I'm sitting here in the airport waiting for our flight to be called and trying to write this last goodbye post. I find I have no words, which must mean my heart just isn't ready to say goodbye.
Last night we all gathered around for a farewell dinner and each told the group about their favorite moment during the trip. Many spoke of the education at the Palmach or the emotions of seeing Yad Vashem and one told of the overwhelming spiritual connection she felt while standing at the Western Wall. I spoke about my love of the kibbutz life style (just kidding). I actually spoke about how touched I am being in this land, that the concept of Aliyah is no longer a word but a potential reality.
One of our travelers has already posted his favorite highlights and I really recommend you click through to get the full Brotherhood trip experience. http://www.evanzucker.com/israel/
Shalom Israel and Lehitraot!
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Friday, January 1, 2010
On Humility, Gratitude, and other Israel Travel Esoterica By Lenny Gold
“You’ve met the humble and the great/You’ve seen the fickleness of fate,” wrote the only father of bar mitzvah boys on Brotherhood’s Israel Tour ’09, in a song to and for my boys for their big day recently.
It is from this perspective that I have experienced this trip, as I have experienced my five (5) previous visits to Israel, beginning in 1984.
You can never forget a trip to Israel, even if you are not Jewish, and regardless of how many times you have been here. You also cannot avoid being moved by the experience.
During this past week on this wonderful trip, we have climbed Masada and swam in the Dead Sea; hiked the tunnels under the Old City and up to the shoreline of the City of David’s undergound Hezekiah’s Tunnel; dug up Hellenistic-era artifacts and purchased 21st-century ones; marveled at synagogues in Safed and Acco and learned of churches all about; shared the joy of a Jewish wedding at Jaffa’s waterfront while in earshot of African Christians learning about Jesus’s life and teachings from their African guide; learned the history of the Palmach and climbed tanks used in battle; and sat in the very room in which David Ben-Gurion declared the establishment of the State of Israel on May 14, 1948.
It used to be, pre-9/11, that we may have thought that the USA was literally bullet-proof, that we Americans tended to feel that we were doing a mitzvah by coming to Israel, and that Israel needed us more than we needed Israel. This may not have been a bad thing to believe, regardless of whether it was accurate (and I’m not sure if it was), but don’t fool yourself, American Jewry - if that perception was ever accurate, it certainly is not accurate now. Israel does not need our dollars or our knowledge anymore. It is a high-tech economic and military powerhouse. They appreciate our support, as always, but we American Jews (and maybe even non-Jews) need Israel now more than Israel needs us.
Perhaps that’s the way it should be.
In any event, it is but one more reason out of many for every Jew to feel and act on the urge to visit Israel at least once, and see what all the fuss is about.
I can only tell you that you won’t be disappointed if you do so. Inspired and moved for sure, but not disappointed.
Israel is the only place in the world where you are loved because you are American and Jewish. You can think of Israel as your insurance policy for a better life. Worst case, you can always cash in and move here, and Israel will always be ready to take you in as a full citizen the moment you set foot on her soil. Short of that, she stands behind you, lending her full faith and credit towards making sure that you are not persecuted in the USA (and other countries) because of your faith. You can view your premium as simply appreciating and understanding these functions that Israel performs for you (even if only quietly and unobtrusively, like a computer program running in the background); not taking them for granted; and not living in denial as to their existence or importance to you.
You probably have friends or relatives (or both) in Israel. If you are not in touch with them, you should reach out to them. With tools like email and Skype and Google translators, it’s easier and cheaper than a local phone call, much less a physical visit to Israel.
Your Israelis will be happy to hear from you. More importantly for you, you will almost certainly end up very glad that you will have connected with them.
As for me, suffice it to say that both of my boys are named for a friend and contemporary of mine named Ilan Heimlich. He is the reason I am here now, and the reason for all of my previous visits. I have spent the past 27 years (the same length of time that he was on this planet) grieving for him, trying to get to know him better, and trying to understand exactly all the reasons for my grief. I may never have all the answers I seek, but the odyssey has been (and continues to be) priceless.
