Passage to India

This story actually begins in April of 2009. Our charismatic grandson, Daniel, was speaking at his bar mitzvah celebration. He spent time thanking his parents and his other grandparents and then he came to us- (we had been working as tour managers to exotic places since 2006) and said that in case we were interested, he would be available to travel at the end of June…

That small, humorous comment set off a firecracker inside of me because thank G-d, my grandchildren are not in need of any additional material objects. All of them are living in homes where everything they need and practically all of what they want are provided. Here was a way that we could gift the grandchildren with something that they will experience and remember. Including one trip I took to China with a granddaughter who had asked me numerous times to pack her in my suitcase, we have taken 22 of our grandchildren on tours ranging from a tour around Northern Israel, to a short Mediterranean cruise, to tours to Barcelona, Amsterdam, Venice, Ecuador, and India. This summer, having had our plans for 2020 and 2021 ruined by Covid, we had decided to do two tours- the two boys to India and the two girls to Ecuador (both being the second time for these locations).

We were to take off for India on Sunday, July 3- coincidently, our 56th wedding anniversary. It had been weeks that we were planning this tour, anticipating it, getting whatever we needed ready: making sure that passports were good for long enough, getting our Covid vaccination certificates, sending photos of our passports to the tour operator, applying for our visas (receiving them and printing them), going over the itinerary, etc. Finally the day of the tour arrived. We  had a picture of all of us taken as we were leaving the house.

We left in a large van and arrived at the airport. We all were very excited. We had been waiting for this day for a very long time. We went through the initial security and finally we got to the check-in desk.  All of my papers were organized. They asked for passports- check! vaccination records- check! visas- check! But no, my visa was not good. It was in fact dated about 3 years ago. I couldn’t believe it. I had applied at the proper web site for an E-visa.  I filled everything out. I paid the money, I got a confirmation, and then it arrived. I thought it odd that it arrived almost by return mail and that the photo was an old photo, but I didn’t think to look at the effective date. It had expired years ago.  The same happened with my husband’s visa. “What can I do?” I asked. They told me, “Go home and apply for another visa.” Apparently someone had hacked the site and finding an old visa of ours, he was able to send it to me and take the money I had spent for the visa. The same thing happened to my husband.  We had no choice. We had to go home. They would not let us on the plane- and even if they had, the authorities in India would have sent us home.

There were only 2 flights a week from Ben Gurion to Delhi and so we had to decide should we try for Wednesday night or the next Sunday. We opted for the following Sunday so as to not need to form a whole new itinerary.

But this got mega-confusing because we had to apply for new visas, but who was to say the same thing wouldn’t happen. In the end, we were advised to use our US passports since we had not received any past visas as US citizens. We also had to change the hotel reservations (our Indian travel agency was successful at getting all of the hotels to change the reservations with no additional payment), we had to change the internal flights (which was an expensive proposition), we had to change the insurance (which our son-in-law was able to do with no additional cost), and worst of all, we had to change our flight tickets round-trip between Israel and Delhi.

One of our sons did that successfully reducing the outrageous amount they tried to charge us. It still was not cheap, but it was better than what it could have been.

And then the wait began. We didn’t receive out new visas until Thursday. But even then I was worried. I imagined something would go wrong.

Finally Sunday arrived.

and happily, everything went well.  Despite the immigration agent in Delhi being unclear: “put your four?fore/fingers on the screen for prints. No, no! Your fore?four/fingers.”  This went on for about 6 or 7 times until we understood what he wanted. It was the forefinger of each hand.

Finally we emerged, saw our good friends, Boby and Nitesh, and received garlands of marigolds in greeting. Later we visited the city monuments in beautiful New Delhi.

 

The next day we were off to Agra to visit the impressive red sandstone Agra fort. From there one can in the distance, see the Taj Mahal.

Needless to say, this was a very special day. Because of the monsoon rains (more about that later) and two years of Covid, a bright and sunny afternoon brought out hundreds of Indian tourists. Having been to the Taj Mahal somewhere between 12 and 15 times, I have never seen such large crowds!

