Now my mom, that’s a whole different story

Posted on February 12, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

After caring for my father for four years, she only wanted one thing: when the time comes, to drop dead, without prolonged suffering for herself and those around her. She would run into an acquaintance in the street and they’d get into some chit-chat about what happened in the news, what happened to so and so, and almost out of the blue she’d say, “when the time comes to go, I just want to go – im kvar lalechet, az lalechet”.
It’s been nine years since I was rushed home, the pros and cons of living more than 8000 miles away.
It was Shabbat morning. I usually don’t remember anything but that night she showed up in my dream, demanding to know where is the jewelry she gave me. In my dream she was tall and strict with that ‘where have you been last night’ voice. 8000 miles away or not, that morning, the little girl in me hurried to find the small wooden box, just not to disappoint her, yet, again. I was still holding it in my hand when the phone rang.
We arrived in Israel Monday evening. She was unconscious, plugged into breathing devices, just as she always wished won’t happen. After all, her instructions were clear beyond doubt. Not only the almost strangers in the streets heard them semi-randomly. Just a few weeks earlier, former Israeli prime-minister Arik Sharon suffered a stroke and went into a prolonged comma. My mom, who knew Arik Sharon well from GaDNA (pre-army youth training), repeated her im kvar lalechet, az lalechet in the transatlantic phone calls, over and over again: ‘promise me’, she asked, ‘I don’t want to end like this’.
I knew, and yet, that Monday evening as I sat by her bedside, watching her face change, her hand swell, I asked her if she would forget all this nonsense about just going, and maybe reconsider. Se was gone by midnight. As my sister in law told me then, “she just waited for you to come”.
What do we know about our parents? We’re always some twenty-thirty-forty years behind them, and by the time we catch up, it’s often too late. She was a young – so young – widow at 40 with two children who barely entered grade school, and I thought 40 was old, and why is she crying when she hears a concerto for piano or when she’s doing dishes alone at night, her tears flowing quietly straight into the sink, mixing with soap and muck; and why oh why, is the ice cream she schlepped up the Haifa hill by foot in the sweaty summer, a little soggy. I can’t help but wonder now: did she manage to make life seem so close to normal that we had nothing else to worry about?
Perhaps. Making crazy into normal was not completely new to her. She was 10 when the she and her parents left their lovely home in Germany to come to “safety” in a sandy moshav in the Sharon area in Israel (her brother joined later, while her grandmother was sent to Trezin). There, she, who was most “integrated” and fluent in Hebrew, translated her father’s speeches (having been head of moshav) for him. She went to Ben Shemen, the noted agricultural boarding school, with famous teachers like S. Yizhar and became a medic in the 1948 War of Independence, leading to a long career in healthcare as a lab technician. But if anything, the many hours in the hospital just made her appreciate life.
She dragged us to concerts and plays, operas and book stores. She took us on some crazy trips: walking up Masada’s Snake Trail at 5:00am to see the sunrise, long before it became a “thing”, and down all the way to Sharm-El Sheik by bus. There were weekly winter hikes on the Carmel, coming back with a harvest of wild mushrooms to make soup, and morning summer walks along the beach; and there were dips to chutz la’aretz too, because these kids need to know something about the world and what real culture is like.
I am often reminded of our trip to the US before my army draft: we were in San Francisco for Shabbat and wanted to find a shul. Out hotel was on Geary Street, near Market and it looked like there was a shul also near Geary Street, somewhere. So, we started walking… We ended up having dinner in Japan town, trying to eat soup with chopsticks, gazing with a touristy giggly disbelief at the food. Often when I drive by, I can still see us walking in the tunnel on Geary: it’s dark, and our voices echo, our faces change with the flashing headlights, and there we are still, walking and laughing.
“She got the death of the righteous, mitat tzadikim”, said the Hevre Kadisha lady to me as she finished preparing the body for burial. “This was your mother? What a beautiful woman”, and I thought, lady, you should have seen her green sparkly eyes.

שבת אחרונה
שבת אחרונה בלי לדעת שתהיה אחרונה, לא כמו ללוות לשדה התעופה, לא כמו ללכת לתחנה, עוד קצת, עד לפינה. שבת אחרונה בלי יכולת להפרד, להגיד מה שיושב, לסגור מעגלים. מתמתחים משלאף-שטונדה שגרתי אל חלוק ביתי, מוסיקה קלאסית מהרדיו הישן שבמטבח, לא צריך חדש, בשביל מה, הנה, שומעים מצוין, היא מכוונת למצוא את התחנה בין הצרצורים.
קפה של אחר הצהרים. מים מקומקום שורק אל קנקן חרסינה מעוטר. ארבע פרוסות עוגה, מדודות. שתי צלחות קינוח, לא מהגדולות, תקחי מהקטנות, שם, למטה, במדף השני, אמרתי שלישי, אל תהיי קשה איתי. שני ספלים, קערת קוביות סוכר עם מלקחיים כסופים, עדינים, קנקן לחלב, כן, דל שומן, מה אני יעשה, אני יודעת שיש לזה טעם של גיר אבל את תראי כבר, כל מיני דברים קורים עם הגיל. הכל תואם מאותו הסט, מפיות בד מגולגלות בחישוק כסף רחב, אותיות גוטיות חרוטות בדייקנות, שתי כפיות, שני מזלגות, לא לאכול בידיים, ככה לא עושים אצלנו, הכל על עגלת התה, גלגל נתקע בשטיח הרחב, לוקחת רוורס, מנסה שוב, הפעם מסביב.
הוא בגבו אליה, גופיה לבנה עם כתפיות, מפלסות דרך בין נקודות שמש חומות, שיער שיבה מציץ מבתי שכיו וגיוו שנשאר חסון, מכנסי חאקי קצרים, כפות רגליו בנעלי בית שלושת-רבעי משובצות שלובות על הכסא שגרר אל ממול, עיניו עצומות אל מול הנוף. למזוג לך? היא שואלת, מחנה את עגלת התה הרעועה ביניהם, חלוק הכותנה מכופתר מלפנים בכפתורים גדולים עד מעל לברך חושף תחילת ירך לבנבנה של חורף כשהיא מתכופפת להגיש לו, מוזגת גם לעצמה, מתישבת בפיסוק נינוח. אוי, תראה איך השקיעה? זה משהו, כל כך יפה פה, בשביל מה ליסוע רחוק? כל יום מתנה, באמת אין לנו מה להתלונן. בתנועת ראש סיבובית מגרשת קווצת שיער תועה ממצחה, ממצמצת דמעה, לוקחת עוד לגימה מהקפה. בלי קפאין, בלי חלב, בלי סוכר. מה נשאר.
למתי הזמנת אותם? שש וחצי? היא מביטה בשעון, רולקס ישן על רצועת עור פשוטה, נשאר עוד כל כך מעט זמן והיא עוד לא יודעת שלא יהיה מחר, עכשיו עוד ידיה נחות על ידיות מתכת כסא הנוח, קניה מצוינת, ראשה מוסט לאחור, נשימה עמוקה, רצועות הרפיה משאירות פסים לאורך גבה, עפעפיה כבדים, מי הים התיכון קולטים את הכדור הכתום שגולש אל מעבר לואדי, פריחה של תחילת אביב חדש בין השיחים המאובקים.
אז אתה נכנס להתקלח? היא מתישרת לקימה בדרכה האחרונה. נו, טוף, אולי עוד אספיק לגהץ

