Time of our Freedom

Throughout my childhood my family were very active in the campaign for Soviet Jewry. I thought everyone had an uncle with a pen that could write in invisible ink who travelled to the Soviet Union smuggling Hebrew books and vital medications for Jewish dissidents captive behind the Iron Curtain.

Every Pesah we had a place setting and an empty chair waiting for our Soviet sisters and brothers to be free to join us.

And then one year the Soviet Union fell and the Iron Gates were flung open. Hundreds of thousands of Jews flooded in to Israel. Our prayers were realised.
The true coda to the story though happened many years later. Pesah 2003 we went to relatives near Jerusalem for seder. My cousin was working as an ICU nurse, she had a shift starting after seder and walked her down to wait for her transport to the hospital.

All of a sudden someone else out for a late post-seder walk rushed over and grabbed my uncle in a bear hug. It was one of the Soviet Jewish dissidents he had visited decades earlier in Moscow. A man he had brought the vital medications for, Hebrew books for.

And here he was, dressed as an openly religious Jew embracing my uncle on seder night in the heart of Israel. And he recognised my uncle whom he hadn't seen since that meeting in Moscow under the watchful eye of the KGB "tail" conspicuously following them.

The coda has another coda because for a couple of years ago my uncle decided to treat himself to Pesah in a kibbutz guesthouse. He arrived erev yom tov to find that he had been assigned a room in a little two room kibbutz chalet. Sitting out in a deck chair outside his room he heard someone calling out to him. Sure enough his neighbours in the nextdoor room where this former refusenik and his wife and they shared seder night together.

I know not every story has such a happy ending. We don't know who of the hostages whom today are held captive in tunnels instead of behind an Iron Curtain are still alive to be reunited with their loved ones. We don't know if the empty chairs that so many will be leaving by their seder will be filled.

But in the 1970s and early 1980s the idea of the Soviet Union falling and the Jews going free seemed fantastically remote. We dreamt of one day sharing the seder with the families my uncle visited in Moscow but I don't know if we truly believed we would see the day when we would all merit to stroll the streets of Israel together.

Seder isn't a celebration of the "happy ending" though. It takes us through the pain and the hardship of our ancestors, their desperation and despair.

Each person must see themselves as though they themselves were brought out of Egypt, to put themselves in the position of those who suffered slavery and persecution to remember also that hope and redemption can come in the darkest hour even when it seems all is lost.

May all those who are missing be found, may all our hostages return home, our thousands of wounded be healed and the souls of all find comfort.

It's not just "rain"

I'm going to mention rockets again. I know, you're bored of me mentioning rockets. What's a few rockets? It's just like rain, right? There's Iron Dome, why are Israelis making such a deal of a few rockets?

Well, first of all, it's not "a few", we're talking more than 13,500 in the last six months.

Second, Iron Dome isn't 100%. It's an incredible system, it's saved countless lives, but it isn't perfect.

For example, during the October 7th attacks the Hamas barrage at Israel's Gaza border region was so intense that a local Iron Dome battery ran out of anti-rocket missiles. More than 3,500 rockets were fired by Hamas at Israel in the first 24 hours of the war on October 7th, as cover for the Hamas invasion. The Iron Dome commander had to drive to a nearby base to restock their munitions and while she was on the road she was murdered in a Hamas ambush. Israel lost an experienced Iron Dome commander and until it was possible to resupply that battery was out of commission.

Iron Dome and Israel's other excellent anti-missile defence systems do amazing work, but they aren't 100%. Each system is a defence against a specific type of projectile, different ranges, different altitudes. And Israel's enemies aren't stupid, knowing Israel has a layered defence framework they attempt layered attacks, different kinds of rockets, different kinds of drones, slower, faster, higher, lower, anti-tank missiles who's trajectory and shorter range make them hard to intercept.

Today in the northern Israeli village of Arab el-Aramshe, right near the Lebanese border, their luck ran out. For months this village has been one of the Israeli communities most heavily targeted by Hizballah from southern Lebanon. Its proximity to the border gives Hizballah easy line of sight to terrorise the residents.

There were several direct hits on the village today, including on their local community centre. While the wounded from that strike were being evacuated another round hit the entrance area outside the building. Fourteen have been wounded, three seriously.

These are far from Israel's first casualties from enemy rocket fire.

For years now Israel has been targeted by thousands and thousands of rockets and missiles, more recently drones, from Hamas, from Hizballah and now also from the Houthis in Yemen.

This isn't rain, it's a growing existential threat which has only increased over the years, exploding into the thousands we've seen in recent months, killing Israelis, wounding Israelis, destroying countless Israeli homes, farms and workplaces.

These rockets were a deadly part of Hamas' October 7th invasion of Israel, keeping millions of Israelis pinned down in shelters, providing cover for the drone attacks which took out Israeli motion sensors and cameras guarding the border fence and herding hundreds of party goers at the Nova festival in to public shelters where they were easily picked off by Hamas gunmen who turned these places of refuge in to death traps. If Israelis had not been conditioned to be so used to rocket fire as just "something that happens" the response to the initial volleys fired at Israel that morning might have been very different.

The potential destruction could of course have been much worse, but this besides the point, If someone is trying to destroy you but you succeed in blocking them most of the time that doesn't remove the murderous intent of those who keep trying to kill you.

Meanwhile Israel has to plough vast amounts of resources, time, people, research and money, into a complex anti-missile defense system. How many hospitals, educational frameworks and scientific research of all kinds could have been funded with this, used to make the world better for everyone instead. But Israel doesn't have a choice, without Iron Dome and other systems we would be sitting ducks for this massive rocket and drone onslaught.

