The Pachamama Alliance is a worldwide organization that aims to raise awareness of the environmental dangers facing planet Earth – from catastrophic climate change to the mass extinction of species.

The Israeli arm of Pachamama has been schlepping the organization’s five-hour core “Awakening the Dreamer, Changing the Dream” symposium around the country. Friends of ours in Jerusalem hosted about 30 people in their home last week to participate in the seminar.

A Pachamama workshop consists of a series of very professional 5-10 minute videos followed by small group discussions. There are activities (writing down vision statements, mini-meditations, calls to action) and larger group sharing.

The event is divided into two sections: the problems are spelled out before lunch, with what we can do personally to make a difference described after the meal.

The videos in the first half are quite disturbing and graphic, although if you follow the news, much of the data will be familiar (an example factoid: “if you have food in a refrigerator, clothes in your closet, a bed to sleep in, and a roof over your head, you’re better off than 75% of the people on the planet”).

After a barrage of 5-6 of these depressing films, I told the group that I felt quite useless; how could I as an individual possibly affect any kind of change when faced with an unquenchable demand on our rapidly reducing natural resources? Our facilitator said I should hold those thoughts until after part two; that there was indeed hope.

I unfortunately never got that far. After a healthy meal of lentil soup and fresh bread, I promptly fell asleep on the couch. While my wife sitting next to me was energetically creating a matrix of personal skills matched with possible responses, my head lolled in slumber, occasionally awakening to realize the other participants were being mutually empowered, before slipping back into dozy denial.

I vaguely heard the group leader asking my wife if she could wake me up for the final circle and her defending my right to nap. I rose anyway and regarded a very different group than the one I had left behind.

I feel kind of like the blue-skinned Na’vi in the movie Avatar about ¾ of the way into the film, when their world is being pulverized by the evil Earth army and there seems to be no way out. I came to the workshop to understand how I could make a difference. I left feeling depressed and drowsy, having missed the uplifting finale.

The good news: this will certainly not be the last Pachamama symposium scheduled in Israel and I’ll hopefully have the opportunity to attend another one. But next time, I’ll try to sleep during the first half.

The discussion of Israelis overseas was a topic that just wouldn’t go away this past week. First I wrote on the Israelity blog about the video campaign “guilting” expats to come home. Then, as my colleague David Brinn added, the videos were pulled by none other than the prime minister himself. Now there is a “point-counterpoint” set of articles in Ynet that promise to keep the debate fomenting further.

Liad Magen

In the first column, Liad Magen writes about why he wants to leave Israel. Like a good Rothschildian, he complains about the high prices, low salaries, a deteriorating medical system, monopolies, bank fees and even crappy public transportation. Then, surprisingly, he calls for his fellow Israelis to not work for a better society…but to emigrate.

Not only that, but he posts a status update to his Facebook profile in which he urges his friends and family to leave with him, to create an “immigration group” that will together settle a new land (North Carolina, Norway, he doesn’t say), supporting each other while looking for work and learning a new language.

Tal Raphael

Magen’s article is followed by Tal Raphael, who sympathizes with his plight. Yes, Israel is a tough place to live. Yes, the wars we are forced to fight have scarred our small nation with too many dead. Her counter-argument, though, is not for Magen to come home, but to think of his children or grandchildren.

Raphael writes: “Perhaps you will succeed in the new country, and just like your friends, you’ll establish huge companies and do well for yourself. But maybe, in 60 years or so, you’ll have a grandchild. This grandchild will apparently not be called Liad, but rather, James, or Jimmy, or something else…Jimmy will be born in Los Angeles, or in any other city, and live his life with ease and without concerns, until one day, he will want to make aliyah to Israel.”

She continues: “Why would he want to do this, you ask? Maybe because someone will call him ‘Jew-boy’ on the street, or maybe he’ll open the Bible, or learn a little history, or seek meaning. Maybe he’ll hear that the falafel around here is the best. I don’t know when and why, but it will happen, and if not to Jimmy it shall happen to his grandson, or great grandson.”

Jimmy’s story, Raphael concludes, is that of the entire Jewish people, who keep leaving home yet always return. “I have no decisive answer for why this happens,” she concludes, “but I have 2,000 years of experience.”

