In order to help us Israelis digest our overwhelming holiday shopping bills, most supermarkets offer a bit of sweet compensation in the form of a receipt that entitles the depleted shopper to a ?gift?. So, while my husband went to load the car, I waited for the head clerk to return to the counter with the Rosh Hashanah bonus.
Usually, it?s a bottle of wine or, at the very least, a small gift-jar of honey. This year, I was handed a small package of margarine - an obvious and rather ominous sign of the times.
Dumbfounded, I returned to the car with a bittersweet complaint. ?Honey, look. It?s not even butter!? But when my husband flashed his endearing smile, it took me back...
When I was a student, attending an overseas summer program at Tel Aviv University, I would often visit my soon-to-be husband and his brother in their modest apartment in Herzliya. They were always gracious hosts and would share their meals with me, which consistently consisted of bread and margarine - there was rarely anything else. I was too in love to complain (when you?re in love, everything tastes good). But, I couldn?t help but wonder how it was that these guys looked far more strapping and wholesome than their well-fed American counterparts.
That same summer we went camping in the Sinai, our supplies consisted of bread, margarine and water. I didn?t complain or need anything else, as I was awe-struck with the majesty of the desert (when you?re captivated, everything tastes good).
That must have been the secret behind the Mann in the desert. As long as the Jewish People were in love, awe-struck and captivated, we didn?t need anything else. Ahhhhh, to be young again...
I think I speak for at least a few of us when I say that the last three chaotic years have sapped a bit of our strength and youthful optimism. We should look forward to this New Year, because it presents us with an opportunity to rediscover inspiration, clarity and hope. But still, I have my concerns with regard to what?s in store for us in 5764.
After a year of little sleep (I wrote this piece at 4am), I?m afraid that I?ll fall asleep this Rosh Hashana. It happens every year. Throughout the last several years, I rarely takes naps during the day and am easily awakened at night - as if on high alert. But come Rosh Hashanah, I listen with great concentration to the shofar service - only to be hounded by irresistible drowsiness throughout the rest of the day.
So, this year, I?ve begun to peruse my bookshelves in search of inspiring works that are sure to keep me going. I?ve chosen the teachings of scholarly giants, like Rabbis Hersh, Soloveitchik, Dessler , Kook and Theodor Geisel, a.k.a. Dr. Seuss.
I am not being irreverent. Horton Hears a Who is a must-read Rosh Hashana classic (it?s also a short book with lots of pictures). Anybody who doesn?t think so is probably either a shirker - like that little twerp in apartment 12-J, or a renegade mayor of our small speck of dust - who prefers to attend gala birthday celebrations rather than tend to his responsibilities in an hour of crisis. (NOTE: If you just lost me, you had better borrow the book. Things will become remarkably clear. I promise.)
So, when I start to feel drowsy and the formal prayers and commentaries no longer hold my attention, I?m going to go back to a simpler time - and sit down to a cup of tea, and challah with margarine (and a touch of honey). Then I?m going to recapture my youthful optimism by delving into the prophetic wisdom of Dr. Seuss. I?ll join the rest of the Whos in Who-ville in the hope that, this coming year, our cries of ?We are here! We are here! We are here! We are here!? will be both heard in the heavens and understood here on earth.
Wishing all of our People a truly peaceful and comforting 5764.
Usually, it?s a bottle of wine or, at the very least, a small gift-jar of honey. This year, I was handed a small package of margarine - an obvious and rather ominous sign of the times.
Dumbfounded, I returned to the car with a bittersweet complaint. ?Honey, look. It?s not even butter!? But when my husband flashed his endearing smile, it took me back...
When I was a student, attending an overseas summer program at Tel Aviv University, I would often visit my soon-to-be husband and his brother in their modest apartment in Herzliya. They were always gracious hosts and would share their meals with me, which consistently consisted of bread and margarine - there was rarely anything else. I was too in love to complain (when you?re in love, everything tastes good). But, I couldn?t help but wonder how it was that these guys looked far more strapping and wholesome than their well-fed American counterparts.
That same summer we went camping in the Sinai, our supplies consisted of bread, margarine and water. I didn?t complain or need anything else, as I was awe-struck with the majesty of the desert (when you?re captivated, everything tastes good).
That must have been the secret behind the Mann in the desert. As long as the Jewish People were in love, awe-struck and captivated, we didn?t need anything else. Ahhhhh, to be young again...
I think I speak for at least a few of us when I say that the last three chaotic years have sapped a bit of our strength and youthful optimism. We should look forward to this New Year, because it presents us with an opportunity to rediscover inspiration, clarity and hope. But still, I have my concerns with regard to what?s in store for us in 5764.
After a year of little sleep (I wrote this piece at 4am), I?m afraid that I?ll fall asleep this Rosh Hashana. It happens every year. Throughout the last several years, I rarely takes naps during the day and am easily awakened at night - as if on high alert. But come Rosh Hashanah, I listen with great concentration to the shofar service - only to be hounded by irresistible drowsiness throughout the rest of the day.
So, this year, I?ve begun to peruse my bookshelves in search of inspiring works that are sure to keep me going. I?ve chosen the teachings of scholarly giants, like Rabbis Hersh, Soloveitchik, Dessler , Kook and Theodor Geisel, a.k.a. Dr. Seuss.
I am not being irreverent. Horton Hears a Who is a must-read Rosh Hashana classic (it?s also a short book with lots of pictures). Anybody who doesn?t think so is probably either a shirker - like that little twerp in apartment 12-J, or a renegade mayor of our small speck of dust - who prefers to attend gala birthday celebrations rather than tend to his responsibilities in an hour of crisis. (NOTE: If you just lost me, you had better borrow the book. Things will become remarkably clear. I promise.)
So, when I start to feel drowsy and the formal prayers and commentaries no longer hold my attention, I?m going to go back to a simpler time - and sit down to a cup of tea, and challah with margarine (and a touch of honey). Then I?m going to recapture my youthful optimism by delving into the prophetic wisdom of Dr. Seuss. I?ll join the rest of the Whos in Who-ville in the hope that, this coming year, our cries of ?We are here! We are here! We are here! We are here!? will be both heard in the heavens and understood here on earth.
Wishing all of our People a truly peaceful and comforting 5764.