Hi all,

This ‘blog’ is going to be a little different; it is in essence excerpts collated from my personal diary after our family trip to the Gaza Envelope, where we visited Kibbutz Be’eri, Kibbutz Alumim and the site of the Nova music festival at Reim. I used the diary to outpour my thoughts, feelings and emotions, so please bear that in mind when you read this.

I had travelled from Tzfat on Sunday to meet mummy, daddy and Chaya who had flown in overnight and we had visited old friends from Chigwell (from before Chaya and I were born) to light the Menorah. At 6:00 on Tuesday morning, we left our apartment to meet Paul Hamburger in Ranana, to drive down to Sderot. The weather was still torrential rain, and the heavy skies with dark clouds matched our sombre mood.

We made some good time, but it was still a long drive and we arrived at the Chabad House in Sderot in time for Shacharis. The front of the Shul is designed as a replica of the iconic Lubavitch Headquarters in New York: 770. Proudly standing in the carpark is a Menorah made from rockets that have been fired at the Shul from Gaza. During Shacharis we could hear constant booms of mortar and artillery fire, but we were reassured that it was the IDF firing at terrorists and not the sound of incoming missiles. The Shul has been hit before, and during the Hamas invasion on October 7th, the police station was overrun for a short while. That day there were sirens the next town over, and the next day Sderot was also targeted, but as the sirens only give a 7 second warning, the locals don’t exactly ignore them but they are very complacent about it all. How Hamas still has the capability to fire rockets every single day, I will never know. (At the time of transcribing this into the blog, we are in the middle of the “ceasefire”).

After Shacharis we drove down the infamous Route 232 – now known as ‘Death Road’. I had heard so much about this innocent looking stretch of tarmac, and it felt more than a little creepy to be driving along it. This road leading towards Kibbutz Be’eri has now been redone, but its smooth surface belies a horror that was still very much in evidence with the patches of burnt tarmac along the sides where cars, and at times their occupants, were set alight. 

Be’eri is a closed site, but Paul had arranged access for us in advance and we were met by our guide Nieve Higgins, he has an English father but was born in Be’eri and has lived there his whole life. On Simchas Torah he was visiting family and was not in the Kibbutz when it was attacked. His mother and the rest of his family were there, and his aunt was murdered on that fateful day. He was immediately called up and rejoined his unit which was sent just down the road to Kibutz Nachal Oz, and it was only much later on that day when he was able to make contact with his mother.

We made our way into the Kibbutz and the stench of burning and death still hung over everything. Nieve took us to the home of Tammy Suchman, and it was a physical struggle to step over the doorway into a home that had been turned into a slaughterhouse. Tammy was born in Kibbutz Kedma in 1946, was orphaned from her mother when she was just 5 years old, and had lived in Be’eri since 1962. She married a local man called Tzvi and had four children, including Ben who runs the local printing press (the largest such enterprise in Israel and the source of the majority of Be’eri’s economy). 

I stood in the garden that was all overgrown, planks of burnt wood strewn across the broken path and a small tricycle lying, twisted on its side in the high grass. I couldn’t go into the house. But I did. I had to. 

On the side of what had once been the front door, the entrance to a home once filled with the sounds of 12 grandchildren running around, was a shoe closet with its drawer open and a thick layer of dust covering the shoes that will never be walked in again. On the outside walls were a collage of numbers; codes from the IDF and ZAKA identifying those houses they had cleared and the bodies removed.

We went inside, stepping into a reality that silenced all it touched. The walls once covered with Tammy’s art were now blackened and broken, with twisted gaping holes. The rain dripped in through the roof, but no amount of water could wash away the charred reality of death. The whole Kibbutz had this same eerie feeling, like we had stepped back into a time of long ago, with scenes of destruction that until now I had only seen in history books.The stormy rain clouds of that day were but another layer to the dark clouds of death that hung over everything. We stood in the room and there was nothing right about it.

We stepped through the rubble into Tammy’s safe room. Built to withstand rockets, its designers had never envisaged it being the last line of defence from a crazed mob determined to murder everyone within. It was the only complete room in the house, and the only one not covered in soot, instead a thick layer of dust lay over everything. Tammy had used it as a storage room, and it was from here that she called her son Ben. Her home was on fire, it was surrounded by terrorists and she had no more strength to hold on to the door keeping it shut. Ben told her to let go!

It took ten days to discover that she had been murdered there, with their first clue being her wedding ring lying on the floor; something she had never removed. I cannot contemplate her fear as she spent the last few hours of her life in that small room, hearing the woosh of rockets screeching overhead, the clatter of automatic weapons pinging off her walls, the shrill screeching of the sirens and the crazed shouting of the terrorists determined to destroy the life she had fought so hard to build. It was just too painful to contemplate. All I could feel at that moment was horror, shock. I cannot imagine the feelings coursing through her body during those moments. Did she know that it would be her last few hours on earth?

May Hashem avenge her blood along with all those killed on that dreadful day and since. I will never forget a single one of you. I may not know all your names or your stories, but you will live on in my heart and thoughts, always. Forever.

We left Tammy’s house in contemplative silence and made our way to what had been the school. We passed house after house showing signs of the devastating battles fought there, with burnt beams reaching to the sky and the only colour being the numbers and codes sprayed on them by ZAKA and the IDF. Many had banners in front of them with the photos and names of those murdered or kidnapped there. As I write this up, one of the names brings a sad yet determined smile to face: Eli Sharabi who was taken hostage from his home has finally been released after 491 days. But his release also brought him the terrible news that his wife Lianne and their daughters, 16 year old Noiya and Yahel aged 13, were murdered on that day.

As we got to the school, Neive regressed into nostalgia as he recalled happy memories of his childhood, and the idyllic settings of a traditional Israeli Kibbutz. The school was understandably the most secure building and Hamas made it their headquarters, directing their operations from there. Directly opposite, a very different kind of operation was being carried out, where the local dental clinic became the scene of utmost heroism. In spite of being offered a ride out of the Kibbutz, 22 year old Amit Man, a paramedic with MDA left her sisters in their safe room (from which Baruch Hashem they emerged alive) and instead ran to the clinic. Her’s was an operation of mercy, of self-sacrifice. Together with a nurse and a dentist, as well as Eitan Hadad, a member of the Kibbutz security team, they fought bravely for hours to protect those injured civilians who had been brought to the clinic for emergency aid. They fought to their last breath and when Hamas finally broke through total destruction fell. We stood there amidst the debris, the bullet holes and the shell casings, and we recalled the scenes of pogroms from Europe of yesteryear. But to see them here? In Israel? Our Homeland! It is just so difficult for me to fathom how! WHY???

But as we stood there with tears in our eyes, we read messages graffitied on to the wall: messages that tore at our hearts but also showed the seeds of hope that have already been planted in our Nation’s collective heart. On those walls amidst all that pain and destruction were messages of determination and promises by Eitan and Amit’s family and friends to keep their memories alive.

And that is what the Kibbutz is doing. 

Be’eri was founded on 6th October 1946, and as it woke up to its 78th year there were 1200 people living there, a quarter of them children and teenagers. On that day 102 individuals were murdered and a further 31 were taken hostage to Gaza (as of today, 9 still remain there, most of them are presumed dead). But the community is determined to rebuild the Kibbutz, with over 90% saying that they will return the moment accommodation is built. In the immediate aftermath of the attack, the survivors were put into emergency accommodation in hotels by the Dead Sea for the next 10 months until they moved to more suitable but still temporary accommodation in Kibbutz Hatzerim. Around 700 people from Be’eri are still there, but 200 have already moved back to Be’eri. 

Many houses in the Kibbutz have a large poster outside. A picture. A name. And the same date of death. All of them telling the same story.

But there is also a different story being told. The survivors may not all agree on what sort of monument or memorial to build, but they all agree that they must rebuild Be’eri again. And that rebuilding has already begun. Like a blossoming flower peeking its head up after a cold dark winter, signs of life are already heard amongst the rubble and ruin. Neive told us of the birth of his child, just two months old. Theirs was a conscious decision to bring a new life into this world, a world in which they had seen so much pain and death, but a world into which they proclaimed loud for all to hear: Am Yisroel Chai!

Before we left, we stood together and said Tehillim. The clouds were still heavy overhead, but our hearts were definitely lighter, because in spite of everything we had seen, we knew that we would do more than just survive: we would thrive.

From Be’eri we made the short journey to Kibbutz Alumim. 

