Tzipiyah.com

On 20 Aug 2008, I represented Tzipiyah at the first-ever international Jewish Bloggers’ Conference, organized by Nefesh B’Nefesh. NBN flew in some prominent Jewish bloggers from USA, and provided a light deli buffet, drinks and snacks (free!), and an altogether entertaining and informative evening. In truth, I expected about 20 people to show up. Over 200 people attended the conference in Yerushalayim — Israelis and visitors with NBN — and I’m told over 1000 people watched the live webcast over the internet. Wow!

I made aliyah not very long ago. What a complex mix of feelings. Such a rush of exhilaration and deep joy, such an overwhelming confusion and feeling of being lost. I am oozing with emotion of all kinds. Not all things have turned out as I expected them to; I haven’t always felt as I expected I would.
Flying over Israel on my way in, I had the words of some of the most deeply inspirational parts of Tehillim on my lips. And yet, in all the ecstasy of the concrete fulfillment of such profound dreams as those of me and my people these many many years, there is also heartache. There is a sense of disconnection, as I struggle to get a hold on the new and sometimes bewildering social, cultural, and structural differences. And there is a sense of lacking; lacking in this fulfillment of the dream.

The Kotel is greatly inspiring, but even in my emotional return to its holy stones, I am conscious of the fact that it’s just an external part, a minor remnant, of the great Temple which once stood, and which should stand, beyond it, in spiritual glory and physical splendour. When I say, ‘boneh Yerushalayim’ in my prayers, I’m in two minds: on the one hand, G-d has blessed us with the rebuilding of so much of this special city. On the other hand, there’s so much still missing, so much that we’re still lacking. When I thank the government for its generous help and active encouragement of my Aliyah, I also remember how hurtful and damaging some of its policies are, how selfish and morally perverted some of its leaders are. When I celebrate my own Aliyah, I am also greatly upset about the many people who should also be allowed to return to this land, but who are unable to. I rejoice in my return home, while I am broken down in grief at the tragic form of the return of two of our nation’s beautiful children to her borders so recently.

Excited friends and family welcomed me to Israel with joy and celebration when I arrived. And an Arab Israeli welcomed me to Israel with his premeditated attempt at murder on the streets of Yerushalayim. This tragedy (whose total potential devastation was thankfully avoided) I was shocked, angry; and the complexities of the political, social, and spiritual reality here in Israel smacked me around the face. Life in two dimensions would be so simple, yes, but it would also be terribly boring. Life in its real form is incredibly complex, and to me it increasingly seems true here in Israel. I strive to be open-minded and to find a path of truth, but the sea is a choppy and a tempestuous one to surf.

I’m still engulfed in the excitement and the dramatic impact of being planted once more in the streets of the Holy Land; I realize, as I stand here at the beginning of a profound and life-changing, life-enriching process, that life is full of surprises; that Israel is indeed a deep and complex place, that life here is beautiful, difficult, exhilarating, confusing, wonderful. I look forward to intertwining my branches with those of the magnificence of this land; I look forward to adjusting my pulse and rhythm to that of this special place. I look forward to becoming, more and more, a part of my holy home land.

Yes, another one of our talented bloggers did it! After inspiring hundreds of people with his powerful words, Zemer is now also inspiring Klal Israel with his inspirational actions. It is with great pride that I want to announce his Aliyah this past week!

Zemer, everyone here at Tzipiyah.com is inpired by your actions. Last week was a tough week for Klal Israel and to know that you brought such incredible light to this world in such a tough time is incredibly inspiring.

We have all followed your writings religiously! The story is told of many rabbanim who, after arriving to the holy land, burned all of their previous writings since they were not at the level of their current understanding, now that they got to the land of Israel. We all know that Avira De-Eretz Israel Mahkima- The air of the land of Israel makes one wiser.

With the incredible quality of all of your writing up until now, we, your readers, can only wait impatiently for your upgraded, even better, version. However, we won’t let you remove all of your previous posts even if you ask ;-), they were just too good!

As we weeped last week the words “Veshavu Banim Ligvulam - The sons will return home” in the most tragic circumstances, we are glad, proud and inspired to now sing joyously “Veshavu Banim Ligvulam” in the meaning for which it was originally meant, a meaning which espressed the longing and yearning - the tzipiyah- of two thousand years of Jews trying to get back to the land of Israel, a yearning which is finally being realized by people just like you.

It’s been a year.

This time last year, I was in a Midrasha on a Kibbutz in Emek Bet She’an. This time last year, I was learning Torah in Eretz Yisrael. This time last year, I was home.