My sons have now joined in that odyssey and have thereby greatly deepened their connection to their Jewishness, just as this odyssey has done for me.
On Tuesday of this week, we stayed behind in Safed while the group went on to the Golan and Tiberias. We were visiting Ilan Heimlich’s brother, sister-in-law, their two youngest children, and Ilan’s parents. As usual, we were blown away by the experience.
My sons understand that they are both named for Ilan. (Ethan’s Hebrew name, Eitan, is only one Hebrew letter removed from Ilan.) They know that Ilan Heimlich was raised on Kibbutz Gesher; that he and I became friends for a week in September 1981 during a visit to New York on his way back from spending a year traveling in the US and living and working in Southern California; that our connection was a woman I was then dating who had lived on the kibbutz for a time; and that he was killed while serving in his Golani Brigade unit on a hill overlooking Beirut, as he was helping to evacuate wounded comrades, in June 1982.
They know that he was Miriam and Dan’s first-born child, and that Miriam and Dan had survived the Holocaust doing forced labor in Romania. They know that Dan saw the Nazis murder his brother and father, and that Dan was a refugee in Cyprus.
They know that Dan and Miriam are their “Israeli grandparents.”
This was the third time that Miriam and Dan have seen Ethan and Ilan. They visited us in New York when the boys were not yet 3, and we came to Israel in 2005.
Before leaving Safed for Kfar Tabor to see the Heimlichs on Tuesday, we met a Rabbi Avram, a Chabad rabbi manning a stall in the shuk. The rabbi asked me if I wanted to lay tefillin. I saw that he was a disciple of Reb Schneerson, and I told him a moving story I had heard about Schneerson, a story he probably had heard before. He listened and looked into my ever-more-teary eyes as I told him the story of a severely wounded Israeli war veteran who had become depressed and lost his will to live during his stay in an Israeli rehab facility, and who had joined a group of other wounded veterans on a trip to the US, a trip which included an audience with Rabbi Schneerson. As the story goes, there was a reception line, and as Schneerson reached this man, the rabbi grabbed the man’s hand, looked into his eyes, and said but one word, “Thanks.” This one word changed the man’s life, as it was the only word he had longed to hear since being wounded, and the only word that nobody ever uttered to him. The man returned to Israel a changed person, rehabilitating himself physically and psychologically to the point where he became a successful real estate developer in Israel. All because of one simple word, a magic word that every parent teaches, a universal word of gratitude.
Rabbi Schneerson is considered by his followers as having been a great man. Was he humble too? Is it possible to be both?
The boys and I lay tefillin together with Reb Avram. Ilan was especially moved by the experience, to the point where he said that he wanted to start doing so regularly at home. The rabbi asked for nothing in return, but I gave him about $10 anyway, more than the amount which Roberta gave us to give to recipients of our choice on behalf of Brotherhood during our trip.
Later, in Kfar Tabor, within a short time after we arrived at Nir and Neta’s house, and after the boys were settled in upstairs playing video games with Nir and Neta’s son Alon (named for his uncle, whose actual name might have been too painful for his parents to give to their son), Miriam and Dan arrived. They looked great, which is itself no small feat for a couple in their ‘80’s who have endured what they have endured. When the boys came bounding down the stairs, Miriam and Dan gave them a bar mitzvah gift of such financial generosity that I hesitate to even reveal the amount here.
After a wonderful evening of dinner, conversation, and photographs at a restaurant, the Heimlichs drove us back to Ein Gev so that we could re-join the group. It was there that the inevitable tears welled up. Miriam’s parting words to me, in Hebrew, were simply, “Thanks for the name,” as she glanced towards my Ilan.
When I penned the words to my song, I imagined that the boys would think that the “great” whom I had in mind might be people like the great athletes (like basketball player Vince Carter) and musicians (like Chick Corea) whom they have met. The humble clearly would be people like Miriam and Dan.
However, hopefully the boys will come to understand (if they don’t already) that one can be both humble and great, and that Miriam and Dan are in both categories.
Their son was humble too. He sat in my living room and listened to me play the piano, and not once did he let on that he was an accomplished French horn player. I found this out later, as I did so many other things about him.