And that, in many ways, was the exact point of the now pulled ad campaign aimed at Israeli yordim (emigrants): you’ll never be truly comfortable outside of Israel. And if not you, then your children who, while they may be comfortable calling you “Daddy” today (as in one of the videos), will eventually betray your decision to leave and, in turn, will break your heart to return to the land of their grandparents. And so, implies the video, why not nip that eventuality in the bud and stay to fight another day.

Most of the people I’ve spoken with about the video series felt it was right on and effective for its target audience. This timely point-counterpoint only serves to bolster that contention.

I started this discussion on the Israelity blog.

Posing in Tunnel 3A

When our kids were young, we had a videotape they used to love called “Road Construction Ahead” which was all about, well, road construction. It featured hard hats, tractors and lots of concrete.

The truth is, I loved it too – I’m a nut when it comes to anything in the stages of being built – highways, bridges, airports. So, when the annual Jerusalem-area “Houses from Within” event featured a tour of one of the tunnels currently being dug out for the fast train line from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, there was no question I’d be there.

Houses from Within began in 2007 with the aim of allowing Jerusalemites to peek inside beautiful houses that would normally be for the enjoyment of their owners only. The two-day event has expanded to include more than 100 homes as well public facilities (you can tour City Hall or the Jewish Agency), educational institutions (check out Beit Avi Chai or the Mormon Center on the Mount of Olives), museums, churches, hotels (a boutique inn in Ein Kerem, the half built Palace Hotel) and now, apparently, train tunnels (that fits the description of “within” though they’re not exactly a house).

The fast train, which will zip between Israel’s two largest cities in an astounding 28 minutes (compare that with the current train which clocks in at nearly two hours), has been an engineering challenge to say the least, and includes five tunnels in total. We were allowed entrance to Tunnel 3A, the second to last tunnel on the way into Jerusalem.

The 9/11 Memorial outside of Jerusalem

The tunnel is located adjacent to a little known monument memorializing the 9/11 attacks in New York, perched on a hill in the middle of nowhere (the murky directions towards the site called for us to go “straight at the T Junction”).

Once inside the construction fence, we walked into one of two 820-meter long tunnels. The ground was still rough (the rails won’t be laid until much later) and the makeshift fluorescent lights on either side reminded me of a Dr. Who episode that scared the dickens out of me when I was ten.

There are two tunnels to handle trains going in each direction. Why not save money and bore only a single tunnel? Two tunnels make it safer in case of a disaster and would allow the trains to keep running, our engineer and tour guide Sagi told us. While he explained that he was referring to a fire, living in Israel, it was hard not to think about the possibility of a terror attack as well.

Another Israeli aspect to the tour: the Houses from Within program stated that only 20 people would be let into the tunnels at a time, and they’d have to wear hard hats and reflective vests. But Sagi took about 50 of us in and there were two similarly sized groups already inside. No helmets, vests or waivers in case a boulder fell on someone’s head (none did).

Near the end of the tour, one of the participants asked whether the fast train’s construction (due to be completed in 2017) would be finished before the still-delayed Jerusalem light rail is fully functional. “Without a doubt,” Sagi quipped.

Whether that turns out to be the case, I’ll be the first in line to book my ticket. And when we pass through Tunnel 3A, I’ll be able to tell my grandchildren I was there.

This post about the train tunnel appeared over the weekend on Israelity.

"The Clock" at the Israel Museum in Jerusalem closes this weekend

It’s hard to know exactly how to describe “The Clock,” Christian Marclay’s award winning art installation, which is currently on display, if that’s even the right word, at the Israel Museum in Jerusalem. Tour de Force? Spellbinding? Unbelievable? They all come to mind.

The piece, at its most simplistic, consists of thousands of short film clips, all containing images of clocks and watches, or references to time, edited together briskly into a movie. There’s room for about 100 people on comfy 3-person white couches spread about in a dark space in which to watch Marclay’s creation.

But that’s just the start. Each film clip refers to a specific time (it might say 2:42 PM on someone’s digital watch, for example); that time corresponds to the actual time in Jerusalem. And the film runs for 24 hours. Although the museum is only open for some of those hours, there are special days where the exhibition space stays all night for those who can’t tear themselves away.

Which is how my wife and I felt during the 2.5 hours we stared transfixed at the screen. How did he do it? How did he find all of those clips, each with a clock, each showing a specific time? Did Marclay watch thousands of movies? Did he have a staff?