And then this week we had 350 ICBMs, attack drones and cruise missiles fired at us from Iran.

And once again our friends and allies overseas respond with "it's just rain", the anti-missile defence intercepted 99% of the missiles and drones, just ignore it" and "don't respond, it's been and gone, you can always intercept any more missiles". Tell that to the little Israeli girl fighting for her life in hospital after her home was hit by shrapnel from one of those ballistic missiles.

The upshot of all this "don't respond" talk is that Iranian ICBMs and attack drones with their hundreds of kilos and many tons of explosive warheads should just be "normalised" the way Hamas and Hizballah short range rockets have been until now. We should just accept this new deadly "rain".

This is why many Israelis feel there is a need to respond. This time we were "lucky". This time there was a coalition and enough anti-missile defences to stave off the massive Iranian onslaught.

How long can we keep that up now? How many billions do we have to keep restocking these incredibly expensive defences? How many times will Iran now follow the Hamas and Hizballah playbook of gradually testing our defences, upping the number of lethal projectiles until they God Forbid find a chink?

No one wants to talk about it but Israel can't allow this to be normalised because it sets a precedent for more attacks like this and creates an accepted level at which we are expected to just accept that people will shoot missiles and drones at our population.

Would any other country be expected to just accept this?

Israel and the Jewish people continue to give so much to the world to make it better, to save lives.

And no, this isn't an arrogant post about how we're better than everyone else, no human, no nation, is perfect and all humanity was created in God's image. 

Being aware of our flaws is engrained in Jewish culture, the Bible is very clear in its portrayal of our greatest leaders, warts and all, we have no perfect saints or flawless prophets to place on pedestals, their humanity and foibles are a fundamental part of our national epic and the Gemara is just as clear that our sages were not perfect individuals. 

But we are a people who's culture and ethos have led us to contribute breakthroughs in science and medicine out of all proportion to our tiny size. "The Chosen People" is often flung at the Jews like a supremacist slur, and yet what that "chosen" means is a sense of duty and responsibility, an emphasis on creativity and learning, to being a positive example, to doing our part to make the world better. 

Our commitment to education, literacy and tikkun olam helped our people throughout the ages to rise above our lowly status as the world's most persecuted outcasts, reviled by many, exiled, expelled, confined to ghettos, discriminated against in by university quotas at various times and in various places, barred from guilds and professional associations, demonised with blood libels, kept as second and third class citizens because we were so often strangers in a strange land, subjected to pogroms and massacres.

I'm not saying anything new here, but I feel like right now these are important things to remember, both for Jews and for the other nations of the world where so many right now are in the thrall of a new wave of anti-Semitism and a new blood libel that once again scapegoats the Jews as bloodthirsty babykillers.

Across the West this anti-Jewish scourge is driving Jewish scientists, doctors and scholars from their positions, trying to banish Jews from academia, boycotting Israeli universities and research centres, blocking the publishing of research by Israelis and Jews from scientific journals, calling for a boycott and shunning of the Jewish state and all associated with it.

So intent are many on this hate fest that they don't seem to care who or what they are rejecting when they turn Israeli scientists in to outcasts and push diaspora Jews out of academia and professional forums.

Not because we are better than anyone else, but because our culture is so devoted to life and making the world a better place and we have proved our value to humanity as a whole with the wealth of knowledge and scientific breakthroughs we have contributed despite being such a tiny nation.

How many lives will be lost if Israelis and Jews are barred from research projects and from publishing their findings? How many lives could be saved or improved by allowing Israelis and Jews to present their research at international conferences, to be guest lecturers a prominent research centres, to join international collaborations on all kinds of medical and scientific challenges as they have until now?

And it came to pass at midnight

There is a common misconception that Passover is a celebration of freedom.

And yes, it is about the nation of Israel's delivery from slavery in ancient Egypt, and we do call it "Hag Haherut" (the Festival of Freedom), but more than anything it is a lesson in perspective and faith.

Unlike on Purim, where the holiday decreed by Queen Esther and Mordekhai takes place after the Jewish people have been allowed to successfully defend themselves from Haman's genocidal plot to wipe them out, the first Passover seder happened in the middle of the story, while God was still smiting Pharaoh with the plagues to make him release them from slavery.

At the time of that first Passover the people of Israel did not yet know whether they had been saved.

They had not tasted freedom in generations.

They were a battered, downtrodden enslaved people, sheltering in their homes, their doorposts daubed with lamb's blood as a sign that it was a Hebrew dwelling. Meanwhile the hand of death quite literally passed over their houses, smiting the Egyptians in the horrific last, devastating plague that finally convinced Pharaoh to release them from slavery and allow them to return to their ancient homeland.

I'm sure I'm not the only 21st century Israeli for whom this image came to mind last Saturday night, after the news that Iran's massive missile and drone onslaught was on its way to us.

A chill went through me as I imagined how my ancient ancestors must have felt living through that terrifying night all those thousands of years ago.

Here we were, about a week before Passover, in the thick of the traditional Pesah cleaning and preparation, instead sheltering in our homes close to our bomb shelters, waiting for that hand of death to pass over our country and God Willing be intercepted by Israel's layered anti-missile defences before it could wreak destruction.

Like our ancestors, we had no way of knowing how the night would end, whether with our salvation or our destruction. We were instructed to prepare as best we could, be near a shelter, have some emergency provisions, listen to the radio, but really, all we could do as ordinary civilians was sit in our homes and wait, knowing that some time in the middle of the night the missiles from Iran would likely be upon us.

