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Planning for the future

March 3, 2006 by

Certainty is an illusion. “Man tracht und Gott lacht.” “Man proposes; God disposes.” “The best laid plans of mice and men…” We know this, and yet we live as if it isn’t so. People plan weeks, months, years in advance. They spend time building their knowledge base, their skills, their acquaintance network, their home, their family- as if the future will roll out in front of them as a long straight road.

We pray it will be so. We pray that they are able to fulfill the dreams they have, the ones they have worked for, but we know that sometimes it doesn’t work out. There are illnesses, their own or others’. There are accidents and acts of nature and terror attacks and suddenly all of the plans have been cancelled, or, at best, changed.

We human beings are a resilient lot. We have been given tools to deal with these setbacks and disappointments. We try harder. We research information. We adapt. We repress. We deny the pain so that we can go on. We accept the help of friends and relatives who lend us their strength and determination and optimism.

Sometimes people say, “Why bother to plan? It won’t happen anyway,” But we know that if we don’t plan and prepare, it will surely not happen. So our faith is constantly being challenged. Will we carry on in the face of the unknown? Will we continue to work hard to be the kind of people we want to be? Will we plan and work and strive to accomplish what we know is good and true and right?

There are those who believe that a righteous act is in and of itself a significant event in the universe. Each and every day, we are presented with opportunities to give our smile, our help, our love and our kindness to others. We are given the opportunity to be gracious and kind to those we know and to those we don’t know. We are able to day by day, step by step build a better world. And that in itself helps to create the best possible future for ourselves, for our children, and for the world.

Filed Under: Emotional health, Ramblings, Relationships, Spirituality

Birthdays

February 20, 2006 by

Today we will, among other things, be taking birthday gifts to the 4 year old twins. They account for two of the five February birthdays of our grandchildren, and then in March there are currently three more. This makes for a lot of trips to toy stores as the oldest of our grandchildren are 12.

Many of the trips are just plain fun. Each time we see new items that are more and more sophisticated. Of course, they are also more and more expensive. As our innumerate neighbor in Kentucky once said, “Anything more than three is many” and our corollary when we were traveling with our children became, “anything times five is expensive.” And now, we are buying for 20 grandchildren with more on the way, so these $75+ toys are a bit beyond us. So we look for the cute, clever, innovative toys and sometimes we get lucky and find them and other times, we continue looking.

A few days ago, we gave one 4 year old grandson his very own toy Black and Decker power drill. It was really cute. It was also really short-lived. After he had turned it on for five minutes, it stopped working. He brought it to me. I had no clue as to how to fix it. His father and grandfather got a screwdriver, opened the battery compartment and checked the batteries with a battery checker. They were fine. But the drill was not working at all.

So yesterday, we took it back, explained to the storekeeper exactly what had happened and asked for an exchange or credit. He proceeded to try to work the drill. It didn’t work. He took a screwdriver and opened the battery compartment and took out the batteries. We tried to tell him once again that the batteries were fine. He insisted on taking out his big box of stray batteries and trying a number of combinations of batteries and surprisingly, the drill still didn’t work. Finally he said, reluctantly, “Well, if you want to get a different one, you can.” The expression on his face seemed to say, “Stupid Americans; they want the toy to work too?” We went to the back of the store and found two identical drills. When we got them up to the front counter, each one worked a little. Sometimes when you turned the switch they turned. Sometimes, they didn’t. He assured us that it was fine that a toy could sometimes work and sometimes not, but we stubborn people actually wanted a toy that would work. After all, four year olds have enough trouble figuring out the world. They really don’t need to reason out the whims of an inanimate object. So we asked for a credit and bought two non-mechanical toys for two of the March birthdays.

But when I think of birthdays, I really don’t think of toys. I think about what a wonderful gift life is and how watching people grow from year to year is one of the greatest rewards of growing older myself. It’s a wonderful compensation for the emerging wrinkles as I see babies I held in my arms become parents and their babies emerge as individuals. One of my children once told me that he doesn’t like birthdays. “Why should I receive gifts? I haven’t done anything to deserve them.” I should have told him then that the gifts are an expression of gratefulness to the Creator for having given us life and that our celebrating our birthdays is one way of recognizing the wonders of His creation.