After some time in Delhi including a rickshaw ride in Old Delhi, we made our way to Dharamshala, home to a very large Tibetan community, and, of course, the Dalai Lama. One of the most impressive places to visit there is the Tibetan Children’s Village. This is a residential school for children aged 3 through high school- well organized, well run. They serve about 1500 children. The children are taught Tibetan culture, but also responsibility. On a previous tour we were spellbound watching 4 and 5 year olds spontaneously helping each other with their math exercises. They also sang for us a couple of children’s songs in English. Their dwellings are clean and their time for learning and recreation is well defined. Some of the children come from the local area, but they also have students from as far away as the US. It is not just to help these children, but also to preserve the culture- by learning the Tibetan language and customs. Spending time there is exhilarating. There is just so much love and kindness.

Another beautiful place we went in Dharamshala was the Norbulingka Institute. This is a place where Tibetans are taught the ancient arts like woodcarving, metal work,  and painting.  They also have a great display of dolls depicting Tibetan culture.

We also visited the Golden Temple in Amritsar which was also more packed than I had ever seen it!!  I can write more and post photos about both the institute and the Golden Temple as well as the daily ceremony at the India/Pakistan border if anyone is interested.

When we reached Rishikesh, we were able to have two very interesting experiences. One was meeting an elephant in her jungle- just we, our guide, the boys, and the gentleman entrusted with her care. I cannot begin to tell you how much all of us enjoyed this meeting with Rada. She was so friendly and cooperative and we really felt as if she was communicating with us. We must have been there between 30 and 45 minutes and we enjoyed the entire visit.

We happened to be in Rishikesh at the same time as a religious festival for the Hindus- during which they travel from near and far- walking miles and miles to come to the banks of the Ganges in the city of Haridwar. There they pray and bathe in the holy waters. It is a pilgrimage festival and this year they are expecting 18 million people to visit Haridwar during the festival. In addition to hundreds of people adorned in all sorts of costumes there are huge trucks carrying tens of people and playing ear-splitting music. The roads are often closed to regular traffic and the monsoon rains did not help. We were to leave Rishikesh and drive about 5 hours to catch our plane in Delhi. We left at 6 a.m.  We drove through rain that was heavy, heavier, and impossible to see through. Often there were motorcycles that were barely visible in the heavy rain. Also, in addition to the closed roads, they are in the process of building new roads and so we traveled over hard-packed mud and gravel. In addition, it was so hot outside and so damp, that our driver was forced to use maximum air conditioning. With all of the rain and people, there were many detours and our experienced driver himself had no idea which way to go and at least once drove a length of road in the wrong direction. There was no time to stop, and as time to check in to the flight approached and we still were far from Delhi, I began to believe that we would not get to the airport in time to catch our flight.

Fortunately, our tour provider, Boby, and his amazing assistant, Nitesh, were on top of things. We had been planning to show up at the airport in good time to make our 3:40 pm flight, but it soon became clear to all of us, that wasn’t going to happen. A few minutes later, we were informed that the flight had been delayed until 5:15. We all felt a bit better, but when we finally entered Delhi, our high hopes began to fade. The monsoon had flooded all of the streets and we were in a virtual parking lot.  We must have remained in one place for close to 1/2 hour. Meanwhile, our tour provider had called the airline and explained that we had left at 6:00 am and were still in transit, stuck in a very wet traffic jam.

He then messaged me NOT to wait in line, but to proceed directly to the business class desk. They are waiting for us. India is unlike other countries in the practice of security, They are very careful- so entry to the terminal is only after presenting a ticket and a passport- and there are usually long lines waiting to get in. We arrived shortly after 4 for a 5:15 flight. I was pretty desperate. I didn’t want to miss the flight. I also was a bit stir crazy from the tension of riding in a car going though a monsoon for 10 hours. I barreled up to the front of the line, told my sad story and fortunately the guard at the door let us jump the line. He did, however, insist on seeing all of our paperwork and was very careful to identify both of the boys as well as us. Once inside we asked where the Air India counter was and were misdirected away from the actual counter. At this point I felt as if we were contestants on “The Amazing Race” because I wasn’t sure whether the person who told us where it was the second time was telling the truth or even knew and time was running out. Fortunately he did. We arrived at the desk at 4:14 for a 5:15 flight. Once again, security was tight and this time we had to show our vaccination certificates and they had to match the tickets and the passports and since my husband and I each had 2 passports (we bought the airline tickets with our Israeli passports and applied for visas with our US passports) everyone got confused.