After we returned to our room on Tuesday night, I told Barbara and the boys what Miriam had said. That’s when my Ilan broke down and cried himself. He was now feeling what I have felt for 27 years. He wants to learn more about his namesake now as well, and he yearns to have some personal effect that that may have belonged to Ilan Heimlich, something that can be physically touched and felt, as if to form some type of bridge to help make the connection stronger, to help fathom the unfathomable.
At the boys’ bar mitzvah service at Brotherhood on 11/21/09, Matti Barak – another Gesher kibbutznik who has lived in New York for almost 30 years and who was very close with Ilan and Nir – was called up by Rabbi Alder to say the prayer for the State of Israel in Hebrew. Rabbi Dan briefly described the Heimlich-Gesher connection when he called Matti up. That evening, I went up to Matti to tell him how much it meant to us that he said the prayer, and how often I think of Ilan, especially at times like that. I asked Matti if he thinks of Ilan. His answer: “All the time.”
After Ilan died, I could not shake the grief nor find an adequate way to channel or express it. In plain English, it hit me like a ton of bricks that a friend my age could be dead. The fact that it could have been me, if my grandparents had emigrated to Palestine/Israel instead of the USA, exacerbated my inability to shake it off. At one point, I re-discovered some photographs I had taken of Ilan on the Staten Island Ferry, and the answer came to me: I would reach out to his parents and try to find out more about him. Again, in plain English, I wanted to know if my instinct was correct that he was really worthy of my grief.
I obtained Miriam and Dan’s address and wrote to them, not knowing if or how they would respond, or if they even knew who I was. I introduced myself in the letter and enclosed the pictures. Their emotional response several weeks later triggered the multi-generational odyssey that continues today, and always will continue.
Less than 2 years later, I met them and their children and grandchildren for the first time, at the kibbutz. I came back 2 years after that and spent Israel’s Memorial Day and Independence Day with them on the kibbutz. I took conversational Hebrew classes in New York to try to communicate better with them, because Miriam told me that she had so much to say to me but was not able to do so because of the language barrier. Each communication, each visit, each meeting, could itself fill volumes, but it all boils down to the fact that Ilan Heimlich’s death was both a personal tragedy for his friends and family and a tragedy for all of the Jewish people for, as I have come to understand, the fate of all Jews is tied to the fate of the State if Israel – and without people like Ilan who are willing to risk their lives for it, we are all in deep trouble.
The woman responsible for my meeting Ilan came from a Zionist home. Her father was Executive Director of a major Zionist organization for many years. He was also a US Army officer during WWI, and had helped liberate at least one concentration camp. He once said to me that there was less anti-Semitism in the world now because of the existence of the State of Israel. The world respects strength and preys on weakness, he was saying. With Israel, the Jews are strong and have the world’s respect because of it. Without it, we ended up with the Holocaust.
This is why we need Israel more than Israel needs us, and that is the global lesson that I have learned so painfully all the more from my friend’s death.
On a more personal level, I was reminded here in Israel this week, in a single day, why it was important that I sang to my sons that they had met the humble and the great, and seen the fickleness of fate, and I was also reminded on that day of the power of a simple “thank you.”
It is from this perspective that I have experienced this trip, as I have experienced my five (5) previous visits to Israel, beginning in 1984.
You can never forget a trip to Israel, even if you are not Jewish, and regardless of how many times you have been here. You also cannot avoid being moved by the experience.
During this past week on this wonderful trip, we have climbed Masada and swam in the Dead Sea; hiked the tunnels under the Old City and up to the shoreline of the City of David’s undergound Hezekiah’s Tunnel; dug up Hellenistic-era artifacts and purchased 21st-century ones; marveled at synagogues in Safed and Acco and learned of churches all about; shared the joy of a Jewish wedding at Jaffa’s waterfront while in earshot of African Christians learning about Jesus’s life and teachings from their African guide; learned the history of the Palmach and climbed tanks used in battle; and sat in the very room in which David Ben-Gurion declared the establishment of the State of Israel on May 14, 1948.
