Never Again. And Again. And Again.

Never Again.

The words on which I was raised.

The words that once had meaning.

The words that once came to my mind each time I heard the Israeli Airforce in the skies above me.

Tonight and tomorrow are Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day in Israel. In previous years on Yom HaShoah I have written about the importance of guaranteeing that the Shoah is not forgotten, as fewer and fewer survivors remain to bear witness firsthand. Here in Israel children being learning about the Shoah in elementary school – every school in the country will hold a memorial ceremony tomorrow morning. Outside of Israel, Holocaust education depends very much on where you live, and where you go to school. In the United States less than half of the 50 states (23) have mandatory Holocaust education. Globally, only 13 countries have mandatory Holocaust education. Those countries are: Austria, France, Germany, Hungary, Israel, the Netherlands, Poland, Switzerland, Sweden, the United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand.

Perhaps therefore, we should not be surprised that since October 7th, 2023 when Hamas and Gazans infiltrated Israel and massacred over 1200 Israelis, and took over 200 hostage, that those words “Never Again” seem to have lost all meaning.

Perhaps we should not be surprised that in the woke world of 2024 it is acceptable for antisemitism to have increased globally. The annual antisemitism worldwide for 2023 report from the Israeli Ministry of Foreign Affairs, “…reveals that 2023 saw an increase of dozens of percentage points in the number of antisemitic incidents in Western countries in comparison to 2022. A particularly steep increase was recorded following the October 7 attacks, but the first nine months of 2023, before the war started, also witnessed a relative increase in the number of incidents in most countries with large Jewish minorities, including the United States, France, the UK, Australia, Italy, Brazil, and Mexico.”
https://tinyurl.com/mv6nu3ht for the full report.

Perhaps we should not be surprised that the world holds the State of Israel to a higher moral standard, while asking nothing of our enemies.
Perhaps we should not be surprised when ignorant university students protest against Israel and call for a “global Intifada” – after all, they have no idea what an Intifada is.
Perhaps we should not be surprised when keffiyeh wearing protestors call for an end to the “Occupation” – and have no idea that Gaza has had zero Jews or Israelis living there since 2006.
Perhaps we should not be surprised at the cries of “From the river to the sea” from people who cannot find either the river or the sea on a map, nor can they name them.

Never again we’ve been told.

Never again is now.
Never again was October 8th, when the world had an opportunity to shout out “we said never again! We meant never again!”

But history tells us that never again are empty words.

Never again since 1948 is the State of Israel and the IDF.
This time when the world forgets “Never again” the Jews have somewhere to go.

Never again. Never. Again.

It’s still October 7

The 6 months since October cannot be described really. I’ve heard people use the term “rollercoaster”, but to me, most rollercoasters are fun, even if there are moments of fear while on the ride, when you get off the coaster at the end, you feel invigorated, elevated, on a high, you may even want to queue up to do it again.

This is not something that can be said about the reality since October 7th. Even when this war comes to an end, there will be nothing good about the feelings it will leave behind.

So many lives lost. So many lives changed forever. So many young people who have lost limbs, who have lost their friends. So many parents who have buried their children. So many grandparents who have buried grandchildren.
So many homeless. Refugees in their own country.
Cannot return home because they have no home to return to.
Cannot return home because it is not safe.
Cannot return home because of the trauma home now contains.

The world yet again has turned against Israel and the Jews. This tiny oasis in the Middle East. A paradise surrounded by enemies who want to annihilate her and her people, and who then want to go on and take over the West. The West who is so blind to the truth. The West who is so ignorant of the culture in this corner of the world. The West who bribes us to “stop the war” that we didn’t start, conveniently forgetting the complicity of the “civilians” they claim to be concerned about, in the actions of October 7th.

None of this should surprise me, and none of it really does. As the months go by, I understand more and more how the Holocaust happened, and how the Nazis got away with so much before the world intervened.
Today, with the instant access to photographic evidence, the live broadcast of the atrocities carried out by Gazans on October 7th, the world still continues to turn a blind eye. How much easier it was to turn a blind eye in the 1940s! When it took weeks for news to travel and for photographs to be developed.

No, we are not living on a rollercoaster right now. We are living on the hamster wheel of Jews and Israel. Round and round and round and round. Nothing changes. History repeats itself time and time again.

