Dvora Waysman – Page 2

A counselor’s import

At sleep-away camp, the camp counselor is the person your child is going to turn to as a replacement for you. Even if it’s a day camp, it is the counselor who will be there to comfort, encourage, discipline and befriend your child. Therefore, you need to understand the counselor’s role before you drive away, looking in the rearview mirror at the teary-eyed or over-excited son or daughter you are leaving behind – especially if it’s their first experience of going to camp.

While it can be wonderfully rewarding, camp counseling is a 24-hour-a-day commitment and the job requires a lot of skills. Most camps have training sessions, sometimes very intensive ones, before the start of the summer sessions, and only the most qualified are chosen, as they can make or ruin kids’ experiences.

New counselors who think that camp will be a long, outdoor holiday for themselves are mistaken – they are being paid to work. Theirs is a leadership role, and having fun is only part of the equation. They may have to deal with all kinds of personal problems, such as homesickness, or a child who feel inadequate at or left out of various activities.

The most dedicated counselors make time to get to know their campers. They explore why the kids came to camp and what they are looking forward to doing. They need to keep up with their charges’ accomplishments and help them get involved in whatever activities are being programmed. The object is to spend quality time with each child so that, in the new world they are in, the campers feel that there is at least one person on their side and available to help them if the need arises.

Parents should make sure to inform the camp of any special occasions or events in their child’s life that will take place while the child is at camp, such as a birthday.

A counselor has many roles to fulfil. Sometimes, if a child is homesick, for example, a counselor will need to remind them of the reasons they came to camp, get them enthused about the good times they will have once they settle in, and the great friends they will make. It’s often a good idea for counselors to discuss their own experiences when they were young campers, such as funny incidents, exciting adventures, or pranks that were played on them.

In talking to camp counselors, some of the adjectives they used about the experience were “exciting,” “rewarding,” “memorable,” “fun.” They also said, “I hated leaving my new friends”; “I felt so proud of the kids”; “it was a fantastic time.”

Most of these counselors lived in a cabin or tent with three to eight kids for whom they had full responsibility over the camp sessions. Sometimes, they had to be referee or an impartial adviser, if any disputes arose between the children.

For kids, camp is about trying new things, becoming independent and widening their horizons. Try and confirm that the counselors responsible for your child are sympathetic, conscientious, have a sense of humour and are concerned with security and safety before you wave goodbye to your child.

Dvora Waysman is a Jerusalem-based author. She has written 14 books, including The Pomegranate Pendant, which was made into a movie, and her latest novella, Searching for Sarah. She can be contacted at dwaysman@gmail.com or through her blog dvorawaysman.com.

Camp should be “wow!”

Hanging out around a campfire with friends is one of the things many kids love about summer camp. (image from pxhere.com)

Every year when I was a child, the first day back at school after the summer break, we’d be expected to write an essay on “What I did during my summer holidays.” Back then, my family were so poor I rarely did anything much, but I was blessed with a fertile imagination so I concocted an amazing list of activities. After all, the first rule for a writer, which was my ambition even then, is never to let the truth interfere with a good story. Oh, how I would have loved to go to a summer sleepaway camp.

Fortunately, times have changed and my kids and various grandchildren have had that opportunity. So, I’ve rounded up relatives, kids, their friends and my friends, to ask what they loved and hated about summer camp.

These are some of the reactions I got in the “hate” department. “The toilets and showers – ugh!” “The mosquitoes, which feasted on my blood every day.” “My girlfriend, who was prettier than I was, got all the boys interested in her, especially the one I liked.” “The others were better at sports than I was, and I couldn’t swim. They laughed at me.”

None of those I quizzed however, failed to have lots of reasons to list under “things I loved.” “We put on a musical at the end of camp, and we did everything, including painting the scenery. It was great!” “Parents Day, when they would visit the camp and bring us wonderful things to eat, that they rarely bought for us at home. The chocolates were divine.” “I learnt all kinds of crafts, that I still do sometimes. We were taught basketry, jewelry-making, ceramics and how to press flowers.” “One day, we had a Backwards Day – it was terrific fun. We even wore our clothes inside out.” “I loved the campfires, under the stars. We’d sing together, roast potatoes and onions, it was heaven. I can still remember the feeling of being among friends under a sky filled with stars, and the wind in the treetops. I think that was true happiness.”

Whether or not a camp will be a positive experience for a child largely depends on the parents’ preparation. Don’t send them to a camp you once attended and enjoyed without considering how the camp may have changed or the difference between your needs and desires and those of your child.

Think about what your child needs – to learn new skills, develop more self-confidence and independence, maybe to improve proficiency in certain areas. For the latter, there are lots of specialty camps such as tennis, horse-riding, hiking, adventure, backpacking or gymnastics.

The camp you choose will depend on the age and level of independence of the child. The first sleepaway camp can be very frightening for a young child and sometimes the best way to prepare them is to take them beforehand to the campsite and explain all the activities that will take place there.