The mix of film clips was equally impressive, zipping seamlessly from 1930s black and white to modern drama and comedy. Robert Redford was a recurring image during our brief encounter. There were scenes of London’s Big Ben repeatedly chiming on the hour, a gagged and bound man watching the timer on a bomb countdown, clips which started out with nothing connected with time when, suddenly, the camera would pan up to show a clock on the wall displaying the appropriate hour.

Marclay uses actual and inserted music to tie the images together; to build tension and release. There are explosions and love scenes, in English, Japanese, French, German and many more language we didn’t hear but were probably coming up once the museum was closed.

The result is not only a meditation on the specific times shown via the clocks on screen, but also about how time has changed the craft of movie making.

There was also the audience, which ebbed and flowed as time passed. Sometimes it was standing room only; at other points we were nearly alone. About half way through, a large group of boisterous Israeli teens filtered in, sitting on the floor, yelling, laughing at scenes that were meant to be serious. My wife and I almost decided to leave – the group had ruined our more pristine viewing of Marclay’s art. But then the group moved on. Time passed so slowly – it seemed like forever while we were suffering these teens’ disrespect. In reality, they were there for less than 10 minutes.

“The Clock” premiered in London in October, 2010, and has since been presented in New York, Los Angeles, Venice, and Moscow. Marclay won the Golden Lion award at the 2011 Venice Biennale, where “The Clock” was featured as the show’s central exhibition.

“The Clock” is one in a string of world-class productions that have graced Israel this year. Another that stands out was the performance of Steve Reich’s Trains earlier this year at the Tower of David museum – I wrote about it here.

The show closes on October 22. Run to see – before time is out.

I wrote about The Clock yesterday on Israelity.

Tent city in Tel Aviv

I’m not quite sure what to think of the tent protests that have taken over the country in recent weeks. On the one hand, the rising costs that have plagued Israel in recent years have hit our family quite personally. On the other, I remember the days before Israel’s so-called capitalist revolution, and I wouldn’t want to go back there.

There’s no question that Israel is one of the most expensive places in the world to live – and that our salaries are way below other Western countries. Our food costs more, the price at the gas pump is outrageous, and even bus fares (at $1.80 a ride with no transfers until recently) are far beyond the Egged rates of 5 cents back I remember back when I first came to the country. And don’t get me started about the price of imported electronics and automobiles with their import duties of 100%.

The list of financial grievances goes on: healthcare is relatively cheap compared with the U.S., but oy va voy if you need a bed in a hospital or to see a specialist in less than six months. Pre-kindergarten schooling costs a bundle and, once the kids get to first grade, class sizes can jump to 40 kids per teacher unless you can afford to pay for “extras.”

Now add in the rapidly expanding gap between rich and poor, and the shocking number of families who live at or below the poverty level, and you have a social structure that’s entirely untenable, both in the short and long term.

The protests started with the cost of buying a home and how young couples and students were effectively locked out of the big cities. Although we were fortunate enough to buy our apartment before the ridiculous price jumps (although we still have a mortgage that rivals rents), it pains me that – at least now – our kids have no chance of buying near us. I want to be a saba who lives close enough to be “used” as a regular babysitter. And my kids say they love Jerusalem. Why can’t they have the same breaks us old fogies got?

But looking at it from the other side, pre-capitalist, pre-privatized Israel was a much less pleasant place to live. I was here in the mid-1980’s when you had to go to the bank every day to change shekels to dollars and vice versa to beat the seemingly insurmountable inflation. Yes, cottage cheese and felafel were cheaper, but so were our choices.

Moreover, Israel’s economic miracle, so dutifully covered in Saul Singer’s Startup Nation, was made possible in large part due to the drive towards a more free market economy. When everyone makes more or less the same salary, there’s no incentive to innovate. In 1988, there was no startup culture in Israel. Immigrants were told to “settle” for low paying jobs in fields they weren’t trained for nor necessarily had any interest in. Ten years later, if you had an idea for an Internet application, you had to fight off the venture capital money.

OK, I exaggerate a little, but I don’t think the recent flood of immigrants from North America (a flood compared with 20 years ago at least) would have happened when we were essentially a socialist state. You wouldn’t be able to sit in any one of the fashionable cafes that dot our modern landscape (assuming you can afford that latte) or enjoy an authentic Italian gelato, let alone sushi for goodness sake, back in a time when the idea of a cash-back return was a mere bad joke of a future unfulfilled.