Filed Under: Family life, Ramblings, Spirituality

The Beautiful People

January 22, 2006 by

They are out there. They are not in magazines, movies, advertisements, TVshows, or plays, at least not visibly, but they are there.

They are the kind of people who draw you toward them. You want to talk with them, laugh with them, listen to them, even cry with them. They touch you deep inside. Once you meet them they are forever a part of you.

They are not showy. They do not speak of their accomplishments as if they are medals and as if they are what make them special. In fact, they speak of others’ accomplishments and they feel happy for them. They give, they create, they listen, they watch. They are kind. They are gentle, And most of all, they are real.

They know that the humanness they possess is not something to be ashamed of, but something that is precious so when they make mistakes, they can laugh at themselves and they can listen and learn for the next time. They are tolerant of others’ humanness too. They are patient and forgiving.

When you meet them, you know it. You feel the magnetism. You see their vulnerability, the clear eyes, the gentle smile, the openness. You see the light of truth shining through them. There is no artifice, only what is real. I think it is what Keats meant when he wrote in Ode on a Grecian Urn
,
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,”—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

If you are lucky, you welcome many beautiful people into your life. If you let it happen, you can become one of them.

Filed Under: Emotional health, Relationships, Spirituality

Winter Warmth

January 17, 2006 by

It was a cold day today—cold for Israel, that is. In the northeastern US where I grew up, it would be thought of as a warm day in winter with the temperature rising into the 50s, but I have become spoiled by our moderate weather. So for my trip to Jerusalem I dressed in black woolen tights and a velvety black skirt and a lime green sweater with a matching green pashmina that I had brought home from China. The pashmina is a scarf woven in a pattern with shiny and matte threads. It is made from cashmere and silk and besides being warm, it is very very soft. Over these clothes I wore a very soft black wool coat.

Years ago I began to realize that I bought my clothes not on the basis of style, but on the basis of color and texture. Clothes had to have pleasing colors and feel soft to the touch.

I know that my love for colors comes from my mother who tutored us on the gradations of color and their names. She had a wonderful sense of colors and made sure to share it with her daughters. Her home was decorated in blues and greens and purples. Every room was a showpiece. Only my room, at the top of the house, was yellow and orange.

In her home, the furniture was velvet and velvet brocade. The furniture was dark wood that was highly polished. The floors were always shining and the carpet was swept in the right direction and no footprints were allowed on it. The drapes were light and airy, but hung in a straight and dignified way, like women dressed elegantly, not like chorus girls. However, my mother didn’t teach us about textures. I think there was something too sensuous for her in the idea of soft textures.

I remember once sitting at my aunt’s house, allowing my fingers to stroke the silky fabric of the sofa. My mother’s face turned angry and she said, “Is that sofa bothering you?” I was not to touch.

In fact, that really was her message. I could be in the world. I could move around in it in a utilitarian way, but I was not to touch it. I was not to embrace it. I was not to enjoy it. I was to sit and be patient and endure. I was not to enjoy, to partake, to caress, to love.

It was only when I became pregnant that I realized what a wonder the human body is. My ever expanding belly brought me such a sense of happiness. Back in the days before ultrasound and prenatal testing, pregnancy meant carrying around a treasure to be revealed only at birth. And the babies were, indeed treasures. I loved their sweet smell and the softness of their skin. I enjoyed touching them and holding them. Their soft innocence helped me appreciate the world in a new way. I learned from them to explore with wonder new sights and sounds and textures. Because of them, for the first time for me the world became a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds and textures and wonders of all kinds.

And so this morning as I walked out into the cool sunny day, I was enveloped with softness and I felt appreciative of the world which I have learned to embrace and enjoy.

Filed Under: Ramblings, Spirituality

Oh Little Town of Modi’in

December 26, 2005 by

This is “where it’s at.” Modi’in is the place where Judah Maccabee and the Hasmoneans began their battle to return the temple to Jewish worship. Modi’in, a place literally located at the crossroads of history. The way to Jerusalem passed by our doorstep. On the mountain across the street, there were lookouts, always at the ready to warn the people who lived there of invasion. On this mountain there are over 150 cisterns, an entire system designed to provide water to the people who lived there. There is a Byzantine church. There are ruins from the Stone Age. And, there is the fine tradition of a people who refused to bow to their conquerors and remained strong when passive compliance was the easiest course.