Teenagers usually welcome escaping home and discipline for awhile and spreading their wings. No matter what the age, you need to consider and investigate the accessibility of the camp, its medical facilities and security arrangements. You also need to consider any fears your child might have, such as if a below-average athlete will feel comfortable trying new skills and be allowed to work on them at their own pace. Often it helps if they have a friend or two among the campers and, of course, try to meet the counselors to assess that they are competent and sympathetic.

A camp has the potential to offer a child many positive and rewarding experiences. They can be fun, healthy and relaxing. Many of the programs provide an opportunity to develop new skills, and become more responsible and independent. The main reaction I got from kids who’d been to a good camp was: “Wow! It was great. I want to go again this year!”

Dvora Waysman is a Jerusalem-based author. She has written 14 books, including The Pomegranate Pendant, which was made into a movie, and her latest novella, Searching for Sarah. She can be contacted at dwaysman@gmail.com or through her blog dvorawaysman.com.

The beauty of creation

In Israel, Tu b’Shevat is a day for planting saplings. (photo from JNF via israel21c.org)

“Keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps the singing bird will come.” This lovely quotation is not from our sages, but is an old Chinese proverb. Nevertheless, it seems appropriate for Tu b’Shevat, the New Year of the Trees, which falls this year on Jan. 21.

Of course, we have our own Jewish sources. For example, “When you see handsome people or fine trees, pronounce the benediction, ‘Praised be He who created beautiful things.’” (Tosefta: Berakot 7:4) Trees have a great significance in Judaism and, long before “ecology” became a popular word, Jews were commanded, even in times of war, when besieging a city, to not destroy its trees. (Deuteronomy 20:19)

Trees were sacred to many people. Pagans believed that gods inhabited them and took their forms. They were druidic, rising out of the earth and tossing their hair. They cooled, sheltered and calmed. It is easy to understand reverence for the splendor and dignity of trees, but only Judaism has a new year for them, which falls on 15th day of the Hebrew month of Shevat (Tu b’Shevat).

In Israel, this date once marked the time from which to count the age of the tree for reasons of tithe or taxes, and also to indicate the maturation of the fruit of the tree. Even today, fruit cannot be eaten until the fourth year, so Tu b’Shevat standardizes the birthday of trees.

The holiday doesn’t commemorate any great historical event, and there are no special prayers in the synagogue. It is a lovely time, ushered in by blossoming white almond trees with their promise of warm summer weather.

Tu b’Shevat is traditionally a time for planting every variety of tree. The Talmud mentions “the joyous planting” on happy occasions. There was a delightful custom of planting a cedar when a boy was born and a cypress sapling at the birth of a girl. When a couple married, the wood of the trees would be used as poles to support the wedding canopy.

In Israel, it is a day for children and teens to go with their teachers into the hills and valleys and plant tens of thousands of saplings. There is also a custom to eat all the fruits of Israel – olives, dates, grapes, figs, citrus, apples, bananas, nuts and pears, which grow in great abundance.

Many scholars stay up late on the eve of Tu b’Shevat, reciting biblical passages dealing with the earth’s fertility. They read from Genesis how trees were created along with all the plants; from Leviticus how the Divine promised abundance as a reward for keeping the commandments; and from Ezekiel 17, the parable of the spreading vine, symbolizing the people of Israel.

Many people hold a special seder to celebrate the holiday, the New Year of the Tree of Life. They drink four cups of wine, beginning with white wine and ending with red, with the second cup a mixture more of white and the third more of red wine. It is rather like the landscape, as it changes from white (pale narcissus and crocus) to red (anemones and tulips) as Tu b’Shevat approaches.

As well as being a birthday, Tu b’Shevat is also a day of judgment for the trees, which ones will thrive and be healthy, which ones will wither and die. Chassidim pray for the etrogim, that they may grow in beauty and perfection for Sukkot.

Planting trees is very significant for Jews, the indestructible people for whom faith in the future is almost an emblem. We plant trees whose fruit we will not eat and in whose shade we will not sit. The one who fears that the world will end tomorrow or next year does not plant trees.

As well, Tu b’Shevat affirms that the soil of Israel is holy. The people and the land have a mystic affinity in Judaism, and the New Year of the Trees reminds us every year of the wonder of God’s creation.

The achievements of Israel

The anthology Miracle Nation: Seventy Stories About the Spirit of Israel; A Tribute to Rebirth in the Land of Our Ancestors by Israela Meyerstein (Mazo Publishers, 2018) highlights the amazing achievements of Israel in the 70 years since its rebirth in 1948. It contains the stories of ordinary people leading lives of courage, altruism and inspiration; stories that embody tikkun olam, repairing the world, which is at the heart of Judaism.

Meyerstein, a family therapist for more than 40 years, dedicated the book to Israel’s 70th birthday and in memory of relatives who perished at Treblinka. Each of the stories, many of which are contributed by writers other than the author, reminds us of how much there is to be proud of, as well as offering hope and optimism for the work still to be done.

Shlomo Alima, in “Destination: Return to Zion,” tells of his Iraqi ancestors, who were from the oldest Jewish Diaspora community in the world. His family left everything behind in 1925 to pursue their destiny in Israel. Their long, dangerous journey was made on donkeys, camels, bicycles and taxis – a two-month trek through Syria and Lebanon. They settled in Bet Yisrael, near Mea Shearim, and, in a two-room house, his grandparents raised 12 children. (Sadly, at only 30 years old, his father was murdered.)