savta w grandkids

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Us & Them: The Torah portion of Yitro

Posted on February 5, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

“And Yitro heard … and he came to Moses” (Exodus 18:1). There are only six Torah portions named after people: Sarah and 5 men, half of them are Jewish and half (at least initially -) not. We meet one of them this week: Who is Yitro that an entire section was named after him, right when we are about to be called to Sinai and given the Ten Commandments??
Yitro, described as “priest of Midian, Moses’ father in law” is the father of Zipora, Moses’ wife, and the leader of the pagan’s desert tribe.
There are a number of interesting Kabalistic insights into Yitro’s previous life. One view is that Yitro was Cain, while Job was Abel. Maybe telling us that the two extremes Cain and Abel stand for – are both unacceptable: Cain’s name is related to kinyan from the root k.n.h. – to buy, to acquire. Cain’s world is about matter. Therefore, bringing a sacrifice to Hashem means nothing to him and our tradition tells us he offers some flax seeds. Abel, whose name, hevel, means “a puff of air” and also “nonsense”, believed that this world is meaningless and the true life is with Hashem. Therefore, when asked, he brought the best of the best, for he needed nothing for himself, and likewise, didn’t think anyone needs any material “stuff” to survive. As we know, both these paths failed. Thus, each “came back” to complete his learning: Abel – as Job, who needed to realize suffering and human needs are real; and Cain as Yitro, the great seeker, who needs to learn that spirituality matters, and one cannot survive only on materialism.
Yitro arrives with Zipporah and the two boys, but very little attention is given to the latter. What we hear about is the meeting between Moses and Yitro, which is described in great details – what they were talking about, how they ate, who they sit with, and all this, a minute before The Giving of the Torah! What’s so important davka (especially) now?
Assuming the Torah is not a history book with laws but rather a ‘how to live’ law book with historical background, we can guess, especially when things are told in a peculiar order, that the Torah wants to teach us something specific. So why is this story here?
Perhaps because this episode is the “watershed” in the life of the People of Israel: on one hand, a family, camp, tribes, slaves. And on the other – becoming a cohesive nation with a unique mission.
They left the past, fled from Egypt with all symbolism of “Mitzrayim”, a narrow place, and now may wonder, what’s next? Long ago, their forefather Abraham was told “lech lecha”, go, leave your father, your homeland, leave everything you have ever known and start fresh. Is it the same command now?
But Yitro represents something new: Sinai is not intended to cut the Children of Israel and isolate them from the rest of the world. The Torah is given in the desert, a spacious and boundless place, open to everyone who wants to come and listen. Beyond the words themselves, it tells us that our way of life is not going to demand an ascetic, reclusive life, but a rather one that makes connections – and impacts – on the world around it. No wonder that it is preceded by Yitro, who offers Moses advice on how to manage his affairs more efficiently, and although Moses is in daily contact with God Himself, he listens and learns, “even” from a Midianite priest.
Where is that line between living with the Torah and incorporating the wisdom of “the nations”?

Shabbat Shalom.

a medianite priest and father in law: jethro approviong on moses & tzippora's marriage as seen in what is still the best movie about the exodus

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Shabbat Shira, Shabbat Shalom