Alumim sits on ground that has been owned and farmed by the Religious Kibbutz Movement since the 1940s, and in 1966 it was established as a full Kibbutz under the Bnei Akiva movement. It is a collective Kibbutz with group ownership of all the industries and an intricate system of income and housing. Alongside Kibbutz Sa’ad, it is the only other religious Kibbutz in the Gaza Envelope. Many of its 500 members are from the UK and we were able to find so many connections with people we know in Manchester and London. Kibbutz Sa’ad was totally bypassed on that awful day and Alumim saw so many miracles. The first one was a break in their usual custom of walking with a Sefer Torah on Simchas Torah morning to bring the joy of the Chag to their neighbours in Kibbutz Be’eri. This year, for the first time ever, they decided to go the night before, thus on that fateful morning instead of walking through the fields and being caught by the terrorists, they were all inside the gates of the Kibbutz.

I do not understand why. It can only have been Hashem, who put the thought into their minds and saved them from certain death. But why did He allow any of it to happen at all? I do not know, but I do thank Him for the miracles that He did perform.

Just outside the Kibbutz is a small shelter. A small nondescript concrete structure, nothing more than a glorified bus stop, intended to protect from missiles fired from above, not from bullets shot at point blank range. 14 young people, all having fled from the bloodbath at the nearby Nova Music festival, huddled in the small shelter. Hiding. Hoping to escape with their lives. But a Hamas terrorist came in and murdered every single one of them. I could not walk into the structure. To stand in a building where even one person was murdered was hard, but to be in a spot where 14 young lives were brutally killed, was just too much for me.

I stood outside under the grey sky. The rain had begun again and heaven’s tears mixed with my own.

Just outside the Kibbutz was an opportunity to watch a video about one of the girls, a teenager of similar age to myself who had been in the shelter and begged for her life from life form lower than that of an animal. Right there where I was standing. I cannot understand it. I do not want to understand it. I do not want to know any more than I have to. It is just too painful for me. How can such barbarity exist in this world?

We drove straight through Alumim to the back gate where Hamas had blasted their way in. We went to a site which was eerily silent. Previously this had been the chicken coop, home to 10s of thousands of clucking and squawking fowl, but now this cacophony of noise had been silenced. But this wasn’t just the slaughter of chickens, this was a devastating blow to the Kibbutz’s economy and has had a terrible knock on effect across Israel. The price of chicken and eggs has soared. 80% of Israel’s agriculture produce comes from the Gaza Envelope and when Hamas burnt the greenhouses and ripped up the irrigation systems, they attacked the whole country. The people of Alumim were self-sufficient, and they put back into the Israeli society and economy far more than they took from it, but all of that was destroyed on that day. We stood amongst the ruins of the greenhouses, and whilst they have worked tirelessly to repair them, there is no easy fix. With the foreign workforce decimated and many of the tractors set alight or stolen, it is an uphill battle, but one which the locals are determined to win.

 We went back in through that same gate, and before following the path the terrorists took, we made our way to the Cheder Ochel – the communal dining hall where we met with Sarah Jane Landsman. Originally from London, she has been living in Alumim since the 1980s and was until recently the Head of the Kibbutz. Paul has been working closely with her and the Kibbutz committee over the vital plans needed to rebuild that which was destroyed. Over a delicious meal she explained how the Kibbutz worked, but also noted the changes that she had seen in recent years, and how they were going to have to adapt the ‘collective’ system to allow for the younger generation to have more personal ownership, but whilst also making sure that the older members who had ‘paid’ into the system for decades were not now left high and dry. Our lunch was accompanied by the background noise of the artillery fire in nearby Gaza, and every so often the windows and doors would all shake violently. But this was nothing in comparison to the sounds of the incoming missiles they had experienced during and in the aftermath of the war. They are working on building a secure play area for the children, a place where the sounds of laughter can once again be heard without fear of what may rain on them from the sky.

After lunch we stopped at a crossroads in the Kibbutz, and once again we saw what can only be described as an open miracle. Instead of turning towards the houses (edit from daddy, documents later found on one of the dead terrorists showed the original plan of attack was to go directly into the heart of the residential area) they turned instead to the fields. In my mind I see a higher force, a Heavenly Shield wrapped around the homes of Alumim. It protected them from physical harm, but they are still scarred and scared. 

None of the residents died on that day, but 22 agricultural workers from Thailand and Nepal were brutally and cynically murdered (the terrorists had learnt phrases in Thai to trick them into coming out of their homes!) and four of them were taken hostage. 37 music lovers from Nova, thinking they had escaped the death trap of the fields and the infamous Route 232, were shot down at the gates of the Kibbutz, by Hamas gunmen who had gathered there specifically for that purpose. Ofek Atun and Tamar Khan managed to get into the Kibbutz and broke into a home hoping to be safe, but in the chaos of the raging battles they were mistaken for terrorists and Ofek was killed by the security forces. 

Alongside the miracles from above, many of those saved owe their lives to the dozen men who ran into the live fire. Whether members of the local civil defence force, or off duty soldiers who came running, they stood valiantly, fending off the murderers until more help arrived. Heroes do exist.

The memory of this day is now part of the essence of Kibbutz Alumim, just as it is seared in the Jewish People’s collective memory. Unfortunately just another story in a long line of painful stories. I thought we had closed the book on those, but it seems like there was still one more chapter to be written.

The specific stories from that day are numerous. I do not know them all. I wish I could remember all your names. I can’t.  

We went to the cow shed and milking facility. We saw the destroyed accommodation used by the Thai workers, and were pleasantly surprised to see that some of them were back and working again. We saw where three of them hid in the ceiling and the under-sink cupboards of the kitchen. The fear they must have felt as the terrorists searched for anyone to kill. We stood by the cows and heard how one of the workers burrowed into the manure and managed to somehow survive. It was a miracle that no bullet hit him and that he avoided being trampled to death by the terror stricken cows.

Yes, they shot at the cows. They burnt the feeding apparatus and destroyed the packing facilities, but their barbarity was most evident by the fear still felt by the cows, and somehow also inherited by the calves born since. Alumim was evacuated, but one man, Stevie Marcus, came back everyday to milk the 730 cows. The milk itself was unfit for human consumption, because cows also suffer from PTSD which raises certain hormones and makes the milk undrinkable. But they still needed to be milked. Stevie went in every day, until one day the stress overwhelmed him and he suffered a fatal heart attack next to his beloved cows.

We went to see the calves, they were just a few months old, but they had seemingly inherited their mother’s trauma, and were unusually skittish around humans. It was cute to see them, but their obvious fear when we came too close was so sad to see, and we quickly left them alone.

As we walked back there was some light relief from all the pain, as we goaded mummy into stepping precariously on some stones protruding from a veritable lake of cow poo, rather than take a long way round! 

On the road from Alumim to Nova, Paul told us a story of a man from the Kibbutz who was in India on October 7th, and whilst he was initially able to make contact with his wife and son, mobile phone coverage soon went down and for over a day he knew nothing about the fate of his family. They were Baruch Hashem ok, but he still has separation anxiety. A grown man in his forties suffering ongoing trauma.

And then we arrived at Nova.

I’ve been pushing off writing this down. I’m too scared, but of what? I do not know.

There is nothing there. Nothing to really show what was. This is not like Be’eri, Almumim or any of the other Kibbutzim. There are no houses or structures.

Just hundreds and hundreds of posters on sticks impaled into the ground. 

Each poster is a picture, a name, an age.

The name and smile of someone who had come to celebrate life and happiness. 

We turned off from Route 232, and initially all we could see was an empty swatch of land, so innocent looking but hiding a secret too difficult to tell. We parked under some trees and quietly made our way into a veritable forest of photos. Each one marking one of the 364 innocent civilians killed there. 

We stood by the photo of Yehuda Becher, and played the song of him singing Elokai Neshama. A song describing our soul’s eternal connection to Hashem, which he had sung and sent to his friend just a few hours earlier.

We watched in silence as a father came to replace the flowers by his daughter’s photo.

We walked around. Looking at the faces, reading their names, and learning their stories.

Every single person there, simply because they had a love for life. Wanted to celebrate life. And they were murdered because they were there in our Homeland. Murdered by those who have a love for death. Who celebrate death.

So many pictures. Each one a person with a past and a hope for a future.

We stood by Shani Louk’s photo. Shani was 22, had dual Israeli-German citizenship, was a tattoo artist and a peace activist. The infamous photo of her strewn across a pickup truck whilst being hauled back to Gaza, sickeningly won a prize at the AP “photo of the year” awards, but it also showed the world the sick barbarity of Hamas. It also gave what turned out to be false hope to her family that she may still be alive. Her body was recovered by the IDF in May 2024 and she was returned to Israel for a Jewish burial. 

We stood by “The Ambulance”. Used as a last measure of hope, 12 partygoers crammed inside it with a further 6 hiding underneath. The terrorists strafed it with automatic fire and set the whole thing alight. 

We made our way round to a large rubbish skip, where 15 young people had hidden and waited for hours for help to come. We stood there and read the transcripts of their WhatsApp conversations with their parents and loved ones as they frantically hoped for a miracle. 

