Rabbi Taff’s Journals from Israel
Day #1:
I arrived at LAX with four huge bags and five boxes of army supplies for my unit and a few others- all essential items for IDF soldiers on the front lines in Azza and the north and all packed and provided by the incredible families of Sinai Temple, Sinai Akiba Academy, and Sinai Temple Religious school. (Thank you to everyone who helped provide, pack, and deliver the supplies to my house–you know who you are–and for the insanely delicious cookies which were for my kids, but I happened to have a bite of one before I left…don’t tell them.) I also want to thank my wife Amy for holding down the fort. You are my rock. And to my kids. Love you to the moon and back.
Our friends Iriet and Ken took me to the airport. Eliana had a basketball tournament which she was very excited about, so Amy and I decided it would be best to have the kids stay in their usual routine. Amy says she couldn’t take me because of the emotional toll it would have taken on her and the kids. It’s different to leave from home while they are distracted than watch me get out of the car and walk away. She might be right. Probably would have been harder for me, too.
Sepi Nourmand, who is helping mobilize our community, met me at the airport to help with check-in and to take back any boxes that may not have been accepted due to weight restrictions. Luckily, thanks to Orit Topf, our relentless travel agent, all boxes were approved for loading.
While standing in the TSA security line, I met Kfir, in his twenties, built like a tank. I only could tell because, like a typical Israeli, he is wearing a tank top. His arm are three times the size of mine. Kfir is from Rosh Ha’ayin, in the north. He was in the States traveling following active duty. Now, Kfir was called back to serve with his unit. “Al tidag achi,” he said as we parted ways so I could get a bottle of water and a pack of gum. “Don’t worry brother, ze yigamer Maher, this (war) will end quickly.” From Kfir’s lips to God’s ears. My money’s on Kfir. It’s actually the same sentiment I get from all the soldiers I’ve talked to: my cousin Evy, my friends from my team. They all say, “Don’t worry, we will win.” We are a resilient and strong people.
As I boarded the plane, I was very surprised by what I saw. I thought I’d find a plane full of soldiers heading back to join their units. Of course, there are some, but the plane is mostly full of young couples with babies, grandparents, and other travelers all returning home after visiting family in LA for sukkot. The horrifying and tragic events of last weekend delayed many due to canceled flights or internal doubts about going back to Israel right now. But they are here, ready to go back to Israel to LIVE (and yes, some to fight).
As I stood there by my seat, looking around at everyone I am flying with, I zoned in on the two babies right next to me and I felt a tear stream down my face. They are absolutely precious and adorable. Both are six-months-old, their whole lives ahead of them. They are smiling and happy, in the safe and loving embrace of their parents. The way it should be.
I was about to sit down when I saw Kfir a few rows behind me getting a few things out of his backpack before closing the overhead compartment. I reached into my bag, grabbed a stack of paper, and walked back towards him. “Put these in your bag, Kfir.” I said. “Ma Zeh? What is it?” Kfir replied. “Letters of support for you and your team from the kids in our community (our Sinai Kids).” “Todah Achi,” he said with a big smile. “I’ll take a bunch.” He gave me a man hug (it’s what my kids call two men giving each other a high five while simultaneously slapping each other on the back). I turned around and went back to my seat to buckle up.
As I sat back and closed my eyes, I thought back to this past Shabbat when our community packed-in Ziegler Sanctuary to stand in solidarity with our brothers and sisters in Israel. I could see our community standing united, together as one, waving Israeli flags and vociferously applauding Rabbi Guzik’s passionate and heartfelt sermon emphasizing our community and our peoples resolve, strength, and unity and praising Sinai Temple’s steadfast and unwavering support of the people and the state of Israel; reminding everyone that we at Sinai Temple know how to show up! We have incredible models in Rabbis Guzik and Sherman, who are leading the way. Each one of us, doing our part, helping, giving, in our own ways.