It seems, in fact, that much of what the protesters are calling for is a return to the “good old days” of their parents, when life was easy and cheap. Maybe they should ask their folks what it was really like.

Moreover, more social services mean higher taxes, and we’re already topping out at 50% when you include health insurance and social security. It’s a tradeoff – lower daycare costs mean even less take home pay.

The protesters want all their demands met and a revamping of the income tax code, reduction in VAT and a 50% bump in the minimum wage. Sure, I’d like all that too, but where’s the money going to come from? Israel amazingly has almost no national debt – do we really want to go the way of Europe and the U.S.?

Protesting for social justice is popular (“populist,” the cynics say), but the government’s “intransigence” is not illogical nor is Netanyahu off base when he says “the state should stop poverty, but cannot limit success and the pursuit of happiness.”

At the same time, as someone who suffers just as much as the next guy by high prices and a sense that we’ve lost a valued cohesiveness, I too want change.

The Israeli “Spring” is often compared with the uprisings in neighboring countries. I hope we have more success than they did. In Egypt, one autocratic regime has been replaced by another (Mubarak’s army). Protests in Syria, Libya, Iran and Yemen have sadly not gone very far yet.

Of course, we’re not any of those countries – we have a thriving economy, a true democracy, a free press and a functioning judicial system. And now we have a mass protest movement too.

My wish, then, for the heady summer in which we’re swimming, with a still ill-defined paddle, is that our politicians prove wise, devising ways to ease the financial burden on Israel’s populace without breaking the bank and plunging us back to the not so good old days of 1984.

I posted a shorter version of my capitalist manifesto earlier this week on Israelity.

Thursday night at White Night

On Thursday last week, Tel Aviv celebrated its 9^th annual “White Night,” a city-wide party to mark the UNESCO declaration of Tel Aviv as “the White City,” in honor of its many (white) Bauhaus-era buildings.

My wife Jody and I had never been to White Night (“Layla Levan” in Hebrew) – the throngs of revelers and infamous traffic jams scared us off. But we ventured out this year, parking near the Tel Aviv Museum of Art, a 15-minute walk from ground zero: Rothschild Boulevard.

It turned out to be a good choice. Clearly, the entire city had headed outside and jammed into a several kilometer stretch of the street, one of Tel Aviv’s most beautiful with its wide park down the center and majestic trees above.

The basic set up is this: every block or so, there is a small stage where some Tel Aviv rock band trots out its tunes. Some are amateurish, while others quite good (a decent Beatles cover band played near the HaBima Theater).

Niv Kaikov

Our favorite was a singer songwriter named Niv Kaikov whose melodic, jangly-pop songs immediately caught our attention. A beaming woman – clearly smitten but much too old to be a fan – was hawking his CD for only NIS 20. “Are you his mother?” Jody asked, politically way incorrect (what if it was Kaikov’s girlfriend!) “Of course,” she said and we purchased the CD (you can also listed to Kaikov’s music on his MySpace page).

The cafes along Rotshchild were all packed, as was the Iceberg ice cream shop. After having read last year that it sold the best ice cream in town, we joined the line (actually a totally un-Israeli orderly queue) and purchased a two scoop bitter chocolate and Irish cream mix. It was good – though I can’t say if it was better than Aldo (our usual ice cream haunt).

We started our stroll around 9:30 PM when there were still lots of families, strollers and dogs out. When we left two hours later, the demographic had dropped to teens and twenty-somethings and was more wall-to-wall than a free Justin Bieber concert on the Banana Beach.

Our choice to park near the museum was not entirely to avoid the blocked off streets of central Tel Aviv. The Litvak Gallery, at 4 Berkowitz Street, had a marvelous exhibition of works from world renowned glass artist Dale Chihuly – and it was totally free for the evening (the exhibition runs until July 31 although you’ll have to pay).

And in front of the Tel Aviv Museum of Art itself was “Indie City,” a showcase of local bands on two stages (the three bands we caught a few notes of were all pretty downbeat and emo).