None was to come.

It is too difficult for me to write up their stories just yet, but they should know that we will never forget them.

We stood in front of a large billboard with a comprehensive montage of all those killed at the festival. We saw the photo of Hersch Goldberg-Pollin who together with 27 other people hid in a roadside bomb shelter. The terrorists threw multiple grenades into the huddled mass of people, with the first seven being thrown back out by 22 year old Aner Shapiro, but the eighth exploded as he caught it and killed him. One of the grenades blew off Hersch’s arm, although he was taken captive back to Gaza. IDF forces came within metres of him in a terror tunnel, before he and 5 others were executed by Hamas terrorists at point blank range on 30th August 2024. Hersch was a peace activist who was working on an initiative to bring Israeli and Palestinian children together with football tournaments. 

Amongst the 40 who were kidnapped was our adopted son, Uriel Baruch. He was murdered on that day and his body is still being held by Hamas.

As the sun slowly set, a group gathered together for Mincha. There were Lubavitch Yeshiva Bochurim with black hats on, French tourists wearing scarves, and Israelis holding their hands on each other’s heads. We all stood there as one, men and women together as we Davenned in the language common to us all.  

As darkness descended we lit the Menorah. 

It was incredible. 

In this place of so much darkness, we lit a small but strong light. A flickering flame against the hatred of those who wish to see us destroyed. They hurt us. They hurt us really hard. But they failed. We got knocked down. We are bleeding and in pain. But we are not, nor will we ever be beaten.

Am Yisroel Chai!

Two days later, on Thursday, the last day of Chanukah, we met with Amir and Meirav Daniel, the parents of Oz, and Ronen and Orna Neutra, the parents of Omer, as well as his brother, Daniel. 

We sat together with them as well as a few friends and family members who stopped by during the day.

To say the meeting was emotional, would be an understatement. But to be honest, we did not really know what to expect. 

We thought it would be a short meeting, a half hour at most. Instead we sat with them for hour after hour; more than 3 hours of talking and listening, of feeling their pain and their strength, and in turn being strengthened by their sheer determination to keep fighting for their son’s release.

After 16 months, most of you will already know Omer’s background. Born to Israeli parents, but living in the USA with dual citizenship, he was not obligated to join the IDF, but he volunteered to do so anyway. Quite unusual for such a scenario, he quickly rose through the ranks and on October 7th, he was the platoon commander in the 7th Armored Brigade’s 77th Battalion. (Yes, daddy had to research that one for me!) Oz Daniel was part of his unit and was with him in the tank as the loader on that fateful day.

Just a few weeks earlier, Amir and Meirav were visiting Oz on his base, and they met with Omer. So the two families already had a connection.

Early on the morning of October 7th, Omer received news of the attack and under orders he split his force into two, with his tank taking a southerly route to confront the enemies. The other tank which headed north, successfully halted a group of terrorists and those soldiers all survived. Each tank carried four personnel, and alongside Omer and Oz, were Nimrod Cohen the gunner and Shaked Dahan the driver. 

Unfortunately, and whilst they were telling us this, Omer and Oz’s parents were visibly annoyed, their tank malfunctioned and the brakes were stuck meaning that they could only move at 9 KMPH. This effectively made them sitting ducks for the Hamas terrorists who simply ran after the tank and attached explosives to it. They were forced to exit the tank and Shaked was killed immediately. For a long time Omer and Oz were still believed to be alive, but four months later the IDF confirmed that Oz had been killed in the initial battle, and it took a further 10 months, until in December 2024 the IDF was able to say with clarity that Omer had also been killed then. As of this writing, Nimrod Cohen is still presumed to be alive. We hope and pray that he is still alive and will speedily come home to safety along with the rest of the hostages.

We noticed that Oz’s mother Meirav was wearing a necklace with his name on it, and that was when we realised it was his Hebrew name עז. Meirav explained that she and Amir had struggled to have children, and although they are not Orthodox, she was religious and on every Friday night as she would light the Shabbat candles, she would pray to Hashem. She really wanted twins, and she had decided that she would name them Oz and Hadar – Strength and Beauty, taken from the verse in Eishet Chayil. This was her private prayer, which she told to no one. Eventually, after medical intervention and a little helping Hand from Above, they were indeed blessed with twins, a boy and a girl.

At this point, we were quite teary eyed, but then Meirav told us that in spite of being exempt from army service due to her brother’s status as missing in action / presumed dead, Hadar had insisted and was at that moment serving by the Gaza border not too far from where Oz had laid his life down to protect Am Yisrael. The tears flowed, as we saw the true Hadar and Oz: the Beauty and Strength of our People.

The previous day had been the Shloshim for Omer, for whilst he had been murdered over a year before, and even though they were still unable to bury him, they had still been told to sit Shivah and begin to observe the laws of Aveilus from the time his death was confirmed. Both his father and brother had beards, and all five of them were wearing sunglasses. Yes it was sunny, but they seemed to be wearing them more as protection from the glare of the outside world, than from the rays of the sun.

Their pain was real, and at times during our meeting we could do no more than sit with them in companionable silence as we prayed for the speedy return of their sons, to allow them to bury them with dignity in a Jewish cemetery in the earth of their Homeland for which they had given their very lives. 

Before we left, the Neutra’s asked us to write in their “Sefer Zikaron” and then we showed them a video of the Shul, with the pictures of all the hostages and of course the seats set aside and reserved for their sons. Ronen gave us a poster of Omer that they had had made before they knew he had been murdered, on it his age of 21 had been crossed out and replaced with 22, before it too was crossed out and replaced with 23. Orna told us that in truth he had never had his 22nd or 23rd birthday, and her son would forever be 21 years old.

Omer had a younger brother and Oz had a twin sister. Both families had been blessed with two children. Now they were both left with just the one child physically here in this world. 

I doubt that Amir and Meirav Daniel, or Ronen and Orna Neutra will ever read this, but I say to you: “I salute your courage, your strength and your determination to keep on fighting for your son’s release. I, along with all of Am Yisrael are with you every step of the way. We feel your pain and we are fighting with you. I think of you every day.”

As of this writing, some of the hostages have been released, and whilst we do not get any social media in school, mummy and daddy keep me up to date. I cannot believe how the world is still standing by as they learn of the utter barbarity of the Hamas terrorists, but there again, maybe I should no longer be surprised. 

As for me, I will continue to Daven for all of their releases. Amen

I hope that this hasn’t been too gruelling to read, but thank you for being my sounding board as a 17 year old girl living away from home unpacks and comes to grips with some of the most difficult times our Nation has experienced since the founding of the State back in 1948.

With Love,

Tzivia

P.S. The next blog may also turn out to be heavy as we are due to go to Yad Vashem later this week. In fact, that is what pushed me to finish writing this one, as I could not bear to think of going there without having fully processed this first.

Hi everyone, 

It’s me again, your correspondent from Tzfas, Israel. I know it is not long since I last wrote, but I have a heavy schedule coming up and so much has happened already that I thought I had better get started. The question is where from? With all that has taken place, I guess it makes the most sense to carry on chronologically from where I left off last time.

It began with a “Dorm Shabbos” when we don’t leave Tzfas and actually stay the whole Shabbos in the dormitory. And why wouldn’t we? The meals are in the hall, a 20 second walk within the school campus, and we have our own Minyan with a group of Rabbis, many of whom teach in the school, who come in to make a Minyan for us and the Seminary girls (so it was the same Minyan that Chaya had two years ago). As there has been for every Shabbos over the last fourteen months, we had a siren and all had to run to the shelter. I think the saddest thing is that we are no longer even surprised by it! (Spoiler alert, we have since had two ‘quiet’ Shabbosos.)

I don’t know why, but for some reason the sunsets on Shabbos have an extra special quality to them, as the sky goes from a water colour pinky purple, to a fiery red and orange. There really is no way that a camera can capture the true beauty and depth of colour: it can only be fully appreciated by being there yourself – yes that is an open invitation to you all!!

On Motzei Shabbos we watched a video of the Lubavitcher Rebbe for our dose of weekly inspiration and then it was off for an early night as Sunday is a full day of school. I think Israel is the only country in the world that has normal school on a Sunday (although we do get Friday off, so it is not too bad). We start bright and early at 8.15 and continue with lessons until 4.00. I joined for the hardest school year, but I am not complaining as I knew what I was getting myself into and for the most part I am enjoying the hard work. There are mini breaks such as the aerobics on Sunday after school, which I found particularly nice as I have been studying for a history exam which primarily covers the material they all learnt last year when I was not in this school!