For the first time in the last week, I was able to close my eyes and sleep a bit. While I know there will still be moments where I feel I can’t breathe, still in shock from the horrors of last weekend, still unable to fathom how this could have happened, still heartbroken for the families of victims and hostages, I pray for many more moments where I feel the strength and resolve of our people, like last Shabbat at Sinai and like my first few hours of this mission. As Rabbi Guzik reminded us, out of the darkness and chaos of creation came light. There is light ahead. We can be light. We can bring the light. In the words of Amanda Gorman, “For there is always light. If only we’re brave enough to see it. If only we’re brave enough to be it.”
We at Sinai and the entire people of Israel are brave enough to be the light. I see the light in Kfir, in the two babies sitting near me, in their parents who believe in the dream that is Israel and are therefore bringing their kids back to raise them in their Jewish homeland. I see it in the families that packed boxes and the community support that is happening all over the world. There is so much light everywhere we look.
Am Yisrael Chai! Love from however many thousands of feet in the air.
Avi
Day #2: the Israeli Spirit
I arrived at Ben Gurion Airport at 2:30pm, flew through passport control thanks to the not-so-new biometric system and needed to figure out how I was going to get 4 large duffel bags and 5 boxes full of army gear through customs on my own. To my left, I saw a bunch of large push carts-the perfect size! As I got closer I noticed they were all locked up. A nice older Russian immigrant was standing next to them. “Slicha adoni”, excuse me sir I said in Hebrew. “Ken”?
He answered. “Can I use one of these carts?” “Matayim esrim shekel” he responded. “Two hundred and twenty shekel!!!” I said out of frustration. “Ken, aval zeh ba iti. Yes. That’s the price. But it comes with me”, he smiled. I smiled back. “That’s not a bad deal.
We collected all the items and finally it was the moment of truth. Do we try to go through the “green” side of customs which often just leads straight out to the welcome area or subject ourselves to the “red” side, damning ourselves to hours of waiting while they search through everything and possible confiscation of essential items.” It was a no brainer. Igor (my cart +1) and I looked at each other, knowing full well what we needed to do – calmly walk through the “green side” and whatever you do-don’t make eye contact!
Of course, we were stopped and sent to the “red” side. Just 5 feet away, I saw Meir, the uncle of Sinai Temple’s own Sepi Makabi. He was literally on the other side of the sliding doors trying to help.
We spent the next few hours navigating through bureaucratic red tape – I had forgotten how much I loved this part of Israel.
Finally, we were released with most of our packages. Sepi’s aunt and uncle were kind enough to offer me a ride to my units supply base, a donated hi-tech office in Tel Aviv.
This small act of kindness by Sepi’s aunt and uncle is actually the theme of this post.
We, our people, over and over again are lifting ourselves out of the ashes of last weekend by showing up for each other. While our soldiers fight for our existence, everyone else is jumping in to help someone.
The guys from my unit who are helping sort supplies to be taken to the front lines, haven’t even been called up yet. They took leaves of absence from their jobs and showed up to make sure our friends have everything they need to fight.
People are creating WhatsApp groups to BBQ and provide meals for soldiers on the front lines, some baking chalot for Shabbat and distributing to soldiers so they can have challah for Shabbat.
Others are volunteering to take clothing, toiletries and food to surviving families from the devastated and destroyed communities surrounding Gaza who have been evacuated to other parts of the county. Some people are even opening their own homes to these very survivors of the massacre.
My cousins Avishag and Tomer who have a fruits and vegetable store in Shuk ha-Carmel offered to bring fresh fruit and vegetable to soldiers on the front line. My cousins Yael and Gabi are bringing food items from their store to soldiers on the border of Gaza.
My brother-in-law is volunteering for the community night watch taking the 2am-6am shift every morning… Patrolling the area or standing at a check-point. My sister-in-law, while working a full time job running a PR company is simultaneously working round the clock to fight the PR war against Israel. This work is the work that we at Sinai… one of the most influential synagogues in the United States, will need to focus on.
