Preserving the future

I have not taken the liberty of writing for a while now, as you can see. I have been somewhat taken up by other projects, some creative, some less so, but I have been thinking of what I could say or really what I should be saying in these unmoored days.

Last week, we marked our fourth aliyahversary–four years since we made aliyah, according to the Hebrew date. I looked back to what I wrote about making aliyah, and if the same things hold true today. When I read this post from right before leaving, I was amused in the deepest way. To save you from the trouble of looking, apparently what I told people I would miss from the states after making aliyah was “convenience”. It was a good answer at the time, because it threw people off. I like doing that. Changing perspectives is often a helpful tool. But looking at that today, I realized how that’s one thing I don’t miss at all, in the way that I said.

Bagged lettuce?? Yes, we have that in Israel!

Perhaps the convenience of being able to understand bills written in English still stands…

Yes, that definitely still stands. But that’s a topic for another day, because even in English, the bills would still need translation.

What I am incredibly grateful for is a convenience of a different level I never imagined.

My garden.

In these days of self-isolation, limiting our interactions with the outside world, there is nothing more convenient than going out to the garden and picking dinner veggies. Or strawberries that are freshly ripened. Not having to go the market more than once every 3 weeks? Fantastically convenient! Washing the veggies that you have just picked? Amazing.

Granted, it’s just the two of us. I don’t know what we would do if we had more people to feed. But then we wouldn’t be who we are. I can only reflect on what we are experiencing. And that is a great deal of gratitude.

I have been reflecting on how else I have changed, even in my daily life. So so many  people have [probably now should be past tense as people have moved out of their cocooning/quarantining, for better or worse] started all kinds of homebody activities, such as bread-making, particularly sourdough. I’ve been baking bread since college, so that’s a lot of kneading. Now that we don’t want to go into stores unnecessarily, I’ve been baking our weekday bread, not just challah for Shabbat. I spent a lot of time looking into starting sourdough and decided it’s not for me. I don’t want to be beholden to a finicky starter. I like watering my indoor plants just fine, even if it would be every day, but don’t want to start up with a Feed me, Seymour kind of thing, beholden to the beast. But if it makes people happy…

What makes me happy is curing olives from our tree. Olives that we picked, brined, and waited for them to be ready for eating. Capers that I picked myself going around the neighborhood, looking for the little buds. Working on mustard now.

Mustard stalks
Each of those little pods holds exactly 4 mustard seeds. You need at least 6 Tablespoons of seeds to make any decent amount of mustard. That’s a lot of pods. It’s no wonder that the Talmud uses a mustard seed as a measure for the smallest amount. And because mustard is so prevalent, everyone knew what it looked like.
This was taken on April 16th this year. The yellow flowers all over the hill (but not the asphodel on the left) are wild mustard plants. I could have collected the greens to eat, but I waited until last week to collect the stems after they dried just for the seeds. 
I threw the strawberry (from our garden; the mustard is from the field next door) in for size comparison. It’s a normal-sized strawberry. These seeds are insanely small. As I open each pod, I think of them as little planes. There are two seeds that go together. That’s coach. Then you have one seed next to them, but by itself; business-class. And then you’ve got your first class; one all by itself in a separate cabin completely. 

To make a condiment of mustard, you also need salt. Salt of the earth, or of the sea. This is how they kept everything before refrigeration; preserving. Preserved lemons, Moroccan style. Oh, and purple cabbage sauerkraut and pickled beets with ginger, lacto-fermenting. Better salt than sugar, I think.

I am consistently (not constantly) amazed at how much work has gone into the knowledge of what works. How did our ancestors know how to take this grass and use it for cereal, and this one to use for condiment? How did they figure out how to make anything edible? Trial and error is pretty costly. I am consistently amazed how we are beneficiaries of so much, not to be taken for granted at all. And my gratitude for having access to this knowledge, Google and otherwise, to help me bridge from the past to the future.

Salt, the symbol of forever in the Holy Temple, transferred as what we every day dip our bread into when making HaMotzi, the blessing over bread, which has transformed from grain to wheat berry to flour, mixed with liquid, yeast, time, and baked into bread.