All we had was faith, in our armed forces defending us, in God watching over us, in our knowledge that throughout history many have tried to wipe us out but the Jewish nation always survived, as we recite every year at the Passover seder in "Vehi She-amdah":

And this is what stood for our ancestors and for us

For not just one arose and tried to destroy us,

Rather in every generation there are those who rise up to destroy us,

And the Holy One, blessed be he, saves us from their hand.

It's a chilling concept: that our destiny in every generation is for someone to target us, because we are different, because we're in their way, because we refuse to adopt their beliefs or lifestyle, because we won't assimilate, because we did assimilate, because they are jealous that we have been successful and appear strong, because we are weak and so easy to scapegoat, because we look wrong, because they think us arrogant, because they think us humble... Somehow there is always a reason. Because we are the "Chosen People" - chosen apparently to face someone who hates us and wants to wipe us out in every generation.

As I've grown older though, I've come to see this declaration in a different way. Yes, it is a heavy burden to bear, being born into a nation that has experienced so much persecution throughout the ages. A nation where it's normal that so many generations have found it "normal" to have to wander from place to place, country to country, to face exile, expulsion and discrimination and on far too many occasions attempts to wipe us from the face of the earth.

But there is also a comfort in knowing that our ancestors have gone through this over and over again in many different circumstances, in many different eras, but despite this painful history, our nation still lives, we are still here to remember, to sit around the seder table with our families and retell the story from generation to generation.

Even at the very birth of our people we suffered so much, but just as God redeemed us from the horrors of slavery and Pharaoh's attempted genocide in Egypt, so we must always have hope that in each generation our people will prevail.


Sitting in my home awake in the small hours of that night, though, my thoughts inevitably turned to another piece of the Passover seder liturgy: "Vayehi Behatzi Halayla" (It Came to Pass at Midnight):

It happened at midnight:

You brought about many miracles at night.

At the beginning of the night watch

Why is this text included in the concluding songs of the seder? There is a passing reference to the smiting of the Egyptian firstborn during the Passover story, but otherwise this long poem is like an exegesis of "Vehi She'amda", expanding on that concept of divine redemption in every generation with a litany of episodes when biblical heroes and the nation of Israel were redeemed at midnight, concluding with the well known verse, later a popular Israeli folk song, "Karev Yom":

Bring near the day that is neither day nor night.

Most High, make known that Yours is the day as well as the night.

Appoint guards to protect Your city all day and all night.

Illuminate like day the darkness of night.

In the small hours of the night between the ending of Shabbat and the dawning of Sunday morning, that final verse - which always seemed like some distant future mystical prophecy after all those biblical events - suddenly felt breathtakingly immediate, real and concrete.

All over Israel that night was like day, people unable to sleep as we awaited our fate, watched the clock, wondered when and if those missiles and drones would hit.

All around was eerily still. Despite it being a Saturday night at the start of the school Passover holidays there were no teens out in the park, no one out late doing Passover errands, no bustle to be heard of neighbours getting in some late night Pesah preparations.

Some of us tried to catch up on Pesah cleaning or cooking. Some of us obsessively watched or listened to the news. Some of us prayed. Some of us tried to distract ourselves with music or films. But in every home in Israel we waited.

And then all at once it was upon us, wailing sirens all over eastern Israel, Red Alert app lighting up in a way we hadn't seen since the October 7th attacks. From north to south Israelis ran to shelters while those in more central areas tensed, listening and watching the eastern skies, waiting.

Our area was fortunate not to have sirens but through our open windows we heard the loud, thudding booms of interceptions that shook the night. Though it was hours from dawn, the eastern skies over Jerusalem were awash in bright lights that danced with surreal beauty in the sky, as though they were luminous natural aurora illuminating the cool spring night and not a grim battle for survival being waged high above us between the missiles of our air defence and the Iranian ICBMs bent on our destruction.

Bring near the day that is neither day nor night.

Most High, make known that Yours is the day as well as the night.

Appoint guards to protect Your city all day and all night.

Illuminate like day the darkness of night.

It was written in the vein of Isaiah's prophecies of comfort to the Jewish people, in hope that one day we would return from exile to restore our sacred city.

That night, this verse took on an entirely new meaning for me, as though it had been written for this very night. The salvation we witnessed in the skies over Jerusalem was simply another link in the very ancient chain going back to that first seder of our enslaved ancestors in Egypt, even further back to the life of our first ancestor, Avraham.

To my mind this is the crux of the seder, what all the storytelling is building up to. For all that the seder is about remembering the Exodus from Egypt, much of what we recount in the Haggadah service is about our suffering, from Lavan's persecution of Jacob through the hardships of slavery for his descendents.

In times of peace we need the seder to remind us where we have come from. To give us historical perspective and context, along with "hakarat hatov" - gratitude that Hashem rescued us from the misery of slavery - as the Haggadah itself says, if our ancestors had not been redeemed then we ourselves and our children would still be slaves.

We have to be able to see ourselves as slaves, to give ourselves insight into what our ancestors suffered, so that we are able to not only appreciate what we have, but to empathise with those who in this imperfect world still suffer.

In peace time the seder grounds us, ensures that we do not become decadent or detached from either our own history or the wider world around us, even if we belong to recent generations that have been fortunate to live in comfort and relative safety.

But in times of danger the seder is what gives us the resilience to stay strong and have faith in the midst of terrifying uncertainty.

At midnight with the hand of the destroyer overhead we truly do not know for sure what tomorrow will bring for us personally.

But we know that as a nation our ancestors were oppressed slaves at the mercy of a paranoid Pharaoh, a people who seemed doomed to oblivion as this Egyptian king embarked on a genocidal campaign of drowning our first born males, a sure path to assimilate our nation and destroy it.