My cousin whose husband and three sons are all in elite units with little to no outside contact, spending every waking hour doing acts of chesed (loving kindness). She’s helping families of victims, people injured in the hospital. Even helping Brides and grooms celebrate their weddings by bringing and setting up all their decorations.
The country is showing up in droves for funerals of soldiers and victims of the massacre – people they may not even know but to whom they feel connected- wanting each surviving family to know that they are loved and cared for and not alone. Amy’s brother and his family along with their kids’ entire school community lined the streets from the city to the cemetery to support a family from their school community whose daughter was killed in battle.
Once again, we are reminded that we are a people who show up! But it’s not just that we show up. We understand that showing up for others actually helps the one who is being helped and the one who helps. We will lift each other out of the ashes. Studies show that the best cure for depression is helping others. The act of giving and caring for others is the best way to change how we feel inside. Israelis are living proof that a small nation surrounded by countries that wish it didn’t exist, can be stronger than all of them because we take care of one another… because we show up. To our entire Sinai Temple community, thank you for showing up.
Let’s keep showing up.
Am Yisrael Chai
Day #3: Sirens
It was about 5:15pm when the the first siren went off. I was in the back of Sepi’s aunt and uncle’s car. All the army supplies were stuffed in the car. Somehow, Sepi’s uncle managed to get everything in. I was sitting in the back with very little room, bags of supplies overflowing throughout the back seat. We were almost at my unit’s supply base when the siren sounded. We pulled the car over immediately. They told me to get out. I got out as quickly as I could, and we began running along with everyone else to try and find shelter. There was a restaurant worker on the side just outside his establishment telling everyone to be careful, he had just washed down the pavement and it was quite slippery. Just after the restaurant, there was a hotel. As we ran inside, there was a hotel worker who calmly ushered us down to the bomb shelter. “Come on in, the bomb shelter is just below.” We gathered in there with everyone else who was seeking shelter and we sat quietly. Waiting…waiting for either a rocket to hit or to hear the sound of the rocket being intercepted by The Iron Dome, Israel’s life-saving air defense system. After hearing the BOOM of the rocket interception, we waited a few minutes for the all- clear and then returned to the car to head to the supply base which actually happened to be just next door.
This was the first siren. That same night Hamas sent two additional welcome gifts for me. The next one came as we were unpacking the supplies and I was catching up with friends from my team who I hadn’t seen in many years. Suddenly we heard the siren and quickly walked together down to the bomb shelter located in the bottom of the supply base. For them this was a normal occurrence as these were happening regularly. We sat together and picked up our previous conversation from where we left off, not missing a beat; as if we were just sitting outside having a cup of coffee (and maybe some of them smoking a cigarette or two). We got the all-clear and returned to unpacking and arranging bags of supplies to be immediately delivered to the front lines.
The truth is, during those first two sirens I felt relatively calm. I was with people who knew what to do and seemed to be fairly calm. This was their new normal.
It was the third siren that shook me to my core. It took place at 11:00pm. I had arrived at my cousin Avishag’s house around 8:00pm and was hanging out with her and her husband and two of their 4 daughters, all under the age of 6 (The 2-year-old and 5-month were already asleep). We had dinner, and we were playing and laughing when the siren went off. We quickly ran over to the two-year old’s room which doubles as a bomb shelter. My cousin ran into the room next door to grab her 5-month-old, Nelly, to bring her in to join us. We sat there in the dark, bracing ourselves and trying to stay quiet as to not wake the younger girls. I looked up and saw my cousin Avishag holding Nelly (5 months) tightly and Tomer, her husband holding them both. I was sitting on the floor with Romm (4) and Anne (6). I whispered quietly to them in Hebrew, “lets play a game.” We quietly sat there playing the Israeli version of “pattycake.” I was just trying to distract them from having to think about a missile being fired towards them. Tell me…what 4- and 6-year-old should have to think about a missile being fired at them? I remember, a little earlier that evening, we were hanging out and Romm (4) was on the couch when all of a sudden, she turned over on her tummy with her tush in the air and her hands over her ears, screaming, “Hazakah! Hazakah!” Hazakah is the Hebrew world for Siren. It happened to just be an ambulance driving down the street but Romm, 4 years of age, thought it was another siren.
