יגון ושמחה ביום אחד

Just over a week ago I came back from 2 1/2 weeks in Boston reenergized and ready to go.  The month of Iyar was starting - my favorite time of the year.  Buildings, light posts, and cars all over the country get decked out in blue and white.  As I posted on facebook along with a picture of my gan kids waving Israeli flags: Nothing can ruin my Zionist spirit during Iyar.  Really nothing.  I never for a second doubt my decision to live here but you know, we all have our moments, and maybe my cynicism shines through more often than it should.  But not in Iyar.  Iyar is the most perfect month to be in Israel.

When I was in Newton for Pesach my shul rabbi shared this article with us.  The article describes a study in which it was shown that children who know their family stories are more resilient and better at coping with difficult situations.  Having lost my two grandmothers in the past two years (almost exactly two years apart), I have thought about family stories a lot.  My paternal grandmother was always telling stories.  We would joke that she never hesitated to pull the skeletons out of the closet.  I am grateful to my cousin who put together a short video of my grandmother telling some of these stories.  I first watched it about a year after she passed away, and while it was a bit haunting to hear her voice again, I loved that not only did I have a record of these stories - I had a record in her voice, exactly how I always remembered them.  Unfortunately at the end of the video she says that she will not tell the "skeleton in the closet" stories for prosperity because it wasn't fair to the descendants of those family members.  Needless to say, her grandchildren were a bit disappointed.  My maternal grandmother rarely spoke of the past, but little by little details came out, and while she wasn't quick to tell stories plenty of other miscellaneous relatives appeared over the years to do it for her.  My mother also dug out some fantastic scrapbooks when my grandmother passed away.  That's right, you're reading the words of the granddaughter of the nineteen-twenty-something area posture championship team captain.  I know - you would have never guessed.

This article inspired what became the central theme of my Yom Haatzmaut lesson at gan.  I bought a huge map of the world, hung it on the bulletin board, and put thumbtacks in all the places the gan kids' parents and grandparents came from.  I also of course put in thumbtacks for the teachers, as all of us made aliyah on our own.  And I put for Gila and Michelle's husbands because they practically work at the gan too.  We had tacks in eight US states and a total of ten countries.  My idea was to give each kid a story to tell.  Maybe they didn't make aliyah, but their parents or grandparents did, and probably they came from very far away to live in Israel.  Many of them have a sense of what it means to move away from a family.  They know our (the teachers) parents live far away and we need to take airplanes to go see them.  Many have grandparents they Skype with on a regular basis but only see in person a couple times a year.  We taught them that their parents and grandparents moved to Israel because Israel is such a special place, and they wanted to come build new things and make it even better.

It's almost easy at this age.  I can tell them that Israel is a perfect place.  Yes, I had to carefully explain what made the siren on Memorial Day different than the siren they heard back in November, but for a three year old that was forever ago.  When I talked about the fathers that go away for reserve duty, I just said that they were going to help keep us safe.  They don't know enough to ask for details.  And the siren on Memorial Day?  They was to think about the people that got hurt keeping us safe.  In a year or two they will figure out what I really meant by that, but I love that for now they don't have to.  They stood beautifully during the siren.  One kid was waving his flag and humming, but that's okay.  It was still a quiet, reflective moment before we went inside for our Independence Day celebration.  They went home with pretend teudat zehuts and art projects with their family's aliyah story written on them.  They had something to get them excited about where they call home.  And I could continue my month of being of super happy Zionist.  I created a bunch of mini happy Zionists, and what better event to add to my own aliyah story that still feels like it is only just starting?

Yom Haatzmaut is the best day to be in Israel because for 24 hours you can just celebrate.  You can forget about the terrorist attacks and fallen soldiers.  We have Memorial Day for that, and in Israel we do Memorial Day right.  We forget the corrupt politicians, confusing coalitions, and all the other ridiculousness that plagues this country every single day.  We sing Hallel and then... just keep singing.  למרות הכל (despite everything) Israel is one big miracle and lots of tiny miracles happening at the same time.

When I was in 12th grade and the attacks happened on September 11th, I realized that the world was a big scary place and living in Israel wasn't going to make it any scarier.  The following year I was in Israel when a sniper was on the loose in the DC/Maryland area.  A cab driver, upon hearing that I was headed to the University of Maryland, asked why I would go there - it's dangerous there!  My senior year at Maryland a mentally disturbed man opened fire at Virginia Tech, just a couple hours away from UMD, and killed 32 people.  I was reminded at how scary the world can be and at the same time felt that I could be scared anywhere, but in Israel I could contribute to something great.  Then this past Monday happened.  Monday afternoon I streamed the Boston Marathon online.  I didn't leave for shul until I had at least seen who won the women's race.  I came home from shul, ate dinner, checked the men's race winner, and left for town.  Maybe ten or so minutes later two bombs blew up at the finish line.  About an hour later I had several text messages from friends checking in on me and my family, and luckily another friend had called me right before to tell me what happened.

The tables turned.  My mom emailed me to say she was okay.  She spent the day biking around Cambridge, considered going over the bridge into Boston, but went home instead.  My dad had to navigate through police detail later that evening to get to our house because there was an abandoned backpack around the corner.  It's a new perspective that I never expected to have.  I spent Yom Haatzmaut celebrating one home and mourning another.  Someone hurt my neighbors, scared my friends, and no one has any idea who it was and why they did it.  I appreciate the reports of people who have volunteered their time and opened their homes to help those affected by the bombings.  But it's not telling me anything I never knew before.  Boston is full of wonderful people.  It's a fantastic place.  I have experiences all the time that make me appreciate what a wonderful city I came from, both the city as a whole and the Boston Jewish community.  The history of Israel inspires me to no end, but Boston is where my story started, my roots are there, and that is what's going to get me through these next few days.