We know that God saved us then and ever since has ensured that, come what may, the Jewish people live and thrive.

And through the seder we also remember generations of Jews before us who commemorated the seder in difficult, frightening, sad times.

Despite our deliverance a few days ago from one of the many threats around us today, we are very much still at midnight. There is war to the north and the south. Hamas and Hizballah remain a threat. We still face daily short range rockets from Gaza and Lebanon. 133 hostages are still held by Hamas in Gaza.

I know many Israelis and many Jews around the world feel that in the face of all these the idea of the Festival of Freedom this year feels tone deaf. How can we sit at the seder this year knowing that 133 kidnapped from Israel are still captive? How can we feel festive surrounded by so many freshly bereaved families, so many new orphans and widows and thousands of wounded? How can we sit down to a holiday table with the hand of the destroyer still hanging over us?

And yet this is precisely what the seder is, what the seder was from the very beginning.

That very first seder commemorated by our slave ancestors in Egypt was not a "celebration". It was not a party. It was determined resilience in the face of Pharaoh's persecution.

It was defiance.

It was faith.

It was hope.

May we all merit experiencing not only midnight, not only dawn, but the bright light of day to come.

This is what springtime skies should be - flocks of migrating storks not "killer swarms" of Iranian attack drones and ICBMs. The sound of swallows and swifts on the wing, songbirds in the trees, not the sounds of war.

Grateful for these moments of reprieve.

(Photos taken over my home a couple of years ago, view of assorted migrating birds from today while I was out in the garden birdwatching with the kids)

Saturday night just over a week to Pesah. 

We spent the afternoon in the park with our younger kids and local friends. 

We made havdalah, read the little kids bedtime stories, said Shema with them, put them to bed. 

DH started clearing up the kitchen. I sat down to answer some questions from volunteers. 

There was a message from our primary school principal that Home Front Command has updated its instructions and all educational activities are now cancelled - day care, afternoon programmes, youth group outings, Pesah vacation camps. 

The Leket farm volunteer organisation sent out an emergency update cancelling all its activities throughout the country for Sunday. 

Started getting questions from volunteers about whether it was safe to go to farms tomorrow. 

A friend who's a first responder messaged me to stock up on water and essentials, and to make sure my elderly relatives were stocked too. 

While DH was out delivering to a relative the radio announced that dozens of drones were en route to Israel from Iran. ETA around 0200-0400 am. 

Teens are awake. Sit them down for a chat. Israeli teens have by now gone through many rockets sirens, distance learning in wartime, security alerts, terror attacks. They are concerned but calm. We have a shelter, we have some emergency supplies in our shelter. We've done what we can. 

Big kid carries in extra water bottles to the shelter along with some extra snacks and a book of Psalms. 

Other child decides to get a quick shower in case there isn't a chance tomorrow. 

DH starts baking banana bread. It's just over a week to Pesah. Tonight we were going to clean the kitchen, collect up all the hametz to either be used up or donated.

Instead he's baking banana bread so that there will be a fresh treat for our little kids in case they get woken in the middle of the night by sirens. That and it gives him something constructive to do. 

Our kitchen is close to our shelter. The aroma of cinnamon and fresh baking makes everything smell sweet and warm. 

And so we wait and pray. Latest news update is that Iran has over a 100 drones and possibly cruise missiles in the air. Hizballah lobbed some rockets at northern Israel as well, just for good measure.

Conflicting reports from foreign news services about possible launches from Yemen and ICBMs from Iran. 

All the years I was growing up we had an empty chair and place setting at the table for Soviet Jewry, for Syrian Jewry, later for Ron Arad, constant reminders that while we were just "remembering" slavery, there were so many fellow Jews who were still living captivity and oppression, always made me think of smashing the glass at the hupa, there is so much pain and trauma in our people's collective experience and memory, it's even part of our most joyous celebrations. That feeling is magnified a million times this year.

13,000+ missiles fired at Israel in the last 6 months from Gaza, from Lebanon, even from Iraq and Yemen. Our red alert apps continue to ping every day, north and south.

Israel continues to be locked in a defensive war that was forced on us with the Hamas invasion and massacre of October 7th. Many Hamas and Islamic Jihad terrorists have been captured or killed but many more remain entrenched in other areas of Gaza, there are many tunnels and Hamas bases still to be found. Israel pulled out of Khan Younis and right afterwards a volley of rockets was fired from Khan Younis into Israel.

134 Israeli hostages remain captive for the past 6 months in Gaza.
Hizballah in Lebanon mounts cross border attacks in to northern Israel on a daily basis.

So imagine how Israelis feel when "friends" like the UK, Canada, Australia, the US, France and others among the family of Western democracies threaten arms embargoes, in the case of Canada they've already enacted a weapons ban on Israel, including defensive items.

The article below is about the US, but it could be written about the current threats coming from Paris or Ottowa or David Cameron in London. 

The message is the same - they threaten to starve Israel of the means to defend itself from murderous enemies who openly declare their desire to destroy Israel and attack on a daily basis.

Somehow none of our so called "allies" seems bothered in the least that as they threaten Israel and talk about arms embargoes Iran, North Korea and others will continue to arm Hamas, Hizballah, Islamic Jihad, the Houthis and many other proxies in the Iranian noose now encircling Israel.

Threatening to withhold crucial weapons, never mind enacting an actual embargo against Israel while it fights for its life is not the act of allies. It's having a hand in weakening Israel and supporting those seeking the destruction of the world's only Jewish state.

"The late, great Middle East scholar Bernard Lewis liked to quip that while it is dangerous to be America’s enemy, it can be fatal to be its friend. That sad wisdom comes to mind as leading Democrats increase their pressure on Israel to end the war against Hamas before the terror group is defeated. 