On Monday we had a really fun time after school with a private lesson on the history of the Mussar Movement (Rabbi Yisrael Salanter late 1700s) and Baron Moses Montefiore’s help with the Old Yishuv’s settlement in the Land of Israel (1860s). In the evening the dorm counselors organised a movie night, which even though it was the second installment of a movie they had shown two years previously, it really was a stand alone show. It was totally hilarious, totally fictional, and of course totally Jewish. Oh and totally in Ivrit as well. And yes, I understood it all (pat on the back!). At 11 pm we had nearly finished when my aunt Esti (mummy’s sister who lives in Paris) called me. It was such a surprise. Her 13 year old son is in school in Tzfas and they had come to visit him, so of course she came round to see me as well. 

The best part was that I was able to use her phone and video call mummy and daddy!

You may remember that my roommates come from around the world, and one of them (actually a cousin to Rochel Jaffe) had stayed at her home in Brussels because it was her brother’s Bar Mitzvah. Well she got back at 2 in the morning (bringing me a package from home) but I slept through her arrival. In return she slept through that morning’s rocket alarm. At around 11.15 am whilst I was in my classroom which is an outdoor porta-cabin, the sirens blared. It had been pouring just beforehand, and the thing that scares me more than the siren, is the rampage of all the girls running helter-skelter at full speed to the safe room.

We usually have to stay inside for 10 minutes after the last siren, but for some reason a teacher was standing at the door and wouldn’t let us leave. And then straight after we did leave the shelter, there was an announcement from the Home Front Command that this was a drone and they had not yet managed to shoot it down; so we all had to go back into the shelter. The drones are a particular menace and have caused a lot of damage in North Israel. Baruch Hashem around a minute or so later we received the all clear.

Side Note: A HUGE thank you to all the brave men and women of the IDF who man the Iron Dome Batteries and the rest of Israel’s air defence system. I have been told that there is a particularly proud set of grandparents in Bowdon Shul, proud in the knowledge that their grandson who is stationed by the Iron Dome just by Tzfas is guarding their Rabbi’s daughter!! So from me, the rest of 11th grade Naaleh, and indeed all of Tzfas as well as the parents and grandparents around the world: Todah Rabbah Sergeant N! Thank you for keeping us alive in spite of Hezbollah’s incessant attempts to kill us all.

Years ago daddy suggested that I sleep with the text book under my pillow the night before an exam; I think he said something like learning through osmosis. I don’t know if it is real, but that night I dreamt about Jewish History and the next day I got one of the highest grades in the class. This was an exam on all the material that they had learnt for the last two years before I joined the school. It went from the steppes of 17th century Russia to the deserts of 20th century Arabia, from the foundation of Hassidus to the establishment of the early Yishuv in pre State Israel. Most of this I had not learnt before and had to cram in a GCSE amount of material in five days. Credit to my teachers over the years, and the Lewis family love of Jewish history, because somehow I got 85%

The test itself was in Ivrit, but I was allowed to answer in English, which did make it slightly easier. There was a question that I had absolutely no idea about and literally just made it all up, so if anyone has heard of Hakham Bashi I would appreciate hearing about him. (Edit by Rabbi Dovid – it is a generic term for the Chief Rabbi of the Ottoman Empire.)

Wedding time!

It was another trip around the world; the groom, who was my roommate’s brother, was from Hungary and the bride, who had been the dorm counsellor last year, was from Ukraine. Due to the war hardly any guests came from abroad, and as both sets of parents are actually Geirim, there was practically no family either. The school put on a bus, and by the time we got to Kfar Chabad (right near Ben Gurion Airport – a 2.5 hour drive), there were less than 80 women in the hall. We danced the night away, and in spite of the long drive back we still had to be in class for 8.15 the next morning. There was another exam, but this one was on English, and Baruch Hashem I did not have to worry or cram for it!!

On Thursday we finished early as that week was an “off Shabbos”, and I went to old friends, Yafit and Jamie, from Newcastle who now live in Ra’anana. Traffic was terrible and it took nearly 5 hours to get there; I was exhausted (it was my third long bus journey in two days) so I had a really lazy Friday – Hey, I am a teenager. We are allowed to do that. Ra’anana is basically an English speaking colony on the Israeli coast, founded in 1922, it is home to 100,000 and aside from Yafit my host, I don’t think I met a single other native Israeli. I did meet Gideon Paul who used to live in Bowdon and whose wife Justine did my hair when we went to Israel for my uncle Nissen’s wedding back in 2017. They are loving life in Israel since they made Aliyah and it was really nice to have that connection from Bowdon.

There are times when life really seems to reach up and give you a punch in the face. It was whilst we were on the bus on the way back to Tzfas after a lovely Shabbos when we heard the terrible news that Rabbi Tzvi Kogan HY”D, one of the seven Chabad Shluchim to the UAE had been kidnapped, with the devastating news of his senseless murder coming the next morning. 16 years ago, his cousins Rabbi Gabi and Rivky Holtzberg were murdered in their Chabad House in Mumbai. I was only one year old at the time, but I grew up in the aftermath of that tragedy. Seeing the same brutality being repeated again, watching as another of the worldwide family of Shluchim, a family which myself and all my classmates belong to, being murdered just for the crime of spreading the love of Judaism to anyone and everyone, really affected us all. The mood in school was definitely somber as we all tried to absorb the news, and as we all checked in with our parents and families around the world. The next day Rabbi Tzvi’s Levayah took place in Kfar Chabad – a place where we had all been just a few days prior to celebrate a wedding. How the circle of life turns, but as Daddy told me: if there is one group of people who do not know how to stay down it is the worldwide family of Chabad Shluchim. 

Sunday was siren day: the first was at 8.13 am, even before we had managed to start class, the second came at 12.10 pm, just before we were due to have a break, and then we had our third siren of the day at 3.45. You may remember that my classroom is outside in a portacabin, so we have the furthest to run when the siren goes – everyone has to be inside within 30 seconds. Let’s say we get our exercise whether we want to or not. We were sort of hoping for a fourth siren as that would mean no school the next day, but truth be told we were all glad not to hear that sound again. During lunch we did hear a load of interceptor explosions, but luckily nothing within Tzfas.

And at the time of writing (Sunday 8 Dec) those three were actually the last sirens Tzfas has heard since the war began. We regularly hear the warplanes as they fly overhead, and also many distant explosions from Lebanon, but nothing that has triggered sirens in Tzfas. We have also had our first, and hopefully first of many, totally relaxed Shabbosos with not a single siren. Baruch Hashem.

On Monday morning the tests continued and this time it was an unscheduled one in Ivrit. I don’t know my mark yet, but I can see how far my Ivrit has progressed. This was followed by a class party, but for some reason I just wasn’t in the mood. After school we had the sewing club, and strangely I was the only one there, which actually allowed me to concentrate and get the hang of sewing straight lines properly. 

I am struggling to understand this next one: at supper on Monday they announced that due to the imminent ceasefire with Hezbollah there will be no school tomorrow! Not because they were celebrating, but because there was an increased risk of extra rockets being sent so that Hezbollah could terrorise as much as possible before they had to stop!! No, I don’t get it either. For me though there was a greater problem; the next morning I was due to take my Chron’s injection. I do this every fortnight, but my fear is that the siren will go just as I am sticking the needle in. In the end there was no siren, but I did have daddy on the phone whilst I was taking the injection. 

I was actually meant to go to my teacher’s house that evening, to have a ‘get to know you’ chat, but the Home Front Command initiated a Lockdown for the evening. It was 2020 all over again!! But our dorm counselor arranged a program for us in our lounge, which actually overlooks the Meron hills where the Iron Dome is located. We played a game called “what would you” and one of the girls from Nottingham was asked the question: ‘if you were a travel guide, where would you not take people to visit?’ She immediately said, Manchester because it is gross! Now this turned into some sort of joke as all the UK girls not from Manchester seem to not like it. But I didn’t get offended as Bowdon is not really Manchester, I write Cheshire when putting in my address, and it is in fact an absolutely beautiful part of the world. The game was interrupted when someone looked out of the window and screamed ‘look missiles’. We all ran to the window and saw the Iron Dome (operated by you know who and the rest of his amazing team in the IDF) shooting down at least 50 Hezbollah rockets – each one sent deliberately to civilian areas. It was quite cool to see and whilst they probably didn’t hear us cheering them on, I do hope that the brave soldiers could at least feel the love and thanks coming from all of us in that room.

Tuesday we were back to online school, which means I had access to a computer and could communicate with mummy and daddy. Not sure why, maybe it was because of the lockdown, but supper that night was pretty much non-existent, so a bunch of us ordered sushi, which was delicious. The next day was back to online school, which is annoying but it does have one advantage: we start at 10.00 instead of 8.15am. We didn’t hear a single siren, missile or plane all day; it was eerily quiet. At 2.00pm they ended the curfew, but as we had not had much of a chance in the last few days, we actually spent the time tidying the dorm, until aerobics at 6pm.