Oh, and to top it all off, we splurged for a dinner at Liliyot, a kosher restaurant, also in the museum area, that helps give youth-at-risk and high school drop outs a second chance (and serves up some inspired creations – imagine grilled chicken livers on toast with bananas and vanilla caramel). Not cheap but worth it.

Jody and I have a number of festivals and events we attend every year – the wine festival at the Israel Museum, the Jerusalem Film Festival and Jacob’s Ladder. Now we’ll be adding White Night in Tel Aviv to the list.

I whited the night first on Israelity.

There’s no denying that Jerusalem’s burgeoning population needs more homes and apartments to live in – it’s either that or intensifying the ongoing exodus of young families to surrounding communities and, ultimately, the abandonment of the city to the super rich and famously vacant.

But building more inside the city necessarily means greater density: open plots get developed, height limits are raised, and entirely new complexes are planned.

Nowhere is that more blatant than the recently revealed master plan for the southern Jerusalem neighborhood of Baka, where we live. The plan, which was presented recently to stunned local residents at an emergency meeting at the Baka community center, is full of zoning changes that allow 6, 8 and 12 story buildings to be erected on the neighborhood’s periphery.

The most audacious part – and the one that’s raised the most controversy – is a plan to erect a massive 24-story building at the “Oranim” junction, where Yehuda, Pierre Koenig, Yohanan Ben Zakai, Emek Refaim and Elezar HaModa’i Streets meet, on the current site of a gas station and car wash.

This building would so tower over everything else, it would be impossible to miss from, well, the entire city. It would cast a shadow over many existing homes, and its central location would make it even more of an eyesore than the controversial Holyland project. Indeed, the untenable height leads to all kinds of speculation on Holyland-style corruption and bribes.

Not only would the building be entirely out of sorts with its surroundings, where 4 story buildings are the exception, but it’s hard to imagine how the area would cope with the significantly increased traffic. Is the city planning to build double decker highways? Because the narrow two lane streets that currently comprise our transportation arteries are already woefully clogged during the rush hours.

But is it really so bad? My friend Yuval, a successful local architect, says that large construction often means the developers have to give a lot back to the city. New parks, improved roads, community infrastructure.

And, indeed, the pictures of the building show an impressive traffic circle which would presumably ease the flow of cars and buses, as well as the continuation of the new “train track” bikeway and park right through the center of the building complex on their way to the Malcha shopping mall. Transportation consultant Marc Render (a friend and very honest broker) has his name on the plan, so presumably there are traffic accommodations that would mitigate the initial fear.

The complex would ironically also serve to visually integrate the neighborhoods of Baka, the German Colony, Katamon, Makor Haim and the Katamonim around the traffic circle, with each community jutting out like a spoke in a wheel (although detractors say you’d only see the design from above).

Perhaps the size of the new building is a red herring. With all the other new buildings and zoning changes in the master plan, those involved in negotiations know that dropping in a particularly controversial project means they can take it out (or scale it down, to perhaps, 12 stories) and get everything else they want.

It will undoubtedly be a long fight from here and my personal jury is out on what the optimal result will be. In the end, it may not affect me as much as my grandchildren – the plan is not scheduled to be completed for another 20 years. By that time, there may even be a light rail line into our neighborhood (wishful thinking, to be sure).

Or maybe, I’ll embrace the monster and buy a penthouse flat of my own. I bet things will look very different from the top.

I’ve always suspected it. My kids seem to be permanently attached to Facebook and other social media services. Now, new research proves I’m right. And it’s not just my family – it’s the whole country.

According to a just released poll by the well regarded market intelligence firm Comscore, during April the average Israeli spent nearly 11 hours performing online social networking actions. That’s the highest in the world.

I’m not sure how to compare these poll results on Israeli behavior with the rest of the world – it seems to me that our friends in North America are just as busy updating their status and chatting as we are. But then I haven’t spent as much time watching a teenager in Los Angeles glued to his iPod Touch as I have my own kids. Indeed, the incessant ping and beep of a message arriving has become the new background music to our once analog life.

Dvir Reznik suggests that Israel’s high ranking in the Comscore poll may be because our cell phone data plans are more generous that those overseas.

Reznik is the VP of Marketing at Israeli startup Onavo, a company which compresses data to make mobile use more economical (I blogged about Onavo for Israelity when they raised a $3 million round of financing). Reznik explained that, while most Americans seem content with (or are at least forced to settle for) only a few hundred MB of data flow a month, Israelis can easily jump into the 2-5 GB range for roughly the same price. (The flip side: our out-of-country roaming charges are the fifth highest in the world).

