Magen David Adom - Ambulance

Magen David Adom - Red Star of David (ambulance service)

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This is the headline on the Friends of Magen David Adom website, and this is the perspective with which I prefer to view the service.

On April 12, around 1 pm, my sister and I were talking with my Mom in the kitchen.  She was standing with her lichon- walker.  Suddenly Mom had difficulty with words, struggling to articulate. Then whatever words emerged were confused, made no sense.  Then she could not speak at all.  With considerable urging, we got her to sit on a chair.

I called her doctor who advised me to call the ambulance.  By the time the ambulance came, Mom was back to full cognition.

Five emergency medical technicians arrived with chair/stretcher.  Tears were welling up in my eyes, but I tried to stay focused.  The four men and one woman were all very kind.  It didn't matter.  Mom didn't want to see them.  She had had enough of hospitals.  She was emphatic - "Amut im ani elech l'bet hacholim! - I will die if I go to the hospital".   On the side, the paramedic whispered to me  - very risky if she does not go.  Important tests to do.  But I knew Mom was resolute against it, and nothing could be done.  After a case history and a couple rudimentary tests - blood pressure and sugar level - they were ready to go.  She just had to sign that she declined to go to the hospital, which later translated that the ambulance cost would not be covered by insurance.  And the fact that the rudimentary tests checked out OK just bolstered her impression that everything was fine.

"Why did you call the ambulance?  Can't you see that I'm fine?  You should have known that I would recover."  Never mind that Mom had a mini stroke, a TIA (Transient Ischemic Attack).  She had a couple of these before.  No big deal.  Nevertheless, her doctor thought it was big deal enough to pay her a visit.  All the tests that could have been handled in one "ishpuz" ....  now that's an interesting word.  The Ushpizin are the seven mystical visitors whom we welcome to our succot throughout the holiday of Succoth.  Ushpizin comes from the Aramaic word, ushpiz, meaning a guest and also a lodging place or an inn. In modern Hebrew, the related word ishpuz means hospitalization.  I figured a visit by an ushpiz or two would be a good thing.

All those tests that could have been done in one ishpuz, the doctor advised me, now need to be done as separate appointments at various clinics.  Actually he didn't state it so succinctly - but it was obvious.  He had me join him in his car, where he scribbled out prescriptions for CT scan, ultrasound of carotid, scan of heart, x-ray of chest, evaluation by neurologist, and a new medication.  The worst part was not the struggle with the Hebrew, or the various "issues" that invariably emerge when dealing with the medical bureaucracy, or the trips to the clinics and pharmacy.  The hardest part was the vehement anger from Mom that I had the audacity to contact her doctor, and that she now had to endure all these unnecessary tests.

Haola!
Gam Zu L'tovah!

Pesach (Passover) - Chag Stories

We had our family seder, just my Mom and Dad, sister and myself.  We had four little cups of wine, and as a kavannah/intention for each cup, I added a verse from Proverbs or Psalms out of the book Dad had published when he was in his eighties - "The Romance of Wine and the Bible".  We recited the prayers of the Haggadah, sang the songs, performed the ritual acts, as we used to do as a family 40- 50 years ago.  I even included the little bibliodrama of the Fiery Rebbe of Kotsk.  The Rebbe instructs his student to open the door for Eliyahu, then chastises him - "Fool, don't you know, Eliyahu enters through the heart, not the door!".  Some of you are no doubt bored with my inclusion of this deep teaching!  This was the first real seder for my parents in many years.  It was a joy.  It was an oasis in time from the daily crazy-making situation with my folks.

The following day - still "Chag" (the first and last days of the week of Passover are Chag - special holydays) - I walked up the hill to the religious neighborhood of Bayit Vegan.  Even more than Shabbat in Jerusalem, the absence of cars in the streets and the festive atmosphere of people out walking in the streets, was apparent.  This person and that one, who normally would avoid your glance, offered a friendly "Chag sameach"  - Happy Holyday!  Of course this was a daati neighborhood, so the men wore black coats or robes, women had head covering.  Then one particular fellow, with prominent shtreumel (the large cylindrical fur hat described in the Pesach at the Zoo posting), and long stockings, actually started talking to me.  I was somewhat startled and tripped on the curb - something only my beloved Joe would appreciate.