Right now, I am completely stuck in Galut, and my surroundings do not care to stop reminding me of that. I feel so alone, as if I am the only one not in Israel, I almost feel abandoned. Two of my friends left less than an hour ago on the El-Al flight that is taking them to their summer program, where they will learn Torah LiShmah in Israel for six weeks. For one of them, this is the first time in Israel in a very long time, and I am anxious to hear how the land will strike him, if she will reveal her ultimate beauty to him, as we are taught by Rav Kook zt”l, among other Rabbis, that she does so to those she chooses to. The other friend, he lives for Israel. He breathes the love and the longing for the land every day in everything he does, and this trip will be his first time there in four years. I am so jealous of him. I think of the last time I was in Israel, last summer, how I watched the screen on the airplane show the painfully slow approach to the dot marked “Tel Aviv,” the way the illustration of the plane seemed to be only inching along the screen. I remember looking out my window and finally, suddenly, out of the cover of the surrounding fog, seeing the jutting of tall buildings from shorelines beneath. Finally, home. I know this is how this friend of mine will be feeling, this overwhelming ache of the temporary end to suffering, an ultimate joy, as tears threaten the eyes and the soul feels the true emotion of the words “Vishavu Banim Ligvulum.” This is what my friend will be feeling in a matter of hours, as I sleep unaware in my bed. I know this, and for the past two days, a weight has been added to my heart, knowing that these friends of mine will be experiencing this purest of joys as I remain in America, trapped by my reality.

The magnitude of this sorrow has gotten so great that I feel I cannot keep it in; I must talk with someone. I pick up my cell phone to call the friend who would come over, take me out, try to distract me, and then I realize that my call will go unanswered. She, too, is in Israel, on a ten day tour with the Israel advocacy program she’s a member of, “Write-on for Israel.” I remember this with pain, like a slap in the face, as I remember the itinerary of her trip, which she showed me. Border checkpoints, archeological sites, government offices, Sderot…places immersed in our national history, and the history our nation is making now. We both despaired looking at her itinerary, she for fear that she will prove to be the least intelligent in her group, which will not be the case, and I for longing to be in her shoes.

I left on a walk to escape the chaos of my house, and saw the house of my neighbors, a family of seven children, thank G-d, who will be making Aliyah this summer. I sit in the park, and can see the house of one of my campers. Her family, as well, will be making Aliyah this summer, G-d willing. I rejoice for these families, for their devotion to Am Yisrael, despite the difficulties involved in the process. I rejoice most for the children: they are still so young, their childhood memories will be in Israel. Their culture, their thoughts will be in Hebrew. They will naturally speak the language of our land, our Torah, the same way I speak English. This is amazing. This also causes me to feel depressed. What all these children are gaining, it was almost mine. My parents packed us up and moved us to Israel in my infancy. This, however, was before the days of Nefesh B’Nefesh, and, to my perpetual sorrow, we had to move back to the States. The experience of growing up in Israel, of speaking the language with perfect fluency, was almost mine, but I lost it. I grew up dreaming of Israel. She is part of my essence: my heart and my mind are forever focused on her. Libi bamizrach vi’anochi basof ma’arav. Centuries later, the Riha”l’s statement rings true with me. The only consolations I can give myself are that my upbringing in Galut must be a part of G-d’s ultimate, divine plan. Gam zu litovah. This is how it is meant to be.

I have to remember that in a year’s time, G-d willing, I’ll have graduated from High School and have a lifetime of great potential for closeness to G-d in His eternal home for us, in Israel. This is the dream. This is worth the pain, the impatience that is not my fault, that is out of my control. After all, this suffering will add to the ultimate joy of reaching Israel permanently. And that thought fuels my desire for Israel, for the truth that she holds, for the layers of Torah that she can reveal, every day of my life.

Gam zu litovah.

So I propose this question: What is distance? Is it more than just something physical, or perhaps something more spiritual? Because sometimes I can swear that I can feel my soul quite literally reaching out from my body eastward.

So I’ve been back from Israel for exactly two weeks. I’ve managed to snag a job at Starbucks and haven’t done much else. What I have done, however, is realize this: the farther I physically get away from Israel, the harder it is to be Jewish. I have lived in Israel, Vancouver, and I now live in Toronto which is quite literally the middle point between the first two. It’s no shocker that the east coast is more saturated with Jewish culture and religious luxury than us here on the west coast where intermarriage is at about 87%. No joke. Ridiculous right?! And we all think global warming is a problem.

So I propose this question: What is distance? Is it more than just something physical, or perhaps something more spiritual? Because sometimes I can swear that I can feel my soul quite literally reaching out from my body eastward.

For those of us who have no yet merited of making aliyah for whatever personal reason, then with your (somewhat) relaxed and free time this summer think about how you are going to keep your connection with Israel. The expression of “the time just flew away” isn’t worded by mistake. Some days I’m sure you’re so busy that you look down at your watch once, then again a what seems like a minute later, and really an hour has “flown” by. In our busy lives we’ve forgotten what it truly means to “spend” time on something. Because as they say “time is money” and if you’re not really aware of what you’re “spending” your time doing…then your not utilizing times purpose in a very constructive way. By physically taking a minute out of your day to think and feel about your yearning to return to Israel, just one minute consisting of sixty seconds, you are spiritually “spending” time to close the distance between yourself and your creator, and ultimately His land that He gave to you.

It’s actually much more difficult than you think. One minute, when concentrated on a specific purpose, is actually a very long time. Start it easy, try and visualize walking down your favorite street in Israel. Try and hear the usual sounds and to feel the Mediterranean sun on your neck. Or imagine yourself alone in the vast Negev desert sandwiched between the sand and sky surrounded by G-d. Try this everyday for one week (that only 7 minutes!) and I can guarantee you that you will feel closer to G-d. Your connection will be stronger than ever before you are literally spending time, investing in your connection to Israel and G-d, and Israel won’t seem that far away after all.

Seriously. Why wouldn’t you do it?