a fantastic application of that very commandment, since our hosts extend an open invitation to any who need it.  About midway through my second sentence, Henry and his wife abruptly left the dining room for the safety of the kitchen.  I was left with my mouth slightly agape, the unfinished thought still on my lips, whilst the other guests looked on, seeming slightly amused at what had happened.  A few moments later, our hosts reemerged.  Before taking his seat, Henry asked me if I'd finished with what I had to say.  I almost began to repeat myself from the beginning, but then immediately understand what had transpired, and just said yes, I'm done.  Then Henry proceeded to explain that they don't appreciate hearing praise about what they do, because they don't feel like it's anything extraordinary.  "We're all sojourners," he told me, "me just the same as you.  That's just a part of being Jewish."  I tried to protest and insist that Jews are no longer strangers, no longer the homeless people.  We can go home now, to Israel.  My words fell on deaf ears.  I can't say I was surprised.

By the time we'd finished eating - for dessert they brought out two flavors of pareve ice cream and four kinds of cookies, and the kids had played sufficient on the (still wet) backyard playground, many hours had passed.  Throughout the whole encounter, I had been completely astounded by the couple's patience, generosity, humility, and piety.  When we decided it was time to go, Amiel and Chanania came to the back door from the play equipment with thoroughly muddy feet.  I caught them just as they were about to step in, and ordered them to go around and come in the front entrance, so that they could wipe their feet on the mat.  Henry overheard and waved his hand dismissively, saying, "It's fine, I don't mind.  Let them come in."  I was totally blown away, but I still insisted they go around to the front.  Leaving their house, I was reminded of many a chasidic tale, in which one of the characters is a pious, generous, rich man.  Perhaps there are still some of those left in the world.

Birds of a Feather

We returned to the house and passed the remainder of Shabbat napping (the adults) and playing board games with the cousins (the kids).  Binyamin and I returned to synagogue after 7 pm for the prayers at the conclusion of Shabbat. 

In many Orthodox synagogues, a small meal is served at the end of Shabbat for those who come for the afternoon prayers and stay for the evening service as well.  This synagogue was no different from most.  We entered the social hall and I looked for a table to join.  At most tables people had already filled there plates from the buffet and were engaged in conversation with the people seated next to them.  I looked for a table that wasn't crowded and seemed to have friendly folk.  I chose one near the entrance, where two fathers and two sons were situated.  Within moments, it became apparent that I had "accidentally" chosen to sit at the only table occupied by other Israelis.  I guess I subconsciously identified them and was drawn to my kind.  The both of them were in the area temporarily, one had been sent by his work and the other in order for his wife to get a higher degree.  I didn't have much to talk to them about, but it was nice to hear and speak Hebrew to adults.

Coming to America - Days 3-4: Vacation Routine

During the next couple days we started to settle in to a kind of routine, which mostly revolved around feeding and entertaining the children (duh - what did you really expect?).  In parallel to sharing those responsibilities, each one of the adults felt into their familiar roles.  I found time to work, the non-working and grandmother managed the kitchen, and the handyman grandfather found things to fix around the house.

Kitchen consultation

Dedushka (Leo) fixing the screen door

American Jewry*

Part of my regular routine is going to synagogue multiple times a day.  I began making trips to the local synagogue in the morning and at the end of the day, which is about a 15 minute walk from the house.  The synagogue is a run-of-the-mill mainstream Orthodox establishment, not particularly Zionist but not anti-Zionist in any regard.  From my first visit I felt extremely sad, nearly moved to tears, by the superficial way in which they related to their faith.  In our home community, Judaism is not related to as merely a religious practice, a communal framework, or a code of belief.  It is seen as a driving force behind personal, political, and even world change.

