Slice of Life

I’m always quick to mark my calendar with the date of the Jewish Women’s Writer’s Seminar (JWWS) in Yerushalayim as soon as it’s announced. The JWWS gives frum female writers a welcome opportunity to learn writing techniques from well-known and talented writers, meet with publishers, and fill themselves with inspiration, all in the company of their fellow writers. I have a warm feeling when I work at my computer while sipping from the swag mugs that I’ve received over the years. I look forward to this seminar all year long.

In the year 1977, Mehdi* and Pari* and their three children were an 11^th-generation family living in Iran.  They were in the houseware wholesale/import business.  During the Shah’s regime, life was great for everyone, including the Jews.  But in the summer of 1977, as political instability and unrest started against the regime, the children of the family were sent to New York and later to Los Angeles, which hosts a large population of Iranian Jews, to attend university in the safe haven of the United States.  The Islamic revolution occurred in January 1979 when the Shah left the country. 

They’re baaack. Again!  The Israeli national elections are upon us. Normally I wouldn’t write about this particular topic.  Besides trying to stay clear of politics, I also like to write about occurrences that are somewhat rare and unusual.  Israeli elections no longer fall into that category.  We are heading to the polls for the fifth time in a little over three-and-a-half years, putting Israel in first place in the world in terms of the frequency of elections.  This is a trophy we can do without.  And there is no guarantee that this election will help us break the political deadlock that has been afflicting us for the last few years.  But since elections have become so prevalent, I thought I would give you a taste of what goes on here.

The day before Erev Yom Kippur, I was privileged to take part in a women’s trip to Chevron.  I honestly can’t understand what came over me, but I did not feel uncomfortable walking around Chevron in a big group of women without a guard, not even one without a gun.  I didn’t even think about it.  Of course, maybe that had to do with the soldiers who were ubiquitous in the Israeli-controlled part of Chevron that we visited. As we traveled in our bulletproof bus, Mrs. Esti Kimche, a tour guide from Ramat Beit Shemesh, crystallized our appreciation for the holy city - not that any of us needed to be convinced.

The period of the chagim is one of the most beautiful times of year here in Israel.  Judging by the large number of visitors converging on the country at this time, it seems that many would agree.  The holiday spirit permeates the air for weeks before, and not just for the frum among us.  Those who mark the holidays in some shape or form are in sync with the country.  For better and for worse, non-urgent matters are put off until the period of “Acharei Hachagim,” after the holidays. In fact, on the day after Simchat Torah, the newspapers announce that “Acharei Hachagim” has arrived.

One of the many wonderful things I love about living in Ramat Beit Shemesh is that I’m able to meet Jews from all over the world who have made aliyah and often have many interesting experiences to share.  Rabbi Nosson Sachs, a resident of Ramat Beit Shemesh, served as a chaplain in the United States Army before his aliyah eight years ago.  In 2006, when Rabbi Sachs was working as a reserve chaplain, he received a phone call from Washington asking if he would be willing to travel to Afghanistan for the High Holy Days and Sukkos. Thinking about the huge opportunity for kiruv to be had in such a mission, Rabbi Sachs was thrilled.  I was privileged to sit with Rabbi Sachs in his home while he told me his story, one that is filled with hashgachah pratis.