Democrats claim to be looking out for Israel’s best interests, but that’s for Israelis to decide. The threats to withhold weapons from an ally must overjoy Hamas, whose strategy of hiding behind civilian deaths is the real source of Gaza’s humanitarian tragedy. 

Never mind that denying weapons to an ally in the middle of a war is the definition of betrayal."

Democrats Play Into Hamas’s Hands - WSJ

Thorns and birdsong

Another day, another farm.

It's peak citrus blossom season and the fragrance that permeated the clementine groves was incredible but so was the heat - high of around 35 Celsius.

We wore long sleeves because these are not only the biggest clementines you've ever seen but they grow on trees with the biggest thorns you've ever seen, some a few inches in length, far larger than on any of the other citrus farms we've volunteered on. Totally different from any of the other farms where we've picked clementines, lemons, oranges or grapefruits. These were thorns which truly meant business.

We worked from about 8am until 2pm and were very glad the farmer had an ice chest full of cold drinks he brought round to us.

I think it was one of our more difficult jobs so far due to the combination of vicious thorns and strong sun (though still easier than the times we've been ankle deep in mud!) but with a nice farmer and friendly volunteers to work with it was a good day.

The volunteers were a random collection of people who got up at the crack of dawn to catch a volunteer bus down to the Gaza border region. Some we recognised from previous weeks, others were new to us. Over the months we've met people from just about every walk of life and every region of Israel out volunteering on farms and the mix of folks in this clementine orchard was no different.

Among our crew was an impressive mother daughter team, a kibbutz resident in her 80s and her daughter. They worked at twice the pace of everyone else and when there was fruit to reach high up in the tree the mother simply climbed effortlessly up the thorny branches to reach it. She said she's been harvesting citrus since she was a little girl on the kibbutz.

All together our group picked about 6 tonnes of clementines, due I'm sure to the presence of these experienced kibbutznikiot and a spry great-grandfather who was now a town dweller but had grown up on his father's farm in a northern moshav. Come to think of it the veteran high tech worker (and grandfather) from Jerusalem was also a dab hand at climbing the ferociously thorny trees.

There was fortunately an abundance of low hanging fruit for those of us less adept at tree climbing (or at least thorny tree climbing, Junior would have been happy to scale the branches otherwise) and considering the heat and the sun it was good to be in the tree's shade and fill our harvest bags with both feet firmly on the ground. Many of the trees had dense clusters of clementines hanging so low that it was possible to even sit on the ground under the trees to pick them.

In the background there was cheerful spring birdsong drowned out by the occasional thunder of artillery and explosions from the fighting in nearby southern Gaza. It's been the "soundtrack" in many of the farms we've been to, sometimes louder, sometimes more distant or muffled, but somehow it's not something you ever entirely get used to.

The army has re-opened the now infamous Route 232 "road of death" near the Gaza border to civilian traffic. Winter rains mean that wild grasses and wildflowers have regrown over charred verges. The horrific remains of the murderous Hamas rampage through the area have been cleaned up. The eerily cheerful murals painted long ago on the roadside public shelters that became death traps give no clue to the carnage that took place within them other than the small ZAKA burial squad notices indicating that all human remains have been cleared from them. It all looks so deceptively bucolic and peaceful save for the odd burnt row of trees.

As we drove by Junior asked how they could still be left there with their bright paintings after Hamas slaughtered hundreds of civilians who sought shelter from rockets but instead were mown down by Hamas gunmen shooting and lobbing grenades. "It would be like taking shelter in a grave or the cremetoria at Aushwitz." There are so many Israelis who feel that way, and not just about the roadside public shelters on Route 232, they have become associated with the October 7 massacre in the minds of many, reminders of how something designed to offer protection was turned by Hamas in to a means for mass murder.

We tried to dwell on the positive though, on the many freshly harvested and ploughed fields, the rebuilt greenhouses and warehouses, the busy tractors and farm workers, migrating storks and raptors, meadows of wheat turning from green to golden with the heat of spring.

And all the minibuses, so many, taking groups of volunteers to yet more Israeli farms in the Gaza border, organised by Israeli NGOs like Leket, Hashomer Hahadash, Hiburim Behaklaut and small grassroots groups: communities, synagogues, educational frameworks and employee associations. Thousands of ordinary Israelis going out to do what they can to help farms through these rough times, help the moshavim, kibbutzim and towns rebuild.

The war is far from over, just tonight Hamas fired rockets again at Netivot, Sderot and Ashkelon, but Israelis are determined to restore not just life, but thriving life, to this region.

Judean redbuds

 

Easter greetings to my many Christian friends, wishing you every blessing at this special time of year.

I met Christian pilgrims last week who had come from assorted European countries to volunteer in Israel (agriculture, visiting the wounded, packing relief supplies for the displaced and in need) They were excited to be spending Good Friday and Easter weekend in Jerusalem and it means so much to the people of Jerusalem to host these special visitors in these difficult times.

The photos show some native spring wildflowers in bloom now near my home in Israel. The redbud tree with the pink-purple-crimson blossoms is known in English as the "Judas Tree" (Hebrew Klil Hahoresh, scientific name Cercis siliquastrum) There are some who say that this relates to a legend that the tree's blossoms are pink tinged because this is the tree that Judas hanged himself on. The likely origin of the English name though according to British botanist David John Mabberly is a corruption of the French common name Arbre de Judée, tree of Judea, because of this tree's native terrain and it's close association with ancient Judea.

Because it flowers in the spring there is a tradition among some Christian communities in the Levant and Balkans that associate this tree with Easter and as a symbol of early the Christian community and the Byzantine Empire.