The only thing that we have to hold on to is our faith in God. Somehow we have to cling to that, and to believe in His Divine plan. I am not strong enough to allow that belief to hold me constantly. I am human after all. I cry most days, for the lives lost – those I knew, and those I do not. I cry for my son who is now a man, not because he is 20, but because of what he has seen. I cry for my daughters because I believe that one day they too will be mothers to children they will have to send to the army. I cry for them because of the friends they have lost, and the friends of friends, and the friends of friends of friends. Because we are a tiny country. There is no single person in Israel who has not been affected by this war. Everyone knows someone. Everyone has lost someone, or knows someone who has lost someone.
I cry for the hostages, alive and dead. Those who are still alive, may wish they were dead, for who knows what torture they are experiencing at the hands of these monsters. I cry for their families who just want them home. I cry for the children whose parents are gone, whose siblings are gone.
I cry for me, for the fear that envelopes me every time my son calls and says “I love you Mommy, they’re taking our phones”.

This is no rollercoaster. This is our lives. This is our existence. This is our past, our present and our future.
God, I cannot claim to know Your plan, I can only pray that the fate of these people will be like that of the others who have tried to destroy Your people. Just please hurry. Please.

If you’ve read this and would like to help us raise money for soldiers were lease use this link:

https://my.israelgives.org/en/fundme/IronSwordRelief

All money raised goes directly to help soldiers get equipment that can be lifesaving. Please specify Gdud 202/Elnadav Brooks at the end of your transaction in the box for messages. Thank you!

Eye on the prize

Pesach is over, the temperature is rising, the sun is shining. Tourism Season has begun. So has Aliyah Season.

With summer fast approaching, so too are the dates of Nefesh B’Nefesh charter flights from the US to Israel for those taking the plunge and making Israel their new home. Summer is aliyah season, especially for families with school aged children, because it makes more sense to come in time for the new school year. Just five years ago, we stood in your shoes. We waited for confirmation from the Jewish Agency and NBN that our status had been approved, and that we could be on the flight of our choice. We waited to hear from our realtor in Rehovot, that he had seen apartment that would work for us. We waited for the shipping companies to give us estimates. We waited for confirmation from schools that our children had where to go on September 1.

Five years in (feels like more), I’m offering advice to those arriving this summer. Keep your eye on the prize. Remember why you’re doing this.

You’re not making aliyah for the paperwork and bureaucracy.
You’re not making aliyah for the socialized medicine.
You’re not making aliyah for the superior education system.
You’re not making aliyah for the bigger house or car.
You’re not making aliyah for the higher salary.
You’re not making aliyah for the premium online shopping.

You are making aliyah because no matter where in country you choose to live, you will be no more than a few hours away from Jerusalem.
You are making aliyah because no matter where you walk, you are walking in the footsteps of your ancestors.
You are making aliyah because you will no longer be a minority, but part of the majority.
You are making aliyah because even in a non-religious school your children will celebrate the Jewish holidays.
You are making aliyah because your children and grandchildren will defend our country on behalf of Jews around the world.
You are making aliyah because you can live the life that previous generations could only dream of.

There will be days when you wonder why you did it.
There will be days when you feel like a complete alien.
There will be days when you cry.
There will be days when you get yelled at.
There will be days when you do all the yelling.
There will be days when your kids tell you they hate you for bringing them here.

But remember this: Keep your eye on the prize.

להיות עם חופשי בארצנו, ארץ ציון וירושלים

 

Reactivated

If you knew me 25 (okay, a little more) years ago, you might remember me a little differently to how you know me now. Most of the people I have met since 1998, when I left Israel after 7 years of living here, likely think of me as a passive, somewhat liberal person. Certainly no one would think of me as a political activist. No one who has known me only post 1998 could imagine me, standing  on a hill opposite the Knesset, or standing in the street near the Prime Minister’s house in Jerusalem, surrounded by like minded people, demonstrating against something we believed would ruin us.

When I arrived in Israel at the tender age of 17, I had minimal knowledge of modern Israeli history beyond the basics. Ottoman Empire. British Mandate. 1948. 1967. 1973. Lebanon War. Gulf War. I came here eager to learn Hebrew, not history,  but history classes were mandated as part of the Mechina (preparatory) programme for overseas students at Hebrew University, so I chose classes I thought would be easy. Within a few months I had learned so much more about this  country we Jews call home.