I am supposed to get wheat free food from the school kitchens, but too often there is just nothing available for me to eat. It does get annoying, but they are getting a bit better at it and at times I am allowed to go to their store cupboard and take tins of tuna etc. That evening our dorm mother made a fun program for us, but the highlight was when she brought me some special yoghurts (you know the cool Israeli ones) as everyone else was having cereals with wheat in them.

On Friday we had off, and although it was an ‘in Shabbos’, a number of the girls were going to classmate’s houses or other family, so the remaining 5 of us were invited to our dorm counsellor’s home. Her mother is the aerobics teacher and she is a really good cook. There were around twenty of us at the dinner, and it was such a nice experience. The good feeling continued with Tzfas’s first siren free Shabbos for 14 months, and then I was voted by my classmates as the best girl of the week!!

With the ‘we cease – they fire’ officially in place, we were now allowed to have windows open in the classroom. Plus as it was Rosh Chodesh we were allowed to wear our normal clothes and not the school uniform. The school places great emphasis on extracurricular fun activities, we even have kickboxing (don’t ask me why), but for Rosh Chodesh we had a special drum circle and dance party, and then we connected to the annual conference of Chabad Rabbis in New York and got to watch part of the amazing banquet (which I believe Daddy has told you about). We all tried to spot our fathers in the 6500 strong crowd, and although there was a lot of screaming, I am not sure any of us actually saw them. One very emotional part was when they zoom called to Rabbi Kogan’s Shivah, but then we also saw the started Sefer Torah being written in his memory and the determination on the faces of his fellow Shluchim from the UAE dancing with it. 

Life is very much about ups and downs, and on Monday we heard the horrible news that our Shul’s adopted son, Omer Neutra had in fact been murdered on that awful day over a year ago and his body has been held captive ever since. Together with everyone else in Bowdon, our thoughts and prayers are with his family and we hope that his body along with those of Oz Daniel and Uriel Baruch are speedily returned to Israel so that they can be given a proper Jewish Levayah and their families can have some degree of comfort.

One last thing about our education: similar to the UK, we are allowed to choose one subject as part of the Bagrut (baccalaureate / A Levels). Even though I have never learnt it before (there was no option to do so back in Manchester), I chose biology as it will hopefully help me in a lifelong dream I have had to become a pediatric gastroenterology nurse. It is in Ivrit, but a lot of the words are exactly the same as in English and I have to say that I am really loving it.   

This has turned out to be a longer blog than I intended, but as I said at the start, so much happens here. Let me end with a brief note about this past Shabbos when I went to Netanya. I stayed with ‘Aunty Jo’, whom quite a few of you know, and who was my nursery teacher oh so many years ago.  Her house looks out over the Mediterranean sea and the views are really nice, and even though I won both games of Rummikub she still said I can go back again. In a beautiful example of what a small world it is, aunty Jo showed me a book of Tehillim her boss has given her, dedicated to his son Nadav Elchanan who courageously gave his life in Gaza earlier this year. I recognised the name and I realised that this was the soldier whom my cousin had just named her son after. 

For Shabbos lunch I went to Daddy’s second cousins, and it was sort of a deja-vue for them, as nearly 30 years ago he would often be a guest at their parent’s home, also in Netanya. But the most amazing thing was when I went for a walk on Shabbos afternoon. I walked into the extremely Chassidish neighbourhood of Kiryat Tzanz. This was established by Rabbi Y Y Halberstam, the Klausenberger Rebbe who survived the Holocaust but not before the Nazis murdered his wife and their 11 children. After the war he remarried, had another seven children and re-established his Chassidic dynasty in Israel. As part of his dedication to the community and the rebirth of the Nation the Nazis had tried to destroy, he founded the not for profit Laniado Hospital which has amongst others, a very busy maternity ward. The community is extremely Orthodox and some of the women wear what I can only describe as a Burkha, but each to their own and they were all very polite and cheerful as I walked along the streets.

By the way, this week we have our big trip – so there is really going to be loads to write about. But for now I have to run.

Stay Safe. Look after yourselves. Keep smiling and Lehitraot.

Tzivia

Hi everyone,

What was meant to be a relaxed four week term, easing us into the new school year before Rosh Hashanah, was transformed into a hectic truncated three week rollercoaster ride.

But let me start at the beginning, as I am sure you all want to know what it’s like being in school in the holy city of Tzfat.

I arrived 3 weeks ago to a totally new school, the only new girl across all four classes, and although I did not know anyone, everyone was so friendly and helpful. I’ve made so many new friends from all over the world. Most of the girls are Israeli, although they also dorm in Tzfat. My class has fourteen girls from around the world, literally: I have classmates from: Cyprus, Belgium, Brazil, Italy, Slovakia, America, Austria, Azerbaijan, Hungary, Thailand and of course good old England.

Going from a class of eleven (made up of 3 year groups combined), I am now in a class of twenty four, totalling 110 students across the one year group. It has been one of the biggest changes for me after so many years in a really small school. My actual classroom is a portacabin, and I have been warned that it will be really cold come the winter, but at the moment the weather is really nice which is a change after the so called summer we had in Manchester this year.

The doors to the building get locked at 8.15am and we have to be on time, but considering my usual school commute consisted of a 15 minute walk to meet daddy in Shul and then a 45 minute (minimum) drive to North Manchester everyday, my now 30 second walk means that I don’t have a problem arriving on time every morning.

The lessons are all really interesting and I’ve learnt so much. We cover so many different topics and I can already see the difference between the English style GCSEs I did last year and the Continental style baccalaureate I will be doing over the next two years. One thing is for certain; sitting in lessons where the teacher only speaks in Hebrew has most definitely improved my Ivrit. I still have a way to go, but I am coping well and confident that in time I will even be dreaming in Ivrit.

We get woken up each morning, including on Sundays, at 7.30am with breakfast at 8.00. We go straight into lessons and have just  two short breaks before lunch at 2pm. Depending on the day we may have either one or two lessons after lunch, except on a Friday when we finish at lunch.

Besides the academic program, there are extracurricular activities almost every evening (sometimes late into the night), so I am definitely not bored. There is not much to do outside of school hours, so having official programs and learning activities is definitely important.

My school is called Beit Chana – named after Rebbetzen Chana Schneerson, the mother of the Lubavitcher Rebbe and the Rebbetzen, together with her husband Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Yekaterinoslav, in the former USSR, now known as Dnipro, Ukraine. The school is on a hill and offers an amazing view of the Land of Israel. We can see out to Meron, and when the sun slowly sinks below the hills and mountains of the Galilee it paints the sky a beautiful and vibrant pastel orange or pink. From the porch in my dorm, we can see the Kinneret and somehow it appears much closer than it actually is, almost as if we could just pop over for a quick refreshing dip in its cool waters.

Much like Eton College’s new mobile phone policy, we are not allowed to use our smartphones. As soon as we arrived we had to hand in our devices which were placed in a little phone jail: a cabinet with a glass front and tons of little ‘cells’, one for each girl’s phone. The school provided us with Nokia ‘dumb’ phone, but the call plan only allowed calls to Israel, America, Mexico and Panama, so mummy and daddy had to download an app on their phone which gave them a virtual Israeli number. It is quite cool, but it does mean that I cannot message them and of course also miss out on the family WhatsApp groups. We do have access to computers, so I can also send them and Chaya emails. It feels sort of like the olden days; sending a message and then having to wait a few days until I can get back to the computer to read their reply. However, when we leave Tzfat, such as when we have a Shabbat Chofsha (a ‘free’ Shabbos), they give us our smart phones back; this is for safety so we can keep in constant touch with our parents when travelling. I think daddy told you how important this was when I got off the bus at the wrong stop in Yerushalayim, but working together with daddy, google maps and also getting to practise my Ivrit, I was able to find my way to my host for Shabbat.

The school provides us with a Rav-Kav, which is sort of like an Oyster card but it is used throughout Israel and is pretty much the only way to pay for public transport. What is really cool, is that as this is a fully funded government program, the school puts the money on the card, giving us free transport. They also provided me with my school uniform, a load of stationery as well as the books we needed. All I had to bring from the UK were those books I wanted with an English translation.

Away from the normal part of school, is living with the constant sound of planes. Tzfat is nowhere near Ben Gurion airport and is usually a quiet, quaint mountaintop city, personified by its ancient walls and ubiquitous steps, so the sound of supersonic fighter jets is an anomaly. Every time we hear them screeching overhead, we know that it is a brave pilot in the IAF risking their lives for ours!

Unfortunately there is also the piercing sound of the sirens rising and falling as it alerts us all.