And where is much of the social media consumption occurring? On our increasingly ubiquitous smartphones, of course.

The Comscore poll also found that Israel has the second highest relative number of social network consumers, with 90% of Internet users having their own social media profile. Canada came in with 85% while, in the U.S. and Western Europe, it was a paltry 60-70%. (The Philippines was in the top spot with 93%).

All this is fun to write about, but it’s not necessarily a good thing for the social future of humankind. An influential new book called “Alone Together: Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other” by Sherry Turkle has been widely quoted since its publication earlier this year.

In the book, Turkle cites some very disturbing research about how social media is adversely impacting our in-person relationships. It’s not just parents who are annoyed at their children texting at the table; kids are craving the attention of their distracted parents too. It affects the bond that forms between mother and baby during nursing, with the Imma too busy checking messages to spend time with her infant. And teenagers told Turkle that in many cases they actually prefer to chat online than to speak to a friend in person.

But for Israelis, that’s not the important take away. We’re number one, gush the newspaper reports, to a chorus of knowing “pokes.” In a world where our little country is being increasingly delegitimized, any claim to fame is welcome. And, in case you’re wondering, yes, I’ve already posted a link to this article to Facebook and Twitter.

I social media’d this piece on Israelity yesterday.

A Dry Bones aliyah cartoon from 1976 (more at www.drybonesblog.com)

In our daughter’s 12^th grade class on Monday, on the cusp between Memorial and Independence Days, her teacher asked something along the lines of “what was the most Zionist, nationalist moment, for you personally.” Merav was unsure how to answer. Many of her friends referred to their families’ aliyah.

“But I was just a baby then,” she said, and indeed she had been only a year old as she crawled her way through the oversized immigration processing hall, built to handle 2-3 planeloads of Russians all making aliyah at once, at the old Ben Gurion Airport.

I began to think how I would answer the question.Aliyah seems the logical response too – and we were old enough to appreciate what we’d done (as well as all the subsequent bureaucracy). But there are other answers I could give.

Getting my Israeli driver’s license and taking strange pride in my ability to successfully navigate Israeli traffic has definitely made me feel one with the nation.

Starting a company in 1998 and walking around the shell of our new investor-backed offices, I felt more than just an entrepreneur’s dream come true; I would soon be contributing to the Zionist enterprise by employing a staff of 15 fellow immigrants who might stay in the country due to the sweat and vision that had gone into the making of that day.

Another defining moment of Israeliness came from the tragic side. When our cousin Marla Bennett was killed in the terrorist attack on the Hebrew University cafeteria in 2002, we were thrust into the pan-Israeli world of mourners, and every year when Yom HaZicharon comes around, I feel just that much closer to my brethren.

But that’s not it either – because the terror war that killed Marla and 1,000 other Israelis in those horrible years made me just as inclined to consider fleeing to the “safety” of the old country than to stick it out here as a brave soldier in civilian clothes (obviously I didn’t flee as I’m writing here from Jerusalem).

When I started becoming non-religious at the beginning of 2000, after 25 years in the Orthodox world, I had to re-jigger my entire value system about why I was living in Israel. I found, to my delight, that it wasn’t the kosher food and the synagogue options that were keeping me here, but a deep Zionism and appreciation of the rhythm of life, the Jewish calendar, and the community that we’d built, religious or otherwise.

Travel abroad often makes the heart grow fonder, especially with the third world destinations we’ve been to recently – India, Egypt, Africa and now Nepal. Upon each of our returns, Israel seems so much saner, organized; even genteel. That feeling of coming home to our own country, warts and all, applauding when the plane touches down at the airport, always fills me with a quiet nationalistic fervor.

But by far my most Zionist moments have been our family hikes throughout Israel. This shouldn’t come as a surprise to any regular readers of This Normal Life: Aviv and I have chronicled all 12 tiyulim we did over the course of our youngest son’s bar mitzvah year (here’s the latest).

To walk the land is, in many ways, to make it your “own,” with clear Biblical roots, going all the way back to Joshua and the Israelites (although they didn’t just walk). Modern day hiking bumps into numerous archaeological sites, which add visceral detail to the history of the Jewish people in the Holy Land.