Finished there, they assigned a young man to run with us through passport control and security and then to lead us to the departure gate. When we finally arrived at the departure area, people were sitting quietly and waiting. We were elated. We were on our way home.

And yes, we got home safely – the mothers were there to greet their sons and us.  We have a greater appreciation for the two wonderful boys who were with us and their patience and sweet manners. We have always been grateful for them, but now, especially.

Mint Juleps with Mom

As a new bride, I joined my husband in Kentucky. He was serving as a US Army chaplain at Fort Knox. His thought, when we got married, was that he would serve his 20 years in the US Army and then retire in Israel. I, of course, had other plans. It wasn’t that I thought the Army was so foreign to my experience- it was, but my concern was that I didn’t want to have an unstable life, moving from place to place. Fortunately, I found an ally, my mother-in-law, who was not keen on her only child perhaps being sent to Vietnam where the war was in full swing.

Married in July, by the following May I was 7 months pregnant and my husband had agreed to look for a civilian pulpit. He was asked to fly out to Spokane, Washington, to interview there.

When I told my mother, she insisted that she come to stay with me while he was gone- from Thursday through Sunday because  she was afraid for me to be alone.

So that Thursday I literally walked to the gate on the left side of the corridor and watched my husband get on the plane and then turned to the right side at the gate directly across from it, and within minutes, my mother arrived.

It was the first time she had seen me showing- and by 7 months, I was pretty large. She noticed. We drove to my home and I cannot recall any details about our discussion nor about anything we discussed for those 3 days. I do know there were lots of smiles and laughter.

What I can recall is feeling very special, carrying her first grandchild. I can recall our going out once for ice cream sundaes at the local Howard Johnson’s and laughing when we heard a  group of women order large ice cream sundaes and diet drinks. I remember that Saturday night, we decided to check  out the place on Dixie Highway that was advertising mint juleps- the Kentucky Derby was that weekend and mint juleps were all the rage. I remember we went into the place that had them and we sat down and ordered them. She sat with her back to the door and I sat across from her.

I don’t remember what they tasted like. I don’t remember what we said. I just remember that the time we spent together that weekend was probably the best time we ever had together.

On Sunday afternoon, my mother left and a few minutes later, my husband returned.  A bit over 2 months later our oldest son was born.

mom

Twenty-six years later, I visited my own daughter in Israel when she was pregnant with my first grandchild. I hope she also experienced precious moments.

Update: April 2 2014

Family, Traveling, and Pollard

The Family
Family
It’s been a long time since the whole family was together at a time when we could take a picture. This one was from last year’s Shabbat HaGadol weekend at Yad Binyamin. Interestingly, this year’s pictures will have a lot to do with Binyamin as well. Tomorrow we will be gathering for my son, Benjamin (also known as “Ben” and “Benjy”) and his bride Shlomit as they get married! We are very excited and happy for both of them.
Traveling
I haven’t written a blog post in a very long time, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about lots of things. We have done a lot of traveling in the last year- China in May, Tibet and Nepal in August, China again in October, Vietnam, Cambodia, Australia, New Zealand, and Singapore in January and February- and we are looking forward to a lot of traveling in the coming year as well. We still have space on our tour to China, leaving on May 7 and guaranteed to go. We also are looking for adventurous people to join us in Ecuador, the Galapagos Islands, and Peru in June/July. All of these tours are in English and kosher, of course.
Random Thoughts
Pollard: Jonathan Pollard has been in jail for 28 years. Those in the know, even those who wanted him to have a harsh sentence, have said enough is enough. It infuriates me to see the US wanting to demand a price for his freedom.He has served a longer sentence than anyone else in a similar position. Anything he knew when he was jailed is old news. Much of the damage that he was purported to have caused was in fact found out to have been done by Aldrich Ames. So instead of doing the right thing and freeing him already, the US is offering us the opportunity to have his freedom considered if we release terrorists? Does this make sense in any universe? Have we all gone so amazingly liberal that we think that sworn murderers will suddenly play nicely if freed? The evidence is solidly against that. We have seen terror perpetrated by former prisoners and we have caught others as they were preparing to kill innocents. Why do we even need to pay a price for the Palestinians to talk to us? What price have they paid for the privilege of talking to us? Would you negotiate with someone who is unwilling to say that at the end of negotiations there will still not be a cessation of hostilities? What is the point? and how does Pollard even become related to all of that? Oh, I know… Israel/Jews/what do they care about?/other Jews/who is a Jew that we can offer them to exact a price? I get it. Sounds to me like the thinking of a criminal.