Posted on January 30, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

When people would approach Abraham Joshua Heschel and ask, how to start “doing more Jewish”, he would say, light Shabbat candles. This was just one the moving anecdotes shared by his daughter, Susana Heschel, a professor of Jewish Studies in her own rights, when she spoke at Berkeley’s Beth Israel this past week. Just that. Don’t worry about the rest. Light Shabbat candles.
Doing anything unusual for Shabbat which differentiate it from the rest of the days, anything at all, from a meal to consciously putting the phone away to stopping by at shul to just lighting candles can have a profound impact on one’s whole week. Shabbat, as I read somewhere (and lost the source :-(), is like a gas station on our crazy drive along the highway: only 6 more miles and we can get some refreshments!
Even before receiving the Ten Commandments, Shabbat is part of our people. In this week’s parashat Beshalach, when we have to make do with desert bread, we’re told that bread will rain (Exodus 16:4) from the heavens, and the people can collect that “stuff” as food, but not on Shabbat. On Shabbat no manna will show up on the ground. Instead, a double portion will come down on Friday.
At first the people didn’t know what it is; then they found is sweet and tasteful. Some say that the manna tasted like anything you wish! If you felt like stew with potatoes and veggies, it would be it; and if you felt like honey-poppy cake, it would be that. And by the way, speaking of poppy cakes, the notorious Purim hamantashen which in Hebrew became Oznei Haman, Haman’s ears, started out in Yiddish as pockets full of moan, or manna.
Of course, at first the people didn’t believe Moses that this “thing” will show up daily and tried to hoard it, but it quickly spoiled. So they got used to the routine: every morning a “layer of dew was gone up, behold upon the face of the wilderness a fine, scale-like thing, fine as the hoar-frost on the ground”. They would collect it, and eat. Then came Shabbat.
Once again, they worried. Moses said, take a double portion, but should we go out tomorrow too? So they went out on Shabbat as well, but didn’t find. A beautiful Chasidic commentary asks: what is the meaning of “they didn’t find?” the word find (matz’u) is used only in the case when one looks for something that was there and is lost. But the manna on Shabbat was not supposed to be there?
The midrash fills in the scene: some of the leaders who later rebelled against Moses were already causing trouble. They took some of the manna collected on the 6th day and scattered it in the field to show that there is on truth in Moses’ words. But, while they ran to alert the neighbors, of that fake “Shabbat-manna”, birds swooped down and ate it. Therefore, the emphasis on “didn’t find”, to let us know that those who wanted to disrupt Shabbat could at most, disrupt Shabbat for themselves but not for all. It has also become a custom among some (and of course, some criticize it-) to share some chamin (tchulent) with the birds on this Shabbat, also known as Shabbat Shira (the Shabbat of Song because of Moses’ Song at the Sea).
The Talmud points to the close proximity between going out to collect manna on Shabbat and the immediate war with Amalek. Amalek stands for doubt (because of the identical gimatria, numerical value of the words safek – doubt and amalek), for mixed priorities.
Bear with me for a moment of kabbala as we bring in the Afikei Yehuda who reminds us that everything in the world is made of matter and form. For example, a wooden table is made of wood (matter), shaped like a table (form). Had it been glass or metal; had it been a chair or house, it would have been something else. It takes both – matter and form. Likewise, our week is made of matter and form. The week days (yemei chol) are the matter; Shabbat is the form. Without Shabbat the whole week has no meaning. Us stopping on Shabbat not because we’re stuck somewhere or asleep or have nothing better to do, but because it is Shabbat and we set aside anywhere from a moment at candle lighting to the traditional 25 hours, means our whole week is now elevated.
And with that – Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom

 

 

 

Posted in סיפורים קצרים, פרשת השבוע לחילוני האדוק | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

In Darkness and in Light

Posted on January 23, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

It’s told about king Solomon that when he was a young boy, his teacher said to him,’I’ll give you an apple if you tell me where is G-d’, ‘and little king Solomon, who already was the wisest of all people, quickly responded, ‘and I’ll give you two apples if you tell me where G-d is not’…

It reminds me of a friend who mine who said, he must get to shul on time, because if G-d can be there so early, so should we. Me (who can’t get anywhere on time -) said: “G-d is walking with me to shul“… of course it was a cop-out but it does bag the question, where is G-d?

“Come to Pharaoh”, says G-d to Moses in the opening verse of this week’s Torah portion, named indeed, bo, come (Exodus 10:1). “Come to Pharaoh”? Shouldn’t the text say, ‘go to Pharaoh’, asked our sages. And we already know that if they ask, they have some teaching for us in mind, so we’re told that “go” is a distancing word. When some says, go, it generally means from here- elsewhere, while “come” is a word that drawn one nearer.
When G-d says, “come to Pharaoh”, he really says to Moses, ‘come to me here’, as if G-d Himself is already at Pharaoh’s. Maybe He even says: ‘if you come, if you leave your comfort zone and come to the place that looks like the scariest and most dangerous place; when you’ll come to this place where you are not invited and not welcomed, where nobody wants to hear you and nobody loves you, and there, you’ll stand up, facing that seemingly all powerful, frightening being, and dare look up and speak to him, then you’ll discover that even there, says G-d, I will be with you.
The Torah portion of Bo reminds Moses- and us too, that everywhere where we’ll go, there we can find His presence, even in the darkest, most awful, unattractive places, eve there, we won’t be alone. It’s so hard to see in the darkness, but just because we cannot see, it doesn’t mean He is not there.
This Torah portion then includes the last three plagues, locust, darkness and the death of the first born, similarly, all implying or symbolizing darkness. And yet, we do not believe in a duality. G-d is not outside the darkness. He can be in it and of it, just like with the goodness.
And then we get the first two commandments to us as a people: telling our children this very story of the Exodus from Egypt and the new moon, which is an amazing first mitzvah if you think about it, instructing us to keep joint times and set occasions to remember G-d and his presence everywhere.
Shabbat Shalom!

יש סיפור על שלמה המלך כשהיה ילד קטן והמלמד שלו אמר שלו, אתן לך תפוח אם תגיד לי איפה נמצא אלוהים, ואילו שלמה ענה למורה, ואני אתן לך שני תפוחים אם תגיד לי איפה אלוהים לא נמצא
“בא אל פרעה”, אומר אלוהים למשה בפסוק הפותח את פרשת השבוע, הכוללת, בין השאר, את שלוש המכות הנותרות שהוכו בהם המצרים, ארבה, חושך ובכורות, אחריהן יצאו בני ישראל מעבדות לחירות ויקבלו שתי מצוות מהותיות בחיי העם.
שאלה ראשונה: מה פירוש “בא אל פרעה”? האם לא היה צריך הכתוב לומר, ‘לך אל פרעה’? כידוע חז”ל לא שואלים בלי שיש להם תשובה כלשהי. כך, יש אומרים ש”לך” זו מלה מרחיקה – כשמישהו אומר ‘לך’ הכוונה מפה למקום אחר, בניגוד ל”בא” שזו מלה מקרבת. כשאלוהים אומר, ‘בא אל פרעה’ – הוא בעצם אומר למשה, בא אלי, לכאן, כאילו אלוהים בעצמו, אלוהים כבר נמצא אצל פרעה. אולי הוא אפילו אומר: אם תבוא, אם תצא מהמקום שלך ללכת למקום שנראה כמקום סכנה הכי נורא, כשתבוא למקום כזה בו לא הזמינו אותך, לא רוצים לשמוע אותך ולא אוהבים אותך, ואם שם תעמוד מול הדבר המפחיד והכביכול הכל יכול הזה, ותעיז לדבר איתו, גם אז אהיה איתך, גם שם. הפרשה הזו פותחת כשנאמר למשה (ולנו), בכל מקום אליו תבוא, שם תוכל למצוא את נוכחותו, אפילו במקומות שנראים הכי נוראיים, מפחידים, לא מזמינים, גם שם, לא תהיה לבד.

darkness.3

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Why Moses?