So it was that I met Moshe and his son Yoseph.  I turned to Yoseph, a shy young boy 8 - 10 years old, whose side curls or payus seemed especially long, and said:

"Yoseph, do you know the significance of your name?  Yoseph (Joseph), our forefather, through the circumstances of his life, gave us the understanding of the saying 'Gam zu l'tovah' (This too is for the good - a belief in the ultimate goodness of the world - that was a major theme of the early Chasidic rabbis.)".
Yoseph was underwhelmed by my remarks; however Moshe turned to his son and said:  "Yoseph, did you hear that teaching?  That is a very important teaching about your name.

I then added:  "You know, when we close our eyes during the Shema, we then block out all the disturbances of the world around us, and we are able to really focus on Gam Zu L'tovah - the ultimate goodness of the world.  That is the secret of the Shema."

Moshe was delighted .  He thanked me for sharing this Torah, which he said he didn't know, and said it made his day.  I then learned Moshe was originally from Dallas.  His parents were followers of Reb Shlomo Carlback of blessed memory, and his family joined a Chassidic community here named after a shtetl in Poland.  We talked some more about the challenges of helping aging parents.  It also made my day making this connection.

One irony in the teaching about Gam Zu L'Tovah is that my real appreciation and work with this belief/concept/philosophy comes through my Chinese Tzeneng Qigong practice and the chanting of "Hoala" - All is Well, So Be It.  So many times I would feel exasperated by the crazy making situation with my parents, and I would go out onto a landing on a staircase overlooking the hills, or climb up some knoll to a flat spot with a view, and there I would close my eyes, blocking out all perceived and unperceived disturbances, and practice Chen Chi.  I would pour all my concentration into the physically challenging movement.  And I would pour all my concentration into chanting Haola - All is Well, So Be It.  So the connection with Moshe and Yoseph was cross cultural in more ways than one.

But there's more to tell regarding Reb Shlomo Carlbach's followers, and that is a story of the later Chag of the last day of Pesach.
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Rimona and I took a taxi to the Jaffa Gate.  We walked outside the old walls, on a beautiful recently restored walkway with gardens alongside the wall, then entered the Old City.  There we continued on picturesqe alleyways, the Jerusalem stones glowing in the late afternoon light, to the restored Jewish Quarter, and after that, to the Western Wall plaza.

Hundreds of people gathered there for the remaining hours of Hag, and for the coming of Shabbat.  I could hear the soft niggun of a circle of black coated Chassids , in the rear of the Western Wall enclosure.  Soon I recognized the melody as the Niggun of the Besht, also known as the Baal Shem Tov - the founding rabbi of the Chassidic movement in the 1800's.   The melody is deeply soulful, as if you can hear the joy and grief of a lifetime in its notes.   I made plans with Rimona to reconnoiter in an hour.  Unfortunately the Western Wall - last remaining wall of the Temple Mount of 2000 years ago, including the large praying areas, are completely segrated, with a much larger area for the men.  I went and joined this group of black coated men for prayer.

I was invited to partake in wine and shemura matzoh.  Shemura matzoh is 'guarded matzoh', watched carefully during its preparation to make sure the flour is not exposed to water more than 18 minutes, to ensure that no leavening takes place.  It is also prepared in large rounds and baked in a stone or brick oven, imparting a handmade slightly burnt look and taste.  It is also quite expensive to purchase. I was told it was a mitzvah to eat matzoh during the final remaining minutes of Chag.  There was one other fellow in modern dress - David - who recently made aliyah.  He told me where I might find followers of Reb Shlomo Carlbach later towards sunset.

The singing transitioned to a d'var Torah - a sermon - in the Hebrew, and while I could make out bits and pieces, including the Midrash of Nachshon who had the courage to go shoulder deep in the Red Sea before God caused it to part,   nevertheless, I started zoning out.  I heard another group, more masorti (conservative, modern dressed) in style and joined for a while, but felt no group spirit there.  The hour was up and I rejoined Rimona.  Meanwhile the numbers of people at the Kotel multiplied.  I couldn't remember ever seeing the plaza so packed.  Again I made plans with Rimona to reconnoiter.