Every day since this all began in Tel Aviv, throughout the south, even as far as Jerusalem, between the hours of 5:00pm and 11:00pm, over and over again, Hamas is sending missiles towards Israel. No one should have to live like this. I pray, and I know we all pray for all of us for children and for our children’s children, that one day, as it says in the book of Isaiah, “And they shall beat their swords into plowshares, their spears unto pruning hooks. Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore. Chalas, as they say in Arabic. “Maspik” enough is enough.
Am Yisrael Chai!
Entry #4: The final hours:
I spent my final hours in Israel trying to share love and uplift spirts of family and friends. I saw as much family as I could, made phone call after phone call while traveling to and from family members homes, just to say that I was thinking about them and to let them know that there are thousands of Jews at Sinai Temple, and even more across Los Angeles, the U.S. and the world, thinking of them and praying for their safety; mobilizing to fight the PR war and to provide necessary supplies to our soldiers and to evacuated families; trying as best I could to be present and to remind them that they are not alone.
I’m not going to lie. While I was looking forward to returning to my family, knowing how worried my wife and children were about my safety; wanting to see them and hug them and be back with them and with my community here, a big part of me didn’t want to get on the plane. Throughout my time in Israel, at the end of every conversation with every person I spoke with, I would say, “Tishmeru al atzmechem. Take care of yourselves.” As I walked through the airport, I continued to say these same words to everyone who helped me; the security person who questioned me prior to the flight, the attendant at the gate and the flight attendants as I walked off the plane here in Los Angeles. I couldn’t help but feel like they were looking back at and thinking, “here goes another one; leaving. Abandoning us.” It’s probably just in my own mind, fueled by my guilt for not staying, for not being there. It’s how I felt until I actually stepped on the plane and looked out across the isles.
The plane ride back was very different than the one there. This plane was overbooked, every seat filled. Filled with lots of children traveling alone as unaccompanied minors, parents sending their kids to live with loved ones far away from the terror and war – I sat across from a pregnant mom in her 30th week with her two sons almost 2 and 3 years of age, flying to be with her parents while her husband stays back and fights for our country. Whole families, children, parents, grandparents who have just had enough, who just want to live a peaceful life, who want to protect their families. Everyone on that plane who needed to leave had a reason and should not be judged for it. I needed to get back to my family and my community. I needed to stop judging myself.
On the cusp of the 1977 peace negotiations with Egypt, musician David Broza and Poet Yonatan Geffen wrote the song, “Yehiyeh tov, It will be good.” It is a song about hopes for peace. Over time, through the ups and downs of living in Israel they would add new verses. This is the last one they added:
Bo nilmad lichyot beyachad… let us learn to live together, between the olive tree groves. Children will live without fear, without borders, without bomb shelters. On each and every gravestone (of soldiers killed in Battle and innocent civilians killed in terror attacks) weeds will be overgrown… For peace and Love. One hundred years of fighting and still hope is not lost.
As I landed back in LA and the wheels hit the tarmac, people erupted in applause! At first, I was confused. I thought we only clapped when we arrived in Israel. But then I understood – after the worst 10 days in the modern-day history of our people, after experiencing the trauma that everyone has gone through, I get it. They can breathe again. They don’t have to fear for the safety of their children, they don’t have to worry about hearing the siren and getting to a bomb shelter in time. I pray that one day, there will be peace. I pray that these families will return, and that all of our brothers and sisters in Israel will live without fear, without bomb shelters- and I pray for this too, for any innocent Palestinian who just wants the same.
As we say in Hatikvah, Od lo avdah tikvatenu. Our hope is not yet lost.
Am Yisrael Chai