Psalms Chapter 104 תְּהִלִּים

יד  מַצְמִיחַ חָצִיר, לַבְּהֵמָה,    וְעֵשֶׂב, לַעֲבֹדַת הָאָדָם;
לְהוֹצִיא לֶחֶם,    מִן-הָאָרֶץ.
14 Who causeth the grass to spring up for the cattle, and herb for the service of man; {N}
to bring forth bread out of the earth,

ברוך אתה ה’ ,המוציא לחם מן הארץ

G-d, You are blessed; You who take bread out from the earth.

I am grateful for the space and time to bring things from the past into the future, and for the chance to do it here in this Land.


expanding normal

Here we are, back to normal. Laundry needs to get done, the neighbors are still arguing, the smells of the fields in the daytime are blocking out the nighttime jasmine fragrance. It’s the day after all the holidays, and really, this becomes what matters most. What do you do when it is not subscribed how exactly to act?

It is known as שגרה here, routine. But the word שגרה reminds me of שגור בפיו, fixed in one’s mouth, often used to refer to someone careful about praying consistently so that the words of the prayers are always fixed in one’s mouth. In a way, being so in tune with the words that you don’t require any metacognition to pray, but just in flow. So this is the possibility of moving this time into fulfilling all the promises we made to ourselves since Rosh Hashanah and before (and always) to change. Make the words flow fixed in our mouths. But so yes, we need a lot of help. How to actually make the change? How not to fall back into the old routine? Do you plan?

I have a list of new to-do’s.

Here are the items on my new list:

buy new indoor plants for bathroom
put up bookshelves
buy bookcases
buy some kind of machsan for outside chairs/cushions
display family pictures–install glass small shelves in living room

Yes. For sure, these will make all the difference.

These aren’t necessarily new things, either; just a new list. Many of them are on multiple lists. You might note, for example, that bookcases/shelves have been on to-do lists for a year now while I’ve been not writing. Most of the books have found homes, but there are still too many sitting in the upstairs storage on plastic shelves that should be holding plastic bins, which in turn are sitting on the basement floor…

Which makes me think I do need to restart the book about how we place importance on things that I had been thinking about for the past 5 years…

Which is how perhaps I can re-find my voice, which has been quiet for at least a year…

I had injured my hand last year in a stupid stupid self-inflicted accident. It took a lot out of me emotionally; cutting me down, so-to-speak. I tried to slough it off, but it didn’t work as well as perhaps I thought I could. One of the results was my shutting up. I didn’t feel I had anything to say that was worthwhile. Nothing was fixed in my mouth, in other words.

I continued to observe; I took a lot of photos. It’s not a bad thing to observe. I have been watching how to frame things; in photos, in life. How we see things is often a matter of setting the boundaries.

Thinking in the box, as it were. (so-to-speak)

Such as buying plants for our bathrooms. We have a moisture problem, but lots of light, so embrace the possibility! Wabi-sabi and embrace the brokenness.

This past year I spent a lot of time out of the country. Out of my box. It was good visiting people and places, but it gets hard to be away.

I prefer to be in my own space. I love people coming to visit me. We had some visitors, but I hope to have more. That is why we wanted to have a big space, or big enough for guests. I hope I can make people feel comfortable while they are here. I know how much it makes a difference for me.

I see that thinking out of the box is how Donna Strickland, one of today’s recipients of the Nobel Prize in Physics, describes her success:

When asked this morning about the groundbreaking discovery, Strickland said, “It’s thinking outside the box to stretch first and then amplify. Most people were amplifying and trying just to compress whatever they had amplified.”

What else is different? I know more deeply how fragile we are. The veggies we put in for the summer got attacked by nematodes, a worm I knew existed but never realized how much damage they can do. Best laid plants…

I have so much sympathy for Yonah and his gourd; I watched my gourds dry up and there wasn’t anything I could do after the fact. I sat behind Ari Fuld’s zk”l wife in synagogue last Shabbat in Efrat when we had come back from Australia. She was in her box and that I imagine brought comfort.

How do we stretch first and then amplify?

The charity box in the Abuhav Synagogue in Tzfat. Yes, that’s supposed to be a unicorn, which is the artist’s conception of the Tachash animal used in the Tabernacle, according to the Ari z”l, which represents the public’s need to donate in order to support the holy structures.

looking inwards

We’re here. It’s already been four weeks; that is, we have spent four Shabbatot here in our new home. It’s certainly feeling homey now. The boxes are banned to outer corners so we don’t have to bump into them all the time, nor even deal with them. I am not in a hurry to get to those boxes,  since they are basically ISHI’s books.