The tree is mentioned in the biblical book of Divrei Hayamim (Chronicles) referred to by its Persian name Argon, which describes its deep magenta-red colour, analogous to the biblical Hebrew colour argaman. In Arabic and Hebrew (عروس الغابة Arus el Haba and כליל החורש Klil Hahoresh) the meaning refers to the tree's striking blossoms "bride/beauty/crown/tiara of the woodland".

Whatever name you choose this is one of the most gorgeous trees among many that adorn our countryside in winter and spring. This time of year the hillsides and verges are alive with these vibrant splashes of glorious colour, while cultivated varities bloom in parks and gardens.

These are painful, sad times for the people of Israel but our native landscape reminds us to maintain hope and faith.
Easter greetings to my many Christian friends, wishing you every blessing at this special time of year.

I met Christian pilgrims last week who had come from assorted European countries to volunteer in Israel (agriculture, visiting the wounded, packing relief supplies for the displaced and in need) They were excited to be spending Good Friday and Easter weekend in Jerusalem and it means so much to the people of Jerusalem to host these special visitors in these difficult times.

The photos show some native spring wildflowers in bloom now near my home in Israel. The redbud tree with the pink-purple-crimson blossoms is known in English as the "Judas Tree" (Hebrew Klil Hahoresh, scientific name Cercis siliquastrum) There are some who say that this relates to a legend that the tree's blossoms are pink tinged because this is the tree that Judas hanged himself on. The likely origin of the English name though according to British botanist David John Mabberly is a corruption of the French common name Arbre de Judée, tree of Judea, because of this tree's native terrain and it's close association with ancient Judea.

Because it flowers in the spring there is a tradition among some Christian communities in the Levant and Balkans that associate this tree with Easter and as a symbol of early the Christian community and the Byzantine Empire.

The tree is mentioned in the biblical book of Divrei Hayamim (Chronicles) referred to by its Persian name Argon, which describes its deep magenta-red colour, analogous to the biblical Hebrew colour argaman. In Arabic and Hebrew (عروس الغابة Arus el Haba and כליל החורש Klil Hahoresh) the meaning refers to the tree's striking blossoms "bride/beauty/crown/tiara of the woodland".

Whatever name you choose this is one of the most gorgeous trees among many that adorn our countryside in winter and spring. This time of year the hillsides and verges are alive with these vibrant splashes of glorious colour, while cultivated varities bloom in parks and gardens.

These are painful, sad times for the people of Israel but our native flora reminds us to maintain hope and faith.

Helping our younger boys get their Purim costumes ready for dress-up day in school tomorrow, going through our massive "Purim box" full of costumes and accessories from years of Purims past and kids who've always enjoyed dressing up.

As I looked for a particular item my hands found instead a transparent bag with superhero components - capes, shirts, headgear - and a stiff felt Batman mask with pointy ears atop a neatly folded set of little boy Batman pajamas.

The tears welled up unbidden and all I could see in my mind's eye was the photo of the once happy Bibas family and their two little boys enjoying a family Batman PJ costume back in another life, before the Hamas invasion of October 7th stole that all away and kidnapped them to Gaza.

What is happening to them now? Are they still alive? Together? What conditions are they being held in? Do they have food, water? How are they being treated? Do they know it's almost Purim? Do they know how much everyone is doing to find them, save them, set them free?

Let my people go! שלח את עמי

Purim - Hope of Deliverance

One of the books that made a deep impression on me as a teen and
throughout my life is Esh Kodesh, the carefully preserved writings of
Reb Kalonimus Kalman Szapiro, the Piaseczno Rebbe. Even in the darkest
of times, in the horror of the Warsaw Ghetto, he did all he could to
preserve life, to maintain the rhythms and customs of the Jewish way
of life, be it mikveh or Shabbat or marriage.

Among his teachings, taught to me from earliest childhood by my
mother, was a deeply ingrained principle that in the depth of despair
and tragedy one should seek out the person who needs help. Even in the
darkest hour, find ways to do hesed, acts of kindness. Turn the
paralysis of grief and trauma to the positive of helping someone else,
even if it might be your final act. Perhaps these ideas are intuitive,
but all my life they have been a guide to how one can relate to times
of crisis.

Along with other Jewish intellectuals in the ghetto such as historian
Emanuel Ringelblum, he formed a secret group known as "Oneg Shabbos",
dedicated to preserving records of the life of the Jews in the ghetto
and testimonies of the Holocaust as it was ongoing.

In early 1943 these writings were buried in milk churns underneath the
ghetto. Rabbi Szapiro was murdered by the Nazis in November 1943 at
the Trawniki forced labour camp. Two out of the three caches were
discovered during the rebuilding of Warsaw after the war. In 1960,
surviving students of Rabbi Szapiro published his writings from the
Warsaw Ghetto under the title of Esh Kodesh - the Sacred Fire.

An innovative educator and passionate writer, as much as Rabbi
Shapiro’s words offer comfort and inspiration during times of darkness
and crisis, his very life and example also offer guidance. At a time
when it seemed as though the Jewish people had no future and were
doomed to be wiped out, he continued to live and work as though
tomorrow would always come.

The very act of preserving testimonies and burying them was an act of
hope that there would be survivors to find these hidden writings, that
the Holocaust would end and that the Nazis would eventually be
defeated. The sun would rise again, and there would be Jewish life
left in the world to rebuild and restore the remnant of the Jewish
people.

Which brings me to the upcoming Jewish holiday of Purim.

It's hard to think about celebrating any festival in Israel’s current
situation, let alone the raucous, joyous, silly season of Purim with
its dressing up and feasting.