Each year as I read about and think about Hanuka, I wonder what is really the message for us. Is it the victory of the few over the many? Is it the story of the miracle of the oil? What is the message that can speak to us in our day?

For me, the message is loud and clear. The easiest thing for Jews in countries of the Diaspora to do is to comply, to be like the rest of the Americans, French, Italians, British—not to “make a big fuss” about keeping kosher or observing shabbat. Yet, those who we think of as brave took the harder road. They felt that we had something very precious to preserve. And they persisted. They risked everything, even their lives, to preserve what was precious to them—to show their devotion to their God and their people.

In Israel, the easiest thing is to just give in to the international pressures that tell us that we don’t have the right to live in security. They tell us that we don’t need those humiliating roadblocks that have saved the lives of countless Israelis– Jews, Christians, and Muslims– after all, the need for Arab dignity is more important than preserving innocent lives. The easiest thing was for Sharon to give the Arabs a gift by throwing innocent people out of their homes in Gaza, homes some had built with their own hands and lived in for thirty years—dropping them off at hotels, depriving them of their livelihoods, showing the world how easy it is to destroy a Jewish community. That was easy. Standing up for one’s beliefs, commitments, and principles is what is difficult.

An article in the Jerusalem Post talks about one woman’s struggle with a school system in the US that contrary to law was teaching the children Xmas carols. The comments others made to her article were disturbing. Many of those who commented told her to just take it easy—what’s the big deal—doesn’t she have other things in her life to deal with? It is precisely those comments that point up the real message of Hanuka—that we do have something worth preserving, that we are not the same as everyone else, that we will not cede our traditions and belief because keeping them is uncomfortable or unpopular.

From the point of view of family life, it is a similar lesson. If we have values we want our children to hold dear, we must not yield or take the path of least resistance when their friends are influencing them to do something we do not believe is good or safe or moral. “Everyone else” may be wrong. We need to hold fast to what we believe in and not take the easy way. For me, that is the real message of Hanuka.

Filed Under: Family life, Israel, Ramblings, Spirituality

Oy Little Town of Bethlehem

December 25, 2005 by

In 1978, we went to Bethlehem. My husband and I and our five children packed into a taxi and among other places, visited the Church of the Nativity. We took some pictures so that my husband’s colleagues, Christian chaplains, would be able to see the church as we experienced it. It was on a summer’s day that was bright and sunny and very hot. As we bent down to enter the church through the very short door, we felt the coolness of the church’s interior. What I remember most was the silence and peace of the place. We were the only tourists at the time and after spending a couple of minutes, we left.

About ten years later, we drove through Bethlehem, this time in a private car. The first intifada had already broken out and we all knew to ride without seatbelts through Bethlehem so that were we to be shot at or firebombed, we could escape the car quickly.

As the years passed, the Oslo accords turned Bethlehem over to the Palestinian Authority. Visitors to Rachel’s tomb, the tomb of one of the matriarchs of the Bible, on the outskirts of Bethlehem were stoned and fired upon by Palestinians necessitating the building of heavy walls around the tomb to safeguard the visitors. This, even though Rachel’s Tomb was left in Israeli hands.

A couple of years ago a bunch of terrorists barricaded themselves inside the Church of the Nativity and shot at Israeli troops from inside. After a long stand-off, Israel was persuaded to export some of the terrorists to Europe where they were to be closely monitored and others were to be jailed in Jericho under the watchful eyes of the Americans. Most of them are now free and unaccounted for.

During the most recent intifada, Christian Arabs, residents of Bethlehem and the areas surrounding it, have left, fearful of their Muslim neighbors who threatened their existence. Hal Lindsey writes about the phenomenon at http://www.hallindseyoracle.com/articles.asp?HLCA=Next&HLC=12190

Israelis can no longer drive through Bethlehem and foreign tourists we spoke with recently express fear at visiting the Church of the Nativity.

There are those who believe that the war being fought against Israel and the Jewish people would end if all of the land of Israel were turned over to the Arabs. However, for those who look carefully, it becomes clear that the war is not just against Israel; it is against the Christians too and any who are not ready to accept the most radical forms of Islam.

And peaceful little Bethlehem has become the symbol of the innocent victims of the hatred and terror.