Moving trauma, vicarious, 2014

Almost 15 years ago, my husband joined me in Israel- he and a shipping container full of stuff. I had already been living in our home in Modi’in with pretty much everything I needed. We rented a nearby storage room and little by little, emptied the contents of the storage room into our home- pretty much filling it up.

That was my last move. Since we married, I had moved 18 times. Every time, it was traumatic.

But it has been almost 15 years. This time it is my daughter who is moving and all I had to do was to see if the packers had finished their job and to lock up the house.

As I looked around the house that profound sense of loss that I had with every move returned with the same strength it had had in the past. It was just so sad. It hurt to see their life packed up in a bunch of boxes and all of the attendant mess that moving engenders.

I began to think about what it was that was so sad for me. I remembered our moves. I remembered leaving the home we lived in when our first baby was conceived and born. I looked back at the living room and saw the people gathered to celebrate his brit. I remembered the apartment where he said his first words and took his first steps. I remember the home where on a sunny spring day bushes full of white blossoms greeted me as I brought home my new daughter. I remember the house with the two yellow bean bag chairs that sat just a little too close to the baseboard heaters and the enormous effort I had to make to get out of them heavily pregnant. I remember piling into the station wagon with four little children and saying goodbye to the home we had painted and papered and carpeted. I remember our oldest son leaving his vegetable garden and my daughter leaving her plant and all of them leaving the “Mother Nature Tree” and the swamp where they played. I remember leaving the apartment where we voted on the fifth child and then the new one where she was born after a cold winter with only the fuschia-colored potted cyclamens brightening the snowy view. I remember the birthday party with my parents visiting and three of the children down with chickenpox, and I remember how the children loved to go to the orchard to see the “geezer” and to pick fruit. I remember the tiny home in New Jersey when we returned to the States and the beautiful big house we had after that. I remember the parties we had there for our family and for the soldiers and my parents’ visits and the joy at the big children’s return home for shabbatot. I remember the house in Boston where everyone had bedrooms, but most nights people were sleeping in the living room- and how if you ran the dishwasher and microwave at the same time the fuse two floors down in the basement would blow. How many times we forgot! But there was also sailing on the Charles for two of the boys and living close to good friends. I remember saying goodbye to our oldest as he left for Israel, the airline security man remarking that he was afraid he would drown in our tears. I remember the small house in Oklahoma with the swimming pool and the big house in Oklahoma where we had to explain that “yes, only one family lives here.” I remember leaving our next home and memories of grad school and sons visiting from high school and college. I remember leaving the next home and memories of a bat mitzvah and the births of two grandchildren.

And then I realized that the sadness is only a function of the fact that every place, every time in my life, was a good time, a happy time- filled with a beautiful family, caring friends, and happy experiences. Closing the door on each chapter was saying goodbye to beautiful times, but every new home brought its own new memories.

…and what more is there to say but to wish my daughter and her family and others going through transitions that the future be filled with beautiful moments they can cherish forever.