There is a well-known statement in the Talmud regarding the state of the Jewish people after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem: "Since the destruction of the Temple, all the Holy One has left in the world is 4 handbreadths of halacha."  The 4 handbreadths refer to, essential, a person's personal space as conceptualized by the Jewish code of law, and is equivalent to 1.9 meters.  This maxim is usually understood to mean that after the destruction of the Temple, the only part of Judaism that is still relevant, is still feasible for practical purposes, is the code of personal conduct.  Nowadays, there's a saying, "He's a man of the Shulchan Aruch," meaning that a person's focus is on properly observing all the personal halachot, as delineated in the Shulchan Aruch, a definitive 16th century work that became the basis for all further halachic discussions since.  Most people read the statement regarding the place of halacha as an imperative: since this is all we have left, this is a very important thing, and should be the sole focus of your religious devotion.  I recently came up with a very different reading, which makes much more sense to me - it's an outcry: this is all that people do anymore, and it's a travesty!  It's a travesty that the vast and powerful effect the Jewish faith once had on the entirety of personal, communal, municipal, and national circles of influence has been reduced to a mere set of prosaic directives for how to tie your shoes and which side to sleep on.

*This section contains my reflections of American mainstream rabbinical Orthodox Judaism, and its failure to fulfill its purported yearning for spirituality and the redemption of the world.  Since my criticisms are essentially just a decrying of the hypocrisy of this group, non-orthodox Jews who do not necessarily subscribe to a belief system that frames the Land of Israel as the only true home of the Jewish people and the only land in which the complete Jewish life can be attained should not see these particular comments as pertinent to them.  Not that they're without blemish, but at least they aren't a bunch of hypocrites...

Strengthening Bonds

The following days saw a general closeness between cousins develop and blossom.  They slowly turned into a single teeming mass of youthful impulses and energies, sharing equally breakfast, bedrooms, board games, Babushka, and bedtime stories.  The two notable exceptions were a) in upsetting situations the child would still seek consolation from a birth parent, and b) Arik was not in on the whole experience, since he was not home most of the day.  In addition, our children's abilities in spoken English (the main language spoken by their cousins) gradually improved, which greatly facilitated the whole process.

Avigail and Maya starting to hit it off

Dinnertime shenanigans

So Many Ducklings

Dear reader: if you're not familiar with the classic children's book Make Way for Ducklings by Robert McCloskey, please go find a copy and read it before continuing on.

On the fourth day of our trip, I decided the take all the children in the house (6 of ours + Maya and Layla - Arik was at opera camp, and Binyamin hadn't arrived yet) to reenact the story of Mr. and Mrs. Mallard and their ducklings who come to Boston and make their home in the Boston Public Garden.  All the children were familiar with the story and very excited to go and see it first hand.  So first we take the tram down Beacon Street, retracing their waddling footsteps, then entered the Public Garden, observed the ducks and geese present their, took pictures with the swan boats, and then went to visit the bronze monument to the ducklings.  We were very surprised to learn that everything depicted in the book, written over 77 years ago, is just the same as it was then, except for one small detail - you no longer may ride bicycles in the park.

Dreamy Elisheva on the tram

Rereading the story, in the very place it happened

We really went out on a limb for this picture

The swan boats

The ducklings 

Layla, Amiel and Chanania hitch a ride on Mrs. Mallard's back

After we finished our duckling tour, we went to a nice little park along the river.

When it was time to head home, we walked back to the tram, but we discovered that boarding a train was futile.  We were downtown, and trying to travel in the direction of Fenway Stadium, on the day of a Red Sox game, in the middle of rush hour.  We didn't have a chance.  So we rode a different train line that run along with hours for as far as we could - one stop.  Then we started walking.  We walked for about an hour, during which time I was constantly scanning behind me for Noam, who was lagging, and peering ahead to make sure I didn't lose sight of Maya and Avigail, who were leading the pack.  When we all gathered at intersections, waiting for the light to change, people gaped.  On at least four different occasions over the course of the day, stupefied passersby asked me in awe and wonderment if all those children belong to me.  I usually downplayed it, saying no, some of them are my nieces, but later I realized that I should have just said "I have another five back at home."  I felt like I was reliving another page of that book, where Mrs. Mallard walks with her ducklings from the river to the park, and people on the street stop in wonderment.  Here I was, marching down the street with eight ducklings!  Eventually we passed Fenway Stadium and made it to a tram station where the cars were no longer crowded. 