I found it quite impossible at first to walk in this crowd of thousands of fervently praying men. But I wanted to get closer to the Kotel.  Then I saw occasionally a man who somehow managed to create a path here and there, and I managed to follow in their wake.  Eventually I made it to the Kotel.  I gave up on the ridiculous idea of looking for the Shlomo Carlback followers.

I prayed at the Wall.  I practiced energy exchange - La Chi - a Qigong practice, and found the powerful energy of this place allowed me to enter deeper practice.  In the distance off to my right I thought I could hear the familiar sweet melodies of Reb Shlomo.  Was I imagining?  Was it possible to join them?

I was mastering the art of wiggling my way through the crowd, and slowly, slowly, I made my way to them, in time for one of my favorites that I often play on the guitar - ya lai la lai lai, ya lai la lai lai - you know that one?  This was a fairly large and distinctly mixed crowd.  I stayed and sang and prayed with them some time.  A youngster gave me a bundle of geranium sprigs to smell.  I offered this around.  A group of four handsome, very  clean shaven, young men arrived and asked me some questions.  Their countenance was quite familiar.  I wondered if they might be Mormon.  They were indeed visiting and studying at the Mormon University.  We shook hands and exchanged names.  They were very friendly.  I again saw Bryson later in the evening, as well as at the small synagogue with the Chagall windows at Hadassah Hospital - another day.

Conveniently, the crowd thinned as the praying slowed and as the sky darkened, and it was easy making my way back to Rimona.  We enjoyed the 'afterglow' of this experience at the Kotel, taking in the festive atmosphere, the glow of the lights on the ancient walls, and slowly wondered out of the plaza.  At some point I felt far enough to try a picture, having seen others doing so without getting reprimanded by the 'camera police'.  I had gone into spectator mode.  It was time to go find a taxi.  It was a sweet ending of the Chag.

Earliest Memories

One evening I asked Mom and Dad about their earliest memories.

Dad said it was his father coming home drunk one evening.  Seems to me an odd early memory of his father, as getting drunk was not a feature of Grandpa Morris's life.

Mom said her earliest memory was when electricity came to Tel Aviv and their home on Grusenberg Street.  She was four or five years old.  Prior to electricity she remembered the old gas lamps, both in the house and on the street.  She remembers a time after electricity started when her father took her by horse and carriage to Jaffa, and you could still see the gas lamps.

She talked about a Tel Aviv man named Rutenberg, who studied in Russia, and was responsible for developing electricity in Tel Aviv and other communities.

Pinchas Rutenberg

Wikepedia says this about Rutenberg.  Pinhas Rutenberg (February 5, 1879 – January 3, 1942; Russian: Пётр Моисеевич Рутенберг, Pyotr Moiseyevich Rutenberg; Hebrew: פנחס רוטנברג‎) was a prominent engineer and a businessman, a Russian socialist and a Zionist leader. He played an active role in two Russian revolutions, in 1905 and 1917. During World War I, he was among the founders of the Jewish Legion and of the American Jewish Congress. Later, in the British Mandate of Palestine, he had obtained an exclusive concession for production and distribution of electric power and founded the Palestine Electric Company, currently the Israel Electric Corporation. Rutenberg also participated in establishing the Haganah, a nucleus of the future Israel Defense Forces, and served as a President of the Jewish National Council.

In fact, there was also a shady feature to Rutenberg's life.  Rutenberg was a friend of Father George Gapon, a popular working class leader, who in 1905 organized a peaceful workers' procession to the winter palace of the Tzar.  Army pickets fired on them, killing hundreds, an incident known as Bloody Sunday.  Rutenberg saved Gapon from the gunfire.  However, later, Gapon revealed his secret connections to the police, reasoning that his connections would be useful to the workers.  Rutenberg reported this to party leaders.  Sometime later, after visiting Rutenberg at his cottage, Gapon was found hanged at the cottage.

Mom also recalled another man who served as a founding Chairman of the Palestine Electric Corporation, Lord Reading, who came and spoke to her school (called the Gymnasia) when she was 8 or 10 years old.  Her shool was the first secular school in the world that taught in Hebrew, and it was not uncommon for dignitaries to come and speak.  Mom remembers these words from his speech:

The Marquess of Reading

"I rose from the poorest rungs of society being a Jew, to being Viceroy of India - second to the King."
Mom remembers that the first large electic station was called "Lord Reading Station".