It used to be, pre-9/11, that we may have thought that the USA was literally bullet-proof, that we Americans tended to feel that we were doing a mitzvah by coming to Israel, and that Israel needed us more than we needed Israel. This may not have been a bad thing to believe, regardless of whether it was accurate (and I’m not sure if it was), but don’t fool yourself, American Jewry - if that perception was ever accurate, it certainly is not accurate now. Israel does not need our dollars or our knowledge anymore. It is a high-tech economic and military powerhouse. They appreciate our support, as always, but we American Jews (and maybe even non-Jews) need Israel now more than Israel needs us.
Perhaps that’s the way it should be.
In any event, it is but one more reason out of many for every Jew to feel and act on the urge to visit Israel at least once, and see what all the fuss is about.
I can only tell you that you won’t be disappointed if you do so. Inspired and moved for sure, but not disappointed.
Israel is the only place in the world where you are loved because you are American and Jewish. You can think of Israel as your insurance policy for a better life. Worst case, you can always cash in and move here, and Israel will always be ready to take you in as a full citizen the moment you set foot on her soil. Short of that, she stands behind you, lending her full faith and credit towards making sure that you are not persecuted in the USA (and other countries) because of your faith. You can view your premium as simply appreciating and understanding these functions that Israel performs for you (even if only quietly and unobtrusively, like a computer program running in the background); not taking them for granted; and not living in denial as to their existence or importance to you.
You probably have friends or relatives (or both) in Israel. If you are not in touch with them, you should reach out to them. With tools like email and Skype and Google translators, it’s easier and cheaper than a local phone call, much less a physical visit to Israel.
Your Israelis will be happy to hear from you. More importantly for you, you will almost certainly end up very glad that you will have connected with them.
As for me, suffice it to say that both of my boys are named for a friend and contemporary of mine named Ilan Heimlich. He is the reason I am here now, and the reason for all of my previous visits. I have spent the past 27 years (the same length of time that he was on this planet) grieving for him, trying to get to know him better, and trying to understand exactly all the reasons for my grief. I may never have all the answers I seek, but the odyssey has been (and continues to be) priceless.
My sons have now joined in that odyssey and have thereby greatly deepened their connection to their Jewishness, just as this odyssey has done for me.
On Tuesday of this week, we stayed behind in Safed while the group went on to the Golan and Tiberias. We were visiting Ilan Heimlich’s brother, sister-in-law, their two youngest children, and Ilan’s parents. As usual, we were blown away by the experience.
My sons understand that they are both named for Ilan. (Ethan’s Hebrew name, Eitan, is only one Hebrew letter removed from Ilan.) They know that Ilan Heimlich was raised on Kibbutz Gesher; that he and I became friends for a week in September 1981 during a visit to New York on his way back from spending a year traveling in the US and living and working in Southern California; that our connection was a woman I was then dating who had lived on the kibbutz for a time; and that he was killed while serving in his Golani Brigade unit on a hill overlooking Beirut, as he was helping to evacuate wounded comrades, in June 1982.
They know that he was Miriam and Dan’s first-born child, and that Miriam and Dan had survived the Holocaust doing forced labor in Romania. They know that Dan saw the Nazis murder his brother and father, and that Dan was a refugee in Cyprus.
They know that Dan and Miriam are their “Israeli grandparents.”
This was the third time that Miriam and Dan have seen Ethan and Ilan. They visited us in New York when the boys were not yet 3, and we came to Israel in 2005.
Before leaving Safed for Kfar Tabor to see the Heimlichs on Tuesday, we met a Rabbi Avram, a Chabad rabbi manning a stall in the shuk. The rabbi asked me if I wanted to lay tefillin. I saw that he was a disciple of Reb Schneerson, and I told him a moving story I had heard about Schneerson, a story he probably had heard before. He listened and looked into my ever-more-teary eyes as I told him the story of a severely wounded Israeli war veteran who had become depressed and lost his will to live during his stay in an Israeli rehab facility, and who had joined a group of other wounded veterans on a trip to the US, a trip which included an audience with Rabbi Schneerson. As the story goes, there was a reception line, and as Schneerson reached this man, the rabbi grabbed the man’s hand, looked into his eyes, and said but one word, “Thanks.” This one word changed the man’s life, as it was the only word he had longed to hear since being wounded, and the only word that nobody ever uttered to him. The man returned to Israel a changed person, rehabilitating himself physically and psychologically to the point where he became a successful real estate developer in Israel. All because of one simple word, a magic word that every parent teaches, a universal word of gratitude.
