This is a very Jewish time of year to be dealing with fateful matters like a national election in wartime, or semi-wartime, or whatever it is right now that we are in the middle of. The Hebrew month of Heshvan, the time of year when the rainy season should be starting in earnest, when we find out how Hashem has judged us, if we will have plenty of water or whether we may be facing potential drought. Fatefully enough rain is forecast for election day. Since October 7th, and maybe before then, I have lost all patience for politics. For the bickering and one upmanship and sheer hysteria of everyone yelling over each other in tv studios rather than having respectful or at least more dignified debates. For the self-righteousness of those convinced that they have all the answers. I'm more interested in what people do than in what they spout or how well they shout down their opponent or how cleverly they twist someone else's words into a put down. I've always been a very Jewish Jew in that respect I think, raised to value deeds more than words. Anyone can talk the talk, but what are we, certainly anyone who wants my vote, actual doing? How are we behaving day to day, how do we treat each other, do we act in accordance with the beliefs we espouse? I can wax cynical about the career politicians of all stripes, no question, but at the end of the day the passion, the yelling, it's very much part of the culture in a country where people really do care, where fates really are at stake, where despite all the arguments and millions of contradictory opinions (sometimes held at the same time by the same person) we are a society in which there is mutual care and responsibility for one another.

I know that since October 2023 the people I've met in the Otef, in the north, out in fields, entertaining and comforting evacuated families, clearing up buildings or preparing meals, have come from centre, right and left, from all over Israel of so many different stripes, religious, traditional, secular, atheist, Jews, Christians, Bedouins, Druze - good people all of them who dropped everything in our time of terrible crisis and pain to go out and help their fellow Israelis. The Chabadnikim and the right wingers and the settlers who gave everything to help the Hashomer Hatzair kibbutznikim while leftwingers, dyed in the wool socialists and kibbutznikim gave everything to help religious yishuvim and farmers who were exiles from Gush Katif. Bibi supporter shoulder to shoulder with Kaplan demonstrator. Pig eating devout secularist side by side with Mehadrin kosher Orthodox Jew. People from so many different ideological and political backgrounds united around a core belief in the value of life, devoted to restoring and rebuilding all that Hamas had burnt, plundered and destroyed in the Israeli communities of the Gaza border region. The most literal expression of Kol Yisrael Areivim Zeh Lazeh - all Israel are responsible for one another. I saw it. I felt it. Breathed it. Something visceral, tangible, soul deep and more real than anything else. I heard the conversations, saw friendships grow between strangers who in theory were complete opposites. I saw this responsible, caring Israeli society that is the essence of this country's ethos. The living, breathing Zionist response to the death, destruction and hatred Hamas unleashed on our people on October 7th. People for whom Am Yisrael Hai was a way of life, not a slogan. I've lived it week after week for the last three years and honestly it kills me now even more when I hear the bickering and insults and stereotyping oneupmanship of the politicians and talking heads not just in the studios but on social media posts or casual conversations, people who dish out endless vitriol about whoever it is they have decided is beyond the pale, people who talk and talk but too often lack the walk.
The feeling has been burning in me, building in me ever since October 7th but it seemed judgemental to put it into words. Tonight though, on the eve of elections I can't be quiet.

In those traumatic first months I think we were all looking for little things to hold onto, to ground us as the earth cracked and shook beneath our feet. Many of us looked for symbols that offered comfort or showed defiance against Hamas and their supporters who wanted to erase us from existence in the most barbaric way. 

It's sounds trivial, banal almost, but I took to wearing a cluster of necklaces.

One was a silver hostage symbol to remind me of their plight at all times.

One was a magen david with the words Am Yisrael Hai, a reminder of our people's survival over millennia of persecution, that even in the darkest of times we are a people who seeks life, who lives and finds joy.

One was the simple word "ve-ahavta" (you shall love), a reminder both of the commandment to love Hashem, even when the world makes no sense and also of the commandment to love your neighbour as yourself, that all Israel are responsible for one another, even when we disagree, even when we feel that the ideology of one group or another is to blame, we are still brothers and sisters working together for the good of our nation. 

More than anything though these charms I mostly kept under my shirt reminded me at all times that I had a duty to do whatever I could to help my people in our time of terrible need, because if you truly believe in life, if you truly love Am Yisrael, you have to do something to help, however small it is, however minor, but you have to do something, you have to give whatever it is you are in a position to give, and for so many people, to give more than you can give. 