Yesterday Mom shared another early memory - of the earthquake of 1927 - when she was seven years old.  She was at home with their family's Yemenite Jewish helper Simcha.  Mom said she was "some woman".  Simcha (Joy) was forced into marriage when whe was eight years old, and a few years later had a son whose name was Sa'adya (helper of G-d).  Simcha fled Yemen with her son, walking all the way to Palestine.

Mom and Simcha were at home when the rumbling began.  There was an old-style iron on the table - the kind you put hot coals inside.  Simcha had the presence of mind to move the iron to the tile floor, then took her out into the street.  There was not any damage to their home, or much in Tel Aviv.  However the Arab town of Nablus was largely destroyed.  She remembers everyone collecting blankets and such to send to Nablus.

The 1927 earthquake in Palestine was a devastating earthquake that shook the Palestine and Transjordan regions on July 11, 1927. The epicenter of the earthquake was in the northern area of the Dead Sea. The cities of Jerusalem, Jericho, Ramle, Tiberias and Nablus were heavily damaged and at least 500 were estimated to have been killed.

It is interesting to note that Simcha, translating as Joy, was Mom's family helper when Mom was very young, and now her new helper, 85 years later, also has the name Joy.  But that is another story.

Pesach (Passover) at the Zoo

The Biblical Zoo is a mere ten minute ride on the #33 bus from my parents' apartment.  I thought - nice way to spend an aftenoon of Kol Hamoed Pesach.  These are the Days of the Festival, or the Intermediate Days of the week of Pesach.  Fewer restrictions apply than during the Chag, first and last days, and the country is largely on vacation.  I didn't know, however, that half of Jerusalem would be at the zoo.  

The bus was packed.  It got so slow approaching the zoo that I got off a stop early.  Once I arrived I quickly realized that I was going to enjoy people gazing as much as animal gazing.  There were the haredi men with the black robes and cylindrical fur hats - the shtreimel. There were haredi women with head covering, children with long peyos - side curls.  There were secular folks.  There were Palestinian Arab families.

Here's more than you probably ever wanted to know about shtreimels:

A shtreimel (Yiddish: שטרײַמל, pl. שטרײַמלעך shtreimlech) is a fur hat worn by many marriedharedi Jewish men, particularly (although not exclusively) members of Hasidic groups, onShabbat and Jewish holidays and other festive occasions.[1] In Jerusalem, the shtreimel is also worn by 'Yerushalmi' Jews (non-Hasidim who belong to the original Ashkenazicommunity of Jerusalem, also known as Perushim). The shtreimel is generally worn only after marriage, except in many Yerushalmi communities, where boys wear it from their bar mitzvah. In the dynasties of Chabad-Lubavitch and Karlin-Stolin, the shtreimel was reserved for the Rebbe only.

And it was easy being discreet, as most shots were just a slight veering off from the animal world.  

To my dear friends - Moadim L'Simcha - Joyous Days of the Festival to you!

Pasul, Unfit, Defective!

Pasul - defined in Meriam Webster (why this Hebrew word is included, I have no idea) as:
"Declared unfit for Jewish ceremonial use according to rabbinic law : defective".

It was a challenging morning.  Tensions between Mom and Dad were very bad.  Rimona and I had discussions with a social worker at Macabee, our parents' health fund.   Mom was curious what we discussed.  Rimona mentioned we had to discuss the tension between them.  They got very upset.  Mom guessed (correctly) that the agency would want them to undergo mental assessments, and they both adamently rejected the idea.

Soon after that, Mom's new doctor - one who does home visits, came for the second time.  This was not a mental assessment visit - that would come later, under disguise.   Mom's new doctor is an exceptionally sweet fellow.  He is also daati- orthodox, which was quite apparent from his dress, particularly the tsitsit which are garment fringes with knots prescribed by the Torah.  The tzitzit hung below his vest.

Mom was in no mood for anyone, and she ranted at him for quite some time.  "I can't take this!  I have no peace!  I don't want people coming in anymore!  Leave me alone!"  Dr. Argov listened patiently, nodding, acknowledging her distress.  Meanwhile I was plotzing a few feet away.