Posted on January 9, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Maybe it’s the Torah’s way of warning us how easy it is to go “down”, for within just a few verses, life has changed very dramatically! No longer in the Land of Israel, we’re living in Egypt; no longer a small, close-knit family but a prosperous people that multiplies and spreads, and even threatens others in its mere existence. A new pharaoh has risen, who knows not Joseph, and we’re in slavery.

We’re hanging in by a thread, literally: the sages try to analyze what kept us from being lost forever, assimilated into a new, overpowering, culture. They tell us that we’re saved because the Children of Israel kept their language, their names and their clothing; they tell us the women had to work extra hard to seduce the men, making sure there will be a next generation. Again, the amount of commentaries just tells us how bothered they were by this. How did we survive??
Pharaoh on his end clearly didn’t read about books about job productivity and staff management. Not only does he give the people hard work, but makes the hard work – harder: “You shall no more give the people straw to make brick, as heretofore. Let them go and gather straw for themselves. And the tale of the bricks, which they did make heretofore, ye shall lay upon them; ye shall not diminish aught thereof; for they are idle; therefore they cry, saying: Let us go and sacrifice to our God” (Exodus 5:7-8).
Why not give them straw, and ask them to make twice as many bricks faster? Because the issue is not productivity; it is power. Productivity could possibly give the workers meaning: oh, look what we made! But meaning gives life, a future, hope, and Pharaoh is slowly doing what he can to take those away. Indeed, a number of commentators point to the fact that Pharaoh wanted not just to enslave their bodies but their spirits and minds as well (more on that here).
But then, parallel to that, as if opened on a different screen, we meet Moses. Moses, the child being threatened with death who grows up in the palace; a caring shepherd; hard of speech (why oh why does G-d have to make his most speaking prophet, unable to speak??). We often speak of Moses’ greatest quality as that of humility: Moses, we read much later, was the “humblest of all people that were upon the earth” (Number 12:3). Is that why G-d chose him? Maybe. But maybe a better insight can be found in three words from this week’s reading.
“Asura na ve’er’e”, says Moses upon seeing the burning bush, “let me turn aside (from my path) and see” (Exodus 3:3).
In this world, where everything has gone from bad to worse, we’re introduced to our new leader, the man who will be with us for the next four of the five books. We already saw him standing up for others, Jews and non-Jews, men and women alike. And we know G-d likes shepherds. It demonstrates and strengthens a variety of good and important leadership qualities. The sages tell us that he chanced upon the bush because a little sheep was running away from the flock, perhaps lost, and Moses went to fetch it.
To me, that just says that the sages were likewise bothered by Moshe’s “asura na” here. Why did Moses, the caring shepherd, who guides his flock through the desert’s dangerous environment, step aside from his vocation to see a mere bush?! Must be because he was even more caring!!
Perhaps.
But for me, as much as I like the caring Moses, I like the fact that he takes initiative and goes to see the bush, davka not because of a lamb, but because he is the kind of person who wants to see what this is.
Moses, unlike the downward slope the Children of Israel are on, unable to think from the harsh labor, is able to see, to feel, to notice and give careful, focused attention to details, to be open to the wow of life, to think.
G-d could have appeared anywhere; a little earthquake or maybe a personal flood; a booming voice, a flash of lightening, but G-d appears to Moses in a sne, a small bush; a bush burning and not consumed. In order to notice that it keeps burning and not being consumed, Moses has to step aside and look. Indeed, the miracle is not G-d being there, but Moses noticing. That is what makes him the right person to be our leader, and a great model for us to this very day.
Shabbat Shalom.

 

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Had my father been alive… (גם בעברית, אחרי התמונות)

Posted on January 6, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Had my father been alive, today would have been his 95th birthday. Because of the magic of the calendar (95 being 19X5), this is both his Gregorian and Hebrew day: January 6th, the full moon of the month of Tevet.

