A Jewish American eclipse

EMILY SINGER

This month I’m introducing a term that is not, technically, Isra-slang. It’s more like Jewish Ameri-slang. I am taking this liberty because we are standing at a pivotal time in calendar history, marking the event of a lifetime. Actually, the event of 1,755 lifetimes. I am speaking, of course, about Thanksgivukah. In this fall of 2013, American Thanksgiving is going to overlap with Chanukah for the last time in 70,000 years. Literally. The clock has been slowly rolling back, year after year, people taking nary a notice (except perhaps some astrophysicists), until suddenly we find ourselves stuffing our turkeys with potato latkes and filling our jelly doughnuts with cranberry sauce.

I can’t say that this cosmic coincidence has never happened before. It may have happened in your lifetime, if you are 95. But the last two occurrences were less remarkable as American turkey day was later in the year. American Thanksgiving used to be the last (often the fifth) Thursday of November. President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, among his many economic watershed ideas, such as the New Deal and social security, extended the Christmas shopping season with the revolutionary platform that Thanksgiving would now be on the fourth Thursday of November. The next Thanksgivukah eclipse is scheduled to happen well after the messianic era (I can only assume), so I am taking this opportunity to reflect.

In my attempt to mark this auspicious occasion, I will try to steer clear of the political irony that Chanukah is the victory of the weak few over the oppressive many, while Thanksgiving essentially marks the conquering of the American native population by British imperialist intruders. Instead, I’ll focus on the general concept of gratitude. I’d like to take this rare Thanksgivukah season to share my top eight reasons for being thankful to have made aliyah three years ago.

#8: Absorption

During the last Thanksgivukah eclipse in 1918, there was no state of Israel. The world was just starting to clean up after one world war, and the Second World War was waiting in the wings. If a person wanted to move to Palestine, they would have to travel on a crowded, unhygienic boat without adequate medical care and limited steerage.

When they landed on the shores of milk and honey, they arrived to mosquito-infested swamps where they would be greeted by angry Ottomans, typhus, famine, bank closures, inflation and locusts. When the British took over, they brought promising changes, such as jailing new immigrants, turning back their boats and executing them for treason.

Three years ago, our family got on a plane with 18 pieces of luggage and 12 carry-ons. We handed the stewardess our passports, ate a gourmet kosher meal and watched Shrek III four times until we fell asleep. When we woke up, we were Israeli citizens. We took our free taxi service to our new apartment.

#7: Communication

In the early 1900s, for immigrants to Palestine, contact with their families back home was limited. If their sister was getting married, they might not hear until the first baby was born. By the time they sent a baby gift, the kid would be off to college. No telephones, Internet, Skype or WhatsApp.

On my first visit to Israel in 1986, communication was still not ideal. I remember standing at the payphone in the middle of the night with my pocket full of asimonim – round coins with a hole in the middle – standard phone currency. If you were dialing locally, it might cost you between one and four asimonim. As the minutes passed, an operator would interrupt your call to tell you to deposit more. If you were talking to someone overseas, you would put in a steady stream of coins during the conversation.

The country was smaller back then. One night, I tried to call my mother collect. The international operator came on and said (in three languages), “All lines are busy. Please try your call again later.”

I hung up and dialed back. The operator said. “Hello?”

I said I want to make a collect call. She answered with irritation, “Didn’t I just tell you to try again later?”

Today you can purchase a cellphone when you land in the airport. You can get unlimited service, including international calls, from the supermarket for 20 dollars a month. Or you can Skype or text for free. It’s almost like you never left home!

#6: Mail

In 1918, the post service in Palestine was not what you would call reliable. You wrote your letter or sent your package in time for Chanukah, with a little bonus for the carrier to ensure it would arrive safely. Maybe it would get there. Maybe the boat captain would give it to his wife for Christmas. You wouldn’t know until you heard a response, sometime the next fall.

Over the years, the post became more reliable, and more affordable. Written communication was transformed with the invention of the aerogram – a little all-in-one stationary page that was so thin you could see through it and so light it nearly floated. You didn’t want to waste space, so you would write in microscopic print on every corner of the paper. When it came time to lick the tabs and seal it shut, you would realize that the gluey edges were sticking to your writing, rendering the contents of the letter incomprehensible. But you didn’t want to splurge on the weighty standard paper and envelopes, not to mention stamps, so you sent it, figuring it didn’t matter much since it probably wouldn’t get there anyway.

