Israel in Weird Times by Dr. Deb Hirschhorn

Dr. Deb

Israel in Weird Times

By Deb Hirschhorn, Ph.D.

Iwoke up on Yom Kippur with vertigo. I had vertigo nine years ago. I remember because my Kew Gardens Hill bar mitzvah bochur was a toddler when my daughter came to pay a bikur cholim call on me then. The vertigo was very bad. I could not stand up straight or walk without guidance. I could not hold down my food.

But this time, it was relatively mild. My daughter-in-law, a nurse, explained that elevation can cause it, so that was a good enough explanation for me as to why I got it now. But maybe it’s better than getting COVID. In any case, I got through Yom Kippur very well, considering still being in bidud [quarantine]. In a way, that was a good part, too, because I got to really daven. You know? I had nothing else to do but daven!

I had been afraid of Yom Kippur; I was quite afraid of the fast because those that take care of my body and soul seemed to give me the message

that I was pretty sick, but I really wasn’t. I was fine. So much for that.

But meanwhile, I missed tashlich. And I basically forgot about making it up until a lovely day on chol hamoed when my son texted me from across the street that they were going to tashlich at that moment. Unfortunately, when I got that message, I was feeling wobbly from the vertigo that had not left me. I decided to eat first, then daven, and then go to the nahal (brook) which was dried up but had a trickle of water for tashlich.

He texted me back not to do it because it was very hot. But who listens? I’ve never been one to be kept back by such things. After all, here I am! Against all my children’s warnings. So I texted him not to worry, and I kept on davening. In the middle of my davening, I heard the phone go off with another notification but when I later checked, it had been deleted. I imagine my son was going to insist I wait because it was really, really hot, but then desisted from arguing with his stubborn mother.

Eventually, I set out. He’d given directions: Go to the traffic circle and make a left, going into the development. Keep going, and you’ll see it. Sounded good enough. The walk was beautiful. It was about lunchtime, and many families could be heard talking from their sukkahs. Interestingly, I’d say half of them were English speakers.

I found the traffic circle and turned in. Came to the construction. Speaking of which, there’s been a lot of growth since I was here two years ago. Now there’s something beyond aleph, bet, gimel. There’s mem-shalosh, too. And this gorgeous, long, very long, park. I should find my dried-up nahal around here.

I kept walking. I wasn’t sure if I had the right place so I called my son. He asked me to take a picture of it to send him. Meanwhile, I felt the part of my legs peeking out of my long-ish skirt starting to burn. I had only been sitting on the bench about 5 minutes. Luckily, I’d brought water.

Then I proceeded to look in my machzor for tashlich. Uh-oh. I couldn’t find it. And that was because I’d borrowed his for Rosh Hashana and then returned it, and the only one I brought with me was the one for Sukkos. Ooops. Well, I think it’s good to get mixed up and make mistakes. It proves we are all only human. So back to my apartment I trekked with an “experience” but no tashlich. But man, was it hot!

The next day, I went very early in the morning to avoid the blazing rays of sun, this time taking a route I could see from my children’s window and got there chick-chok, as they say. What I found was not at all a brook. Rather, as I stepped onto the grass, my feet started sinking and my ears heard a squishing. My first thought was, “Oh, no, I’m going to ruin my shoes!” Luckily, I didn’t, and I walked a few more paces in the squishy grass, moistened by the

underground and un-contained flow of water. I said tashlich, took a swig of water, and proceeded back up to my children’s place to return their machzor.

Simchas Torah was a true treat. Unlike New York, the lockdown in Israel permits 20 people in a minyan rather than 10. And if you’re outside, the shul can have two of them at opposite sides of the building. Good enough. My grandson was to lein next week Parshas Bereshis, so someone, maybe my son, maybe the shul, had the idea for him to lein for the yom tov. He was Chatan Bereishis.

Not only did he do a beautiful job but it was probably the first time since last Chanukah that I davened Hallel with a minyan. And I had the joy of standing up and proclaiming Chazak! Chazak! V’nitchazeik with the minyan as well. What’s more, I loved the singing for Hallel. It was only later on that I learned from my son that someone objected to the

singing because singing spreads coronavirus faster. Oy.

Their Simchas Torah was my Shemini Atzeres, and so the next day, when it would be my yom tov, amid my family on their phones and doing laundry, I had to go back into my imagination to bring up the lovely memory of the day before in order to feel a bit of the chag.

And that’s when my son got to work on me.

“Why not just make aliyah?” he wanted to know. “You said you believe we belong here, right?”

A hard question. are we so rooted to where we are? Okay, change is hard. Do we need the world to turn into the same anti-Semitic mess that it was in before World War II in order to follow our

“Why not just make aliyah?” he wanted to know.

hearts?

What’s keeping any of us? Why

One answer I have comes in response to my original question, the one I raised a week or two before I left: How do I feel about Israel now that there’s a lockdown and things are crazy because of COVID?

And the answer is: Israel? What Israel? I was in an apartment which was located across the street from my family. I carried my passport every day and was afraid of being

asked where I was going. I took very short walks but didn’t want to accidentally exceed the kilometer limit. So I did not see Israel. I saw a couple lovely streets in Israel, but no panoramic view for me. I did not see my old friends who had moved here or the few new friends I’d made on my various trips. Other than the glorious morning of their Simchas Torah, I did not experience shul. I didn’t even go to the merkaz (town center) to shop.

The weather has been lovely, and I got rid of the gecko and opened the single window standing between me and the outdoors. But that is about it. I can’t make my decision amid this weirdness. And I hope and pray this weirdness does not become the norm.

Dr. Deb Hirschhorn is a Marriage and Family Therapist. If you want help with your marriage, begin by signing up to watch her Masterclass at https://drdeb. com/myw-masterclass.