Months of war, 134 hostages still held captive in Gaza, vast numbers
of bereaved families, thousands of war wounded, an entire nation still
deep in trauma and grief since October 7. Really, who has the stomach
now for parties, clowns and making merry?

And yet this complexity is precisely Purim. Purim isn't "carnival". It
isn't a celebration for celebration's sake, but a Jewish holiday
commemorating our deliverance from annihilation.

Purim is the story of Haman the Amalekite, who convinces the drinking
and carousing Persian emperor to let him carry out a plan of genocide
against the entire Jewish nation in the Persian empire - effectively
meaning the entire Jewish people, because the vast Persian empire
included all the Jewish population centres of the ancient world.

The ancient Persian legal system didn't even allow the Persian emperor
to simply overturn this horrific decree when Esther beseeches him to
save the lives of her people. He just can't. A decree issued by the
emperor and sealed with his ring of office cannot be revoked. The most
he can do is give permission to the Jews to defend themselves against
those who will be coming to massacre them.

Purim, despite being clothed in fun and silliness, is a story of Jews
successfully defending themselves against enemies set on genocide of
the Jewish people.

The ensuing celebration is not an easy one. Mordechai and Esther have
to instruct the Jewish people how to observe this festival of
Thanksgiving for their successful defeat of Haman's plot. In "the
month that turned from grief to joy, from mourning to a holiday, to
commemorate them as days of feasting and joy, giving food gifts to
friends, and gifts to the poor."

There is a difference between breathing a subdued sigh of relief at
being saved from certain destruction, and actively celebrating that
deliverance. A traumatised, exhausted people who have just had to
fight for their lives against murderous mobs can't necessarily see the
broad historical perspective. Without the guidance of Mordechai and
Esther, they might not have had the strength or vision to mark the
occasion.

Mordechai and Esther wanted the enormity of these events to be
remembered throughout the generations, to serve as a source of eternal
hope and faith that whatever dire straits the Jewish people might find
themselves in, whatever new Amalek might arise, the tables could be
turned.

To my mind, they were also looking to heal the deeply scarred and
traumatised Jewish people. The merriment, the emphasis on the
topsy-turvy turn of events, is a tool for helping the Jews of the
Persian empire release some of the pain and grief by focusing on
celebrating life and survival, by seeing the positive of their
successful defeat of those who sought their destruction and finding a
way to be joyful and thankful despite the horror of what they
experienced.

It's also interesting how Mordechai and Esther choose to commemorate
the events of Purim. Their instructions that people should hold joyful
feasts recall the lavish feasts of the decadent Persian emperor, too
busy with his own pleasure to even think twice about agreeing
initially to the mass murder of an ethnic minority in his realm.

Yet unlike the emperor's days-long extravaganzas of drinking and
partying, the celebrations Esther and Mordechai describe are fixed in
scope. They set a specific time for a persecuted people to release the
stresses of all they have just experienced, to let down their hair and
just let go. The Megilla tells the Jewish people to feast and be
joyful in remembering that Haman's evil plot was turned on its head,
not to engage in over the top parties and weeks of silliness and
abandon.

Yet they also understand that for many it was not the time for
celebration. Everything was too close, too raw. There were many Jews
who did not feel up to even modest feasting and joy. So they
emphasised that this commemoration of Purim must involve reaching out
to all sectors of the community with gifts of food, with donations to
those in need - including everyone, even those who were not ready or
able to join in the communal celebrations.

The entire community was saved on those miraculous days when, against
all odds, the Jews were allowed to fight for their lives and were able
to successfully defeat their enemies. As such, the entire community
needed to be included in giving thanks for that miracle.

Maybe all this is obvious, but to me this is one of the essential
lessons for Purim in our difficult times. We are traumatised and in
pain, but we need to also see the positive in our situation, to give
thanks for those doing good, to recognise the helpers and the
successes, even as we mourn our terrible losses and do all we can to
bring home our people who are still being held hostage in Gaza.

The essence of Purim isn't the dress-up, the drinking or the joking
around. It's an appreciation of the gift that the great power of the
day permitted the Jewish people to defend themselves in the face of a
genocidal plot and to save their own lives. It doesn't get more
existential to Jewish experience through the centuries than that.

And for those who don't feel like gathering with friends and family,
for whom October 7th is still too raw to engage in any kind of
feasting or celebrating, however modest, there are still plenty of
mitzvot of the day that are in the spirit of Purim, particularly
those which involve helping others.

Donate to "Smiles for the Kids'' to help bring joy to Israeli
children who are refugees or living in frontline communities. Visit hospitals,
or run Purim activities at a local retirement home, or offer to read
the Megilla for those who are housebound.

Make a modest Purim se'udah so that you can invite a new family in
your neighbourhood, or a recently-divorced or widowed friend and their
kids, or some elderly neighbours who live alone. There are so many who
need this kind of "hug", not just now, but especially now.

Mishloah manot isn't about grandiose gifting, themed baskets or baking
marathons. It's about seeing others in our community, maybe a
neighbour we aren't so close to but who is going through crisis, maybe
a miluim family or a socially awkward kid in your child's class, the
one people don't usually invite, or just an old friend you've lost
touch with or a relative who needs a boost. Even in our communities
which are full of kindness and love, there are still so many people
who are often "transparent". Mishloah manot is an opportunity to help
them feel seen.

To my mind, Mordechai and Esther and Reb Kalonimus Kalman Szapiro were
coming from that same perspective. During times of tragedy or in its
aftermath, take your grief, your trauma, your despair, and turn it
towards hesed and mitzvot, kindness and compassion.

