Israel: Behind the Mechitza

Did you ever sit behind the mechitza? Did you ever think about the separation, and your feelings about it? Has it ever occurred to you that the mechitza can be....well....kinda sexy?

I first encountered a mechitza when I davenned at Chabad. It was a gorgeous dusky rose lace, stretched between women and men. On the one side, there were the men in their white and black striped tallitot, looking like angels; on the other were the women trickling in, heavy with perfume and makeup and gossip, whose chatter infused prayer with a rather profane abandon. In proximity to the mechitza, a few younger women davenned quietly and modestly and earnestly.

I found the men in their tallitot most appealing. I wanted to inhale and embrace that atmosphere, to enter the spiritual plane which they seemed to inhabit. And, I guess, I am attracted to angels.

Before services, the women's entrance was locked, forcing the women to pass through the men's section. The women were roundly inspected for availability and attractiveness. It was akin to running the shidduch gauntlet. Not pretty.

In Jerusalem, we toured the Israel Museum. Majorly cool. When we reached the Judaica section, inside I was jumping around with glee. How often do you get to see that much historical Judaica in one convenient spot? It was a cornucopia that went far to satisfy my curiousity, and my senses, and my cultural hunger.

For me, specifically Jewish artifacts, or those attributed to Jews, hold an unspeakable fascination. I am fascinated by the fact that there is no readily identifiable style of art or artisanship or decoration that you could recognise as "Jewish" unless the usual motifs apply- the magen David, the menorah, and commonplace religious ritual objects. I imagine it stems from the interdiction about graven images and our dispersion to the 4 corners of the world. It makes me think, wow, what a nomadic, eminently adaptable, tough and mysterious people, to continue and to thrive without benefit of the usual cultural trappings and consistency of identity. Without a discernible visual style.

The Israel Museum boasts several synagogue interiors, lovingly reassembled within its rooms. To enter any one of them, and they are all so different- from barn-like rural to exotically middle eastern- is to enter not only the experience of an era, but to stand and worship with Jews long past, and to be reminded of what it means to revere G-d. Each one of these had a mechitza. The one I recall (pix to follow) not only had a second floor balcony running the length of the sanctuary, but also a wooden lattice covering its face. I realised that the women were hidden while the men were on display for women's eyes, if they so chose to look. Instinctively, I found that particular mechitza most offputting, barring the most potent and effective invisible mechitza proferred in words and deed at the Tunisian Synagogue, where women were totally shut out.

On Shabbat morning in Jerusalem, we, along with so many others, walked to services. It is such a joy to have synagogues on almost every corner. It is such a joy to have the world slow down, for traffic to dwindle, for silence to descend, and to meet and pass others on the way to something other than work and shopping. We davenned at Kehillat Shira Hadasha, in a hall, nothing fancy. Shira Hadasha is a relatively young and Orthodox congregation. And relatively different.

We happened upon it because another rabbi told my rabbi that it was worth a look. That it was an experience like no other. The place was crowded, and people were hanging from the rafters. Luckily we always carried our own siddurim, because they are either few in number, or printed in Hebrew alone.

Dividing the room was a breathtakingly beautiful, diaphanous mechitza made of gauzy white fabric, shot throughout with delicate white embroidery. It not only divided the room, but divided the bimah and lectern where the Torah reading took place in the centre of the room, and ran down to meet the Ark at the front, affording a view for each side.

The service was the most soulful I have ever experienced. The singing was Carlebachian style, something I have not truly encountered before. It was interspersed with the usual Saturday morning melodies. But this was so different- everyone sang; there were women's voices en masse and men's voices en masse, and the voices were loud and spirited and lifted past the rafters up into the sky: a celestial choir. Now I know what the phrase, "Kadosh kadosh kadosh Adonai tzeva'ot, m'lo khol ha'aretz kvodo." * really feels like- what if feels like to really inhabit it; now I know what it means when the angels get together, and sing to each other and inspire each other and cannnot help but praise and praise and praise:

In purity and sanctity they raise their voices in song and psalm....One to another they join to hallow their Creator with serenity, pure speech, and sacred song, in union chanting with reverence. (K'riat Sh'ma and its Berakhot: Siddur Sim Shalom, p 97)

And they say there is no heaven here on earth!

