First Rain in Israel Greeted with Delight

Summer is officially over. The festival of Succot has finished and we now start to pray for rain. This year rain was forecast just over a week after the Succot celebrations had come to an end. It prompted me to finally get around to rolling up the bamboo roof from the succah and putting it in its case. The rest of the succah had been neatly packed away the day after the holiday. The roof however, is the worst post-Succot job for me.

The bag is long, thin and far too tight; I always need to roll and then re-roll the bamboo sheet in order to squeeze it into the bag, which only opens from one end. I always think it must have been designed by a man (excuse the reverse sexism) as any woman would surely have designed a big slit along the length of the bag with a plastic zip.

A Poetic Moment

As my son and I finally managed to store away our succah roof until next year, we watched as the leaves and blossoms blew off the trees making a colourful carpet on the ground. Out of the blue he said, “I love the smell of Autumn”. This is not the usual type of comment my boisterous twelve year old usually makes!

Joyous Rain Dance

First came the warning clouts of thunder, followed by a sudden deluge of rain. He ran outside, dancing in the first cool shower of the year, closely followed by his brother and sister. All of them enjoyed the liberating and curious feeling of the first drops of rain in a country that is 90+ degrees for much of the year.

I reflected on how strange it was that my kids, born and raised in England during their early childhood, should exalt to so much in a shower of rain. Just when did rain become a novelty factor? Just when did my kids cease being English and become Israeli?

Still New After 3 Years?

Forever an Olah?

We have been in Israel for nearly three years now. I have had a baby in this country and am raising a Hebrew speaker. My older kids use Israeli hand gestures and speak Hebrew slang. We make lasagna using cottage cheese. But do we feel Israeli?

Last week we were waiting at a bus stop. When we had been there for a short while, an Israeli lady sat near us under the shelter. The kids were talking to each other in Hebrew and I was talking to my youngest in (very bad, heavily accented) Hebrew too. After a while she said to me, “How long have you been here?”

Assuming she had picked up on our accents, I answered, “Nearly three years now.”

“No,” she said. “How long have you been here.” As she had stressed the last word, I assumed she meant our yeshuv. “We’ve lived here for nearly two years,” I answered.

“No,” she said again. “How long have you been here.” This time, as well as stressing the last word she pointed downwards to the ground. Finally, I understood. “Oh, sorry. We’ve been at the bus stop for ten minutes!”

The exchange, although a little silly/embarrassing/funny (delete as you see fit) got me thinking about the fact that I may have an ‘olah’ mentality. When will I actually feel so at home that if someone asks me the same question, I will cease to automatically assume they see me as a newcomer.

Sharona B
http://www.judaicamosaica.com/