And Israelis are inculcated with a love of hiking from a very young age. Beginning in first grade, all Israeli school children head out for their tiyul shnati – the “annual trip.” The youngest just go for the day, but by high school, overnight hikes can stretch up to a week.

So, when I want to feel most Israeli, most Zionist, most connected to this country; and to imagine I not only immigrated in my thirties, but grew up in this land, I hit the trails.

That’s my answer, and I’m sticking to it. How about you? This is a great opportunity to contribute to this discussion by leaving your comments. I’d be very happy to hear.

This post was published on the Israelity blog yesterday on Yom Ha’atzmaut.

A couple of weeks ago, I posted a video from Aviv’s bar mitzvah along with links to more content on his “bar mitzvah blog.” But before the bar mitzvah itself, I asked to lead the kavanot in honor of Aviv at the Nava Tehila havurah that we participate in once a month. Nava Tehila uses these kavanot as “framing” messages that put the songs of Kabbalat Shabbat in context.

For my kavanot, I tried to tie together the tehilim of Kabbalat Shabbat with some of the themes of Purim,  a few general ideas of how I personally relate to these tehilim, while keeping in mind the idea of bar mitzvah and the process of “becoming a man.” If you’re interested in a more “spiritual” post than usual, here’s what I said.

First mizmor לכו נרננה
‎ארבעים שנה
Theme: Wandering and searching

This first mizmor doesn’t actually connect with Purim, but I love it anyway, because it speaks to that universal characteristic we all share of “wandering and searching.” In this song is the verse ארבעים שנה. Who hasn’t found themselves at times trying to figure out what they want to do in life, what their best path is, how they should relate to others, what it means to be in a community. That wandering, that contemplation and resolution – even if it’s only partial – makes us stronger, healthier and more grounded.

This mizmor speaks about the story of the Israelites’ 40 years of wandering in the desert – ארבעים שנה- where they found themselves in an entirely new environment, searching for who they wanted to be and what their relationship would, and should, be with God.

Yoel’s song at Nava Tehila focuses on these words:

‎ארבעים שנה אקוט בדור ואמר עם תעי לבב הם לא ידעו דרכי – “For forty years I strove with that generation. I said ‘They are a people whose hearts go astray, who have not understood my ways.’”

Eventually, that generation in the desert does find its way – or at least its children do – and they are permitted to move on. They do it through community. They are not individuals but a group forging a common identity.

But there’s also something personal about this concept – it reminds me of transitions of all kinds – the most obvious right now, Aviv’s bar mitzvah, moving from one state to another, as a teenager whose heart may indeed go astray, who is naturally rebellious, and whose mind may not have understood the ways – of his parents, at least!

But ultimately, as teenagers reach adulthood, they do understand, and they own up to their own destiny, like the Israelites did, and inherit the land.

So as we sing the first mizmor, let’s keep in mind wandering, searching and the healing power of transitions.

Second mizmor שירו ליהוה שיר חדש
‎ישמחו השמים ותגל הארץ
Theme: Joy

“Let the heavens rejoice and the earth be glad.” ישמחו השמים ותגל הארץ What a wonderful theme for Purim as in the Purim story we are clearly happy – well, at least about how things turned out – and the Megillah reading is quite joyous. For Purim, and for all of the month of Adar, we sing ושמחתה וחגיך .

But the Purim story also has its dark side. We were almost annihilated. And the Jews in turn fought back and killed enemies and most likely innocents as well. How can we be so joyous? When I discussed this with Rachel, she told me about what it was like at the end of the first Gulf War. I wasn’t here, but Rachel said that everyone poured into the streets, filled with joy and relief. That universal rejoicing after a near catastrophe, it seems, is common to us as human beings, at all times in history.

Unfortunately, we are far from safe today and there is much work that needs to be done. But for now at least, let us embrace a moment of joy, in honor of Purim and for ourselves as well.

Third mizmor יהוה מלך תגל הארץ
‎אור זרוע לצדיק
Theme: Corruption/Leadership

This mizmor speaks to me about the nature of leadership, and its unfortunate companion, corruption. There is the line אור זרוע לצדיק ולישרי לב שמחה which can be translated as “Light is sown for the righteous and joy for the upright in heart.” What do we mean by “sowing light” here? For whom are we supposed to be sowing this light? Who needs it the most?