And I saw so many people give more than they could give.

Aurvivors of the October 7th invasion of the Otef who days later, even as the army was still fighting Hamas terrorists within Israel, even as rockets were raining down on the Gaza border, returned home to already start trying salvage and repair and replant and care for livestock. 

The man with the oxygen machine who volunteers week after week, apologising that he couldn't chat while he worked because it was too hard to breathe and work and talk at the same time.

The frail elderly who worked to the point beyond exhaustion to help fix up buildings on a kibbutz badly damaged by Hamas.

Of course our first responders and military who literally gave life and limb to save us all. 

And so many many others it has been my honour to meet over these last three years, doing, doing and doing the right thing anyway they can. 

You can't easily pick them out on the street because they don't fit any one model. Hatikva 6 honoured Israel's army reservists as superheroes who drop everything to run out to save lives, ordinary people with ordinary lives who suddenly don their superhero togs and transform into the extraordinary.

If there is anything I've learnt these past three years it's the incredible scale of people who contribute in a myriad supporting roles that keep this country going in times of crisis. They don't fit any particular mold either, not politically or ethnically or religiously. 

We have a lot of issues to deal with, a lot of problems, our very lives hang on such a fine thread in this tumultous region. All that is true. But when you go into vote don't do it with hate in your heart, with derision for the "other side" whichever side that may be, with the idea that "they" are evil incarnate while "we" are the force for good, as if it's one simple dichotomy. 

If October 7th taught us anything one of those things should be humility. It's easy to criticise and throw mud at people, much harder to actually find the solutions, do the right thing, fix a situation. 

This doesn't absolve us of the responsibility to do all we can to achieve all of these, but we must do so humbly, none of us has all the answers, none of us is infallible, none of us know for sure exactly what decisions we might make at that critical hour.  

The only perfection in the world is the Divine. If there is anything we learn from the Torah it is that we as humans, even the giants of our nation, are most definitely not perfect. No human should be put on a pedestal to be revered and neither should our governments or states. And yet, even with that huge caveat there is so much good in humanity and for all my cynicism about political leaders pretty much across the spectrum, I do think at heart most want the best for the country even when they are in total disagreement over what that means. I see a lot of good people in this election who are in political parties across the spectrum. Even if I'm not thrilled that once again just about all the party leaders are just a reshuffling of the same crowd from last elections there are a lot of new people on party lists who are fresh faces with new potential to do important work in the next Knesset, and I hope, most importantly, fresh potential to work together, across parties, to find the common ground needed to do good things to for our entire nation. There is a lot that needs to be repaired, both physically and within society, with the way the state functions, no question. But we must also approach this healing and these elections with hakarat hatov, gratitude for what does work, for the incredible grassroots nation we have who saved us all and continue to save us all in so many ways, for all the good people in all the political factions who are genuinely trying to make things right, even when the disagree on the how. I pray that we will all have the wisdom to choose well tomorrow and elect the quality leadership our country deserves. Whether we do or we don't though, don't wait for whoever we elect to get started. Make the first move, go out and vote, but don't stop there, go out and do a good deed, however small, however minor, but never stop being part of that Israeli grassroots of caring and goodness, whatever the outcome of the elections.

My younger kids came home today from school and said that they had remembered the Simhat Torah invasion (October 7 2023) by learning about a fallen soldier who was a graduate of their primary school. His mother came and talked to the class about her son. They said they didn't remember her name, but they remembered that the soldier's name was Yona and he was a combat medic who was gravely wounded saving lives in kibbutz Kfar Azza on that terrible day.

Yona's parents were two of the first people we met when we moved to the neighbourhood many years ago. A mutual friend said to us that if we were moving to the area we had to meet this wonderful family they knew there.

On the news this evening commentators and the news anchor were remembering the fallen by telling stories of family and friends. Several them had served with the fallen son of a family friend, my future husband's boss who one afternoon closed the office early and took us all out to a typical Israeli grill diner to celebrate our (as yet unofficial) engagement, the first person to wish us mazal tov.

This is how small Israel, every Israeli is in some way connected to what happened, every Israeli wherever they live lost someone or knows someone who did. Even if they themselves weren't in the Otef, the Gaza border area, at the time of the Hamas invasion and murderous rampage through the Israeli towns, villages and music festivals taking place that holiday weekend.