35 boxes of books.

I counted them in order to estimate how many bookshelves we need. You know you can Google that–how many books fit on a shelf. We need approximately 24 shelves. So now come the requests for handymen who can build us these shelves, and then comes the wait for the estimates.

Yes, we knew we would need to spend money on this side of the mountain. And realistically, there are always things that pop up that you would never have expected. Replacing our shower doors turned out to be much simpler (and less expensive) than we thought. Putting up fixtures is more complicated…wires that should be working are not; some are in the oddest places and makes access quite ridiculous. But the primary lists are getting whittled down, and other secondary things are taking their place.

And with all of this home improvement, we find ourselves also in the month of Ellul, when we are supposed to be getting ready for the New Year. Thus the title of this post; the need for some introspection. I can easily find many faults that I have to work on, really, much too easily. And there is a lot of negative in the world, as if I had to remind anyone…We have heard recently of too many people who are battling diseases of too many kinds, and the heart aches for each one.

With my tendency to go negative, though, I am working on looking at the positive. And I’m grateful that I’ve had a little nodding in this direction today from social media, no less.

The words “soul searching” or “confession” can be menacing. They usually remind us of that which is not OK, of that which we have to fix. But this week’s Portion, Ki Tavo, presents a different kind of confession: Vidui Ma’aser (confession upon tithing). After performing the instructions related to Ma’aser (tithing), one says a series of moving verses. Here is just part of this confession: “I have not turned aside from Your commandments nor have I forgotten any of them… I have obeyed the LORD my G-d; I have done everything You commanded me.” This is a positive kind of confession, in which one looks back on all the good things one did, and also talks about it.
Rabbi Kook writes about it wonderfully: “A person needs to sometimes rejoice by expressing with his lips the good things that he did… Therefore we need the confession over the Mitzvot from time to time, in order to strengthen our heart in the path of G-d, just as we need the confession over transgressions”.
Meaning, along with the confession over transgressions (“Ashamnu, Bagadnu… We have been guilty, we have dealt others treacherously…” and the entire confession of the Ten Days of Repentance) Rabbi Kook also talks about “confessing our Mitzvot”. One should sometimes confess one’s good deeds, because soul searching is not only about that which we need to fix. It is also a call to pay attention to everything that is good and beautiful, fixed and excellent – with us and with all those who surround us.

And then on Brainpickings, Maria Popova quotes Martin Seligman’s

“What-Went-Well Exercise,” also known as “Three Blessings” — based on the interventions he and his team at the Positive Psychology Center and the University of Pennsylvania have validated in the random-assignment, placebo-controlled experiments they have been conducting since 2001 to study changes in life-satisfaction and depression levels.

“Every night for the next week, set aside ten minutes before you go to sleep. Write down three things that went well today and why they went well.”

So I will set down now to get into the habit, three blessings.

  1. Cats that can wander into our storage area because the door doesn’t close is a good thing, because they will take care of the mice. And the scorpions. And also the snakes. The guys who are fixing our doors let us know. And so did our gardener.
  2. Hiring one of our handymen, even though he is slower than others, is a good thing because we are helping pay for his wife’s acupuncture and alternative medicine for her cancer treatment. So I’m not looking at how he is putting in some of the things we asked.
  3. Our gardener is coming to lay down irrigation piping so we can plant things. Things will grow here. That is a blessing that is promising, but itself is enough.

And then reading about the importance of accepting negative thoughts? Icing on the Ellul cake.

looking forward!

I had started composing* a post last week that was all about what I won’t miss from the old neighborhood. I got to the end and realized I had to put in what I would miss. That made me realize I shouldn’t be focussed on the negative at all, and that wasn’t a good way to leave.

The best way to leave is to focus on the good. There were many good points about being here in the city for this past year, and I had to reframe my thinking. It should be all about gratitude for the past, and hope for the future. I then was able to see this year as an airlock between the states and our own home. So the airlock is not always the most comfortable, but it’s a process, and that’s what we are in, thank G-d.

And then I read an article I had been saving, How to Get Past Negativity Bias in Order to Hardwire Positive Experiences, so I had no excuses extra motivation!

I can truly pose all the negatives into positives, anyway…

Most of the complaints centered around the issue of privacy, so that is the top of the list right now. I am looking forward to our




Country. I am simply a country mouse, and I accept that willingly.