Filed Under: Israel, Ramblings, Spirituality

Words fail me

December 9, 2005 by

Sometimes I know exactly what I want to say and how I want to say it. Sometimes, like now, I have no idea how to convey what is circulating in my brain.

This week I went to see a friend. She had just suffered an unspeakable tragedy. When I saw her I understood in a new way what grief was. Her face was blank and she looked a bit dazed. Her body was bent and still. She looked, most of all, vulnerable. She is, as I have experienced her, a completely unpretentious and “real” person, yet her tragedy had still stripped her of any pretense and she was unable to relate to anything other than her tragedy. She spoke in a gentle, thoughtful voice. She spoke in a deep, reflective manner. She was completely in the moment, totally engaged in her retelling of recent events and her response to them.

I felt for her not only a profound sadness, but a profound respect. She was, during that visit, the purest, holiest soul I have ever encountered.

And that is why I am confused. Because in her pain and sadness, I found the beauty of God’s presence.

May God comfort her among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.

Filed Under: Emotional health, Spirituality

Being a grownup

December 6, 2005 by

What does it mean to be a grownup?

Let’s start with forgiveness. There are many people who are angry at their mother for not loving them enough when they were young, at their father for expecting too much from them, at their sister for being Daddy’s favorite, at their brother for always being the one to show off, at a friend for failing to be sensitive to their feelings. I could go on and on. People have lots of reasons to be angry with other people. After all, we are stuck in a world of imperfect people, all having needs, all trying to do the best we can, and all often failing to be as kind or sensitive or caring as we could be. And so, if you are in a relationship with someone, a family member or a friend, that other person will inevitably hurt you. And, by the way, you will inevitably hurt him or her. Sometimes we just don’t tune into the implications of our behavior and no one is immune to that failing.

So what do you do with it? Well, old style psychology insisted that you take the hurt to the person, state how the incident affected you, and then hoped that what would ensue would be a recognition of the other that he or she had hurt you and an apology and a reconciliation. That is really a nice idea. It works. In the movies.

In real life, a thoughtless action, an unkind word, ignoring another or pressing one’s point of view too hard are not always thought of by the person who has done these things as something awful. Their responses might be something like,

“I didn’t mean it.”
“You should have known I was kidding.”
“You’re getting all upset over nothing.”
“You’re too sensitive.”
“You always blow things out of proportion.”
“That’s nothing compared to what you did to me.”

And so, that expected resolution frequently doesn’t happen. People who then push and push until there is a resolution, often are disappointed and end up feeling even worse. People who do not pursue it often retain the right to remain angry.

Now let’s look at that anger:
What good is it doing? Well, it’s making one feel like they are evening the score. The underlying message is, “You hurt me. I’ll hurt you. Is that smart? Well, not really. Is hurting someone with whom you have an ongoing relationship a very smart thing? I don’t think so. How then does that impact on others who must be around the two of you? How does it make you feel inside, really, to be angry? Most people don’t feel comfortable when they are angry. Anger increases tension, adds to our stress, and makes ugly lines on our faces while we are still young. Is it worth it? What about being the grownup and simply forgiving and letting it go.

Clients I have worked with have reported feeling physically lighter and able to breathe more deeply once they let go of their anger. They learned to see their kind gesture toward to others as something that made them themselves better people. They removed the awkwardness of their friends and relatives having to choose sides.

Is it possible to feel close to someone once you have given up the anger? Well, it depends on the person. If the person is just awkward and sometimes really loses it, then probably yes. Probably you can decide that since he or she is a basically good person, that you will try to not become emotional about their behavior in the future. If the person is truly an unpleasant person who you must interact with on a continuing basis such as a family member, then you need to think about how you can guard yourself from becoming emotionally injured by them while at the same time realizing that other people in the family will resent living in a battlefield should you choose not to forgive. Sometimes the greatest gift we can give ourselves and others is forgiveness. And that is part of being a grownup.

Filed Under: Emotional health, Family life, Relationships, Spirituality

Messages in a tube

December 3, 2005 by

On Thursday I began to think about writing an entry on photographs. I had in mind a particular photograph of my older daughter. The piece was to be about how a photo of a little girl is only that. It carries with it no emotion, no context, no meanings. But when I think about the picture, I remember that it was taken in Wiesbaden, Germany, on May 9, the day before her ninth birthday. She was dressed in a pretty dress and had a too big ribbon in her hair. Her look was melancholy.