When I talk to people from larger countries they generally don't understand this close-knit nature of Israeli society, a community of 10 million souls where it feels like everyone knows everyone, multiple levels of interconnectivity that make every loss that much more personal even if that particular fallen soldier or terror victim is not someone you know, is a complete stranger, but they could so easily be someone we have in some way crossed paths with.

I wish that our kids didn't have to learn about graduates from their school or family friends' children because of this awful war of self-defense our country has been forced to fight in the wake of the October 7th Hamas invasion. But if this is the situation our nation finds itself in then I am honoured that the young men and women who rushed to save so many lives on that terrible day and in the weeks, months and years afterward, were and are men and women like Yona Brief of blessed memory.

Squill flowers like memorial candles

The words of legendary Israeli song writer, Naomi Shemer's, sweet children's song for the Jewish New Year have taken on new meaning for me since the October 7th 2023 Hamas invasion of Israel on the festival of Simhat Torah, which concludes the Jewish autumn festive season. "On Rosh Hashana a white boat suddenly anchored off the coast ,,, On Rosh Hashana, on Rosh Hashana A cloud flitted by in the autumn sky On Rosh Hashana white squill Lit up the field like memorial candles" (my rough translation) Since the Hamas invasion which triggered years of war in our region I can't see the tall, ethereal stands of autumn squill without thinking that they are not only harbingers of the upcoming rainy season, but indeed also nature's memorial candles this time of year. Perhaps Naomi Shemer was thinking of the Yom Kippur War when she wrote that line. For me though those lines, the boat off shore, the rows of candle-like squill take me to Carmiya nature reserve and the adjacent Zikim beach on October 7th 2023, the morning Hamas attacked from the sea. I think many Israelis find themselves in a painful dilemma this time of year, how to reconcile the obligation to rejoice on the festival Sukkot but also to include in their hol hamo'ed activities a way to honour and remember the horrific Hamas invasion of three years ago on Simhat Torah/7/10? We don't mourn on yom tov and yet we are still a nation in trauma.

I suggest visiting the Carmiya nature reserve and nearby Zikim beach as a way to try to find a balance.

Before the war the Carmiya nature reserves was one of our favourite family outings this time of year, one of the best places in Israel to see large numbers of hatzavim (squill flowers) and also close to the beautiful Zikim beach.

Then on October 7th the adjacent Zikim beach was one of the places attacked by Hamas, with Israelis murdered on the beach and nature reserve. The area has been closed since the war began due to its proximity to Gaza and war damage.

Recently both the beach and nature reserve have re-opened to the public after the beach facilities were restored and upgraded.

Carmiya is an easy, family friendly walk through a sandy nature reserve featuring fragments of the shikma sycamore fig trees which once covered this coastal area. This time of year the highlight is the large meadow of tall white hatzavim (squill flowers) that bloom in late summer/early autumn and are symbols of the autumn festive season in Israel. The flowers are slightly past their peak but still beautiful with many flowering in impressive clusters.The main path is mostly flat and pushchair friendly. It is open free of charge.

I recommend going late in the afternoon and then moving on to Zikim beach to enjoy sunset over the Mediterranean. Earlier in the day there is a lifeguard and some kind of refreshment stand at the beach. There are toilets and showers and plenty of parking.

On the way to Zikim take a few minutes to pay your respects at a couple of memorials along the road commemorating those murdered on Simhat Torah/7/10.

Of course there is something jarring about combining a fun family outing with remembering the horrors of that terrible Simhat Torah, but I think that is perhaps the point of this outing, a message of life, rebuilding and restoration while honouring the memories of those we have lost.

Hamas invaded to snuff out Israeli life, to murder people enjoying the simple pleasures of a walk on the beach, early morning fishing or strolling through nature. Restoring these oh so normal activities is a small act of defiance in the face of those who want to destroy us and our country.

In a way this is Israel in a nutshell, remembering our fallen, never forgetting what happened that day, but also teaching our children to live, find joy and appreciate the beauty of or country

I have always loved pomegranates. I love the splendour of an orchard in full bloom or heavy with ruddy, ripe fruit, the sweet-tart flavour, the anticipation and trepidation that pomegranate season means that the Yamim Noraim, the High Holidays, are fast approaching, holiday meals with family and friends and gold-red leaves in the late autumn or the first burgundy shoots on the bare tree in spring around Purim time. 