Today, mail service is much better. I regularly order silken tofu and paperback books from America, and I have never had any trouble. The only risk is that someone in the customs office will owe some back child support to his ex-wife, and will decide to open your package and charge you taxes in an amount of his choosing. This hasn’t happened to me, but I’ve heard stories.

#5. Toilet Paper

It used to be that everyone who came to visit Israel would have to stuff their suitcases with modern conveniences for their immigrant friends and family. Disposable diapers, Colgate toothpaste and, most essentially, soft-ply toilet paper, which brought to their loved ones a whole different quality of living. Today I am hard-pressed to think of American products that can’t be found here. Real, American-style, Q-tip brand Q-tips, is about the only thing I can think of.

#4. Bagels

Speaking of quality-of-life essentials, bagels were late on the Israel scene. Early immigrants were stuck with those big sesame sticks Arab merchants sell at the entrance to the Old City. They are actually quite delicious, but that doesn’t mean you can shmear them with cream cheese and smoked salmon.

It wasn’t until 1994 that Bonkers Bagels opened its doors, offering the New York delicacy inside the walls of the Old City. The bagels could be best described as hockey pucks with holes, but they were something to spread your tuna on after praying at the world’s holiest Jewish site (no pun intended).

At one point, the situation became so desperate that Efrat, a settlement outside of Jerusalem that is packed with North American immigrants, decided to import the best: H&H Bagels, from New York City. The move was not simple. It was fraught with debate over kashrut, as the flour in Israel must be more strictly supervised than flour in America. They turned to the chief rabbi of Efrat for a legal ruling. He approved the bagels, but it has since been said that the legal loopholes they had to get around to bring the bagels were more extreme than what it would take to solve the problem of agunot (women who are refused a get, a writ of divorce, from their husbands). Then again, we are talking about bagels.

#3: Cheerios

While we’re on the subject of essential foods, let us not forget the Cheerios crisis of 2004.

We were living in Jerusalem on a two-year fellowship. Our kids were young enough that they were still unaware of the existence of sugar-saturated, neon-colored breakfast cereals. They only knew Cheerios. Until one day, I went to the supermarket and there were no Cheerios on the shelf. Sure, there were Honey Nut Cheerios, but they have the sugar content of Fruity Pebbles. I tried another store – no Cheerios. Then, one day, we had a young man over for Shabbat who was in the import/export business. He informed us of the news: Israel would no longer be importing Cheerios. Soon, the news spread. It was all over the English-speaking media – newspapers and radio, not to mention the Janglo list-serve. It was true. No more Cheerios.

The crisis lasted longer than I care to remember. Certainly long enough that Honey Nut Cheerios became our everyday cereal, and Cinnamon Toast Crunch was introduced on Shabbat. Then one day a friend called from the supermarket to report a Cheerios sighting: “Should she buy some for us?”

“Yes!”

“How many?”

“Whatever you can carry!”

As it turned out, unbeknownst to us, the crisis had ended. Cheerios were back. The American Jewish lobby is a powerful thing. And we were able to finish 15 boxes of Cheerios just in time for Passover.

#2: Tashlumim

The ability to buy anything and everything in instalments. Not just homes and cars and big screen TVs but groceries and packs of bubble gum. This is not a new phenomenon in Israel, but it is as true today as it ever was. For more information, check out the Oct. 18 Finance and Law issue of the Independent.

#1: Drum Roll Please

And now, for the number one reason why I feel blessed that we made aliyah when we did three years ago in 2010. The best reason is called Because We Did.

This was when we were ready to come, and it’s been indescribable (though you all know I’ve tried). I could question why we didn’t come earlier – it might have been easier on the kids. We could have established our careers here. We could have taken more pieces of luggage.

I could question why we didn’t come later – we didn’t have to disrupt the kids from school. We could have saved more money. We could have taken the boys to more football games. But all I feel is lucky. We live on a beautiful mountaintop with fabulous people. Our kids are busy and happy. I am able to teach in a school where I love their values, and I see my kids throughout the school day.

On the eve of this Thanksgivukah, I just want to say, thanks. May your holidays be meaningful and happy, and may you haveat are wonderful in your life.

Emily Singer is a teacher, social worker and freelance writer. Singer and her husband, Ross, were rebbetzin and rabbi of Vancouver’s Shaarey Tefilah congregation until 2004. The Singers spent two years in Jerusalem and then moved to Baltimore, Md., where Ross was rabbi at Congregation Beth Tfiloh and Emily taught Judaic studies at Beth Tfiloh High School, until they moved to Israel in 2010. They have four children.

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