Our own yard. I already bought a hose for watering what may come. And for our car.

Cleanliness. Of the air and the streets.

Quiet. Dogs run around, but don’t have the need to profess territoriality, so are happier, I presume.

Music of my choice, played quietly.

People who might be walking by and talking on their phones and walking by. Moving on.

Space, to put things, to have guests, to have space to do projects, to be creative in new ways. To expand and feel at home.

The stairs. Wide. Steady. Safe.

The views! The new views of the north and east. Our views from our porch were often wonderful, and that I admit that I will miss, but I can do that honestly and still look forward to the new views.

And since we’re not leaving Tzfat really, but moving to a different neighborhood, we will go back and visit the sunsets often enough. I can recognize what I want to see more of, and what is good to leave behind.

To smell the roses.

Yes, very much looking forward!


*I chose that word carefully, having composed a song about our travails! I was inspired by our 4 year-old grandson, who wrote a letter I read as a song because why not?

here we go again for the first time

A year has passed with us here in the center of Tzfat. It is time for some peace and quiet. But to get to there, we have to pass through another rite of passage, and we are again living with boxes. Again, we are weighing our possessingness. Again, we are self-judging why we have this stuff. Does it bring us such pleasure? Comfort? Right now, of course, since we are boxing up what we haven’t necessarily used in a year, to add to the boxes of stuff in our storage space that we definitely haven’t used in a year or even thought of, the answer should be “no.”

The question is in the should be.  But as I started this blog to figure out what possesses us more than what we possess, it’s the value that we inherit and also place upon things that matters.

I could continue playing with language about things and stuff and being possessed, but I’m finished. For the moment, at least. After all, I wrote about my battle with things already here  and  here and here (basically all of last August when we were first unpacking our life lift). What have I learned in the year? In the past 64 years, to be exact?

I am a person who thrives on order; place. I don’t like thinking about where things are; I like/need, really need, to know that I can reach into a particular drawer, and on the right side of that drawer, I will find that certain spoon I require to stir that certain dish. I like having specific things to be used as often as possible for specific tasks, not multi-tasking. Yes, it’s a level of comfort that I want. I was tired of grinding my fingers along with the cabbage, so we purchased a food processor, even though I had said we wouldn’t buy anything before moving into our new and bigger place. Thankfully, it’s also fun to use, so I’m feeling more productive with my cooking. We purchased fans to work with the air conditioners here. It’s hot and stickier than it should be.

I’ve worn heels I think twice this year, both times to weddings, and not to all the weddings we’ve gone to. Again, comfort wins. But I’m not getting rid of the heels so quickly. I’ve gotten rid of the shoes I don’t like already. I like what I have.

I didn’t need to pull out the big guns of my heavy down coat last winter, but I definitely won’t give that away. It gets cold here in Tzfat, and it does snow every eleven years or so with some significant accumulation. The last storm was three years ago, so we’re due soon enough. We brought one snow shovel for then, and I’d rather be over-prepared than desperate.

I am so looking forward to having a place for my things, with a sense of purpose for all of them, even if they are only for nostalgia.

I’m looking forward to knowing where all the tools are, or at least where they should be returned after their use. I want to know where the toys are, again, at least in potential. Same with the broom, and the flour, and the machzorim, the special prayer books that are used only once a year.

I am looking forward to pulling out all the books we did bring and then figuring out what books we can now buy. Yes, the big birds of Israel book, once we are settled. That will be around the time of the next bird migration. We will be waiting for them at our new place.

I’m looking forward to all the musical instruments being in one room. Not sure which one yet, but we’ll figure that out.

I’m looking forward to figuring out where guests should stay, where they will enjoy the peace and quiet that we hope to gain there.

I am looking forward to guests having space, so we can all enjoy each other in ease.

Having guests, having adventures, enjoying nature. Space for our technology, the computer and camera accoutrements.

And still hanging our clothes to dry in the breeze.

the view across our street; yes, that’s Mt. Hermon in the distance



the year of living wackily

In Tzfat. Where you can always expect the unexpected. And we are so normal it’s not normal.

זה לא נורמלי!

It’s not normal! Is the normal thing to say.

I am thinking of our year here as Act I in the play about our move to Israel, our aliyah to the Land. I don’t know what Act II will be like yet. It hasn’t yet been written. But this year has been something [via Google Translate]

really, truly, in sooth, straight up
really, very

not normal.