It is the most majestic of fruit and also the most spiritual. 

For years in our family preparing mentally and materially for Rosh Hashana, the Jewish lunar new year, includes visiting pomegranate orchards which somehow in my mind brings home to me the concept that in the Hebrew month of Elul, the lead up to Rosh Hashana, "the King is in the field", it's a time when God is especially attentive to our supplications and penitence, a time when we are more aware of His presence. 

I have always loved pomegranates and it feels somehow appropriate that in the wake of the horrific Hamas invasion of Israel on Simhat Torah, October 7th, the first farms where my family and went to volunteer was a pomegranate farm, working alongside hundreds of other Israelis from many different sectors of our society to save the huge pomegranate harvest in a nearby kibbutz suddenly bereft of seasonal workers because of the war. Such a bizarre cognitive dissonance to be surrounded on the ground by the gorgeous late season giant red pomegranates while above warplanes, drones and the occasional Hamas rocket roared over our heads. 

Pomegranates, one of the most well known symbols of Rosh Hashanah, is the most Jewish of all fruits, rooted deep in our ancient Hebrew heritage, woven into our religious and cultural life for millennia. 

One of the special seven species with which the Torah describes the Land of Israel as being blessed with, pomegranates appear multiple times in the bible.

Its striking bell shaped flowers are the inspiration for the golden bells adorning the hem of the High Priest's garment, alternating with pomegranate pendats woven from blue, scarlet and purple yarn. 

The beauty of the pomegranate fruit and blossoms feature in Solomon's Song of Songs and through the ages in Jewish liturgical poetry. 

The crown (calyx) of the pomegranate grows in the shape of a six pointed star, thought by many to be the inspiration for the Star of David as a Jewish emblem. 

There are many traditions associating the pomegranate tree with the tree of life. 

Villages and towns in ancient Israel and Judea, and in modern Israel, bearing names including the word Rimon, pomegranate, like the ruins of the ancient synagogue near the Lahavim forest, close to Beer Sheva. 

And this is before we get to the more spiritual symbolism of the pomegranate as a sign of blessing, as a metaphor for a person who is full of good deeds, a righteous person, the holy nation of Israel, a fruit who's many seeds are said to amount to 613 like the number of commandments Hashem gave to the Jewish people. 

We place the pomegranate in pride of place on our Rosh Hashanah dinner tables and make the Yehi Ratzon blessing "may we be full of good deeds like the seeds of a pomegranate" and "may we be full of merit like the seeds of a pomegranate", but the pomegranate represents so much more than that simple prayer.

It embodies thousands of years of an unbroken chain of Jewish faith, culture, history, art and agriculture.

It is the yearning for our long destroyed ancient Temple in Jerusalem and the pomegranate adornment of the Kohen Gadol's robes and the bringing of the first fruits of the biblical seven species as offerings. 

It is an image that repeats itself over and over again in ancient Jewish architecture and the adornment of synagogues throughout the ages, in mosaics, engravings, embroidered parokhet curtains in front of the Torah ark, millennia old jewellery uncovered in archaeological sites and motifs decorating furniture in synagogues to this day. 

These thoughts and more crowd my head as since that terrible Simhat Torah three years ago working in agriculture has become part of my routine. I have worked so many pomegranate harvests in that time, pruned and weeded so many pomegranate orchards during the winter and spring. Even the small pomegranate tree in my garden has started yielding more fruit. 

Each pomegranate picked, each sucker branch trimmed feels like reaching out to my ancestors through the centuries, Israelite farmers, Judean farmers doing this exact same work in this exact same place. These are literally my roots, my people's roots. A beautiful red fruit that is at once sensual and holy, an ancient blessing for our land, for our nation, an exhortation to be righteous, an aspiration to be worthy of blessing. 

May this coming year bring us blessings like the seeds of the pomegranate, may we all be written and sealed in the book of life and good deeds.

On the afternoon (Israel time) of September 11th I had just seen off a relative at the airport ahead of his flight to Europe. Hard to believe that was twenty five years ago but that afternoon will forever by etched in my memory.