Rabbi Schneerson is considered by his followers as having been a great man. Was he humble too? Is it possible to be both?
The boys and I lay tefillin together with Reb Avram. Ilan was especially moved by the experience, to the point where he said that he wanted to start doing so regularly at home. The rabbi asked for nothing in return, but I gave him about $10 anyway, more than the amount which Roberta gave us to give to recipients of our choice on behalf of Brotherhood during our trip.
Later, in Kfar Tabor, within a short time after we arrived at Nir and Neta’s house, and after the boys were settled in upstairs playing video games with Nir and Neta’s son Alon (named for his uncle, whose actual name might have been too painful for his parents to give to their son), Miriam and Dan arrived. They looked great, which is itself no small feat for a couple in their ‘80’s who have endured what they have endured. When the boys came bounding down the stairs, Miriam and Dan gave them a bar mitzvah gift of such financial generosity that I hesitate to even reveal the amount here.
After a wonderful evening of dinner, conversation, and photographs at a restaurant, the Heimlichs drove us back to Ein Gev so that we could re-join the group. It was there that the inevitable tears welled up. Miriam’s parting words to me, in Hebrew, were simply, “Thanks for the name,” as she glanced towards my Ilan.
When I penned the words to my song, I imagined that the boys would think that the “great” whom I had in mind might be people like the great athletes (like basketball player Vince Carter) and musicians (like Chick Corea) whom they have met. The humble clearly would be people like Miriam and Dan.
However, hopefully the boys will come to understand (if they don’t already) that one can be both humble and great, and that Miriam and Dan are in both categories.
Their son was humble too. He sat in my living room and listened to me play the piano, and not once did he let on that he was an accomplished French horn player. I found this out later, as I did so many other things about him.
After we returned to our room on Tuesday night, I told Barbara and the boys what Miriam had said. That’s when my Ilan broke down and cried himself. He was now feeling what I have felt for 27 years. He wants to learn more about his namesake now as well, and he yearns to have some personal effect that that may have belonged to Ilan Heimlich, something that can be physically touched and felt, as if to form some type of bridge to help make the connection stronger, to help fathom the unfathomable.
At the boys’ bar mitzvah service at Brotherhood on 11/21/09, Matti Barak – another Gesher kibbutznik who has lived in New York for almost 30 years and who was very close with Ilan and Nir – was called up by Rabbi Alder to say the prayer for the State of Israel in Hebrew. Rabbi Dan briefly described the Heimlich-Gesher connection when he called Matti up. That evening, I went up to Matti to tell him how much it meant to us that he said the prayer, and how often I think of Ilan, especially at times like that. I asked Matti if he thinks of Ilan. His answer: “All the time.”
After Ilan died, I could not shake the grief nor find an adequate way to channel or express it. In plain English, it hit me like a ton of bricks that a friend my age could be dead. The fact that it could have been me, if my grandparents had emigrated to Palestine/Israel instead of the USA, exacerbated my inability to shake it off. At one point, I re-discovered some photographs I had taken of Ilan on the Staten Island Ferry, and the answer came to me: I would reach out to his parents and try to find out more about him. Again, in plain English, I wanted to know if my instinct was correct that he was really worthy of my grief.
I obtained Miriam and Dan’s address and wrote to them, not knowing if or how they would respond, or if they even knew who I was. I introduced myself in the letter and enclosed the pictures. Their emotional response several weeks later triggered the multi-generational odyssey that continues today, and always will continue.
