Tzipiyah.com

Today I read this:

Maybe worse are others who are content to wear “I love Israel” t-shirts, and are driven to write letters “defending Israel” to their local papers, but are either unable or unwilling to see the imperfections of our home–thereby retarding efforts to fix and mend, to build a healthy nest for our People. The ‘love’ these organizations teach is the love of romantic comedies or fantasy romances — a drunken, vertigo inducing love that covers all flaws and produces little for the long-term benefit of the relationship.

As love goes, however, as my fear grows, so does my obligation to my People, and my desire to participate in the next sixty years–at least–of the building of a home that will provide my People a model of commitment-despite-imperfection, loyalty-through-action. And I am encouraged by the fact that I am not alone in this: despite the cynicism of the average Israeli, they, too, are committed to building such a home - to defending, growing and developing a place to which our People can always return and participate in, no matter the disagreement, the disillusionment, the anger and the tears.

(from 60bloggers.com: “Love is not a Crush: Israel and Obligation” by Ariel Beery-that same one, by the way, that co-launched Creative Zionism)

And then I thought this:

This Yom Ha’atzmaut Project is a great initiative. It’s novel; reveals subtleties; creates awareness; allows for expressed diversity yet retains solidarity; and fosters an environment of positivism.

We’re basically extracting all the darn good things place has got to give.

But let’s not forget why this place has got all those darn good things to give: because of a great number of people who considered their existence and considered Israel’s existence and realized that the two are a proportionally related.

Cause, apparently, they love Israel.

But what really is love?

Do we love Israel just like we love to hang out with friends; and love to watch a great movie; and love to walk on a breezy day; and love our parents?

Or do we just love loving?

And so I truly hope this:

That all this talk of Israel’s greatest accomplishments will bring about a genuine love: a love that appreciates the good and recognizes the not-so-good; a love that enraptures all its beloveds with the thrill and delight of an intimate relationship; and a love that desires reform.

Then we can really work on building our country so we can brag about her for another sixty years.

How’s that for real love?

Part of The Yom Haatzmaut Project

Why I admire our State so much:

1. Israel has created a community in its truest sense: an environment conducive to interaction and dialogue. It is a community with a common center, disparate points of circumference and yet it fosters a sense of unity. The heterogeneous composition of Jews allows each to define his or herself against the other—an other, though, that is really part of a greater We.

2.

An opportunity to celebrate Shabbat like They did.

3.
The evening was cool and the quiet then and the streets were empty. It was the first night of Channukah and I was lighting the candles later than planned. I paused before reciting the bracha—an effort to escape the haste and hurriedness of life—and began. And then down below, I heard someone answer amen.

4.
Israel is. And continues to be in the mind of every Jew. That is her greatest accomplishment.

Making aliyah, it seems, is not the fruition of that idealized dream. And by “it seems,” I mean I once thought it was. I came here to live because I can and We can and We should and from there everything would work itself out. Somehow.

Yet that Somehow still hasn’t shown up. Or rather, that Somehow has transformed into a Someone: a Me.

Israel is a complex country: a country that professes the ideals of democracy yet attempts to retain loyalties to a historical and religion responsibility. Israel is a country that needs my help along with your help.

Living here, I have come to realize, is not about finding the most comfortable place to live, that town that reminds me most of back home or the location that will best suit my needs. Living here is about us—about the community of Am Yisrael—and what we can do to ensure that such an entity exists and continues to exist, even beyond the borders of Israel.

This past summer I met a group of solid people. They were all young and intellectual and motivated and strived to affect change. They were part of the PresenTense Institute, a Creative Zionism summer program. Their website tells it best: they enable “socially-minded entrepreneurs from the fields of hi-tech, business, social action, education and the arts to turn their envisioned projects into reality.” Basically, they are a bunch of young minds who care and do something about it. It’s pretty impressive.

Become part of this active reality at http://www.creativezionism.com.

Read what they have to say. Think about what they have to say. What do you have to say?

We are living in precarious times. The meaning of Zionism is up for debate. It is a term we afford great prominence; it is the subject of much debate and discussion and yet in some sectors it is slowly being replaced with alternate values and morals.

What is Zionism? What do we want out of this place, anyway? How are we going to actualize such goals in an age of post-modernism and equality for all and pluralism and individualism and social concern?

The folks at Creative Zionism know. Do you?

I recently discussed the power of sudden change to provoke introspection and reveal the latent.

The pigua that occured last week at Merkaz HaRav poinantly exemplifies this ability. It has demanded that we think. It has demanded that we realize. It has demanded that we act, once again, as a We.

The murder was attrocious. It is perhaps, though, more powerful to leave the illustration and description to the sensitivity of the mind as words can only convey certain meaning.

This video is a subtle yet sharply powerful interview with Rabbi Yerachmiel Weiss, head of the of the yeshiva of the mourning Merkaz HaRav.

It is imtimate and important. It is emotional and difficult.

Just like life here in Israel.

Please watch.

http://www.keshet-tv.com/vod/vod.aspx?id=4745&article=172147&GroupID=4803

Often during winter days, the Goodness of Life lays dormant while the murkiness of the fogs obscures its presence and the chills of the cold demand it seek refuge indoors.

Today, though, was a different winter day. The rays of the sun traced the trail of the dancing breeze and insisted that I follow while the fresh air belied his affiliation with winter. And everyone noticed. Towards evening, I sat in the Gan Sacher Park and watched as two families separately conducted barbeques on opposite sides of the grass. Each reclined, laughed, ate and played. Each left a few plastic cups behind. Each enjoyed.

One was Jewish and the other Arab.

I sat in close proximity to the Arab family and watched as they ate sunflower seeds and joked over bites of chicken and sips of tea. A little girl curiously walked by me and smiled. The family soon packed up to leave and I relocated to sit beside the other family. It was a Chareidi family with six young children. They giggled and fought and played soccer and ate and I watched.

The mother eventually approached me to offer a pita and hamburger. She profusely apologized for not having offered me food earlier and yet I politely declined on the ground, of what I assumed legitimate, and explained that I was a vegetarian.

She looked at me with an astonished yet gentle glance.

Vegetarian? But what will you do when Mashiach comes—how will you eat karbanot? Eat. Eat. You can start again tomorrow. Please.

I smiled.

Her voice was sweet and genuine and harmonized with the subtle tones of serenity that seemingly escaped the grip of the fleeting hours. Her authenticity surprised me yet propelled a feeling of pleasure for it is the anomalous incident that often provokes reaction.

I was overwhelmed with appreciation for hot winter days; for simplicity; for real people; for latent goodness; for the ability to reveal.

Much of life is a matter of exposing the concealed—of ordering the indiscriminate. Especially in Israel. Beyond the muddled nature, though, of life resides a most basic structure of wholesome people who enjoy picnics in the park. Such is the power of summer weather in the midst of winter. It is the power to influence a sensitive perspective. It is the power to remind us that the existence of subtleties is a matter of subjectivity. It is the power that disperses the fog and provides harbor for the cold and reassures the Goodness of Life.

And so I walked home slowly and noticed that beside my house there was a fragile tree dressed in delicate blossoms.