Coming to America - Day 2: Diversity or Culture Clash?

Crossing the Atlantic obviously brings with it numerous cultural implications, beyond any possible linguistic barriers.  I've lived half my life in Israel, and although I don't feel like a total foreigner in the US, there is no way for me to prevent myself from constantly noticing the differences and contemplating their meaning.  Much more so for my children.  On our first day, those cultural differences played out in many different ways.

Rise & Shine

After getting up in the morning, we began to get our bearings.  We are being graciously hosted by my sister- and brother-in-law, Sonya and Adam.  They moved near Boston, MA exactly one year ago from central Pennsylvania.  The neighborhood they live in is situated around along the slopes of an enormous hill.  The live on a terrace (that is, the official street name is such-and-such Terrace), which, is its name implies, wraps around the side of the hill.  This was actually the first time I was fully aware of the significance of this specific street classification (lane, boulevard, etc. all denote different geographical/municipal phenomena).  The most poignant ramification of living on the side of a hill is that one side of the house is always going to have a very different relationship to the ground than the other side.  In their case, the front of the house is at street level, and the back is on stilts.  They have a multi-tiered deck that conforms roughly to the slope of the hill, and then there is a nearly useless patch of land between the end of the deck and the next house downhill.  Nearly useless due to the steep incline, of course.  It is, oddly enough, put to use by wild turkeys who come to roost in the evening in the branches of the trees that grow in that otherwise unutilized stretch.

Staying in the house with us are Michal and Sonya's parents, Anna and Leo.  They live outside of Philadelphia, and drove in to Boston to enjoy a rare few days of having all their progeny under one roof.  The dynamics between the various generations began to unfold over the course of the morning.  Anna, being a veteran Jewish mother, feels the full responsibility of feeding everyone in the house, even though they all have their own Jewish mothers to take care of them (or at least Jewish wives).  We are on vacation, but Sonya and Adam are not.  They are university professors, and have responsibilities even over the summer.  Our children are on vacation, as well.  Sonya and Adam's children - Maya (12), Arik (9), and Layla (7) are likewise on summer vacation, but Arik has a drama day camp that occupies him most of the day.

The grandparents speak Russian to everyone in the house, with the exclusion of myself.  I took a year of Russian at the University of Chicago, and then have lived in a house where Russian is spoken around me for the past 15.5 years (since Binyamin was born), but my skills are still quite limited.  Adam, who grew up in Montreal, has been very studious and tenuous in his pursuit of Russian fluency, and it has certainly paid off.  The Boston kids speak to each other alternately in Russian or English; their English seems to be the stronger tongue.  Our kids will understand either Russian or English, but only the older ones are proficient in answering in any language other than Hebrew.  And so on our first morning the regular routines of getting up and eating breakfast were governed in a mostly separate fashion, each nuclear family doing its own thing within the common confines of the house.

Lost & Found

In the late morning, our kids were getting bored and antsy, having been shown around the house and deck by their cousins and quickly exhausted the obvious means of entertainment offered to them.  So I volunteered to take them to the neighborhood park.  I set off to climb to the top of the hill with Elisheva, Noam, Amiel, and Chanania.  After walking up a steep incline for about ten minutes, we crested the hill, and there we found a park split over both sides of the road, with lots of sloping grassy areas and not very much in the way of a playground.