I had no idea until I began reading about this congregation that in the past, women used to read from the Torah and say blessings. It was only later that the tradition changed in order to preserve the "congregation's honour" (i.e., men's shameful illiteracy/lack of learning)) and women were removed from participation. At this service, women wore tallitot, led some of the prayers, acted as gabbaim, read from the Torah and said blessings, carried the Torah on the women's side and handed it to the men, and a woman delivered the d'var Torah (in Hebrew). During the d'var Torah, the mechitza was pulled aside. Wow.

I loved it.

The one argument for the mechitza which my friend who attends Chabad has posited is that it makes someone of single circumstance, like hers, feel less alone. She hangs out with a bunch of women without their husbands and sometimes, without their children; they have included and embraced her- something that she sadly never really found at my shul (she has an autistic adult daughter).

Yet, at my present shul, I notice that a lot of the men come without their wives and sit together, and a lot of women come without their husbands and sit together. Families also hang out all over the place, and sometimes those who are single hang out with families or with the other sex. Even at minyan some women and men tend to sit in their respective clusters. I feel kinda weird because being alone during services does not bother me; in fact I prefer it because people are often inclined to talk and I rarely do. And I never feel alone when I am davenning, anyway. I suspect that the sexes naturally gravitate towards their level of comfort while maintaining a sense of community that does not alienate. I, therefore, do not find her argument or some others particularly convincing.

But, yes, I loved the service, nevertheless! I didn't mind the mechitza as much as usual. Except for one thing that I must confess- I find the mechitza sexy. During my usual activities during egalitarian services at my C shul, I rarely notice what is going on around me or the faces in the congregation, until the Torah service begins. I rest my eyes a little and scan the room, and if there is a striking man or woman I may notice. Largely, I am not aware of the sexes, or especially the other sex. But the mechitza makes me notice, draws me towards "the dark side".

There is something mouthwatering about all that testosterone robed in white, ornamental fringes in flight, acting like angels, with a "kol ish" to die for. Until a mechitza goes up, I don't notice. The mechitza is like a beacon pointing to the other sex, rather like a gold wrapping round a Godiva chocolate or box of chocolates, especially when you are single.

When you can see through the mechitza, it is all the more enticing. When you can't see anyone, it is all the more alienating. To me, the mechitza, for all its delicacy, screams difference, and that you must ever keep that in mind, you must always be aware, you must always remain self-conscious. The mechitza brings sex into the sanctuary and all the baggage that goes with it. For all its allure and charm, I really have no longing to go behind it again, either as a way of life, or even this Shabbat.


*Holy holy holy, Adonai tzeva'ot, the whole world is filled with His Glory.

Israel: Women of the Wall

* Updated links
** Clarification

I went to the Wall. This expression seems so fitting, now. I came, I saw, I overcame.

It was the first night of our arrival after a bloated set of speeches at a dinner most of us could barely swallow, which weighed us down even further, after suffering the beginnings of monster jetlag. Our tour bus fought through the darkened and narrow streets of Jerusalem, with traffic pressing on either side of us, to reach the golden lit walls of the golden city celebrated in fact, fiction and vision.

All I remember is this: after going through security, there was the Western Wall (Kotel, aka, The Wailing Wall), as I had viewed* it, and longed to touch it, ; I had watched the comings and goings of thousands of faithful and curious souls over the years and envied them all. And although many had been surprised by its immensity, especially its height, I was surprised by how diminished it appeared, so unlike all the images of it.

Standing there, in the Plaza, facing the women's section I was impelled towards the Wall.

The women really do wail. The women recite psalms, force warm and fervent notes against the challenging and cold cracks already weighted with wings of words and supplication, and wear away the stone with their hands and their tears. Each time that I attended, the ascent of crowded words and mourning remained the same. The murmurs, the weeping, the recitation, the anguished and earnest whispered intimacies. The stone has become a smooth and glossy set of veins and arteries of rock weathered by lament and hands and lips and breath. You can trace the history of every person with your finger tips and know them.

Meanwhile, I have only second-hand reports of the men's side. This much I do know: if you are in need of a minyan to say Kaddish for Yarzheit, it takes a man about 2 minutes to find a minyan. You just have to ask. A group is eager to gather around and affirm G-d's sovereignty. What else goes on, I do not know.