Towards the very end of my first year there were elections. I remember staying up until the early hours of the morning as the results came in, watching in disbelief with a small group of friends, as it became apparent that a coalition would be formed headed by Yitzhak Rabin and his Labour party. This government brought us the Oslo Accords.

In the weeks leading up to the signing of these accords I spent my every spare moment demonstrating against them. Every night we stood in large groups, for hours, protesting that there would be no peace. How can there be peace with people who don’t recognize our right to exist? How  can there be peace with people who chant “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free”?

Our voices weren’t heard. The accords were signed. The Prime Minister of our Jewish country shook hands with the leader of a terrorist organization, a man with so much Jewish and Israeli blood on his hands, that no amount of bleach could clean them. What has Oslo brought us? Only more  violence, more hatred, more senseless murders, suicide bombings on our buses, in our malls, hotels. More recently, since the complete Israeli withdrawal from the Gaza strip in 2005, rockets hitting deep into Israeli territory, tunnels allowing terrorists to infiltrate into Israel, and since earlier this year, Molotov cocktails attached to kites and balloons.

Somewhere along the way, between September 1993 and October 1998 I stopped fighting. I gave up. I became passive. What’s the point in constantly arguing when no one is listening? Why waste my time, my breath when all around me there is terror. So I just stopped. I moved away. It took me 16 long years to find my way back. I remember watching from far away the protests before the disengagement from Gaza. I cried while watching Jewish soldiers forcibly evict Jewish people from their homes. And I wondered “why are they bothering to resist? Their voice will never be heard. It’s not worth it. Give up”

I barely knew Ari Fuld z”l. I  met him a couple of times when he came to speak in Boca when we still lived there. I ran into him a few times since we moved back to Israel. We chatted on Facebook at length, about 5 years ago when he was considering a trip to the UK to fundraise for Standing Together, and I was trying to get him some connections in London. I would see Ari post on Facebook and wonder “does he never sleep?!” because on the same day he would post photos of the sunrise in Efrat, and then videos from the Kotel in Jerusalem in the middle of the night. His video messages were so passionate and full of energy, you couldn’t help but smile, and I just wished for a little bit of that energy. I can’t quite put into words the shock I felt Sunday when I first heard that it was Ari who was stabbed in the Gush. I got a message on whatsApp from a friend, but it wasn’t until I actually heard his name on the news an hour later that I began to process.

Like so many others, I have spent this week grieving, praying on Yom Kippur perhaps with more fervor, but also with more questioning (why? why do You always take the best ones?). At the end of Yom  Kippur, when we sang “Next Year in a rebuilt Jerusalem” I meant it more than ever before. I’ve also spent this week thinking about what I can do. I can share Ari’s messages, I can post on social media, I can donate to the fund set up in his memory. But I want to do more.

Something inside me has been reactivated. The me from 25 years ago is fighting her way out from deep within. I no longer want to be regarded as passive. I don’t know how to start, but I’m going to find a way. Last night I went to the Kotel. It was late, it was easy to get up to the old wall and touch the stones as I davened, and from the angle I looked up, it was like there was nothing on top, just an empty space waiting for the Beit haMikdash to be rebuilt. May it be Your will, God, that the Temple is rebuilt soon, and that Mashiach comes to redeem us all.

Empty space on Har HaBayit just waiting for the 3rd Temple to be built

What is normal anyway?

We’ve been here almost a year and a half. Honestly, our klita (absorption) has been fantastic. We are very lucky. Not everyone is blessed to move to the place that they want to make their permanent home in Israel – olim frequently find that the town or city that seemed so perfect on their pilot trip is actually not the best fit for their family. And then they start all over again some place else. For us, Rehovot is still the best place. We love it here. I know I keep reiterating that every time I blog, but it has to be said. This city is freaking awesome, our shul is amazing, our community is fantastic.

As we’ve finished dealing with all the bureaucracy involved in the early days of aliya, I found myself wondering what can I possibly write about. Not for my readers, but for myself – I need to write, you see. This is how I get it all out, it’s why I’m so active on Facebook – I have to put my thoughts into writing as part of my functioning – it’s why I kept a journal for 13 years.