I write these words and look at them, turn them upside down, philosophy with them, unsure what to make of this.
There are people 95 and older in my life. It could have been possible. I could have had a dad; my kids could have had a “saba” – grandpa – but at age 43, my father started feeling a kind of numbness in his left foot. It bothered him, a bit, especially when he drove but then again, his work place, the Haifa Oil Refinery where he was a respected lawyer, had a shuttle from our neighborhood and driving didn’t seem like a big deal, especially in Israel of the 1960’s where few had – or felt the need for – cars.
Then he tripped over the carpet. An annoyance. The carpet was rolled away under the sofa and the incident not discussed again. Then the stairs going up to our flat on the 2nd floor became impossible.
At 45 the diagnosis was final. To my mom, the doctors said, “We’re so sorry but don’t worry, you’re still young, you can marry again”, knowing how devastating ALS still sadly is. My parents heard of new treatments in London and decided to go and check it out. They came back with plaid skirts decorated with a giant safety pin and a doll that opens and closes its eyes; my brother got a high quality “Marks & Spencer” sweater and a big double-decker bus. Of course, we had no idea what has been whispered above our heads while we played with our toys, zooming around the carpetless room.
It turned out, that an apartment became available near my grandma, aunt and uncle; a first floor apartment, with only two stairs leading to it, indeed, a very rare find in hilly Haifa. They figured, this would make it easier to roll his wheelchair in, now that the crutches were of no use anymore. Oh, how we liked those crutches, using them as imaginary swords in our games, chasing each other around, my mom thinking it so inappropriate, my dad trying to balance with, ‘leave them, leave them’, as if already aware of how little time was left for him to see us play, and she, already aware of what awaits her, raising us alone.
Then Moshe showed up, a strong male nurse who can help my mom lift my dad for a bath; then Rachel, a lady whose kids were grown and could help with us. I remember the day she picked us up from the school: “your parents are in Tel Aviv today”. “That’s funny”, I said, “My teacher is also in Tel Aviv today; maybe they’ll all meet?” She seemed pensive, but we chatted obliviously about school, and teachers, and friends and the like, excited about spending the afternoon at her sun filled home on the slopes of the Carmel.
That evening, we were brought back home. The two bedroom apartment was dark and crowded. Trying to rush to my father’s bedside, to tell him about my day, my path blocked. Unable to see through, unable to reach my destination, I learned of his passing. At 48 he succumbed to ALS. I was 7½.
Death does funny things to people. Almost immediately, they become a legend, especially if dying relatively young. It’s no wonder that some of that happened to him too. We got a lot of “oy, if only your father knew…” when we didn’t practice piano, or finish homework, or came later than curfew, or brought the “wrong” friend, or didn’t bring an all A’s report card. “Ah, your father? He had all A’s”, they would say, “oy, oy…”
We found some report cards later on. He did have mostly A’s though not in PE, and not having an A in PE, for us, young macabis in the growing State of Israel, crushed us to deep embarrassment and just canceled out the rest. He had some “right” and some “wrong” friends, some of whom he helped through court; some were his partners in the establishment of a new, masorti shul in Haifa. He loved traveling and was a true renaissance man with sagging bookshelves and a vast knowledge about everything. Famous above all, was his amazing, virtuoso piano playing. In 1928, a Berlin newspaper featured his picture with the caption: “Do we have a new Mozart”? He played all his life, for local choirs and chamber music and lots at home, much of it on that very same piano, until ALS made it impossible for him to move his fingers.