I remember most vividly being at the Wall on Friday, around noon time. The bustle to ready for Shabbat was charged with deadly earnestness. Military and police congregated in impressive mass and vehicles on the plaza floor. Worshippers well known at the security checkpoints, passed through without examination. The Chareidi, looking fastidiously dapper while selling red strings was really pushing it. Tourists passed through in managed streams to gaze at 'the Jews praying at the Wall'. It had been raining and I witnessed Chareidi looking damned elegant in their long black coats, yet with plastic rain hats or plastic shopping bags over their shtreimels, or black hats. One ventured into the sunlight after davenning and lit up. (pix to follow)

That Friday afternoon took my breath away. It was just past noon. I was in contemplation in the women's section. The bells from all the churches in the Old City began to ring, to peal, to sing. For the longest time. The mezzuin's voice soared across the air from a minaret. And I could hear the men davenning beyond the mechitza, voices raised in worship. All together. Such harmony. While a woman, there and there and there, down the truncated length of the Wall, murmured and muttered and recited and wailed.

We toured the tunnels below the Wall. I had not been able to find my best friend's note the previous day. I felt so distressed. Getting to Jerusalem has taken a lifetime; getting the note there seemed to take as long. And now it was gone. Beneath the upper world, the Wall continues deep down, unbroken, with notes scattered throughout, scrunched tightly within its joints. At one point we encountered another gate, solid, unexcavated, that faces the Holy of Holies. Well, I stood there looking up at that great and simple arch, in awe. Simply awed by the possibility. While searching for a piece of paper, I discovered my friend's note. I secured it amongst the stones of the gate. I consider this my finest moment in Israel.

I heard a story about the Wall. My rabbi told me how his wife-to-be and he had come to the Wall, and she was wearing a sleeveless dress and someone had spit on her. All for the glory of G-d, I guess. She burst into tears and has not been back since then.

While sojourning in Jerusalem the following events occurred:

The first morning the rabbi went off to an Orthodox shul to daven Shaharit; he returned deflated and annoyed because the service was mechanical and speedy.

I, hearing of this, was pissed and upset, because I assumed that we Conservative-affiliated types would get together for morning minyan. I was wrong. I had brought my tallit and tefillin and expected to daven. I was so wrong.

My rabbi, being the total mensch he is, found us a Conservative synagogue and I happily davenned there for a couple of days. As far as I know, he and I were the only ones who participated. I hope I am wrong. Perhaps there was a minyan going on out there, somewhere in a room in the hotel. A huge number of our group attended Friday night services.

Then one day we stopped to tour a Tunisian synagogue. Our bus was mixed with C and O. The guide announced that we would be stopping to daven Mincha-Maariv there before the tour of the premises. He said, that "men could daven, and...women could daven, or wait." Well, the women did not even have a mechitza to daven behind/beside (and I had accepted the idea of "when in Rome, etc."). While the sounds of Hebrew chant, of men's voices, floated around us, the women scurried up the stairs from one floor to another, searching for the women's section. We discovered that one floor was another sanctuary, and the top floor was locked. So, there was nowhere for women to daven alongside the men. But they could wait on the bench in the hallway outside the room where the men were ensconced and enrapt.

A couple of women davenned in the sanctuary, separately, and others, I noticed as I walked out, sat quietly on a bench and waited. I almost took a photograph, the scene was so striking. Several women sat on benches facing the room where the men davenned, and each woman's face showed patient resignation and acceptance of circumstances. I was stunned but did not take a picture because somehow I felt that the moment was too naked to take advantage of. I imagine it would not occur to any of them to question things or to desire more. Yet, heck, here I was, and I did!

When I approached the 'almost 18 year old' shaliach tzibur about making a women's minyan she was ill equipped to deal with such decisions at such a tender age. Instead, she offered me a song and dance elucidating the factors that would have made a women's prayer group, never mind a minyan, impossible. In distress I went back to the bus and waited. When I vented to some poor man from our congregation who was sitting beside me about having no outlet to daven with community, he tried to placate me by saying they were late and the davenning only took 4-5 minutes, no big deal.

A couple of days later, there was davenning in this amazing synagogue in Tzfat (Safed)- the men stayed out in solidarity with the women. I am still wondering how they got a clue.**

It is the 800th anniversary of the Rambam's death. We travelled to his grave in Tiberias. My rabbi was thrilled to be there since Maimonides is his hero; he also gave a unifying drash on a portion of The Guide for the Perplexed, by his fave sage. Recently they have placed a high wooden mechitza dividing the length of the tomb. When I got to the top of the stairs where his tomb resides, I saw a sign that said "ladies" to the left and "men" to the right. I was so grateful because I so needed to pee. I followed the sign and ended up in an area with more graves. I had no idea that the signs were meant to direct people to the respective regulated sides of the mechitza! We then bought arak with the purported picture of Maimonides on the label for our minyan back home. It has been affectionately distributed as "Rambam Rotgut".