Tree climbing on the top of the hill

Noam and Elisheva trying out a cozy cabin

A man-made stone structure in the park

After exploring the park, we decided to go down the hill to the street on the slope opposite us.  Amiel did cartwheels all the way down to the bottom (after which he was unable to walk straight), while Noam and Chanania just ran.  Elisheva and I took our time, and went over to investigate a couple of lone trees near the edge of the grass.  There we found large flat rock with two bracelets of green polished stones laying on it.  Elisheva immediately requested to adorn them, one on each wrist (she is very much enamored of wearing jewelry).  The boys came over to see what we were doing.  After hearing that the bracelets had just been lying there, Amiel shouted out, "Let's do the mitzva of Hashavat Aveida!".  Hashavat Aveida is the mitzva of returning lost objects (or livestock) you happen upon.  Nowadays the most common approach to finding the owner of the lost object is simply by putting up a note in the place the object was found.  The note must not stipulate too much information about the object, in order to fraudulent claims.  The finder must leave out identifying traits from the note, and only return it to a claimant who correctly supplies them.  Local electronic bulletin boards (like a neighborhood Google Group, or the like) are also a good place to advertise notices of found items.  We did not come to the park with paper and pen, and I have no knowledge of local virtual community boards, so I just smiled at Amiel's good intentions.  Maybe we'll put up a note next time we go to the park.

Elisheva modeling one of the bracelets

On the way home, I decided to go a different way, not the way we'd come.  My phone had no reception since I hadn't yet purchased an American SIM card, and I had no prior knowledge of the neighborhood.  And so, I knowingly let myself and four of my children get completely lost in suburban Boston.  We were supposed to be home in about half an hour from the time we left the park, but I didn't let that bother me.  As we wandered the streets, I pointed out the children how different states put out different-looking license plates, we pondered together the different kinds of houses, and noted how the school buses, mail trucks, and other mundane features of urban life look very different here than in Israel.  We found mushrooms under a tree and harvested them to bring back to Babushka (Russian for grandmother).  We found a wild turkey feather on the parkway.  Eventually, we had only ten minutes to be home, and the children were starting to seriously drag their feet and even whine a little that they were tired and thirsty.  I had to do something.  I've always prided myself on a solid sense of direction.  The streets we had been walking down were anything but straight, and yet I had a strong feeling that were headed the right way.  Then we chanced upon a set of stairs that connected to the terrace above us.  We ascended, and continued to walk along the higher street.  At this point, I decided that enough was enough, and that I would ask directions from the next person we passed on the street.  Just then, I pointed out to the kids a license plate from Pennsylvania.  I took three more steps, looked up, and stopped.  The house on the opposite side of the street seemed oddly familiar.  Oh yeah, that's the house I see when I walk out the door of Sonya and Adam's house... I called out to the kids: "Ok, we're here, come inside!"  We had walked just past the house without even realizing it.  But we found our way home, on our own, and we were only 5 minutes late.

Later in the day, we attempted to get lost again, but with less success.  It happened to be Anna's birthday, and a surprise talent show was in the works.  Almost all the kids and some of their parents would be performing in her honor.  I was charged with purveying the dessert - either ice cream or a fancy cake.  I set out in search of a kosher supermarket I'd told was "just around the corner" but not told precisely which corner it was around, and the source of the information was unavailable at the time.  I left the house with Moriah (in a stroller), Elisheva, Noam, and Layla, with an hour to return. We headed down the main drag, where I'd seen a kosher restaurant, and continued on for some time.  When it was almost time to turn back, I decided we should go a different way back to the house in order to increase our chances of finding the store.  I started down a side street, and immediately Layla started disclosing the way home from our new route.  I turned onto an even smaller street, and again the same thing.  It was as if I had a living version of Waze walking along beside me, recalculating my route at every turn.  So I engaged her in a conversation about the value of getting lost, and told her the story of how we had succeeded in getting lost and then found earlier in the day.  In the meantime, we found ourselves at a dead end, and cut through an oddly unfenced construction site (no construction was underway at that time of day) in order to get through to the next street.  When we got back to a main avenue, we had only 20 minutes left to get home.  I saw a large complex with 6-pointed stars on it.  We walked past it, to find a Jewish bookstore.  I felt like we were getting warmer.  I was about to give up, when a religious couple walked out of the bookstore.  I asked them as to the whereabouts of a kosher supermarket, and they said, "Follow us.  We're going there - it's just on the next block."  Eureka!  Again we had arrived at our destination by trying to get lost.  Now we just had to get the ice cream, and get home.  With fifteen minutes left on the clock, we entered the store, Elisheva screaming for no known reason.  I figured out that she would calm down if I let her sit in the stroller.  I picked up Moriah and went off to hunt for ice cream.  It took me a few minutes to pick out a bucket of cold dessert, and when I got back to the stroller, I found an unconscious little girl inside.  That certainly explained the screaming earlier.  The line was a bit long, so we were fifteen minutes late getting back, but I felt victorious.  Getting lost had proved itself yet again.