Until this past Friday, so for the first two weeks, I managed to miss all the sirens. There had been one on the first Shabbat I was in Tzfat, but it didn’t directly affect our area, so it was not that loud and most of us did not even hear it. Although on Motzoei Shabbat we did hear and see a number of the Iron Dome interceptors – they make a really loud boom when they explode the incoming Hezbollah missiles. On my second Shabbat there were five sirens in Tzfat, but I was in Yerushalayim and Baruch Hashem missed them all, and then almost as if I was one step ahead of them, the sirens only sounded in Yerushalayim once I was on my way back to Tzfat, so I missed them again!!

Then came this last Friday, when after the ‘beeper and walkie talkie operation’ everything went up a notch or three. The school staff were brilliant, and we had some amazing conversations with them about the necessity for that operation, but also about what the likely response was going to be. I had spoken with daddy and thought I had my head in the right place, but nothing really prepares you for a command by the army to be in a military lockdown and within the immediate vicinity of a bomb shelter. Due to a Shabbaton, we actually had no school on that Friday morning and I had been out of school when the instructions came through; it was pretty scary walking back into the complex to be greeted by everyone moving round with a great urgency as the dorm counsellors made sure we were all indoors and safe.

Within a short time we heard the sirens: five of them over the next three hours. Running into the shelter each time was particularly scary, but the atmosphere was surprisingly calm. Luckily our phones worked in the shelter and I was able to call home. The Iron Dome did its job and Baruch Hashem all the rockets were safely intercepted. We were kept in lockdown – staying in the school complex – for the whole of Shabbat and although there were only two sirens, there was the added sense of danger as we could not phone our parents. The main Iron Dome for the North East of Israel is in Tzfat and the surrounding mountains, so we hear all of the explosions and often see the incoming missiles exploding midair.

That night, Motzoei Shabbat, we got an update from the dormitory staff, and they explained that even though it was not a good situation, we were still extremely safe in the dorm: we were close to a shelter, the school has its own generator (the only one in Tzfat), plus there was a plenty supply of food. In fact, following the instructions of the Home Command, it was only the possible lack of food that might force an evacuation from Tzfat! 

My international  group of 14 girls spent the night sitting on the porch singing together, with one girl playing a guitar. I think I would say that that was the highlight of my short time in Tzfat so far; singing and praying for the safety of Israel, our soldiers and the safe return of all the hostages. 

One of the girls had written a beautiful song about the war, asking for there to be no more fallen soldiers, no more hostages, no more rockets. As we were singing the line “there should be no more rockets”, we saw the Iron Dome go off and watched the interception of rockets that were coming towards cities in the North. It was amazing to see the rockets flying up to destroy the missiles sent by Hezbollah. During our sing-a-long we were told that due to the number of sirens that day and the possibility of a further lockdown tomorrow, we would not have any school on Sunday. There was quite a bit of shrieking from some very excited teenage girls; it was irrational but we had all been under so much pressure the previous 48 hours that we just needed that bit of release.

The next morning everything changed, as all the Israeli girls were told to go home as school was cancelled indefinitely, although there would hopefully be zoom lessons: covid times again!!! The international students were told to try and get tickets home, bearing in mind that we were meant to be leaving the next week anyway, this sudden change in plans made us realise the sense of urgency that had fallen on us. Daddy managed to get me a flight for Wednesday afternoon, and together with the rest of my friends we prepared to spend a few days in a practically empty dorm. Then that evening we were all told to leave Tzfat and the North of Israel as quickly as possible, to get ourselves to the relative safety of Central Israel and await our flights home from there. 

That is why I am now writing this blog from a bus on my way to Bet Shemesh! 

Even though right now it’s quiet; I am watching the beautiful scenery of our beloved Israel go past the windows, there are no rockets and no sirens, but as mummy put it, I am escaping a war zone. I feel for my teachers and all the amazing staff at the school, but now is a time when everyone needs to be with their family. These past few days have been crazy, with everything changing by the minute. It began with the usual school, albeit one with the subconscious knowledge of the ‘regular’ rocket attacks against the Northern cities and then Israel rightly went on the offensive with the (so far unclaimed) precision attack against the Hezbollah terrorists and what a Chutzpadik operation that was! This turned into a military ordered lockdown and then into multiple dashes to the shelter. We were then told to bring our tickets forward only to be then told that those who don’t live in Tzfat should leave straight away. It has been hard to wrap my head round the speed in which things changed.

I think part of it is due to the fact that for the past three nights, I have not gotten to sleep before 3am, although I have been surrounded by some amazing friends with whom I have had great fun talking and singing together whilst listening to and watching our brave IDF heroes defending our homeland. What is often referred to as “only in Israel” moments. 

Of course I am happy that I am coming home, and get to sink into my own comfortable bed and to eat yummy homemade food a few days earlier than planned, but I wish this war was not the reason for it.

I’m going to sign off now with the hope that all our soldiers will be safe, our hostages should be returned home and this war will end speedily with no more deaths or injuries. 

I’ll see you all soon

Tzivia 

Hey everyone!

{Firstly an excuse – you would/should have received this last week whilst I was flying back home, but for the last week of Sem my phone (with which I have written all my articles) was broken.} 

I am back in Manchester! I have had an amazing year in Israel, and I loved sharing all about it with you. So here goes the last and final Israel tidbit! 

Lag B’omer was amazing. In England you were celebrating the Coronation and Bowdon Shul had its famous Fire Pit, but in Israel we did things slightly differently. We started with an all-nighter in Meron. Praying by the grave of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, whose Yartzheit is on Lag B’Omer, was really inspirational. I wasn’t able to be there as long as I wanted as it was packed and we were only able to have a few moments each – but it was still worthwhile. We then moved up to the famous blue roof on top of the grave where we were able to see all the dancing going on in the area below us; it was electric, and a group of us started a women’s circle of dancing.

Off to one side were individual groups of whole families, each one dancing around a young boy sitting on a high chair; it was the little boy’s third birthday and they were giving him his first haircut – his Opshernish. Suddenly we saw all the women moving in one direction, so we followed and we found ourselves right in front of the huge bonfires. Because of the accident 2 years ago the fires were done in a secluded area with separate times for men and women coming to see, instead of being right in the middle of the dancing. The strangest part about the whole experience was when people started throwing towels and shirts, and some whole bottles of oil over people’s heads into the fires. Apparently it’s a custom to add something of your own into the fire. We were there for hours, just soaking up the whole atmosphere of this once in a lifetime experience. Finally, at 4am we started heading back to Tzafas, for as much as we wanted to stay all night, we had a busy day tomorrow. 

A few short hours later after barely any sleep, I went with a group of 10 to Chatzor, a small city some half an hour from Tzafas to help run a children’s parade. Once we had finished there, we joined up with a larger group of around 50 Sem girls and went to south Tzafas where we helped with a huge parade. It was, as I learnt along the way, actually 10 separate parades that would all join into one. I was in charge of the group that was the furthest away from the meeting point, so as we went along more and more children joined in, until we arrived at the central location with a group of over 200 children: it really was an amazing and inspirational sight.

By this point night was falling, and we went straight from the parades to the Sem Bonfire. This we built ourselves and sat around singing late into the star filled night of a Galilee sky.

As I have previously told you, part of the Sem program includes Shabbatons, and for some reason this next one was back in Meron. Many Israelies had been camping along the mountain for the past two weeks and some were still there enjoying the aftermath of Lag B’Omer. This created an interesting sight seeing all the different makeshift tents and cars turned in houses dotted all over. I have been privileged to experience many wonderful Shabbatot during my year in Israel, and this was definitely amongst the top: it was a most meaningful time and we spent most of it by the grave of the great Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, author of the Zohar, hero of the Jewish resistance against Rome and one of the most influential voices within the Talmud.

Sem life runs at the speed of light, and a short two weeks later was Shavuos and the Sem took us all to Yerushalayim. I have been there many times before, both with Sem and with my family, but this was something different. We were staying in a dormitory by Zion Gate – right above the gravesite of King David (Yes I know, ancient graves of our Biblical and Rabbinical leaders seems to have been a running theme!) What can I say, it was arguably the best location to stay in in Yerushalayim over Shavuos; King David’s Yartzheit is on Shavuos and there were people there constantly, at all times of day and night, and we were right in the thick of it.

Not that we needed any excuse, but on Shavuos there is a tradition to stay up all night long, albeit in order to learn Torah in preparation for hearing the 10 Commandments. It was a long night filled with lessons, talks, songs, quite a lot of coffee and some snoring as well. Then before dawn was even a hint on the horizon, we made our way to the Kosel to begin Shacharis. Now that was a once in a lifetime experience; hearing the Torah’s description of the monumental events at Mount Sinai, the sound of thunder, the call of the Shofar and the Giving of the Torah by Hashem, listening to those words being read just as the sun started to make its way over the horizon and peaked over the Kosel and the Temple Mount is something I will always treasure and never forget.