Eventually Mom relaxed somewhat, and even apologized for her behavior.  The visit ended and I accompanied the doctor out of the apartment.  We talked briefly about her emotional cognitive state.  He prescribed an antidepressant.  Then he glanced at their mezuzah and gave me a wink.

The mezuzah is a prayer affixed per tradition on the doorpost. It is housed typically in an ornamental container.  But the holy part is the prayer.  It must be handwritten by a sofer-scribe who has studied this art which is passed on from generation to generation.  The prayer is the Shema, which declares the oneness of the Divine, and speaks of loving the Creator with all one's heart, soul, and resourcefulness (Talmudic Scholar Rashi's translation).  It also speaks of our communal responsibilities, and the ecological consequences of not loving the Creator.  This prayer is beautifully written on parchment.  It must be inspected periodically to ensure it's integrity, that it is "kosher".

I looked closely at the mezuzah on their door, and saw that the "scroll" inside was, well appeared to be,  basicaly green schmutz.  I knew it was never a kosher mezuzah, but almost certainly a zerox copy that was inserted 27 years ago.  Later, Mom mentioned that Dad refused to spend the $30 for a kosher mezuzah.  Memories flashed back to the mezuzah my parents gave me from the house where I grew up in Richmond, CA.  I remember inspecting the "scroll" inside when Joe and I moved to Index, and saw that only half the prayer was there.  Apparently it had been cut, and only half of it was inserted into the small space of the ornamental housing.

I looked knowingly at Dr. Argov, and said:  "I'll see if I can get a kosher mezuzah".  He smiled.
I spoke to the building guy Shimon, who is mesorti - observant and also is loved by my parents, and asked if he could find and install a kosher mezuzah.  One evening Shimon came by with a daati friend.  Shimon showed me that the new kosher scroll they brought would not fit into the small space of the housing, and furthermore that it would be quite difficult to find one sufficiently small.  He brought an unattractive plastic replacement housing.  This did not bode well.

I called Mom and Dad over to ask if they would be OK with the replacement, and Dad had a royal fit.  "I've lived to almost 100 and that mezuzah was just fine.  It's kept me alive and well!"   Well, maybe he had a point there.  Later that evening he came by our room, and I expected more ranting, but he seemed open to talking.  He told us that 20 years ago Shimon had asked him to consider installing a kosher mezuzah, but he refused.  Again he repeated how old he was and that the mezuzah was fine.  I suggested to him that maybe his longevity had more to do with his genes, and with Mom taking taking good care of him.  He didn't deny that.  Then I added that another way to look at it - was that hanging a kosher mezuzah might be an opportunity to thank G-d for all the years given him.  He said "I'll think about that one."

The next day Rimona and I had a little time to browse a few gift shops on Ben Yehuda Street downtown.  I asked one proprietor about small mezuzah scrolls to fit small housings.  He showed me some that looked sufficiently small.  I purchased one for 120 shekels.  The proprietor suggested that I just install it quietly.  But while I had routinely employed "benign deception" in many other situations, this, in my opinion, required informed consent.

Later at the apartment, I sat with Dad.  "Dad, do you remember the mezuzah discussion we had last night?"  He said he did - kind of remarkable considering his severe memory problems.  "Well, I've been thinking.  Let's say you have a dear friend you want to thank, and you make a meal for him.  What would you make? " He said a chicken dish.  I said "That sounds very nice.  I'm sure you wouldn't want to serve him a piece of stale bread."  He said "oh, no."  I said "Well, that's kind of the way I see hanging a kosher mezuzah, like thanking a dear friend."  He said "That makes sense - let's get a kosher mezuzah."

I told him that that I got one for him, and a big smile shown on his face.  I opened the scroll, with it's beautiful calligraphy on the parchment.  I bean reading the Hebrew prayer.  He joined me in reading it, word for word. He knew it by heart.

I called Shimon to come and install the new mezuzah.  He meticulously buffed the bronze housing and it shined beautifully.  Then he installed the mezuzah in the housing, where it fit perfectly.   I took a picture of Dad and Shimon, and I can't remember Dad ever smiling like that for a photo.

When the time came to mount the mezuzah on the doorpost (with adhesive), Shimon had Dad hold  the mezuzah in place, and instructed Dad on the blessing.