I realized this week that while life in Israel is the new normal for us, there will always be things that don’t seem normal. I started compiling a list in my head, and I’d love to hear from other olim if they have things to add.
I’ll start here:

1. Sundays – ’nuff said
2. Buying fresh kosher meat from the supermarket
3. Ditto for kosher cheese
4. The Post Office
5. Shopping in general – everyone lives in debt but the malls are always full
6. School – from the (lack of) hours to the balagan (chaos) of parent teacher meetings, and kids calling their teachers by their first name starting in 1st grade!
7. Disposable cups, for both hot and cold drinks – the ones for hot drinks are so thin that you have to wear oven gloves while holding them, and the ones for cold drinks are so flimsy that, well, let’s just say I wish I’d put a case of Solo Cups on my lift.
8. “Aruchat Eser” – literally “a meal at 10am” – not the “elevenses” I grew up with…
9. Opening my purse before walking into any store for a security check
10. The amount of paper wasted every time I go to the bank

Please comment with your own not-normal-norms in Israel!

Why my French flag won’t fly

I’m having a really hard time expressing my feelings today. I began writing a whole long blog post, but nothing was coming out right. Then I commented on the Facebook status of someone more or less accusing those who hadn’t changed a profile photo to the French flag of resisting solidarity with the French victims. And somehow in the comment I was able to get across exactly what I wanted to say. So I’ve scrapped the rest of the blog post, and I’m just putting this here:

What happened in Paris is terrible. So is what happened in Beirut. What happened in Sydney. What happened in Mumbai. What happens daily in Israel, Syria, Iraq, Iran etc. etc. etc. I don’t feel the need to change my profile picture to the flag of another country in order to express my anger/sadness at yet another act of Islamic terror that has come upon the “civilized” world. Of course I am sad for the families of the innocents who were barbarically murdered in cold blood. But how on earth does putting a French flag on my Facebook feed make any difference to the blindness being shown, even in the wake of another brutal act of terrorism? We need a lot more than flags and “je suis Paris” to rid the world of this filth.

I want to get something straight – not changing my profile picture to the French flag has absolutely nothing to do with the French track record on Israel or Jews. It has nothing to do with much of the world turning a blind eye to the Israelis being targeted by terrorists daily for the last couple of months. It is unrelated to the rising number of anti semitic attacks around the world – New York, Milan, Manchester, wherever.
Any normal person is upset at terror attacks anywhere in the world, and regardless of who carried them out. Oklahoma City. Atlanta Olympics. 9/11. Sydney. Mumbai. Boko Haram in Nigeria. 7/7 London. 13/11 Paris. Beirut. Kenya. Argentina. Somalia. Belfast. Derry. Enniskillen. Sweden. Norway. Russia.
Those really not showing solidarity are those celebrating in the streets, handing out candy, letting off fireworks, dancing – because of the murder of innocents. And I don’t have to tell you where that is happening.

Fear

“I see you looking over your shoulder
Tell me who do you think is out there 
……

I’d rather die than fade away
I read the rules
And yeah I know them
Still you ain’t ever gonna
Make me play the game of
Fear “
 Fear, Bon Jovi – from Keep The Faith, 1992

No one can argue that the current situation here is not  frightening. People going about their daily business getting stabbed is hardly normal.

Back in the 1990s, when I lived in Jerusalem, the preferred modus operandi of terrorists was to detonate themselves on buses. I won’t go into too much detail, because thinking about it triggers a certain amount of post traumatic stress disorder in my brain, and produces photographic memories that I will never be able to erase. Suffice to say, that back in those days, when I relied on public transportation to get everywhere, getting on a bus was easier said than done. Twice “my” bus was blown up. Twice, thank God, I wasn’t on it. Other buses that I frequently took were also blown up. On multiple occasions I chose to get off a crowded bus and walk to my destination, even if it was still a couple of miles away. It felt safer to walk, than to risk being on a crowded bus, and making myself a potential terror statistic.

Until Tuesday, taking the bus felt safer than walking, with this current rise in attacks. And then a terrorist got on a bus in Jerusalem and started stabbing passengers, Last night it happened again in Jersusalem – thankfully this time, only one passenger was stabbed.

This morning my husband dropped me off at the health clinic to get a flu shot. In the center of town. After my shot, I walked to the mall and bought a pair of shoes. Then I remembered a book I needed to pick up, so I walked from the mall  back through the center of town to get the book. From there, I waited at a crowded bus stop, on a busy street in the center of the city, to take a bus home.

