I was young once upon a time, but I, too, have reached the “old man” years. I have seen many things, yet sharing the miklat (bomb shelter) this past week with 30 some neighbors opened my eyes.
Over 15 times we gathered, and
though mechitza-less, we men and
women gravitate to different sides of the miklat,
an echo of the splitting of the Red Sea.
A 70–year-old man
who minds his own business sees and hears things that are difficult to
internalize, difficult to forget, such as the wan tired faces of the teenagers.
I have raised – and been raised by – eight daughters. I am no stranger to the
desperate sleep needs of the young and hearty.
The booms
begin....
We men sit, of
stolid face and posture, pretending it’s no big deal. Bring them on, our faces
declare, until the next boom arrives, and our hearts ... flutter ... stutter.
On the other side
of the miklat, truth resides.
With every boom, a
responsive squelched scream … accompanied by a half-leap from the fragile
plastic chair. Then the next boom ... and again ... the leap...the chair.
And the Master
looks down … for so He desires – to unsettle, in order to settle.
At the Side of
the Road
It was a rough week for learning as the sirens made us sleep
deprived. Over 30 men, women, children, and babies gathered several
times a day, including in the middle of the night. Now, we don’t usually all
get along – like typical neighbors – but this week, we communed together again
and again and….
Today I returned
home to Afula and again I met the Jewish people – no, I don’t mean my family.
Five minutes outside of Afula, the siren went off, and b”H, the bus was able to stop next to a portable shelter. Most of
the passengers did not enter the shelter as they saw a stream of people already
inside. Knowing my wife, I felt I had better enter and was among the last few
to fit inside. And so we stood.
Then a young woman
in her twenties (among the future nashim
tzidkanios) came rushing in, totally hysterical, crying and wailing. A foot
away from me was a frum lady maybe in
her 40s, who immediately wrapped the young woman in her arms, comforting her
like one would comfort a baby.
Her husband was
outside the shelter, under an overhang, wearing shorts, jersey, sandals, with tzitzis over his shirt – and crowned
with a baseball cap – calmly cracking sunflower seeds throughout the ordeal,
not missing a seed or a crack. I wanted so badly to laugh, but it didn’t seem
appropriate next to the weeping young lady.
After a few
minutes the bus driver (frum young
guy, shirt hanging out and tzitzis
flying) came to check on me … and off we went to meet the Jewish people – in my
house.
Pajamas
They lie there in the corner,
neglected...even rejected. No one could foresee that in the third week of
June, 2025, a wicked regime would send barrage after barrage ... at
night....
At first we were
slow ... it didn’t penetrate – mir
fharshtai nisht.
Sitting in the
bunker, we watched the men descend ... some still shirtefying themselves. They
were the lucky ones. Others just wore undershirts, though some were lucky
enough to grab a pair of tzitzis.
Still others came down pajama clad, some of them lucky enough to be robed.
Then we matured;
we learned from our experience. Then we realized; Pajama time is for daytime
only. Then the pajamas were tossed in the corner, and we all went to bed,
dressed for the miklat experience.
Pajamas anyone?
Now that the War Has Ended…
I missed her so much. We used to
spend hours and hours together and yet were never bored. Always
something to think about, dream about, when we communed together. Yes, she was
that dream companion, so soft yet not a cream puff. So flexible but not a
doormat. Even her smell was divine, so familiar so comfy....
She was ... my
pillow.
And Where Were You-u-u on
the Night the War
Broke Out?
Now, it depends whom you ask
And it depends what you
mean
And it depends what you ask
And it depends whom you mean
If you ask a young man, a
young man with a gleam,
He will answer an answer,
and you’ll see what I mean.
When I say a young man,
I mean the bach-u-u-ur type
The one who gets high when
the time is so ripe
He’s flippin’ the pages –
that is, of the Tall-mud
And suddenly finds
himself in such a great
full-mood,
So here is his answer, as he
stares up at the
moon
And the missiles whiz by
while he’s singin’ a tune…
(To the tune of “Rachem”
– Y. Shweki)
Yakir*... I’m gonna
learn me a sugya, a sugya, of Yakir
Even though it’s not easy
for me – Oy, Yakir
I’m gonna learn a bissele, a bissele – Yakir,
Yakir, Yakir
(High)
First we’ll say
the holy gemara – inside
Then we’ll check out
the heliege Rebbe – der Rashbam
Then we’ll sit back and look up to the lofty sky
Oy Yakir, Oy Aibeshter, Oy Yakir
Then we`ll go out to
get us a cold drink
Hoping it will give us –
a bissele – think
Then we`ll come back and
start the sugya again
Oy, Yakir, Yakir
Yakir…
* a sugya in Baba Basra
sidebar
The Rosh Yeshiva’s Message
The Slabodka Rosh Yeshiva, Harav
Moshe Hillel Hirsch, had a message this week for the talmidim and alumni of the Slabodka Yeshiva. Having known the Rosh
Yeshiva for over 40 years, I recognize this message, which echoes the chinuch we received in the past and
continue to receive ad hayom hazeh (to
this day).
The Rosh Yeshiva
made three points:
1) Recognizing the
pain of the tzibur (public). The pain
is both physical and emotional, and in the Holy Land, they are unfortunately
getting a generous portion. Some of us are sheltered, yet many are not, and the
sound of the siren, rising and falling, is often at the edge of our
consciousness, ignited even by a child’s whistle.
2) Recognizing
that the smallest bits of shrapnel raining down upon us and around us are
directly sent from the Borei Olam
(Creator). Even the slight stumble as we search for our glasses with the
relentless siren in the background – this is Heaven sent.
3) Recognizing the
power of tefila. Our job is to deepen
our appreciation of the awesome tool we have.
*
* *
I remember 1991,
and Iraq was using the Jewish people in the Holy Land as target practice
for their missiles. The secular public experienced a total shutdown of night
life in Tel Aviv, “the city that doesn’t stop.” They were down and almost
out, understandably so.
A conversation on
the radio was overheard. The announcer (not religious) was interviewing a rabbi.
“Is it any easier for the religious?” she asked.
He replied, “No,
they are suffering, too, but at least” ... he paused, “they have Someone
to turn to.” This can make all the difference.
The yeshua (redemption) will come. How and
when is beyond us ... but we know, the yeshua
will come!