Superhero lullaby

This is the song we have on repeat in our home at the moment. I'm sure many of you have already seen it. Due to the war our town has decided to cancel the annual Purim parade. Instead our younger children's school is having its own mini-Purim event and their class have decided that they want to perform this song as a thank you to all the school staff and families (including the headmaster himself) who dropped everything on October 7 and went off to reserve army duty to quite literally defend their homes and families.

For our young kids this song is their lived reality. These "superheroes" are their teachers, their friends' parents and siblings, school staff and neighbours.

Their school has taken in Israeli children from the north and the Gaza border who've been made refugees in their own country. They've heard first hand from these children about what it's like to live on the border with Lebanon in recent months under Hizballah bombardment, what it was like to be a child in Sderot or a nearby moshav on October 7 hiding with family in a shelter, praying the roaming Hamas gunmen wouldn't find them.

And they understand the response of hundreds of thousands of ordinary Israelis who left their regular lives as bus drivers, teachers, restaurant owners and lawyers, threw on a uniform and went off to defend all of us. They ask to watch this video over and over again because it is a great reassuring comfort to them, to know that we have a "people's army" of the mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and neighbours and teachers who have gone out to protect them, people who are doers and helpers, people who are doing all they can to keep them and all the children of Israel safe.

I know there are those who say "see, all Israelis are soldiers, you all deserve to die!" (yes, that is a quote from a "friend" overseas) If you don't believe we have the right as a people to defend ourselves then I guess that might be the way you view this song.

If on the other hand you believe that Israelis and Jews have the right to self-defense against murderous terrorists who make no pretense of their desire to annihilate us and wipe our country off the map, then this song is one of reassurance. In some countries they sing lullabies and tell children stories about imaginary monsters and things that go bump in the night. Our children know that there are real monsters right on our borders and that sometimes the thing that goes bump in the night is real too. This song and the real life heroes it is about is the comforting lullaby for all Israel's children that there are flesh and blood superheroes out there every day protecting them.

Alive!!!

 

If any Israeli song is due for revival in our difficult times, it’s this one.

This is Ofra Haza performing "Hai" (Alive) and winning Israel's nomination for the 1983 Eurovision song contest held that year in Munich, Germany.

She went on to be first runner-up at that year's Eurovision competition, and the song has ever since been an Israeli and Jewish anthem of hope, survival and resilience.

The Eurovision competition was held that year in Munich, Germany, a location fraught with painful associations for Jews and Israelis, from its central role in Nazi era Germany to the 1972 massacre of eleven Israeli athletes by the Palestinian Black September terror organisation when the city hosted the Olympic games. 

In 1983 First Lebanon War was raging, as after years of constant rocket attacks and terror assaults launched into northern Israel by Yasser Arafat's PLO in southern Lebanon, Israel tried to restore security to the residents of northern Israel, whose children were growing up spending as much time in communal bomb shelters as their own homes. 

Meanwhile, the Cold War was also still in play. In the Soviet Union, growing numbers of Jews risked everything to live as cultural and religious Jews, fighting for the right to learn and speak Hebrew, the right to observe their Jewish faith, and most of all the right to emigrate to the Jewish homeland in Israel.

Many of these brave Jewish activists in the totalitarian Soviet Union were at the time sitting in prisons in Soviet cities and the infamous Siberian prison camps. Others had been fired from their jobs and labeled "parasites" for not working, a designation that often led to arrest. Soviet Jewry's struggle was alluded to in Ofra Haza's fierce celebration of Jewish life and survival, especially the line: "my sons seeking to return home".

Here are the deeply symbolic lyrics Ofra Haza sang (my translation):

Hear, my brothers,

I'm still alive!

And my two eyes are still raised towards the light

I’ve many thorns

Yet many flowers

And ahead of me too many years to count

I ask,

And I pray:

It's good that we have not yet lost our hope

A hymn passes

Through generations

Like a spring that flows eternal

Alive, alive, alive

Yes I'm still alive

That's the song my grandfather

Sang yesterday to my father

And today I’m still 

I'm still alive, alive, alive

The nation of Israel is alive 

That's the song my grandfather

Sang yesterday to my father

And today I’m still

My days are busy (alive, alive)

As are my nights (alive, alive)

And in my skies the pillar of fire still rises

I'll always sing: alive, alive!

And I'll reach out: alive, alive!

To my friends from over the seas 

I ask...

Alive, alive...

Listen my brothers,

I'm still alive!

And my two eyes are still raised towards the light 

So welcome

To all my guests

And to my sons seeking to return home

I ask...

Alive, alive...

Alive! I'm still alive, alive, alive!!!

שמעו אחי,

אני עוד חי

ושתי עיני עוד נישאות לאור.

רבים חוחי

אך גם פרחי

ולפני שנים רבות מספור.

אני שואל

ומתפלל

טוב שלא אבדה עוד התקווה.

עובר מזמור

מדור לדור,

כמעיין מאז ועד עולם

אני שואל...

חי, חי, חי

כן, אני עוד חי.

זה השיר שסבא

שר אתמול לאבא

והיום אני.

אני עוד חי, חי, חי,

עם ישראל חי.

זה השיר שסבא

שר אתמול לאבא

והיום אני.

הומים ימי חי חי

ולילותי חי חי

ובשמי עמוד האש עוד קם.

אשיר בלי די, חי חי

אפרוש ידי חי חי

לידידי אשר מעבר ים.

אני שואל...

חי, חי, חי...

שמעו אחי,

אני עוד חי

ושתי עיני עוד נישאות לאור.

אז כה לחי

לכל אורחי

ולבני המבקשים לחזור.

אני שואל...