It was only as I walked the 7 minutes from the bus stop to my apartment that I realized something. I hadn’t felt scared all morning. I went about my daily life as normal. I am always alert when I walk around – I was in the US too, where I was far more fearful of being held up at a bank, or a gas station. I rarely use my phone when I’m walking in the street, and today I left it in my purse the entire time I was out. Contrary to what you may have read on Facebook, I did not have my big golf umbrella with me  – it’s a lovely sunny day here. I did have my new shoes in their box, which I could have swung at anyone trying to carry out an attack.

I realized, when I got home, that while I’m scared by the situation in general – the attacks are in random places all over the country – I am not scared to live my life here. I’m worried about my kids – they normally have so much independence, but right now we are not allowing them nearly as much freedom. I’m nervous that this will continue for months, and that the number of casualties will continue to rise.  I still feel safer than I did in America. I don’t worry about walking into the bank, or getting gas, or about school shootings.

Stop the madness. Stop the hatred. Stop the incitement. Stop the violence. But I won’t play the game of fear.

Live Before You Die

“When you’re young you always think
The sun is going to shine
One day you’re going to have to say hello to goodbye
Shout it out let someone somewhere
Know that you’re alive
Take these words wear them well
Live before you die”

Bon Jovi – Live Before You Die Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Well that’s a bid morbid, isn’t it?

But here’s the reality that we in Israel are living right now. We have no sirens. We have no safe room. No Iron Dome. No Patriot missiles. No 90, 60, 45, 30 or 15 seconds. Everything is immediate impact. It could be in the mall, or in the street, in the synagogue or in the supermarket. In the playground, at the bus stop, the train station. It could be right here, right now.

For more than a week now, since the horrible murder of Eitam and Na’ama Henkin, shot point blank, in their car, with their 4 small children watching from the back seat, I’ve lost count of the number of attacks on Israelis. Stabbings, mostly. With scary looking serrated knives, or screwdrivers, or whatever else a would-be terrorist can get his or her hands on. Yes, her hands. There have been multiple female terrorists too. Just this morning, a female terrorist attempted to blow herself and a long line of traffic up near Ma’ale Adumim, just outside Jerusalem. Thank God for a very vigilant policeman, who stopped her car. She detonated the bomb, but the impact wasn’t what she hoped for, and the policeman was lightly injured, and the terrorist more severely. She is now being treated for burns IN AN ISAELI HOSPITAL.  These attacks are happening all over Israel. Not just in the disputed territories of Judea & Samaria. In Tel Aviv. Petach Tikvah. Afula. Hadera. Pre-1967 Israel.

Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t hate Arabs. I don’t hate Muslims. I don’t hate Palestinians. I hate terrorists, and when I look around, it seems that most terrorists today are Muslims. When Jews carry out “revenge” terror attacks on Arabs in Israel, they too, are terrorists. The difference is that when that happens, the Israeli government (in whom I don’t have the greatest faith right now) immediately condemns the attack. The perpetrators are arrested as soon as possible, and given jail time – just like Palestinian terrorists are. The difference is, that when a Jewish terrorist is put away, that terrorist’s family doesn’t receive a life-time wage from the Israeli government – which is what the families of Palestinian terrorists receive from the Palestinian Authority.

Back to our current reality. Our motto has always been to keep living our lives. In the 90s when they were blowing up buses, we kept taking buses. To stop living is to let terror win. And yet. How, how do we live, how do we allow our children to continue living their lives as normal, when at any moment, we could say “hello to goodbye”?

Should my teenager still be hanging out at the mall with her friends?

Should my younger children still walk to school on their own?

Should my son and his friends be allowed to skateboard in all their usual places?

Is that man over there a terrorist?

Is that woman in the hijab hiding something under her clothing?

What is he taking out of his pocket?

Is she going to try and hurt me?

Is he going to try and kill me?

Should I scream?

Should I run?

This is how it is, in our part of the world. And we always choose life.