What has been normal for me, of course, is not normal for most people in the world. I have to go with my experiences. I also realize that one part of moving to Israel was my desire to be normal; to live in a place where you are not the exception; you don’t have to explain yourself to people about why you dress a certain way, why you eat certain foods, why you don’t travel on these days, why you wouldn’t go out to certain places, why so many things that seem normal are not my normal. It is a great deal to belong, to fit in, to not have to think about what other people are thinking.

לִהְיוֹת עַם חָפְשִׁי בְּאַרְצֵנוּ          To be a free people in our Land

is what it says in the national anthem Hatikvah.

So, do I feel free yet? Do I feel free to walk about?

As I write this, tons of people are passing by my window. Well, busloads.


Tours of Birthright kids coming to find out what their birthright is to this land. It’s curious, if not outright humorous to hear what they are told about Tzfat. We can hear them from the comfort of our dining room when they give their pitch about art, or Tzfat, or what is Kabbalah, or what does holy even mean? Everyone has their story, and it’s not necessarily what I would say. But let them come and hear! When I get a chance, I tell them mine.

We are grateful to live here in the middle of the chaos so we can show our visitors around; so we can give them our version of the truth. We can show them our amazement at the stones, the places with so much history that they can hardly stand up, but most of all, the people.

But when it comes down to it, we will be quite happy to do this from a little bit of distance. We hope to move to a suburb of Tzfat in August. I can know that I belong and yet be happy to be on the other side of the hill, looking to figure out what Act II is all about.

I’m looking forward to smelling the roses there.





knowing your place

They say that in Jerusalem, those who think they are the Messiah suffer from the Jerusalem syndrome. Here in Tzfat, there is a similar syndrome named for the city. But here, those who suffer from it believe that their rebbe is Mashiach.

So true! We have met many sweetly deluded people, who among the many things that delude them is a willingness to suspend all thought, and therefore, simply believe. There is a simplicity to this, but also a deep humility. And, of course, it is easy to take advantage of. But somehow they manage, and they are happy.

We have also heard recently from the man who wanted to sell us some appliances that Tzfat is a city that has learned to be humble. That was the lesson I heard from him, at least. He said that the earthquake of 1837 led people to realize that one should not embarrass Jerusalem; Tzfat could not be thriving while Jerusalem laid desolate. The survivors of the earthquake fled to an early version of Rosh Pina, to Hebron, and to one other city that perhaps I will remember. We in Tzfat know to keep things in perspective, to honor the greatness of Jerusalem, he was indicating. All of the other cities know, even as they grow, to remember their place.

I honor the city that I have chosen to live in. There is a quieter, more gentle vibe. Yes, apparently we have our crazies, and now who act out against the establishment. We are not happy that this attitude is coming here. We were happier when we could see people mixing broadly without passing judgment, and we hope to be happier when they realize they would be happier being miserable elsewhere. One only hopes.

We chose a different store to buy from, though. We’re not total freiers.

This past week, we paid a shiva call to a family in Jerusalem. We had spent the night in Netanya, on our way back from a wedding further south, so we had thought to be wise and not do so much traveling back and forth in one day. Instead, on Monday, we ended up going from sea to sea to sea.

Here is a view of the Mediterranean from one of the promenades in Netanya.


We continued to Jerusalem, where we were focussed on people and not photos. I snapped a few on my cellphone, but they look pretty snapped, so I will use my words instead.

As we were finally leaving the city, it was rush hour, but instead of staying put another hour or two, we braved the roads to get out of town. Waze directed us to use Route 1 East and then north along Route 90 all the way up the easternmost part of Israel, past the Sea of Galilee and Tiveria, to Tzfat. ISHI wasn’t thrilled about this road, since the last time we had traveled along this road, we were in a rental car with headlights pointing too far down, and this road at night requires as MUCH light as possible. But should we be afraid to travel on our land? Okay, it was Nakba Day, but I was sure everyone was tired by then. And what was the choice, at that point? So we proceeded.

And we found ourselves back in time. We were retracing the words of Yerushalayim Shel Zahav.

We passed by Ammunition Hill, where fierce battles were fought 50 years ago to free Jerusalem. We continued on the Dead Sea road, past Jericho.

Within the caverns in the mountains
A thousand suns will glow,
We’ll take the Dead Sea road together,
That runs through Jericho.

And with great thanks to G-d and to headlights that work, we arrived home.