And he also wrote; there are letters on fine papers, some postcards, and some of his works. And there are the cryptic notes to my mom, days before he died, unable to speak anymore, a rough pencil, etching, almost ripping through the this paper: “stay with me, Maya”.
I’ve missed him ever since. May his memory be for a blessing.

My Parents.1960

my parents.1960

אילו אבא שלי היה חי, היום הוא היה בן 95. בגלל הקסם בלוח השנה (וזה ש-95 שווה 19 כפול 5) היום הוא גם התאריך העברי וגם הלועזי: ה-6 בינואר, ירח מלא של חודש טבת.
אני כותבת את המילים האלו, מסתכלת עליהן, הופכת אותן, מתפלספת איתן, לא בטוחה מה לעשות איתן.
יש אנשים בני 95 בחיי. זה יכול היה להיות אפשרי. יכל להיות לי אבא. לילדים שלי יכל להיות סבא. אבל בגיל 43, אבא שלי התחיל להרגיש תחושה מוזרה, דגדוג לא מוסבר, בכף רגלו השמאלית. זה היה קצת מטריד, במיוחד כשניסה לנהוג, אבל מצד שני, מקום עבודתו, בתי הזיקוק בחיפה שם היה עורך-דין מכובד, הציע הסעה לעובדים מהבית, ונהיגה לא היה כזה “ביג-דיל” במיוחד בישראל של שנות ה-60, מקום בו למעטים היה רכב או צורך בו.
אחר-כך הוא מעד על השטיח. באסה. השטיח גולגל בקפדנות, הוחבא תחת הספה והנושא שוב לא הועלה. אחר-כך המדרגות הומליכות לדירה שלנו בקומה השניה נהיו בלתי נסבלות.
בגיל 45 הדיאגנוזה הושלמה סופית. לאמא שלי הרופאים אמרו: “אנחנו מצטערים אבל אל תדאגי, את עוד צעירה ויכולה להתחתן שוב”. הורי לא ויתרו, שמעו על טיפול חדשני בלונדון והחליטו לנסוע. הם חזרו עם חצאיות משובצות שסיכת בטחון ענקית בצידן, ובובה שפותחת וסוגרת עיניים. לאחי, הביאו סוודר “מארק וספנסר” מ”איכות מצוינת” ואוטובוס קומותיים. כמובן שלא היה לנו שום מושג על מה לחששו מעלינו בשעה שאנחנו שחקנו לנו בצעצועים שלנו, נוהגים בחפזון ברכב החדש, על הרצפה חסרת השטיח.
הסתבר, שנמצאה דירה ליד סבתי, דודתי ודודי. דירה בקומה ראשונה, רק שתי מדרגות מהמדרכה, אכן, מחזה נדיר בחיפה ההררית. ברור היה שזה יקל מאד, כשצריך להכניס ולהוציא את כסא הגלגלים שלו שעכשיו נזקק לו, עכשיו כשהקביים הפכו להיות חסרי תועלת. או, כמה אהבנו את הקביים, משתמשים בהם כחרבות דמיוניות במשחקים שלנו, רודפים זה אחר זו בדירה הקטנה, אמא חושבת שזה מאד לא לענין, אבא מנסה לאזן ב”עזבי, עזבי”, כאילו כבר יודע כמה מעט זמן נשאר לו לראות אותנו משחקים, והיא, כבר יודעת מה מחכה לה, לגדל את שנינו לבד.
אחר-כך הופיע משה, אח-סיעודי שבא לעזור לאמא שלי להרים את אבי למקלחת ולשירותים. אחר-כך הגיעה רחל, אשה שילדיה בגרו ויכלה לעזור איתנו. אני זוכרת את היום בו אספה אותנו מבית הספר: “ההורים שלכם נסעו לתל-אביב”, אמרה. “מצחיק”, אמרתי, “גם המורה שלי נסעה לתל-אביב. אולי הם יפגשו?” היא נראתה מהורהרת מה, עצובה, אבל אנחנו פטפטנו בלי שים לב על בית הספר ועל המורים ועל חברים, נרגשים לבלות את אחר-הצהרים בביתה שטוף השמש שעל מרגלות הכרמל.
באותו הערב, הוחזרנו הביתה. דירת שלושת החדרים הקטנה היתה חשוכה וצפופה. בנסיון למהר ולהגיע אל מטתו של אבא, לספר לו עם היום שלי, דרכי חסומה, לא מסוגלת לראות מבעד לכל הרגליים, להגיע למחוז חפצי, למדתי שהוא נפטר. בגיל 48 אבי נכנע לכוחה האדיר של אי.אל אס (מחלת לו גרינג). הייתי בת ½7.
המוות עושה נפלאות לאנשים. כמעט מיידית הם הופכים לאגדה, במיוחד אם חלילה נפטרו צעירים. אין פלא שזה גם מה שקרה לו. קבלנו הרבה “אוי, אילו רק אבא היה יודע”… כשלא התאמנו בפסנתר, או לא סיימנו שיעורים, או באנו הביתה מאוחר או הבאנו את החברים ה”לא נכונים” או לא הבאנו “אלף” בתעודה. “אה, אבא שלכם?? הכל רק אלף היה לו”, כך אמרו, “אוי ואבוי”…
מצאנו תעודות שלו, זמן רב לאחר מכן. באמת היו לו, בעיקר, אלפים, אבל לא בהתעמלות, וזה שלא היה לו אלף בהתעמלות, עבורנו, מכבים רכים בשנים במדינה צעירה, גמר אותנו מרוב בושה. אבל היו לו חברים ומכרים נכונים וגם “לא נכונים”, חלקם, אנשים להם עזר בבעיות משפטיות, חלקם שותפיו להקמת בית כנסת קונסרבטיבי בכרמל. הוא אהב לטייל והיה איש “רנסאנס” רחב אופקים במלוא מובן המלה עם ידע רב וענין בנושאים רבים ושונים וספריה עם מדפים עמוסים. מפורסמת ביותר היתה נגינת הפסנתר שלו. בשנת 1928, עיתון ברלינאי פרסם את תמונתו תחת הכותרת: “האם נולד לנו מוצרט חדש”? הוא נגן כל חייו, עבור מקהלות מקומיות וקבוצות קמריות והרבה בבית, על אותו פסנתר עצמו, עד שמחלת האי.אל.אס מנעה אותו מלהניע את אצבעותיו.
והוא גם כתב. מכתבים על נייר עדין, גלויות צבעוניות, וענייני עבודה. וגם בידינו הפתקים שכתב לאמא, ימים ספורים לפני שנפטר, כשכבר לא יכל לדבר, עפרון מחוספס, שוחק, כמעט קורע את הנייר: “תשארי איתי, מאיה”.
אני מתגעגעת אליו מאז. יהיה זכרו ברוך.