The very first night, when I hit the Wall, I touched glassy, worn stone, so cold. I pressed my forehead against it and wept. I wept for 15 minutes, without words. I did not pray. I did not plead. I was speechless. And I left without saying a word.

I had come home and I knew it. This was it, the centre of the universe, the centre of all things. I did not think it, but I surely felt it. And peace was my gift, unasked for and unearned. Not stillness, not lack of turmoil, but peace. A sense of wholeness, completeness. Did it make my world better? No. But interiorly, in some way I am changed. Something has been added. I believe that G-d adds, and does not subtract.

And so, G-d has added this:

My 'almost 18 year old' roomie pointed out (without reckoning the implication, especially for her) that the women of the wall prayed alone, separately and never got together.

My Conservative allies, the men, when push-came-to-shove, took the path of least resistance- sometimes unwittingly, yet still mesmerised by Orthodox hegemony. I went into this thinking we were all in this together in the sense that it was unspoken about how we would behave- that we all knew what we stood for and would do it together. I was so wrong.

Having been nurtured under egalitarian auspices, encouraged to wear tallit and tefillin, to chant Torah and to lead prayers, it was a surprise to encounter this weird Orthodox/Conservative exclusion. I am so infuriated. I hate Orthodoxy and I am not too thrilled with some C types either. Hello??? I would have had to make a special case- if I needed a minyan. That is what it would have taken. A few minutes in a minyan? Not important? I beg to differ.

And at the Wall, a C man cannot ask for a mixed minyan. And a woman cannot ask for any sort of minyan. Nor can women depend on each other or gather together, cannot as a whole affirm G-d's sovereignty, or even bond, as men can. They can only wail, one by one. While men can look to depend on each other and wail together.

I have not described myself as a feminist, but I do know that the soul needs what it needs and that no man can interdict that. My sojourn in Israel has been such an awakening. I possess a crummy voice (I am such an opera freak and an afficionada of chazzanut) and I know little Hebrew but I am going to learn to lead daily prayers. And I vow, like Scarlett O'Hara, that I will never go hungry again. I think that the events speak for themselves. And as a woman, I learned exactly where I stand. And I aim to change that. For the sake of those women who hunger for something more; yet, more importantly and selfishly, for my sake- I have had the "egalitarian" stuffing knocked out of me and a sense of deprivation and injustice where it really matters and where it really hurts can make you take stock.

My Israel experience has also left me with this other legacy: I have come to despise Orthodoxy and its insistence on exclusivity. I used to be indifferent. I think I have regressed, emotionally. But that experience has surely been a spur to make things better. I have heard a bit, in the past, about the The Women> of the Wall*, who tried to worship at the Wall in a group and who were reviled and physically assaulted. Now I know exactly what they are fighting for and I am with them. They are beyond brave. So many people think the fight is about form, and that may be partially so. For me, the assertion is about soul. All women of the Wall have so little religious freedom . It is so self-evident. You have to have been there to experience the inequity. To experience the repression of religious expression. To experience your delight in things unabashedly spiritual, and a longing for holiness, casually dismissed. There, at the heart of all things. It is disappointingly real.

**I have since learned that the men were herded like sheep into the room, not realising that the women had no place to go. By the time they noticed it would have been too embarrassing for all concerned, and disruptive, to leave. The rabbis complained, and the tour rep and guide, both apologised. To the men! And if I hadn't complained about it now, I would never have known.

Israel: A Palace In Time

Abraham Joshua Heschel characterised Shabbat as a "palace in time, a delight" . He was not wrong, in my estimation. So, take that description and multiply it exponentially - apply it to Israel, and to Jerusalem, and you have understood the heart of all things Jewish, the Jewish longing, the Jewish ideal, the Jewish reality, concretised, and how it was for me when I sojourned there. Even if you find Shabbat merely tiresome, that extra dimension of Israel still enthralls millions of visitors of many faiths who may not be able to put a finger on the uniqueness of this place or how they feel or experience it. I can't imagine that anyone, in leaving Israel, would be left without anything but words.

Before I made the ascent, everyone who had visited, raved about Israel. Some had spent time on a kibbutz, others had family and/or visited several times and kept going back when they could manage it financially. A close, secular friend of mine who had gone from a wrenching divorce in the US to a year of healing in Israel when she was younger, in safer times, described the power, the pull of the land, of all that it means and all that it promises. She brought out a golden stone. She also described an intense engagement with Life. I remembered all these things, and yet I wondered....

