One People

Achdus is Hebrish for “unity”.

Life in Israel

My friend Rafi G. has a blog with that title.

I haven’t written in awhile, not because I haven’t been on the look-out for hypocrisy and reasons we should love one another right now.

But because I took a trip to the Holy Land!

If you’ve never been to Eretz Yisrael then you have to think about this, or rethink it, I should say.   It’s not negotiable. You have to go.

Every time I go I get closer to wanting to be there full-time.  I already think I should be there full-time, but have many practical reasons not to be there full-time, none of which I feel like sharing right now.  But wanting to be there full-time is amazing enough.

A Jew should want to be there full-time.  Being a Jew is already a full-time job.  Why not take on the full measure of being one?  Oh, we have our reasons.

My friends who made aliyah in the 80’s tell me the life is hard in Eretz Yisrael.  You wait and wait til the kids serve their army time, then they’re in the army, and you wait and wait until they get out.

Worry, worry, worry.

When I did live in Israel  my youngest kid got picked on a lot.  We took a year off with the kids and left America to immerse ourselves in the hashpa’ah, the influence of Israeli culture.

The first week there was a bomb on Ben-Yehuda (a really popular hang-out street for tourists and kids).

Violence by the Arabs aside, the Israeli children were tough.  We put our kids in Israeli schools, not the schools with the most  Anglos, because  we thought ours would learn Hebrew faster if that was all they heard.

They were miserable for 5 months, but they did catch on.  They’re quite fluent now.  Anyway, the littlest guy was in 4th grade and the Israeli kids would push him, take his glasses, that sort of thing.

I was told that their parents didn’t discipline them because they felt bad that the kids would be disciplined soon enough. They’d go to the army, learn to be tough men and women, and for all they knew, be taken from their parents the hard way, forever.

So I kept my mouth shut, knowing that the difference in midot (pronounced me-dote, means “manners, ways”) had to do with teleological necessity.  Kids do need to be tough in the army.

And my kid got tougher.

That’s for sure.

But did I let him get beat up for a year?  Nah.  His big brother found the toughest kid in 4th grade and reminded him that indeed, there’s always someone bigger and tougher.  And the other kids paid attention as he lifted him three feet off the ground.

respectfully yours,


July 31, 2007 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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