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Lessons from the first expat, Joseph Jacob-son

Posted on January 1, 2015 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

Joseph is the first expat. Different from his great-grandpa Abraham, who was born in the diaspora and made aliya; different from his father Jacob who went to exile for a few years, got himself together, and actually came back, Joseph provides a new model. True, it wasn’t his (conscious) choice to leave the holy land but once he did, and after a challenging period (not unlike many modern expats-), he discovered new opportunities which were not available back home, like being second to the Pharaoh, having nice clothes, a lovely Egyptian wife and an Egyptian name, perhaps because “Yoseph” was too difficult to pronounce for the locals, another phenomena many of us are very familiar with (try getting your drink at Starbucks with a name like Michal).

His brothers come due to drought and famine in the land, who can blame them? Survival is critical (although we might question how dire was their situation if they could bring gifts of food to the Egyptian ruler, Genesis 43:11-12). Regardless, now, well into the 17th year of their arrival, they show no signs of going back.
Then Joseph is called to deal with his father’s death, another situation many of us are sadly familiar with, and a lens through which to shed light on the complex tension between life in “chutz la’aretz” and in Israel.
Not much different from his grandma Sarah, Jacob death is told in a Torah portion titled “life”, and here too, we deal with burial, except Abraham buried his wife in a plot he bought, in the homeland where he lived; Jacob doesn’t seem that any of his wives to do so, and further, he and the family are now living in Egypt. He has no choice but to approach his son in the matter.
And so we hear (Genesis 47:29): “And the time drew near that Israel (Jacob) must die; and he called his son Joseph, and said unto him: ‘If now I have found favor in your eyes, put, I pray thee, thy hand under my thigh, and deal kindly and truly with me; bury me not, I pray thee, in Egypt”, again, not different from what many of us tell – and have told – our children throughout history: it’s one thing to live here, but when the time comes, don’t leave me in the galut.
Joseph, of course, agrees, but Jacob insists that he must swear to him, and only when Joseph does so, Jacob bows on his bed.
Why does Jacob not accept Joseph’s words, “I will do as you say” (47:30) and demands an oath?
Check again his previous words: “… If now I have found favor in your eyes…” As Rav Hirsch points, this is not how a parent would speak to his child, so what’s going on?
It is possible that Joseph, as viceroy to Pharaoh, could and possibly did arrange favors to Jacob, and Jacob must have approached being the “father of…” with mixed feelings: proud of his son who made in “die goldene medina” but also frustrated to be needy and dependent in a foreign land, with people whose culture and language he knows not, and wanting to be known and remembered for who he himself was. But then, Jacob has always been also a realist; a realist who spent many years living in another diaspora; a realist who especially now, with his renewed insight, could sense the difference between living in a stressful diaspora as he did, a place that doesn’t let you forget who you are, waiting to get rid of you, and between this place of growing comfort and acceptance, in Egypt.
And he could sense how further complicated things can – and will – get. Here he asks for “chesed ve’emet”, an act of both kindness and truth for Jacob knows the two don’t always travel together: Kindness without truth can be fake; truth without kindness can be harsh. Jacob, as Abraham’s grandson and the heir of this way of life, asks Joseph for both. Then immediately almost begs twice within the same nine words: “and please, do not bury me in Egypt”.
Google Earth tells us that walking from (about) Cairo to Hebron can take (about) 10-12 days. It was generally “in the neighborhood”, but from Jacob’s repeated request we can surmise that there must have been a chance that Pharaoh would have disallowed the journey; that this sort of journey would further signal to Pharaoh and his people that the Children of Israel view Egypt as a temporary home; that ultimately, they are still attached to their homeland.
But Jacob was less concerned with his impression on Pharaoh and more with the slow, creeping permanence of settling in Egypt: “and Israel settled in the land of Egypt… and they acquired property / possessions there, became fruitful and multiplied exceedingly” (47:27 – last verse of last week’s reading). Note that “vaye’achazu ba”, here translated as “acquire property” is really more “they held tight to it”.
What’s more, much later, when Joseph actually fulfills his father’s last wish, he tells Pharaoh: “My father made me swear, saying: Lo, I die; in my grave which I have prepared for me in the land of Canaan, there shall you bury me. Now therefore let me go up, I pray thee, and bury my father, and I will come back.’ “ (50:5). Not one word about Jacob not wanting to be buried in Egypt! And check that tone, “my father made me… (I had to) swear”; “I pray thee”, and the promise to be right back. No talk about visiting his mother’s grave or maybe taking a quick tour in the holy land, perhaps arranging for a “birthright” trip for his own children? Pharaoh is impressed with Jacob, blessed and honored to support Joseph’s request to pay last respects to the old man, but as the trusted advisor, Joseph also knows exactly where he stands: he is 2nd to, not 1st. He doesn’t say what doesn’t need to be heard, what can get him in trouble; he smiles and says ‘thank you’ and ‘have a nice day’. It’s enough that he can do his father’s wishes.
It’s no wonder that the blessing that Jacob gave Joseph’s children has stayed with us: “may G-d make you like Ephrayim and Menashe”; maybe G-d make you like these two boys who grew up in Pharaoh’s palace yet never forgot their father’s home, family and teachings; who could walk the line between acceptance in another society and maintaining their core identity.
For 2000 years the Jewish people lived in various courts of various Pharaohs, some better, some worse. The temptation to let go of our way of life was always immense. But time and time again, Jacobs insisted and Josephs did their parents’ bidding, maintaining that careful balance, keeping a connection with who we are, and with the Land of Israel, alive and relevant.
Shabbat Shalom.

"May G-d make you like Efrayim & Menashe"

 

 

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Joseph, write home!

Posted on December 26, 2014 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

The meet up between Judah and Joseph can be reminiscent of other brotherly meetings: Isaac and Yishma’el come to bury Abraham; Jacob and Esau meet on the road after twenty years apart. But in all other cases, the brother meet and walk away, each going to form his own life, his own family, his own nation, often in contrast to the other. Only here, in a most emotional encounter, the brothers meet and rejoin to make one people.
Judah and Joseph are not just two brothers; they also represent two ways of being as humans; two ways of being Jewish. As described elsewhere here, one is a shepherd; his clothing probably simple, functional and not particularly attractive. He feels the burdens of physical life, of working the land, being subject to famine and hunger. The other, a high power minister, ambitious, well-dressed, well-off, making it in the new “man-made” land. The one for whom family is a constant element to care for and be responsible for, and the one who hasn’t written home in more than twenty years. The pioneer of the Land of Israel and the businessman of the diaspora face each other.
Which way is a better way to be Jewish? The answer like so many Jewish answers is “yes”. The debate is as old as this story and spans from them to the relatively new Meir Shalev book, “My Russian Grandmother and her American Vacuum-cleaner”. Although each of us will drag one of them to “our side” to “prove” that our way works, that our location, customs, learning and on and on is better, more justified, more in tune with our forefathers’ wishes, I see the opposite: in their outward presence, Judah and Joseph symbolize two very different, yet valid ways to be Jewish. If anything, the haftara from Ezekiel (chap 37) makes it even more obvious that it’s not an either or and that only when the two come together, they make the one people.
But ultimately, according to our tradition, we are of Judah’s descendants and there is one thing that might distinguish us: Joseph makes the best of any given situation he is in. The eternal “na’ar”, optimist lad, he remains faithful and he knows that whatever it is “it’s for the best”. All he need to do is just to “ride” the opportunities that come his way. Judah is much more complex and harder to guess; and can’t rely on anything but his own best efforts, trials and error. G-d doesn’t tell him what to do with Joseph at the pit; G-d doesn’t tell him how to treat Tamar. G-d doesn’t even tell him how to speak to Joseph now and what to do next.
Maybe that became who we are. We do our best. We try to be responsible, caring, good, even courageous at times, but ultimately, each move is our best guess for this moment.
***
Why did Joseph not write home, not even once? The rabbis throughout the ages struggled with this question. The brothers, we already discussed, hated him and “couldn’t see him”, and never even went looking for him – in spite of the great remorse they present this week. Jacob – didn’t know Joseph might be alive, and according to many (based on textual references), his spirit of prophecy vanished due to his extended mourning so since Joseph’s disappearance, he couldn’t even guess or sense that his son is in the area. But what about Joseph himself? He knew he was alive, and he knew where the family lived. Couldn’t he ask Pharaoh for a few days family time and gone to see his father, quietly, at night, while the brothers are out with the flocks somewhere far away, just to give him a little reassurance??
For some reason, I’m reminded of Cat Stevens song. Indeed, I might have had a better answer 20-30 years ago, when I was closer to Joseph’s age and could better understand his desire to start a new life elsewhere, shaking off the burdens of the past, the land that repaid their hard work with a famine; his hateful brothers, his dead mother, and even caring for his aging – and growing unhappy – father. But now I find this the saddest move in Joseph’s life. I don’t think he “sinned” by telling his dreams, as some say; I forgive him for showing off with his fancy coat; I hear his pain when he begs the cudbearer to not forget him; I am with him in his excitement with his new clothes, new name, new job, new wife, new home in the palace. But I’m sorry, Joseph, as a parent I want to tell you, you should have written home. Maybe that too, is a line between Joseph and Judah, and another teaching for who we’re supposed to be.
Shabbat Shalom.