I would say, both in the Purim story and today, it is our wish to bring light to our leaders. To hold those who may be less than straight, accountable, and to teach our own children how to be moral and ethical representatives.

How does Ahashverous treat women in the Purim story? Well, Vashti is killed and the search for a new queen – through what’s essentially American Idol with sex – doesn’t exactly win points in a modern context. Mordechai doesn’t come off so well either. Sure, things worked out OK in the end, but urging his niece to join a harem isn’t what I’d wish for my daughter.

We need smart, decent and upright leaders who exude the light of doing what is right. Who don’t expropriate land that is not theirs because they’re high ranking army officers, who do not take bribes to build 40 story buildings, who don’t abuse their office with the women who work there. It starts right now. In this room. With our children. With our family. With our community’s leaders. This is what I think about when we sing the next mizmor.

Fourth mizmor מזמור שירו ליהוה
‎ירעם הים ומלואו
Theme: Nafochu

One of the most interesting themes of Purim is that of נהפוך הוא – where everything flips – bad becomes good. They were going to kill us, we survived, let’s have a party. But it’s more than that. When everything flips, we’re thrown out of balance, out of our comfort zone. We’re not sure which way to go, the room starts to spin. In all this craziness, though, there is the opportunity for us to make change, in ourselves and in the world.

The bar mitzvah boy is certainly thrown into a spin as he hits the teen years. Who is he, what kind of friends does he choose, what are his passions? It can be challenging, but there is also something wonderful in the process.

Coming back to Purim, is it possible to go from survival mode – the Jewish people after beating back its enemies in Shushan – to a more global perspective, where we finally become a light unto the nations? How about today?

So why am I bringing up this idea of נהפוך הוא for this particular mizmor? Normally in prayer, the concept centers around looking at the wonders of nature and, as a result, wanting to sing and praise God. But the words here suggest the opposite – ירעם הים ומלואו…נהרות ימחאו כף יחד הרים ירננו – It says that sea is thundering and the rivers are clapping hands and the mountains are singing -  It is nature itself here that, according to the verse, sings praise to God here. נהפוך הוא indeed!

Fifth mizmor יהוה מלך ירגזו עמים
No kavana

Sixth mizmor מזמור לדוד
No kavana

Lecha Dodi לכה דודי
Theme: Hiddenness

Before we sing Lecha Dodi, I want to talk briefly about perhaps the most debated themes of the Megillah: the hiddenness of God. While there has been much written about what God’s hiding means, about the meaning of the name Esther, I want to ask from a more psychological perspective.

What else is hidden in our lives? Do we hide our feelings? Do we hide who we are and what we would like to be as we grow up (and as we grow old)? Do we keep secrets from others, from ourselves? Do we find ourselves trying to fit into a box that we believe that people want us to fit into, or are we ultimately true to ourselves, hiding nothing?

That’s certainly a theme that a bar mitzvah boy on the cusp of becoming a teenager can relate to, but it’s something we all can. How do we relate to tradition, to commandments and mitzvot,  to school, to work, to community in a way that is true to ourselves and true to the Jewish people?

Lecha Dodi is actually the antidote to all this hiddenness. It is only when we finally embrace what we know to be true can we walk forward in confidence to welcome the Sabbath Bride. In the words of Lecha Dodi itself, we are going out to greet “the face” לכה דודי לקראת כלה פני שבת נקבלה. One on one. Nothing hidden anymore. It is the most important relationship of them all, and behind all its mystical symbolism, there is the message of love. It may sound a bit corny – especially in a room full of therapists – but in order to love your beloved, you must first love yourself.

Can you do that? Let’s sing…

Final mizmor מיזמור שיר ליום השבת
‎טוב להודות
Theme: Gratitude

I couldn’t let us end the evening without taking a moment to give thanks. And what better mizmor than the one that includes טוב להודות. It is healthy to say thank you. When we’re grateful, we go beyond ourselves. We have energy for the other. That’s why many people keep a nightly gratitude journal.

Tonight I want to say thank you to our family for coming all the way to Israel, to this community for allowing me to share these words tonight, to our success in the Purim story that we could survive another day, to Israel for strengthening our ability to sustain ourselves with independence and pride, and of course to Aviv, whose big day has brought so many of us together.