We had arrived at the Kosel Plaza at 5.00 am when it was still pitch black, but when we left at 8, there was a brilliant sunshine bathing everyone there in a light that was somehow purer and more special than usual. The Kosel was packed, there were so many Jews from so many different walks of life all converging on the Kosel at this one time, for this special and holy experience; it was absolutely incredible. 

After Davening we helped run a booth at the entrance to the Kosel Plaza giving food and water to people who, having spent all night learning, had to now make the long trek back to their homes; for some this was a 2 hour walk to the outer edges of the new city of Yerushalayim. We were a 10 minute stroll to Zion Gate!

As I mentioned, Shavuos is also King David’s Yartzheit, and many people take the opportunity to Daven at his grave. Well we were staying right there, although due to the crowds it was still difficult to get right in. However, after a year of experience, especially with the crowds at Meron just a fortnight earlier, I was able to make my way right to the front and had the merit to read the words of King David’s Tehillim and Daven for all of my family and friends.

As you know, other than Rosh Hashana, all Yomim Tovim in Israel are just one day, but as Shavuos was a Friday we went straight into Shabbos so it was like a 2 day Yom Tov anyway. In a previous family trip to Yerushalayim, Daddy had taken us to the famous Churvah Shul – built in the early 1700’s, destroyed by the Ottomans not long afterwards, rebuilt in the mid 1800’s where it stood in brilliant magnificence until it was destroyed by the Arabs in 1948 and remained a ruin (Churvah in Ivrit) until it was beautifully restored in 2010. With its ornate domed ceiling it’s renowned for its splendid and rousing Kabbolas Shabbos service, but unfortunately I was in for a bitter surprise as when a Yom Tov goes straight into a Shabbos they skip the melodic Kabbolas Shabbos and go straight to Maariv! Luckily the Kosel was just a few minutes walk away so I went there instead.

The next morning, I went to the Tzemach Tzedek, the Chabad Lubavitch Shul in the Old City, established back in 1845. This Shul is unique, being the only one that is still in its original form. When Israel won the war of Independence but lost control of the Old City in 1948, every other Shul, some like the Churvah with a long and illustrious history, were all destroyed. This Shul right in the heart of the old city, situated above the ancient Roman Cardo (which at the point was still covered in centuries of rubble and would not be discovered for a few decades) was the only one to survive. Although it then had another scare, when in 1967 after the IDF liberated the Old City putting it back into Jewish hands, the government decreed that all public buildings had to be demolished and rebuilt as they were unstable due to the bombings and the shelling during the wars of ‘48 and ‘67. Of course the Lubavitch community put up a fight and argued that it was unthinkable for the Jewish government to destroy the one Shul that the Arabs had left standing in the Old City of Yerushalayim.

On Shabbos afternoon we completed a most special and spiritual 48 hours, with a grand singing session with over 200 women all sharing an inspiring experience as our voices joined as one as the sun set over Yerushalayim and an unforgettable Shavuos and Shabbos.

But it is not only spiritual experiences, and that evening after Shabbos I had an amazing visit: Iain and Margaret Goldrein met me for supper in the Mamilla Mall. I really enjoyed spending time with fellow Bowdonites, catching up on all the news and of course having a heated discussion with Iain about Zionism and Religion!

Once we got back to Tzafas after Shavuos, we began a crazily intense two and a half weeks. In addition to my regular lessons and exams, I volunteered to be part of a committee working on the ‘Farbrengen Book’, which would be a transcript of every single speaker we had had throughout the school year – all the informal talks and gatherings, everything outside of the core lessons. For the next week and a half there was virtually no sleep for any of us on this committee, with the night before our exams starting being an actual all nighter. The book with over 40 talks in it, had to be completed in time so it could be printed and distributed by the end of the school year. It was a crazy amount of work, but it was really amazing and extremely rewarding when on the last day of term we were given our copy of the book: those long hours of work sure paid off. 

My final “Shabbat Chofsha – Free Shabbos” of the year was spent in Ashdod. There was a heat wave (and that’s when my phone literally fried) but we had a really interesting Shabbos, as my host family did not speak a word of English. It was really exciting for me to see how well my Ivrit has become, so much so that my friend (also an English, well American speaker) and I even started talking in Ivrit to each other 🙂 

Then it was straight back to Tzafas – with a broken phone and a worried set of parents back in Bowdon who couldn’t get hold of me – for the all-nighter I mentioned before, and exams first thing on Sunday morning. This was a marathon of tests; 3 a day for 9 days, but it was actually a lot of fun reviewing everything we had learnt over the course of this year, and we even managed to squeeze in some time and convinced a few of our favorite teachers to give us some special lessons.

Then, and I can’t believe I am saying this, came our last day of Sem. It began with a grand banquet the previous evening that culminated with one final Kumzits singing session then lasted throughout the night. I left at 3.00 am as I did not want to be late for the final day of learning at 7.00 am. We had our last three lessons and then just like that it was over.

We packed our clothes, left behind gifts for our friends from school who were going to Tzafas next year, and spent an emotional day saying goodbye to friends as busload by busload they left to the airport and all four corners of the world. I was on the last bus out, but still had an 8 hour wait in the airport, which meant I saw everyone leaving: saying goodbye was not easy. My phone was still broken, but this being Israel I was able to ask random people in the airport if I could borrow theirs and keep mummy and daddy updated before my flight home.

It has been an amazing year, a year of growth and education in all aspects of my life. A year of knowledge, of friends and personal achievements.I feel so privileged and blessed to have been gifted this experience, and even more so to have a community such as ours that I have been able to share this with.

I hope you have enjoyed my little taste of life in Israel as a seminary girl, that you have lived it vicariously through my blogs and that I didn’t bore you, but actually managed to entertain and maybe even to have successfully given over some of the lessons I learnt.

So for the last time: 

Lehitraot.

Chaya

P.S.  Next year my blogs will please G-d come from the Big Apple and the City of New York as I go on to Sem Beis in Crown Heights

Hey everyone!

How is everyone doing back in Manchester?

It was amazing coming back and seeing you all. I really enjoyed spending time with the community over Pesach, and the highlight was definitely the Shul Seder, especially when we finished for 10.15!!

Here in Israel things have really been getting intense as we gear up for the last stretch of the year. We only have seven weeks of school left, which includes exam period as well, so everyone is taking advantage to soak up as much information as we can. This does mean that sometimes the lessons get really intense, with respectful but heated discussions: teenage girls can be very solid debaters. 

As soon as we got back after the Pesach break, we dived head-first into preparations for ‘Shabbos Aryeh Leib’ – named after Rabbi Aryeh Leib Kaplan, the first Chabad Shliach to Tzfat. On this Shabbos, all the Chabad Seminaries in Israel are hosted by my Sem in Tzfat. And as hosts we are responsible for the program and activities. 

It was a really amazing Shabbos. Just imagine, 400 inspired, idealistic Sem girls, all sharing the same ideals and focused on their own and the world’s spiritual betterment, all in one room singing together at the Shabbos table. It was an experience I’ll never forget.

It started on Thursday afternoon when the coaches started arriving with the Sem girls from around Israel. I was part of the committee who ran the opening program, after which we split up for various workshops. That was followed by a 4 hour long Farbrengen. There really is no English word to adequately describe a Chassidish Farbrengen, which literally translates as a “joyous gathering”. It’s the reverse of a sermon where 5 minutes can feel like 4 hours. 

This was story time with friends where the vistas of your spiritual imagination are opened, where your soul soars on the wings of Hassidik melodies, and where the problems of day to day life simply melt away. For four hours, story led to song which led to story, each one with a lesson that led to the next song and story, culminating with the lessons merging together in harmony leaving us with a powerful message of hope and inspiration.

For me there was an added bonus: my teachers and most of my friends have either spoken in Ivrit or American, but the speaker at our Farbrenegen was from England and even better, had grown up in Manchester. Oh what a delight it was to once again hear the king’s English: I never realised how much I had been missing the eloquence of an English accent!!

On Friday we had a panel, led by girls from all of the seminaries. I found it really interesting to hear what girls my age had to say on a whole range of topics. One point that really resonated with me was a quote that daddy has often mentioned and which he reminded me afterwards was one he had been taught by his father: “Bechira Chofshis is a result of Hashgacha Protis – Free Choice is a result of Divine Providence” This means that what happens to us is not by chance, if we are in a certain place, it is because Hashem wants us to be there at that specific time, and we have a mission to fulfil. But what is our choice? What we choose to do once we get there. Or as my Zeideh used to say: “Where a person finds themselves is Divine Providence, what they do there is Free Choice”.