A venerable fellow davenner in minyan described the touch of Israel most succinctly- alighting there gives one a "cozy, warm feeling". It gives you a sense of belonging. The experience is unlike anything you expect. It is a surprise. Novel.

For me, this also meant that I felt no fear. No fear! No feeling, no twitch, jab or ping. Even though we all discussed the circumstances casually all the time. It is as if G-d had parted the Red Sea and in the midst of much chaos and turmoil His people were able to "peacefully pass over".

I was vigilant, for sure. In Jerusalem, when our tour bus would stop beside a public bus, I prayed for the other bus to move well away from ours. In walking the streets of Jerusalem, one is ever mindful of puffy clothing and accessories and, in my case, of staying away from situations that leave me vulnerable to assault not only from strangers, but from Arabs (the Muslim Quarter in the Old City was a revelation). When you pass by Sbarro, on Ben Yehuda Street, it is as if nothing had ever happened there but it did happen and everyone carries the remembrance and it is weighty- it makes a difference.

If there is one gift that was not predictable, that I never would imagine, that is hard to describe, that Jerusalem especially, and Israel, conferred on me, it would be the gift of peace- more than shalom, it is rooted in, shalem- wholeness. I remember thinking that all Jews in the Diaspora needed to come to Israel so that they could be forever changed, that they would know what it means to be whole as a Jew. It seems to me that in the Diaspora we have a limb missing, or perhaps that extra measure of soul that is conferred on us on Shabbat. I do know this much- that without experiencing Israel, we are lacking something. And in Israel, you rest. In Israel you stop wandering. In Israel you are everything that G-d meant you to be, easily. And vividly and purely. Oh so easily!

I now understand what my friend meant about the power of the place..... all things spiritual seem to come more easily. When you pray at the Wall (Kotel), it feels like a direct line to G-d and the benefits are immediate. Peace. You don't need words. You just have to say, "Hineni", "Here I am". Silence is even better. Just be.

In a palace, we are nobility. That is our tradition regarding the keeping of Shabbat- that the day can confer grace upon us. Imagine how it feels to traverse all of Israel and to live that experience from the moment you set foot. The moment you really come home. In Israel you don't have to scramble to be or do anything as a Jew. You just are. The gift of peace is yours for the taking. And so is dignity. You are elevated. The ascent is real.

Oh the land! Nothing as I ever imagined! The people? Better, and as I imagined, and that includes the brusqueness, bluntness, rudeness, etc. In Israel, there is Life! The military are unobtrusively woven into every aspect of life so that it becomes second nature for you to accept the exigencies of a state besieged by terrorists. This is so unlike Cuba, where I landed several years ago, and where the military force dominated and intimidated at the moment of touchdown.

At minyan, several days ago, someone mentioned that they had a friend who was living in Israel and who cynically observed that you need to live in Israel a couple of years to really know what it's like. Well, yeah, he may be right. But then, he may be wrong. Some people find "peace in Jerusalem" and Israel, and others don't. This much I do know- that the psalm was correct.

There is a passage from the Talmud that describes Jerusalem as the eye of the universe:

The world is like a human eyeball
The white of the eye is the ocean surrounding the world
The iris is this continent
The pupil is Jerusalem
And the image in the pupil is the Holy Temple.
(Talmud - Derech Eretz Zuta 9)

I would venture to add that the eye is G-d and that the image is your purest, best self. And though you can meet your holy self in other mitzvot, it is only in Israel, and in Jerusalem in particular, that you can consolidate that image, that you will know the cornerstone that was rejected. You will know it because you will know wholeness and peace. You will know delight. You will know what G-d meant for us to be when He gave us the Torah and you will know it was a gift of total love. And you will know what it takes, in the Diaspora, to keep and remember it.

Israel: Flotsam and Jetsam

Updated

December 15, 2004 In a few days I am off to LA and then in a few more days I am off to Eretz Yisrael for the first (and maybe last) time in my life.

I don't feel particularly inspired to post but I wanted to record something before I leave. Maybe I'll update this every day beforehand.

~~ I have returned with overwhelming jetlag, and a reaaaally bad cold thanks to young gorgeous guy with an Iranian J father and a Norwegian J mother who was planted beside me.

* I fret about the weather. I want it to be warm to hot hot hot, which is the way I have always envisioned experiencing Israel; I was willing to faint at the Wall from the heat in a diaphanous yet modest dress. I love the desert and I love long dresses. Yet here the cold, cloudy days and rainfall rise up to me in the forecast. Feh, I see jeans in my future.