I waved goodbye to him as he went through security then went off to catch the bus to Tel Aviv to meet my husband after work. On my bus the driver had the radio on, a news station, and I remember hearing something vague about an aircraft crashing into a building, but I was sitting several rows back and it was hard to make out all the details.

I remember thinking it was odd, it was afternoon and they were talking about a plane crashing into a tower in the morning, why was it only being reported now?

Only when the bus pulled into the massive Tel Aviv central bus station did I and the other passengers start to understand what had happened and that with the time difference this was a developing story taking place in the morning in America.

The bus station at the time had loads of televisions in and outside its many eateries, barbers and kiosks. People were gathered outside every single one staring in shock at the news reports coming in from New York. Payphones had long queues as people tried to check-in with family and friends. Complete strangers clustered together watching the television screens crying and stunned as we saw the second 'plane crash into the second tower in real time. Shopkeepers came out with cups of water to those overcome, strangers comforted those standing next to them. We couldn't believe what we were seeing, like watching a real life disaster film unfolding on live television broadcast around the world.

As a country which had suffered, was suffering, so many terrorist attacks every Israeli had profound sympathy for what the American people were suffering. There was a strong sense of solidarity with the people of New York, with Americans in general. Israelis felt their pain and shock. Within hours of the 9/11 attacks messages of support for the United States and sympathy with its people along with many American flags started going up in windows, on shop fronts and on vehicles all around Israel.

The 9/11 memorial in Jerusalem's Arazim Valley forest is an expression of that outpouring of sympathy and solidarity with the American people. Inscribed on it are the names of all the victims of 9/11 and a memorial ceremony is held there each year.

 Two news stories from the Modiin area tonight:

1. People have been wondering about the bright flashes in the sky visible all over this region. Turns out Iran launched 15 missiles at Jordan. The interceptions could be clearly seen for miles around, including across the border in neighbouring Israel. 

2. A Jerusalem area Hamas cell was arrested. They were caught with an arms cache, ammunition, explosives. Apparently they were planning a terror attack on a restaurant in Modiin. One of their operatives had gotten himself a job there to scout out the joint and gather intelligence. Oh, and the leader of this Hamas terror cell? He was released from an Israeli prison as part of the 2025 hostage deal in which hundreds of convicted Hamas terrorists were set free in exchange for a handful of Israeli hostages held by Hamas in Gaza. 

Nissim Srussi (not to be confused with the French Jewish singer!) is a pioneering agronomist and wine maker who has spent his life helping agriculture to thrive in Israel's arid south. He grew up on a moshav in the Negev, his family were among the founders of Gush Katif and then decades later had to start from scratch after losing everything in the destruction of Gush Katif. He rebuilt his life in the Negev, creating the Carmei Mevurakh winery and vineyard.

The saline soil in the desert near Beer Sheva where his vineyard is located was so salty that no one believed it possible that anything could be grown there, there were barely any weeds or native wild plants growing there when Nissim decided that this would be the sight for his newest project. Today it is home to a thriving vineyard which is going from strength to strength against the odds, an island of vivid green in the midst of the barren yellow-brown of the dry season desert.

The abundant rains of the most recent winter/spring rainy season have produced a bumper crop this summer, flushing out more of the salts from the ground and nourishing the vines, making them stronger and healthier than ever.

It's been a long road for this small family run and owned kosher winery and vineyard to get to this point. In summer of 2014 Nissim and his family were getting ready to plant 12,000 grape seedlings before Tu B'Av, a crucial planting date the summer before a shmitta year. But then the 2014 Gaza war, Tzuk Eitan, erupted and overnight all the young men in his family who were going to help with the labour intensive task were drated. He was left alone with his wife and two daughters - and the 12,000 seedlings. He thought he was about to lose everything again but his daughter put a post on social media and it was seen by someone from Hashomer Hahadash, one of the organisations helping farmers in need. The next day they sent Nissim 135 volunteers aged from 8 to 80 and within three days the vineyard was planted, just before Tu B'Av.

His extended family are very involved in helping out. During the summer you can meet young and old relatives in distinctive red family Carmei Mevorakh t-shirts coming and going at the vineyard, helping out however they can at this critical time of year.

Since October 7th he has once again suffered from labour shortages, especially during the busy harvest period when he has found himself needing to rely on volunteer help to pick all the grapes.

It was our honour to join the Southern Exposure agricultural volunteer group to help out this summer and learn more about quite literally making the desert bloom.