“You learn to love to live
You fight and you forgive
You learn what’s wrong and right
You live before you die

I made mistakes I caught some breaks
But I got no regrets
There’s some things I don’t remember
But one thing I don’t forget

When you’re young you always think
The sun is going to shine
One day you’re going to have to say hello to goodbye
Shout it out let someone somewhere
Know that you’re alive
Take these words wear them well
Live before you die
Live before you die
Hey!
Live before you die”

Bon Jovi – Live Before You Die Lyrics | MetroLyrics

We Don’t Run

How to explain the emotions of the last few days?

ושמחת בחגיך והיית אך שמח

Succot, the festival of Tabernacles, we are told to be happy. To have days filled with joy. We build our succahs, we sit in them for our meals, some sleep in them. We spend time with family and friends. Those of us lucky enough to live in Israel have the opportunity to go up to Jerusalem, just like Jews did in the time of the Beit haMikdash.

For me this Succot was to be extra special. Not only did our close friends and former neighbours from Boca make a beautiful barmitzvah here in Israel, but a dream of a lifetime was to come true. Bon Jovi finally came to Israel. Jon Bon Jovi, who couldn’t care less what anyone thinks, spat in the face of BDS and after nearly 30 years finally announced a concert in Tel Aviv. As a Bon Jovi fan for almost 30 years myself, I have always wanted to see them play in Israel.

And yet.

Thursday, after our friend’s barmtizvah, we visited other friends who live in the Shomron. We came home Thursday night, and I didn’t even  hear about the terrorist attack that left Naama and Eitam Henkin dead, and their 6 children orphaned until the next morning. This happened in the Shomron. Not close to where we were, but still, the Shomron. In addition to that murderous attack, there was rock throwing attack near Tekoa, in Gush Etzion, where thankfully, none of the family in the car were seriously injured. And then, shortly before  I lit candles on Friday evening, I learned that a dear online friend, Christie, whom I have known for about 10 years, had succumbed to cancer. A heaviness accompanied me into Shabbat of Succot, My happiness was tainted.

My excitement for the concert on Saturday night was hard to curb. Music has always been my comfort. When I’m sad, when I’m happy, when I’m scared, music, especially Bon Jovi music, is what I turn to. For me they have lyrics for every occasion. The rock anthems of the 80s, the ballads of the 90s, and the country-tinted songs from the 2000s. And the rest.

I headed into Tel Aviv with a group of friends. We arrived just in time for the band to get on stage. It was electric. For me it was my fourth time seeing BJ live. But nothing, absolutely nothing, can compare to this one. Jon played to the audience. The setlist was tailored for the Israeli crowd – very few songs from the last few albums, mostly older stuff. It was by far the most amazing experience.

Unknown to the band (and to most of us in the crowd) shortly before they took the stage another murderous attack took place. This time 2 more Israeli men were killed by Palestinian terrorists. The wife of one is in a serious condition in hospital, and their baby was also injured. A baby. This attack happened inside the Old City of Jerusalem. The victims were on their way to pray at The Kotel.

Jon Bon Jovi played one song from their recently released album “Burning Bridges” last night. He dedicated it to Tel Aviv, saying “This should be the fight song for Tel Aviv” – I think he meant for all of Israel. The song is called “We Don’t Run”. You can read the lyrics here.

We left the concert, and that was when we learned about the new attack in Jerusalem, in addition to two separate attacks on children – CHILDREN – sitting in their succahs that occurred on Friday night.

How much longer can this go on? Have we entered a third Intifada? What do we do?

We don’t give in. We don’t give up. This is our land. This is our home. We must be able to live here, in spite of those who try to get rid of us.

In the words of Bon Jovi:

“We don’t run
I’m standing my ground
We don’t run
And we don’t back down
There’s fire in the sky, there’s thunder on the mountains
Bless each tear and this dirt I was born in (run)
We don’t run, we don’t run”

Aliyaversary: From the eyes of the teen

Today, August 12, marks exactly one year since our Nefesh B’Nefesh flight arrived at Ben Gurion Airport. We were greeted by the then new President of Israel. Ruvi Rivlin, the Chairman of the Jewish Agency, Natan Sharansky, and a host of other people. Rami Kleinstein played piano and sang at our welcome ceremony. A friend busted the dog out of her crate. It was the final point in a long adventure, and now it’s been a year of adventures.

The most asked question, posed by Israelis and non-Israelis alike, is “How are your kids doing? Are they happy? Have they integrated?”