Less than 2 years later, I met them and their children and grandchildren for the first time, at the kibbutz. I came back 2 years after that and spent Israel’s Memorial Day and Independence Day with them on the kibbutz. I took conversational Hebrew classes in New York to try to communicate better with them, because Miriam told me that she had so much to say to me but was not able to do so because of the language barrier. Each communication, each visit, each meeting, could itself fill volumes, but it all boils down to the fact that Ilan Heimlich’s death was both a personal tragedy for his friends and family and a tragedy for all of the Jewish people for, as I have come to understand, the fate of all Jews is tied to the fate of the State if Israel – and without people like Ilan who are willing to risk their lives for it, we are all in deep trouble.
The woman responsible for my meeting Ilan came from a Zionist home. Her father was Executive Director of a major Zionist organization for many years. He was also a US Army officer during WWI, and had helped liberate at least one concentration camp. He once said to me that there was less anti-Semitism in the world now because of the existence of the State of Israel. The world respects strength and preys on weakness, he was saying. With Israel, the Jews are strong and have the world’s respect because of it. Without it, we ended up with the Holocaust.
This is why we need Israel more than Israel needs us, and that is the global lesson that I have learned so painfully all the more from my friend’s death.
On a more personal level, I was reminded here in Israel this week, in a single day, why it was important that I sang to my sons that they had met the humble and the great, and seen the fickleness of fate, and I was also reminded on that day of the power of a simple “thank you.”
Day 7 & 8 Exploring Tel Aviv
What an amazing city! The Gold family is hard at work working on a guest posting about their powerful experiences at the Tank museum and the Palmach exhibit we toured through on our first day here so I'll skip over those two fantastic sites in this post. The only thing I will say is that having a better understanding of the struggle this country had (and continues to have) brings a new level of love in my heart and a desire to bring a call to action for those of us back in New York.
After another moving tour through the Independence Museum the gang parted ways to celebrate Sylvester (what the Israeli's call New Years). We all reconnected at 8am on the tour bus for a drive to an archeological dig at Tel Maresha. This was the most quiet bus ride the group has ever had (I wonder why???) Our guide assured us that we would find something in the dirt but we had to give everything back at the end of our tour for study. It was an amazing experience being deep underground in caves created during the Helenistic period and find a pottery shard while move dirt from the ground into a black plastic bucket. Our group was lucky! We found an animal tooth, a bone, several large shards, and a bottom of a drinking cup (that was intact). Afterwards we toured through an ammunition factory that was hidden under a Kibbutz during the War of Independence.
The afternoon was free for shopping through the Nachalat Binyamin craft fair or the Carmel market food stalls (yummy!!). I headed down to the beach to watch the sunset. People here in Tel Aviv are in LOVE with the beach. I saw hundreds of people crowded around playing paddle ball, surfing, and lying in the sun talking.
Tonight is Shabbat so we are all going to gather for dinner (with special guest stars: the Rothmans!). Sadly, tomorrow is our last day so I'll be making the most of it for sure. I've already been in discussions with our tour guide about the best time to come back and explore the South!
After another moving tour through the Independence Museum the gang parted ways to celebrate Sylvester (what the Israeli's call New Years). We all reconnected at 8am on the tour bus for a drive to an archeological dig at Tel Maresha. This was the most quiet bus ride the group has ever had (I wonder why???) Our guide assured us that we would find something in the dirt but we had to give everything back at the end of our tour for study. It was an amazing experience being deep underground in caves created during the Helenistic period and find a pottery shard while move dirt from the ground into a black plastic bucket. Our group was lucky! We found an animal tooth, a bone, several large shards, and a bottom of a drinking cup (that was intact). Afterwards we toured through an ammunition factory that was hidden under a Kibbutz during the War of Independence.
The afternoon was free for shopping through the Nachalat Binyamin craft fair or the Carmel market food stalls (yummy!!). I headed down to the beach to watch the sunset. People here in Tel Aviv are in LOVE with the beach. I saw hundreds of people crowded around playing paddle ball, surfing, and lying in the sun talking.
Tonight is Shabbat so we are all going to gather for dinner (with special guest stars: the Rothmans!). Sadly, tomorrow is our last day so I'll be making the most of it for sure. I've already been in discussions with our tour guide about the best time to come back and explore the South!
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