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ReJewvenate @ Pardes

Posted on December 23, 2014 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

the link for this summer’s application is now live on http://www.rejewvenate.info !
please forward on.

Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא's avatarTorah & more... תורה ועוד

“ReJewvenate @ Pardes” is an opportunity for someone in the 40 plus age group who has not experienced immersive Jewish learning, to receive a grant from reJewvenate for Pardes’ three weeks summer program. With the support of generous donors, we set out to create new and unique opportunities for the 40 plus age group in the Jewish community as we believe that exciting and purposeful Jewish learning should continue throughout one’s life. Selected from a pool of applicants, Naomi Myrvaagnes was our first grantee last summer, and her moving impressions are described below. We plan on offering the grant again in the upcoming summer. If you’d like to donate – or apply, please let me know.

ReJewvenate @ Pardes:  Pardes Summer Program and the Post-40 Set – by Naomi Myrvaagnes

As the first recipient of the reJewvenate @ Pardes grant for summer program learners over 40, I…

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Light One Candle II: The Blinding Power of Hatred

Posted on December 18, 2014 by Michal Kohane מיכל כהנא

How come the brothers didn’t recognize Joseph? On occasion I run into a past student of mine, then in grade school and now a young adult. They obviously have changed, and yet, it doesn’t take long before we go, ‘Oh My G-d!’ and something along the lines of ‘you haven’t changed a bit!’ Same goes to high school and family reunions. Sooner or later, someone says, ‘wait, wait, aren’t you…’ I’m sure you’ve had the same experience too.
Joseph was not a baby when the brothers sold him to a caravan of merchants, traveling south. He was 17; not quite fully grown, but a young man. To make matters worse, the caravan is described as “Yishma’elim”. Yishma’elim is currently used for just about anyone living in Israel who is not Jewish, but originally, it should have been reserved (as is today) for the descendants of Yishma’el. For Joseph, could that have meant that he was sold to his half-second cousins? Ok, “half second cousins” are not people we might associate with regularly, but this is not a big family. Surely they knew at least that they were somehow related!? How come no one said anything to Jacob? or told the brothers where they dropped Joseph? A man disappears for 13 years in the small region between Hebron and roughly Cairo, fully in the open, and no one knows his whereabouts??
Further, upon meeting him, the brothers don’t even suspect that he looks slightly familiar! I know, I know: he had a different hair-do and new clothing, and maybe even make-up. He was out of context. And at least initially, he didn’t socialize with them and maybe stood at a distance (although later when they bring Benjamin he shared a meal alone with them). But seriously!! Usually people who have given a child to adoption or lost a relative with inconclusive ending, forever keep calculating and looking in a crowd for that person. And here we have ten grown man, later 11, and no one sees anything? Women might have something to say here about men and density, but still the question remains: How come the brother didn’t recognize Joseph?
Add to that, that he immediately knew them. Of course, they were much more conspicuous; he waited for them, they didn’t know he was there. And yet?
Perhaps the answer can be found in last week’s reading: “And when his brothers saw that their father loved him more than all his brothers, they hated him, and could not speak peaceably unto him ; (Genesis 37:4). And immediately in the next verse: “And Joseph dreamed a dream, and he told it to his brothers, and they hated him yet the more” (37:5), and if we didn’t yet quite get how the brothers felt about Joseph, the text says again: “…And they hated him yet the more…” (37:8).
Contrast this with Joseph’s personality. Joseph “sees”. Joseph sees dreams, just like Jacob did when he was younger; Joseph sees solutions, opportunities and, mostly, he sees G-d wherever he goes. No matter if he is in a pit, sold to slavery, a servant in a compromised situation, a prisoner or second to Pharaoh, life is a godly “wow” to him. The brothers, on the other hand, don’t see anything. The last time the verb “to see” is mentioned with them, is when they see Joseph coming and they conspire to kill him (37:18). It takes awhile before the verb to see shows up again, and it is when Jacob finally sees that “there is food in Egypt” (42:1). That “seeing” is what leads to the family’s meeting, resolution and ultimate reunion. Continue and hear Judah’s words when he asks their father to take little Benjamin with them (by the way, according to tradition, at this point, Benjamin was already a grown man and father to his own children). Judah implores Jacob, telling him that Joseph said: “You shall not see my face, unless your brother be with you.” (43:5). And last, after the emotional meeting and revelation (coming up next week), Joseph says to them: “And, behold, your eyes (now) see…” (45:12).
I am struck this week with the blinding power of hatred; how much we miss when we let ourselves be engulfed in hatred!
We don’t know what Joseph’s intentions were when he initially told the brothers his dreams. We “assume” he was a show off but the ones who read ill-will into his words were his brothers, not him. Perhaps Joseph wanted to share his joy at the fact that he sees them all together in the future! Up until now, always the younger one was “chosen” and the older one went off to establish another people. This is the first time all the children continue to be the “Children of Israel”, and obviously, one needs to be the leader. Joseph, as one of the younger ones, son of beloved Rachel, and a dreamer like his dad, was perfect for the task!
But the brothers couldn’t stand him, and therefore couldn’t even imagine anything good in his words. Their hatred shut off their ability to see and hear him.
Miketz, this week’s reading, is often read around Hanukkah. Again, there is darkness. Again, we have an opportunity to add a small light, to make a conscious decision to see.
Shabbat Shalom & Haukkah Same’ach.

 

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