Baruch ata Adonai Eloheinu melech ha'olam, asher kidshanu b'mitzvotav, vetzivanu likbo'a mezuzah.
Blessed are You, Adonai our G-d, who sanctifies us in mitzvot - holy deeds, and commands us to affix the mezuzah.

Memory of Freedom Fighter

From time to time Mom is able to put aside her fixation in talking about Dad - how he drives her crazy, etc, etc, and about her own travails, and we see a glimpse of her former impressive talent, for example the history professor she could have been.

This morning after breakfast, how I don't remember, we turned to the topic of NILI, an organization that spied on the Turkish during the First World War.  Mom explained that NILI stood for Netsach Yisrael Lo Y'shaker - Forever Israel Will Not Lie.   The Ottoman Turks were very corrupt - bribes (bakshish) were rampant - and there was great fear in the knowledge of the massacre of the Armenians and danger to the Jews.

Mom told us about a NILI spy who was a relative of our.  His name was Naaman Belkind, and he was married to a cousin of my grandfather Saba Moshe.  He was apprehended and was hanged in Damascus.   Mom then showed us a book about NILI, titled NILI - Toldot Shel He'aza Medinit - History of Daring Diplomacy.  The book was written by an historian who lived around the corner from Mom on Grusenberg Street in Tel Aviv, when it was still a small town.

Mom got this smug look on her face, and said:  "I'll show it to you - but I'm not going to give it to you."

Hiding the Passover Wine

Burning the chometz (bread and "kitniyot") near my parents' building

You're probably thinking - he's absentmindedly confusing the wine with the afikomen.  For my non-Jewish friends, the afikomen is the piece of matzah that is hidden during the seder and later found by a child.  Rabbis have commented that this practice reflects on a time when we had little to eat, and so saved a portion for later.  The practice can connect us and move us to help those who have little to eat.

But no, I didn't confuse the two.  The story began not with the Passover wine, but with a bottle of Vodka.  For years, Dad has been sipping, not guzzling, wine or Vodka.  That may not seem so bad until you consider it often happened throughout the day.  The less than desirable habit came to an abrupt end when Mom was in the hospital and my sister Rimona came to help.  She hid the bottle of Vodka on the floor behind the stove and refused to buy more alcohol for Dad.

Well, that worked for a time.  Then Dad aspired to the resourcefulness of the child searching for the afikomen.  Voila!

The child on Passover receives a reward for finding the afikomen.  It didn't seem right to deny some reward to Dad.  He sweetly requested a little Vodka to make a srewdriver and I obliged.  We then found a new location to hide the treasure.  Well, we briefly considered giving it away, but then wisely realized we may need it ourselves.

Pandora's Box was opened somewhat, and in the following days Dad asked about the whereabouts of the Bottle.  He also asked repeatedly to go the "store".

So, I was a bit concerned when Mom asked me to buy a nice bottle of red wine for Passover.  At first I objected, but quickly realized rules are meant to be broken on occasion.  I bought the best wine the store offered - Gamla - from Ramat HaGolan.  We hid the bottle.

Yesterday Mom took some of the wine for the charoset.  Charoset is a paste of apples, walnuts, wine, resembling the mortor used for bricks to remind us of our enslavement in Egypt 3,000 years ago.  The bottle was observed later to have less liquid and was moved.  We believe we identified the culprit.

I took upon myself the role of again diligently hiding the "afikomen", this time transfering the precious liquid to a another container, wrapping it in a paper bag, and hiding it behind tall items in the back of the fridge.  Before our festive seder tonight, I intend to again transfer the treasure to a beautiful decanter of glass and silver, decorated with grapes, that was our present to our parents for their 25th anniversay - 40 years ago.

This will be a fitting tribute to our Dad, who, after all, retired from the wine business, and who in his 80's published a little book titled "The Romance of Wine and the Bible".  It was published here in Jerusalem by "Gefen", which happens to translate as "grapevine".  Maybe we'll even read a verse or two at the seder.
We have the story of the four children in our Hagaddah, which can represent four aspects of our personality as adults.  May we learn to have patience for the child within ourselves and others, including within our aging parents.

Full Moon of Passover - 14th of Nissan

Chag Sameach - Happy Passover!
Barak