I miss it

Today I was folding laundry and I came to a shirt that I have that is similar to one that a woman might wear when she is pregnant. I had noticed that there were stains on it before I washed it and I held it up to see if the stains were gone. And suddenly I was remembering looking at my maternity blouses, also stained by my clumsiness when I was pregnant. I remembered looking down on my rounded belly and seeing the remnants of breakfast, lunch, midday snacks and dinner. I remember taking a dress to the dry cleaner and explaining what all of the stains were and the clerk saying “sounds like a good meal.” I thought about the feeling of a little one moving around inside. I remembered that my mother referred to the first awareness of the baby’s movements as “feeling life.” I recalled how amazing it was to feel a new life inside of me, to think and wonder about who that little person would become. I remembered feeling such love for someone who I had never seen, never met. I remembered the excitement of anticipation and the weeks and then days of waiting. And then there was the reward of spectacular births! I loved being pregnant.


*Note: This picture almost survived a fire

After the birth of our youngest child, we never thought of having another. Our family was exactly what we wanted. Now, all of the children are grown and have children of their own. I have no regrets, but every once in a while, I miss it.

To B- or not to B-

This week should be a very happy one. Our wonderful grandson, Yehuda, will be celebrating his becoming a Bar Mitzvah this coming shabbat. He has worked very hard, learning to chant two full torah portions (it’s a combined reading) and a special maftir and his haftarah- quite an accomplishment for a boy of 13. We have been looking forward to spending a happy, peaceful shabbat, the whole family together, at kibbutz Ein Tzurim.

So what’s the problem? Well, for about a week, the people who wanted Gaza to themselves, the ones for whom we uprooted thousands of Jews from their homes, have been firing rockets at our cities and communities that are within firing range of Gaza. They are aiming for our civilian population- firing, hiding behind their own children, safe in the knowledge that we will not target the innocent.

On Ein Tzurim, there have been sirens and people have run to shelters.

So what do we do?

Oh, I know. Both sides should show restraint. Thanks, world.

Sisters 3

This is my third post about sisters.

There was this one https://drsavta.com/wordpress/2007/07/23/sisters/

and this one https://drsavta.com/wordpress/2009/10/07/sisters-2/

because to me, this relationship is very special.

If  you have been reading my blog, you probably know that in December, my sister finally made aliya.  After over 45 years of living very far away, my sister is a 5 minute car ride away.  I can bump into her at the mall, we can see a movie together, and we can sit and talk about things that no one understands the way we do.

When she was far away, we kept in touch.  She was great about making sure to visit no matter where we were living.  She was present at most of the important times in my life.  I appreciated her and loved her.

But now, I know what a wonderful thing it is to have her here, nearby, and to not have to think about when her flight home leaves.  She is home.

If you really loved me…

I have been a family therapist for a very long time. I should have figured it out sooner, but only yesterday I realized that I had been missing something very important when thinking about certain types of cases.

From time to time I would have cases where one family member would say about another “if s/he really loved me s/he would…”

Tests of loyalty, to me, seem so beside the point. In fact, they seem foolish. Why would we expect someone to “prove” they love us by performing a specific task or acting in a manner we prescribe?  The people we love are separate from us. They have their own loves and hates, likes and dislikes, ways of expressing themselves. They show us love in their own way.

However, in this type of a relationship, they may show warmth and consideration, but heaven forbid, if they fail the litmus test the other has created, the whole relationship is at risk.

Sometimes, couples, in order to feel more appreciated and loved,  have to adjust the ways in which they show love. She would like flowers. He shows love by filling up the car. He would like homemade soup. She lights romantic candles. They clearly love each other, but by asking for the show of love to be more in line with their own concept of love, both members could feel more valued and cared for.

,

But that is different than a test of love.

Tests of love usually involve one person expecting the other to know what s/he wants and to do it, despite any obstacles. And then, if it doesn’t happen, well, then “s/he doesn’t really love me.”

But let’s look a little closer…

Who is making the relationship contingent on specific behaviors. It’s not the “uncaring” husband or wife or friend or relative. It’s the person who has decided that the relationship consists of a series of tests all of which must be passed for it to continue to be loving.

Who has the problem?

As a therapist, it seems to me that the person who is making the statement “If you really loved me…” is in fact the person with the problem. S/he has not learned the nature of relationships. Relationships are formed between two individuals, both of whom have wants, needs, and limitations.  Appreciating the other person as a distinct individual is the only way to have a truly satisfying relationship.

When ultimatums exist in relationships, it is not the person who fails to meet them who is the problem.