That really resonated with me; the fact that I am in seminary in Israel is because Hashem decided that this is where I need to be this year, but it is up to me to choose how I make use of my time here. I hope that I have done the best I can, and I am looking forward to my final 7 weeks here. 

This Shabbos is an away one, and I have been invited back to Yerushalayim. One of the heads of the Seminary in Yerushalayim who hosted me on Sukkos, was at our Shabbaton this week and she asked me when I was going to go back and visit.  I guess I behaved myself last time! 

Next week is Lag B’Omer and whilst I will be missing Bowdon’s amazing fire pit BBQ, I am really excited to be going to Meron for the festivities there.

See you next time and have a Great Shabbos,

Chaya

P.S. – Earlier today I had an interview for Sem in New York next year and I really can’t wait for the next stage in my education.

P.P.S. – I can’t believe I am saying this, but one of my classmates from Manchester (albeit nearly a year older than me), just got engaged!!! That’s crazy. Lovely and exciting, but crazy!!!

Hey everyone!

Whilst you are reading this, I am 30,000 feet in the air (that is if you read it within the first 5 hours of being posted) because I am coming home!

It has been a really exciting busy last month, filled with programs, learning and just about everything else in-between. 

It began with a really awesome full day program designated to learning about the specialty and uniqueness of a Jewish home and the role of the Jewish wife in maintaining that home. My favourite kind of learning: fun and learning combined. 

Then one day I decided it was time to have actual fun, so me and a few other girls went to the local High School’s production. Aside for it being a cool story, I actually understood everything of the Ivrit only show. 

The next week was Purim: except in Israel Purim actually lasts a week. As you will all know, Purim is celebrated on the 14th of Adar except for those cities that were walled in the times of Joshua, where it is celebrated a day later on the 15th. Most cities in Israel celebrate it on the same day as you are used to in Bowdon on the 14th, whereas Jerusalem (both the Old Walled City and the New unwalled part) celebrate on the 15th. But here is the complication: there are some cities where they are unsure how ancient the walls are, were they possibly walled back in the days of Joshua? To remove any doubt, they celebrate on both days.

Tzfat of course is one of those cities, meaning I had a double Purim this year. Which sounds like fun, but remember it also meant that I had to listen to the Megillah four times! 

Actually, Israel is the only place in the world, where someone can legally miss Purim. If for example a person is in Yerushalayim for the 14th of Adar, meaning it is not yet Purim for them and then they leave the city just before nighttime going to a place where Purim has just ended, they can technically avoid everything. Obviously most people try to do the exact opposite and specifically go to Yerushalayim for the 15th in order to celebrate again.

Being in Tzfat, I didn’t have to travel anywhere and automatically was blessed with the double Purim. Plus, for those of you who have read my previous blogs, it meant that I was ensured of no crazy bus stories.

So, on Purim night after my first of what would be four Megillah readings, me and about 15 other girls who had remained in Tzfat made a huge break-the-fast party. We all made some food for the potluck and everyone had a real blast. The next morning, I went with a few friends to help one of our teachers give out Mishloach Manot to his community. 

I was very excited; what a perfect way to put my Ivrit to use. Then I was told: They are Russian and hardly speak a word of Ivrit! So armed with Google translate and the handful of Russian words I know, my friend and I went around and visited a bunch of Russians. They were all very old and barely leave their homes, so we literally brought Purim to them: we helped them perform the Mitzvah of Mishloach Manot, told them how they can listen to the Megillah. When we left they were smiling from ear to ear. We quite literally made their day, no their week! I felt really accomplished.

Then as soon as we finished that, we rushed over to help run a community Purim Seudah. Our job? Be counsellors and attempt to look after the 200 kids running wild all over the grounds. The ratio of counsellors to children: 33:1, oh it was fun and games. And then when that was done, we got to start all over again. Only in Tzfat!

The next day was strange, as when I messaged home, it was no longer Purim, but for me it was Purim all over again. Sort of the reverse of every other Yom Tov when Israelis have one day Yom Tov whilst everyone else has two. But it was funny. 

Together with a few of my friends, I went to the children’s hospital in Tzfat, where we gave the kids Mishloach Manot and cheered them up. We then ended off 3 amazing days with a trip to a restaurant for a festive meal and then we went to Meron to Daven at the grave of the holy Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai (of Lag B’Omer fame). 

With no time to rest, the very next day we all went on a Sem Shabbaton to Migdal Ha’Emek. But of course we couldn’t go straight there; no we had to go on a hike. In normal circumstances, an hour and 15 minute walk on a straight path is really easy. But add a heatwave and no shade, it’s not that fun. But the views were insane, so it kind of made up for the heat, and as it was followed by a really nice relaxing Shabbaton it was all good.

When we got back to Sem the countdowns started. All everyone could speak about was how many days or even hours it would be till they flew home. The teachers had an extra hard time getting everyone to focus, especially this last week when we were in to our last four days.

And there’s not really much more to say other than see you in a few hours!

Lehitraot 

Chaya

P.S. – My flight home is scheduled to last 5 hours – my travel time from Tzfat to Ben Gurion took longer! But at least it gave me time to write this all up ready to be posted just as I take off.

Hi everyone,

I hope you are all well. 

My regular monthly blog is in the works, and I look forward to sharing it with you next week. However, as Providence would have it, I went on a special Sem trip to a Holocaust Museum last week, and as it will be Holocaust Memorial Day next week,(Friday 27 January) Daddy suggested that this should be a standalone entry.

The museum wasn’t an ordinary Holocaust Museum; it is situated in a Kibbutz built at the birth of the State by Holocaust survivors called לוחמי הגיטאות – Fighters of the Ghetto. It is part of a larger museum called the Ghetto Fighter’s House, but this section is called יד לילד – Hand to the Child, and was built for the express purpose of educating younger children about the Holocaust.

The whole focal point of the museum was very different from any others I’ve been to previously and it did not focus on the darkness and horrors of the Holocaust. Instead it looked at the Holocaust through the eyes of children who lived through it, and how they survived in a world suddenly gone black- by finding fragments of light peeking through the darkness.

We started the day with a one person monologue/show. This show introduced us to the concept of children in the Holocaust, but intriguingly it was not through the events that transpired then, but rather through the eyes of children who met those child survivors afterwards. We saw how young children on a Kibbutz viewed these young survivors who had come to live with them. They may have all been the same age, but because of their experiences these amazing survivors, children who had lived through the worst horrors known to man, some of whom had known nothing other than the depravity of the Ghettos and Camps were smaller and weaker. They were scarred and scared, and they initially responded to the children’s friendly overtures in strange ways, sometimes by hitting or even biting, making them seem weird, frightening even.

But then we watched how with the passage of time, things slowly changed. The War of Independence being a turning point in this strange relationship with the children starting to accept and possibly even to understand each other.

With that introduction, we started our tour through the Museum. Not much attention was paid to the horrors going on, but rather to the children’s reaction to what was going on around them. We began in a room with paintings that children drew in the Ghetto. One which I found particularly poignant was a picture of a perfectly normal sun, flowers and butterflies, albeit portrayed as being  behind bars. 

The museum went around in a spiral, descending lower and lower, through the years, until we came to train tracks, leading us to the lowest, darkest point: Auschwitz. At each stage, there were testimonials of children survivors, saying their stories, personal memories of those dark years through the eyes of a child. Although it was difficult, we were charged with finding the fragments of light that had kept the children alive through those dark times. 

Afterwards there was a workshop where this point was reinforced. We were each told to draw a picture showcasing either life before or after the Holocaust, and the Holocaust itself. Focusing on how, although things changed with much lost and some never to be back again, there were still fragments of light shining through. Now I am not much of an artistic person, so I kinda broke the rules a little, and chose instead to write a poem expressing my feelings, because why draw when I can give myself over much better in writing. 

When we left I took with me a whole new outlook on the Holocaust. I saw it through a perspective I’ve never before seen; for whilst I am not looking at this piece of history with rose coloured glasses, I am now able to see the light shining through the darkness. 

Shattered illusion and the fragments of light:

Sun 

Smiles 

Laughter 

A green meadow 

Grass swaying in the breeze.

But the peace is not lasting 

Shattered 

Into thousands of fragments 

The meadow

An illusion 

Fading into the sounds of war.

Darkness descends 

Hiding 

Attics cellars 

Starvation 

Separation 

Degradation 

The light behind the walls.

The barbed wire fences 

Blocking the green meadow 

The joys I no longer share  

Will the sun ever shine again for me?

Will I see the grass swaying in the breeze?

Is there even light for me

After this devastating tragedy?

Can the shattered fragments

Be made whole again

Making the darkness 

A fading illusion?

Yes it can!

This life I can rebuild

This light I can find again

Picking up the pieces of my life may not be easy.

But the points of light

The fragments scattered in the darkness 

Will become the foundation 

Of the new picture of my life.