~~ I wore jeans, except for Shabbat services on Saturday. The first day the sun shone on all our efforts. It even shone on Friday. noon, after I had traipsed across half of Jerusalem, made it to the Jaffa Gate in the Old City in the midst of a heavy rainstorm. I daven at the Wall (Kotel) and as I leave the sun burns through my clothes and dries the deluge.

* I hate the details of packing. I want a lackey.

~~ I still want a lackey.

* There is nothing cooler or more heartwarming than to be travelling with people you consider bashert or, at the very least, 'family".

~~ Oooooookay. This did not turn out as expected......

* I couldn't change my money to shekels at my local credit union. Don't they know I am going to Eretz Yisrael????

~~ I changed money at hotels. I hear the sucking sound of usury. I did not find alternative avenues, but then, I had little time. Next time I would do it so much differently.

* Single women are singled out at borders because they think we are all, the rest of female humanity, every single last one of us, stupid enough to fall for terrorists in disguise. It only took one woman to make the difference, as it only took one guy with nuclear capable shoes to force me to go barefoot, i.e., with totally naked tootsies, and grace the floor of a million cooties. This happened to me while recently going through LAX. Ewwww.

~~ Well, that happened to me on a US flight- major upper body checking by a woman, in full view of other passengers. It was done well and I did not feel too humiliated. I figured it primed me for further worries, which turned out to be fruitless. Indeed, my rabbi was singled out on the way back.

* If anyone does a body search I plan on describing it in total detail on this blog because I know it's because I am single and I am outraged and I hope that they all die slow humiliating deaths for putting me through this because of one gullible woman who is NOT ME.

~~ Alas, it did not happen. There is nothing to describe. YIPPEEEEEEE!

* Because I am travelling as a single, I am rooming with the 16 year old daughter of people known to me. But then the rabbi's son who is her bud is coming along as well. Which leaves the exceptionally chatty 12 year old younger sister. Guess who is gonna get stuck with her? And I want the window seat for everything- they are young they will have opportunities to go back as for moi I am not so sure. How am I going to pull off a mature image when I'm backhanding a kid out of my way?

~~ It happened. I got the almost 18 year old (not 16- how time flies!) for one bus ride but she changed to the back. The babe was with me at the beginning and made my Wall life less than perfect but she found a bud to hang out with for most of the trip so I was saaaaaved!

* On the upside, I am rooming with a seasoned shaliach tzibur (prayer leader). She could come in handy.

~~ She did not. A whole other story that turns out to be life-changing for me.

* Another upside: all erstwhile travellers, all of us, will have a mass aliyah this coming Shabbat. To receive the blessings for travellers to the Holy Land...how often does this happen to any of us in a lifetime? Does it get any better than this?

~~ It doesn't get any better than this, in my opinion. That moment lives.

* Can't we just stay at the Wall for the entire time???? There should be a tour to the Wall which includes room and board on the plaza.

~~ I still wish it. I imagine it takes mucho bucks to land on "Wall/Kotel Place".

* The hotel is many stars but without a lot of character. Whine whine whine. I hope the view is good. I demand a good view! I live and die by the view.

~~ Eh! It was totally without character, but it had a view. Well, the rabbi got the view of the Old City. We got the view of the ugliest apartment building in the modern city. And a rather spacious view of Jerusalem nevertheless (pix to follow). Internally, I whined. Sue me.

* I bought a digital camera for the trip because it would cost me less overall than film and processing and would make life easier. I still haven't learned to use it. The guide is a million pages.

~~ I learned to use it on the plane. I still haven't really learned to use it. But digital cameras RULE!

* I don't wanna know that they take down the prayers reverently placed between the stones every day. Did you want to know? Well, now you know and you can suffer with me.

~~ I placed several prayers there over time. I no longer care about their removal.

* Recently a thought, G-d forbid, has occurred to me- what if I hate it, or am indifferent? What if the entire trip is just plain awful? Oy!

~~ I did not have a load of fun. It was not perfect. The tour company made it hell. Other issues arose. I was furious the last 3 days.

Yet, to describe the trip? I cried at the thought of leaving.

For me, experiencing Israel was profound. That's the bottom line- it was profound. Life-affirming. A revelation. More to follow.

As for what follows I will have comments turned off. That was part of my awakening. Sojourning in Eretz Yisrael can really clear the mind.