But as I sing to you, my city,
And you with crowns adorn,
I am the least of all your children,
Of all the poets born.

Your name will scorch my lips for ever,
Like a seraph’s kiss, I’m told,
If I forget thee, golden city,
Jerusalem of gold.

Oh, Jerusalem of gold,
and of light and of bronze,
I am the lute for all your songs.


when independence is more than a day off

Yom HaAtzma’ut, Israeli Independence Day, is celebrated on the fifth day of the Hebrew month of Iyar. This year, that should fall out tonight. But in order to commemorate Yom HaZikaron, Israeli Memorial Day, the day before, but not to desecrate Shabbat, it’s all pushed off one day. In a way, it’s similar to celebrating the American holidays on Monday, whether the historical day meets it or not, but here’s all the difference in the world. In the states, it’s for convenience. Here in Israel, it’s for holiness.

So that brings me to my list of things that I love here in Israel and vive la différence! Although many are making lists of 69 things that they love about living in Israel, I am happy to present my top ten.

Here in Israel:

  1. stores offer sales for items at ₪69 (to match the age of the country), or even renting a car for the day for ₪69
  2. everyone starts displaying Israeli flags, blooming like the beautiful wildflowers in all areas of the country

    Yes, our car is Tzfat blue
  3. people post ideas of what they are doing to celebrate the holiday, not just ask for suggestions from others
  4. multiple Whatsapp groups display poignant poems, photos, and videos about the country
  5. such as this 
  6. and in that regard, you don’t mind tearing up constantly, going back and forth between tears of sadness about the sacrifice of so many to pride of our country
  7. and you remember to buy lots of tissues to tide you over,and you are willing to cry in public
  8. like for this one  
  9. or this one
  10. that Rabbanit Henkin of Nishmat has been invited to light a torch for the official Yom HaAtzma’ut ceremony as a trailblazer in teaching women Torah, but also as a bereaved mother
  11. and you think back to the last time you were in Israel for Yom HaAtzma’ut in 1976, a different century, and realize that even though that was such a different world, as much as things change, they are the same
  12. that even though I don’t know any soldiers or families of soldiers who have died, there is a family around the corner from us who is related to a girl who was killed in a terrorist act,
  13. and I do know one of the mothers of the boys who were kidnapped and killed in the summer of 2014
  14. and I do have my student who is included in the remembrance DSC_0089
  15. And even as I said I would write ten, the need to include more is essential, I am looking for more to move from the sadness to celebration, so I will include my gratitude that we can go walking into town Tuesday morning to watch some hometown hokie-ish celebration,
  16. and then go picnic with friends in the afternoon
  17. and look for many more things to post about in reflection for years and years to come
  18. in peace that should come speedily in our days

instead of that, i’m doing this this year

This year in Israel, if not in a rebuilt Jerusalem…

Instead of cooking (and cleaning and planning and shopping, in no particular order ever), I got to play with kids and enjoy the beautiful weather, even if it wasn’t necessarily beautiful. Yes, we were surprised that it did rain last Wednesday, even if just briefly!

Instead of doing a second seder, we got to travel and see friends. And water my plant at home, if just for a short visit before returning to be at our kids’.

Instead of savoring the taste of matzah, we went to a Gymboree in Efrat to attend a mini-Mimouna, a North African Jewish celebration of returning to eating bread.

Blessings and props for the children to make their muffleta pancakes
Blessing the children of all ages; like the new wheat grows, so we should also grow

Instead of worrying about everyone getting along, I knew they wouldn’t, and then they would for when it mattered. And then we could go home when we had enough.

Instead of sitting around the eighth day of Pesach, overeating, we went into Jerusalem to the Old City. We met different people we hadn’t seen in eight months; two years, and forty years. Instead of synagogue, we had synchronicity.

Capturing people enjoying their Hametz after Pesach in the Old City

Instead of worrying about the community and who needs what, we got to think about ourselves and what we need. And worry about the whole world.

Instead of going to hear a speaker for Yom HaShoah, we’re meeting with the couple from whom we are buying our home and seeing what we want to buy from them. He is from Libya; she is also from a Mizrachi family; they have their own families’ experiences of hate and expulsion, which we will hear about.

Instead of looking at videos of the moment of silence on Monday morning in memory of the six million Jews who were killed, we will stand silent ourselves.


In Israel.

Our Homeland.