Aliya: a feline perspective

This is a guest post by my sister’s animal companion, Roxy who made aliya yesterday (as told to her publicist Ben Michelson).
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It took some doing but I finally convinced my person, Vicki, to make Aliya.

Even though the dog next to me, H.G. Clipper, stank a bit, my flight really wasn’t so bad. I don’t think I’ll fly ELAL any more though. They offered me neither a window nor an aisle seat. The entertainment system did not work the entire flight and there was a dearth of reading material. Fortunately Clipper didn’t snore too loudly, and I spent most of the flight cat-napping.

I was pleased that my fans came to greet me at the airport. Fortunately, I had a box to protect me from the mobs.

When I arrived at my new domicile, all I wanted to do was rest. Unfortunately, Vicki had different plans and invited my fans for a party. I let them have their fun downstairs. I am after all a creature of the night. Vicki did come upstairs during the party, eager to play hide-and-seek. I’m not sure why she still enjoys playing this game. In any case, I let her win the first round, but when I saw that she wanted to continue playing, I did not let her win the second round. I was able to avoid detection sufficiently long to send people hunting me not only in the apartment, but up and down the stairwell, and out on the street as well as calling the local veterinary service and alerting them to my disappearance. Only the tempting aroma of an aliya treat sent over by the man at the pet store lured me out of my hiding place behind the bed.

Some of the locals from outside paid me a call yesterday. I am not a racist, but some of these cats are absolutely feral. I greeted them politely nonetheless, though I’m still working on my voiced uvular fricative.

Ten reasons why it’s better to make Aliya in 2011 than in 1984

This is a guest post, written by my son Ben in honor of my sister’s aliya tomorrow!!!!!

Ben arrived in Israel in 1984, a day before his 17th birthday.

 

Telephones

 

  • Cellphone networks did not exists in 1984
  • In 1984, getting a landline phone installed in your house took months, and in some cases took up to 10 years.
  • In 1984, payphones were often out of order. They worked only on telephone tokens.
  • In 1984, if you wanted to make an international call, and didn’t have a phone in your home you had to either call collect or go the telephone room in the central post office. There you paid about $2/minute and the post office took an extra 8% cut. They explained it this way, “Every minute is five seconds less.” This meant that you paid for a minute, but only got 55 seconds.

 

Inflation

 

Aug 1984 – 14%

Sep 1984 – 18%

Oct 1984 – 19%

Nov 1984 – 16%

Dec 1984 – 4%

 

 

2011 – 2.5%

 

Email

 

In 1984, Email was available only to university staff and people who took university courses requiring use of a computer. Businesses used Telex’s. (Faxes were not in widespread use until the 90s.)

 

Public busses

 

In 1984, only express bus lines were air-conditioned.

 

Television

 

In 1984, there was one Israeli channel. In many parts of Jerusalem, you could watch Jordan TV. At high altitudes you could also receive Middle-east TV from Lebanon. Cable and satellite television service was not available. Importing a satellite dish large enough to receive American television was illegal.

 

Israeli Currency

 

Towards the end of 1984, the largest denomination bill was worth only $3.50. My friend’s father bought a Volvo in 1984 with a duffle-bag full of bills.

 

Foreign Currency

 

In 1984, it was illegal to change Shekels outside of banks. It was illegal for Israelis to own foreign currency except for traveling outside the country. (Yitzchak Rabin was ousted from his position as Prime Minister for breaking this law.) Everyone I knew bought shekels only on the black market.

 

Hi-Tech business sector

 

Did not exist in 1984

 

Modiin

 

Did not exist in 1984.

 

Travel Tax

 

In 1984, Israeli citizens had to pay $100 tax in order to leave the country

 

Food

 

In 1984, ketchup was watery with red food coloring

In 1984, the only mustard available was actually mustard flavored mayonnaise

In 1984, the only chocolate available was Elite (whose factory was inRamat Gan)

In 1984, low fat cottage cheese was unavailable

In 1984, fresh baguettes were unavailable

In 1984, supermarkets did not bake bread and pastries

In 1984, bagels were unavailable

 

 

Ben             .

19 Dec 2011