“Rachel,” my mother said, “Why are you looking sad; we are celebrating your birthday.”

Rachel responded, “I’m sad because I have the chickenpox and my birthday isn’t until tomorrow.”

“But you know why we are celebrating your birthday today,” my mother said.

“Yes,” Rachel replied, “because tomorrow you are going back to America.”

As I remembered the interchange, I too became sad. I felt my daughter’s impending loss of her grandparents for an indeterminate time. I felt my own loss of them from my life.

And that was to be the article, about the difference in perceptions and feelings that people have about their own photographs until…

Yesterday when I was dressing, I took my mother’s locket and put it around my neck and fastened it and had another memory. She was visiting us and wearing the locket. My youngest son, Akiva, asked to see the pictures inside. She opened it up and there were pictures of Ben and Rachel, my two oldest children, her oldest grandchildren. Akiva asked where his picture was. My mother said, “You are right, Kiwi (her nickname for him); I am going to get another locket and put Sammy’s picture and your picture in it.” I am sure she meant to do that, but she never did.

And then this morning, I began to understand what was happening. While riding the stationary bike at the gym on Thursday, I saw a show on the Hallmark station called “The Locket.” It was about a young man whose mother dies and who later forms a connection with an old lady who helps him with his priorities in life. She has a locket with a picture of herself and the man whom she had loved which spurs a story of her lost love. It is through her pictures and films of her life that the pathos of lost love comes through.

I realized that I had been affected on several levels by the film—by the loss of the man’s mother, by the pictures of life gone by, by the locket.

And then I began to think about the fact that at my age I have fairly well-developed defenses. Defenses strengthen as the years go by and very little creeps into the subconscious on it own, yet here I was being affected by a movie I had seen just part of on television while I was doing something else.

And then I began to think of all of the people who think that limiting a child’s viewing of television or movies is unnecessary. How much could it affect them? Well, I am more convinced than ever that it can affect them. The children themselves may not even be aware of the messages that are absorbed, but they are there.

A long time ago I began to think that there are images and concepts that pollute the soul. I still believe that is true. I think that most parents want to protect their children from the truly evil and deranged, from blood and gore, from things that are not ennobling. What I think now is that a bit too much caution is a lot better than not enough. Guard their souls and yours. All of us are vulnerable.

Filed Under: Emotional health, Parenting, Spirituality

Dreams

November 15, 2005 by

One of the most amazing things about fulfilling a dream is that once fulfilled, one is again and again reminded of how it looked from far off and once again one can feel the joy of its having been accomplished.

One way in which I experience this is in my feelings for living in Israel. My first consciousness of Eretz Yisrael came when as a child I heard my maternal grandmother at the end of the seder tell the family that it was her intention to take the whole family to Israel next Pesach. I believed then and still believe today that that is what she truly wanted to do and probably would have, had she lived long enough.

In Sunday School and Hebrew School, we talked about Israel, but it wasn’t until I saw the movie Exodus that my longing to visit Israel began. It was only after a broken engagement that I got to see the land for the first time in 1965, and only after twelve years of marriage and five children that I returned in 1978. The real longing to live in Israel started then and intensified when our oldest son left the US to study at Hebrew University in 1984 and finally, after each child had come to live in Israel on his or her own, I joined them. My father-in-law and husband were the last of the family to arrive.

And you would think that after ten years in Israel, seven of them living in our own home, I would just take living here for granted. But you would be wrong.

Every morning waking up to the sweet smells of our garden, I am reminded of the beautiful place that I live. Each trip to Jerusalem makes me love her ancient stones more intensely. Our trip to Sde Boker and Ein Avdat brought me the awe of desert landscapes with colored sands and rich wadis and waterfalls. And last weekend, our shabbat at Karei Deshe allowed me to hear the gentle lapping of the waters of the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee) at night and to watch the sun shimmering in its waters in the day.

These places are not just places. They are spiritual landmarks, places where I meet God’s works face to face and experience a closeness to Him and a feeling of serenity and completeness.

And I think about what I hoped I would find when I got here, and I am awed that I have found so infinitely more.

Filed Under: Israel, Ramblings, Spirituality Tagged With: , , , ,
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