When Israel Gets it Right (part 2)

OK. It’s true.  I have become one of  THOSE parents, clicking my Nikon at the most inopportune times; sneaking into areas I have just been asked to avoid because it affords a really good shot.  Rina probably praying that nobody realizes that I am her mom as I shamelessly push my way in front of other parents to get the best close-up possible. So what was the most recent excuse for my maternal insanity?  

Andy and I celebrated an Israeli parental milestone as we watched our daughter, Rina, take her oath of allegiance to the IDF (Israel Defense Forces)  at Sde Boker next to the grave of David ben Gurion (first prime minister of Israel).  The ceremony was modest by many standards. It even included a little humor.  The flag, proudly raised, immediately fell to the ground as the soldiers had not tied the rope  to the poll properly.  But, despite the mishap, the ceremony, atop the Negev’s massive fissures of Nachal Tzin, offered grand views and emotions.Even before this, Sde Boker held special memories for me.  I remember the first time we stayed at the field  school.  Arriving late at night, we found ourselves hopelessly lost and had to wake a less-than-thrilled kibbutz member to help us find our bearings.  The following morning, we stood in utter amazement as we walked behind the field school’s Spartan accommodations  to discover that we were standing on  magnificent cliffs that soar high above Nachal Tzin (wadi / water bed) where we would hike later that day.  Standing silently on the precipice, watching the ibex forage for breakfast while the inky purples of the massive rocks gave way to brilliant sunshine, I thought I would never feel such a sense of awe again.  My daughter would change all that.

But she had no idea what this day meant for me. Imagine, Rina had just started two years of service in a highly respected Israeli Intelligence unit. It was not quite the future I had imagined for her, but I couldn’t have been prouder. Andy and I sat in the bleachers, squeezing each other’s hand; hoping the pressure of skin to skin could express the feelings neither one of us had words for.  I didn’t know a single parent in the crowd but felt a special bond with them as I’m sure that they, too, felt that same indescribably pride. 

As I’ve learned over the years, the IDF is a continuously morphing maze of madness that even veteran Israelis cannot comprehend.  For the last year or two, our children’s day planners have been filled with dates for tests; intelligence tests, physical endurance tests, personality tests and sometimes tests that seemingly had no purpose at all.  And yet, they took care of it all without our help because, quite honestly, there wasn’t much help any of us could provide.  It’s more than a little humbling to know that at the ripe old age of 19, our sons and daughters have become far more proficient at negotiating the ins and outs of Israeli bureaucracy than any of us.

The Intelligence Unit is not a combat one, so basic training is mercifully short.  Yes, these soldiers endured sleep deprivation, emotional and physical exhaustion and the special humiliation that comes with feeling fairly clueless of what is expected of you, but the whole ordeal was less than 3 weeks.  Even at the beginning, the end was in sight. It was all manageable.  So why was this ceremony so emotionally charged for me?  Why were so many of the other parents smiling, cheering and crying as if their child had just one an Olympic gold? 

It’s hard to know that the army owns your child.  It’s hard to know that the IDF has complete control over your child’s life (my ever-increasing ice-cream addiction has shown just how hard it has been for me).   But when you wake up in the morning and you know that your neighbor, your bank teller, and your gas station attendant have all made, or will make, the same sacrifice, it makes it a bit more manageable.

So Israel does this one right. These ceremonies are public and a strong thread in the fabric of Israeli society.  There isn’t a boss, co-worker or teacher who would ask you to miss one when it’s your child’s turn. Because, sitting in the blazing sun with Russian mothers, French store owners and South American doctors, you know that your individual sacrifice has helped build a remarkably vibrant and resilient whole.

Praying that all of our children enjoy a year filled with happiness, health and security,

When Israel Gets it Right (part 1)

 I lied to someone last week. On Wednesday, I was asked to come to an 8:30 AM meeting. I told them that I had an urgent matter to take care of and couldn’t possibly attend. No, my “urgent” matter was not a doctor’s appointment and nobody was asking me my opinions regarding the latest round of “peace negotiations” (although they would have received quite the critical earful if they had). The kids are fine and the clogged pipe that sent water dripping down my newly painted walls has been repaired. But still, I had something I just had to do and Wednesday morning was the only day I could do it. September 1 heralds the start of a new year in elementary schools across the country and as many of my friends had children starting first grade, I knew the ceremonies marking this occasion were not to be missed. Yes, I’ve written about the first day of first grade before. And, yes, Israel’s education system is unimaginably disappointing, especially when you consider that this is the homeland of The Jewish People, often referred to as “the people of the Book” But the excitement surrounding the beginning of formal academic instruction here is palpable and it’s not limited to individual families. It’s an event that brings the country together. It’s an occasion marked on the neighborhood, municipal and even national level. Drive passed any elementary school and you’ll see large (often hand-painted) banners welcoming first-graders. In many cities, mayors can be seen accompanying students as they walk through the school gates to start the new year. Even our president, Shimon Peres, is out helping first graders cross the street as they begin a new chapter of their lives. Stepping onto the grounds of my local elementary school, I felt like I was at a community celebration. Blue and white balloons were dancing in a rare September breeze as moms and dads hugged and kissed their children before they crossed the physical and spiritual threshold. But it didn’t end there. Chattering parents gathered on the black top trading stories on how easy (although more often how difficult) it was to get their sons and daughters into bed on the previous night. Babies struggled to get out of their stationary strollers and toddlers pulled on their father’s, hoping to be scooped up onto broad shoulders to get a better view of what was about to occur. Cameras, serenading us with a symphony of clicks, beeps and buzzes, worked overtime to capture these moments for posterity. After 15 minutes of anxious waiting, the new first-graders, each escorted by a “big kid”, (usually a sixth grader) lined up. Soon,the piped in music sounded through the loud speakers and the festivities began. The new students marched in passed proud imas and abbas (moms and dads) and then took their place under one of three large talitot (prayer shawls). The crowd sang a song that consists of the blessing that Jacob offered Joseph thousands of years ago and that children often sing today before they go to sleep at night. The shofar, traditionally sounded each morning during the Hebrew month of Elul reminding us that Rosh Hashanah will soon arrive, sounded loud and clear. As these children, slightly excited; slightly bewildered, took seats on the ground with their new classmates, another group; smaller and sometimes older, marched in. Thirty children from Australia, America, Canada, England and France were cheered as they marched with an Israeli flag. These 30 children were olim (new immigrants) and they were given a special welcome by a crowd who often knew, by personal experience, how particularly exciting yet challenging the coming year would be for these students as they begin to create the reality of their parents’ Zionist dreams. The principal, her voice brimming with excitement, welcomed the children with a short speech, invited another group of students to put on a short dance performance in honor of their younger siblings and then the ceremony was quickly over We all went off about our day, but I couldn’t help but think that the morning proved that Israel really gets a lot of things right. We all should be celebrating our community’s newest students. They represent all that we have accomplished and all that is still possible. In a country whose existential threats are as real as the kitchen table, I’m glad we know just how important this day is. Shana Tova to everybody. I hope it is a new year filled with happiness and good health. And a dose of a first grader’s natural sense of wonder.