Birthday Revue

When we got back to the house, it was time for the birthday programming.  Babushka Anna was requested to come to the room where the electric organ is kept, and everyone began to sing birthday songs, and then dance around her in a circle.  She was overjoyed at the attention and at having so many of her children and grandchildren present.  Then everyone sat down and the show commenced.  Maya MC'ed, birthday cards were presented, short music pieces were performed on the electric piano and clarinet, and then we all sat down on the deck for a festive family meal.

The audience is ready

Babushka in the middle

Avigail

Maya

Chanania

Amiel

The long table

The other side of the table

Toasts were made, food was consumed, (mosquitos were swatted) and good vibes were shared by all.

The Cousin Connection

[This section was accidentally deleted by some child who banged on the keyboard while I was away.  By the time I realized what had happened, I had typed too many other words to be able to undelete it.  So instead I'll just summarize.]

This was the first time these cousins really met each other, in the flesh.  Noam and Layla hit it off phenomenally, despite a one-way language barrier (Noam has a lot of trouble articulating in any language other than Hebrew).  So much so I was reminded of the beginning of Forrest Gump, where he describes his relationship with Jenny when they were little kids, "like peas and carrots."  No other significant cross-family connections were made between the kids.

It May Be Organic, but is it Kosher?

Michal and I are the only members of our respective birth families that keep kosher in a strict fashion.  Keeping kosher in someone else's non-kosher compliant home is always tricky, and we don't have a set protocol for it, since it happens so infrequently.  It becomes ever the more complicated when the host family have their own particularities around food, and yet again when their is another set of guests with their own culinary preferences.  But Sonya and Adam are open-minded and inclusive folk, so the approach they preferred was a "common denominator" approach, to the greatest extent possible - when we're all eating together, we all eat the same food.  That means the food has to be kosher (for us), organic as much as possible (for the hosts [but not only - we also like to eat organic]), and also adhere to the traditional Russian palate (for the grandparents).

Inclusion is also a good approach, but problems still arise when there is a conflict of values.  Sonya wanted to put spinach leaves in the salad.  Spinach is known to have a high probability of infestation by insects, and all insects (with the exception of 6 varieties of locust) are strictly prohibited in the kosher diet.  The accepted treatment is to soak the leaves in a soapy solution for a few minutes (which dissolves the adhesive that sticks the insects to the leaves), and then thoroughly rinse.  Sonya and Adam's dietary restrictions include avoiding ingesting chemicals in any amount, and naturally Sonya was concerned about trace amounts of soap that might not be fully rinsed away.  Even though I am also a fan of spinach, I was willing to leave it out all together.  Thinking about it at the time, I realized it was just a question of priorities: neither one of us was interested in eating soap, or insects, but I was willing to risk small amounts of soap in order to completely avoid the insects, and she was willing to risk eating a few bugs in order to avoid the soap suds.  In the end, she was more resourceful than I, and proposed checking some of the leaves manually, just enough to fill out the salad.  That was a solution I never would have proposed, since it is tedious work and usually people aren't interested in undertaking it.  At the end of the day, inclusion won out, and the salad was sumptuous.