So, I asked my 13 year old daughter, Noffiya, if she would write this blog post for our one year aliyaversary. To my delight, not only did she agree, but she wrote a piece that I’m proud to publish here. I hope she will guest blog for me again in the future.

<<This post is a guest entry written by: Noffiya Brooks

(Some of you might recognize this name from other blog posts because I’m Vanessa’s daughter and she writes about me very frequently)

When my parents announced to us that they were considering making Aliyah, I was hoping for an “April Fools!”, even though it wasn’t April. I was 11 years old, and was feeling sort of like that typical teenage girl in every movie like “ugh mom my life is officially over!” And of course, to top it all off, a pilot trip. Without me. I had never been to Israel before. This is still my first time here. (Never left yet mommy, still waiting for that Florida trip…) All the time my parents would tell my siblings and me so many great things about Israel, from when they were here back in the olden days. “Oh there’s makolet (mah-ko-lete) on every corner” “the fruits and vegetables are fantastic” etc. etc. I was not happy with the decision. When they went on their pilot trip, Chanukah 2013, I kept hoping they would come back and say “we were wrong. Israel is not the place for us to be right now.” But they didn’t.

Well, after the pilot trip, I started to tell my friends. Some said “it’s not such a big deal, its in 8 months” while others said “we have to start doing more things now!” Someone even asked me if I hated my parents for this. I was shocked. I told them that I couldn’t hate my parents for making the decision to move, and that I might be mad at them but I don’t hate them.

I also got tons of (useless) “advice” from people that were more like opinions. Here are examples of a few of them.

~Never buy clothes in Israel they’re terrible! (it depends where you shop though)

~Don’t buy ice cream from the vendors (?)

~Get a boyfriend (why? …)

~ Israeli shoes are the best (some are and some aren’t. just like America)

And of course, during Tzuk Eitan (most recent war, known as Operation Protective Edge in English), I got bombarded with the “are you scared of the rockets and/or sirens???!!?!??” To which I answered “No, not really” to which then I was told I was “very brave” and that I had “such wonderful trust”

Up until that very day, that very second that I put my foot on the plane from New York to Israel, I hadn’t actually thought about everything. That I was moving and leaving my friends and family behind. And I was sad, knowing that I might not see some people again, or for a very long time. So I thought on that plane, and I slept and dreamt about some of my fun experiences that I had in Boca. Then we arrived, and I hated it. I couldn’t stand the thought that now I actually was on a whole other continent than my friends, and that we had actually moved. It was too hard to grasp.

School was very hard for me. Obviously, it was in another language, but that was only the half of it. I had a special teacher that took me out twice a week to teach me. Her English was absolutely terrible, and so was her teaching. There was a girl that sat next to me, whom everyday would scream “you need to do your work! If you don’t do it so then the teacher will be mad at me!” and when I explained to her that I kind of had no clue what the heck those work pages were about, she told me she can help. So when I would ask her a question (after every single word because I didn’t understand) she would scream “I CAN’T HELP YOU I ALSO HAVE TO DO MY WORK” I mean, her English isn’t that good, but why offer something you can’t fulfill. I had to do two projects. One of them was an oral presentation in Hebrew, back in March. I did fine, and after I finished, the teacher then told everyone I was an olah chadasha, in the country for only a few months, and everybody clapped and said my Hebrew was so good for someone who hadn’t even been in the country for a year. The teachers were very understanding. Well… most of them were. I had one teacher who would force me to take tests that I didn’t understand. It wasn’t only me though, because one of my friends who made Aliyah 5 years ago had an exemption from that class as well as me, and she also was forced to do the tests. I have friends now, but I still find it more comfortable to hang out with people who speak English as their mother tongue. Most of the girls my age in Rechovot were born in Israel, so even if they speak English, Hebrew is their first language. Most of my English-speaking-made-aliya friends are in Modi’in, and I would much rather live there.

Now, I’m used to Israel a little bit. I’ve been here a year. Do I love Israel? No. Do I like Israel? I guess. Do I like living here? It’s different. I have to wait for my dad to go to America so I can get clothes, talking to my Boca friends is extremely hard because either I’m in school, or asleep or vice versa. I basically feel like the emoji that has a smile but a tear drop on the side of its head. I have mixed feelings about being here. It’s now my home, or at least; until I’m eighteen. And who knows how I’ll feel by then.>>