Rabbi Micha Odenheimer contributed “Tevel b’Tzedek: Creating a Just, Compassionate and Beautiful World,” about a caste called the Mahji, who lived on the hills nearby rivers cascading from the majestic snow-covered Himalayas. They lived by fishing, both for feeding themselves and for trading with their neighbours, who grew rice, corn and wheat. Eventually, however, new roads brought people from other castes, who used explosives to kill the fish and bring them to the surface, and the Mahji ended up working in a brick factory, in order to survive. In addition, logging depleted the forests such that, during the monsoon season, the torrential rain couldn’t be absorbed into the earth quickly enough to recharge the springs that were needed in the dry season. Their life became unbearable.

But, a few years ago, something changed. An Israeli organization called Tevel b’Tzedek came to the area and joined up with a Nepali group, helping them grow enough crops for their own needs as well as for sale. Tevel b’Tzedek is Hebrew for “earth in justice.” Founded by Rabbi Micha Odenheimer in 2007 with 15 volunteers, there are now 800 volunteers, working with others to help some 40,000 Nepalese living in slums and villages.

Tevel b’Tzedek is just one of the many such Israeli organizations featured in this book. Another is Eco Peace Middle East, an environmental project that brings together young people from both sides of the Jordan River and the Dead Sea to try and prevent the waters from drying up, and to conserve water.

Pikuach nefesh (saving a life) is illustrated by stories of amazing acts by the Israel Defence Forces and of field hospitals for wounded Syrian civilians. Israeli hospitals offer medical care to Jews, Christians, Muslims, Druze – all nationalities and ethnicities without bias. There are wonderful organizations like Magen David Adom, Natal, Zaka and others that are always ready to save lives.

Another notable institution is Leket Israel, started by Joseph Gitler, a lawyer from New York. He found a way to garner good, surplus food – thrown out by supermarkets, caterers at event halls and farmers who grew too much – and collect it for those who need it. Leket is now an enormous food rescue network, which annually has 50,000 volunteers and feeds hundreds of thousands of Israelis every week.

Another miracle in Miracle Nation is described in “Oasis of Peace: Can a Song Heal?” by master musician Yuval Ron. Neve Shalom (Oasis of Peace) is a village where Jewish, Christian and Muslim families remain faithful to their own religious traditions, while dedicating their lives to advancing peace. It began as a dream of Father Bruno Hussar, who was born in Egypt and brought up in France. Only in adulthood did he discover that his family was Jewish. He started Neve Shalom on a monastery hillside, living alone until five families joined him. Today, the community is thriving – visitors from all over the world, including those who work for nongovernmental organizations and the United Nations, come to study in Neve Shalom. Friends of Oasis of Peace now exists in 11 countries.

On every page of this inspiring book, you will find a reason to be proud of this “miracle nation” – Israel – and its contribution to making the world a better place.

Israel’s assets versus liabilities

Israel’s beauty is a definite asset. (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)

During the month of Elul, as we approach Rosh Hashanah, which this year falls on Sept. 9, Jews traditionally practise a kind of spiritual stocktaking. These are days when we look inward – assessing what happened to last year’s dreams, asking pardon for the wrongs we have committed and hoping, by repentance, charity and prayers, to be written into the Book of Life for the coming year.

I doubt if you would find many people in Israel who would say that 5778 was a particularly good year. The facts speak for themselves – no progress in the peace process, international isolation and antisemitism. These are the liabilities, and they are not figments of the imagination – they are real, and have led to a fall in the general morale.

But what is there to put in the assets column? There must surely be something to balance the account. Otherwise, why are there olim (immigrants) who stay on year after year, new ones motivated to come, and Israelis who go on trying to find solutions for seemingly insoluble problems, both on the personal and the national planes?

There were times during the last year when I was tempted to despair. But, even as I said the words, I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all myself. Because the positive things I have found in Israel I know cannot be duplicated anywhere else in the world.

First, I have found a family – the whole house of Israel. How wonderful to walk the streets and know that everyone is your brother or sister. Of course, just like in a real family, there are times that this same sibling is rude or aggressive and you react with bitterness towards their manners, opinions, behaviour. But, while you feel free to criticize them, let a stranger do it and you jump to their defence.

You argue that they live under continual tension, are wearied from fighting five wars and from the ongoing hostilities; that they have lost many dear ones and must always be prepared to cope with terrorist attacks. And, while you are explaining them and defending them – just like in a real family – you know even more that you love them.

With this realization comes another. You know that, if you are ever sick or in need, you are among people who care about you. There is nowhere else in the world where people take so much responsibility for one another, who care so much, become involved so much.

Nor is there any other country in the world where the youth are so magnificent. At an age when teenagers elsewhere may be sowing their wild oats and are their parents’ despair, our boys and girls are putting on uniforms and quietly devoting the fun years of their lives to serving their country. There is no fanfare or extraordinary praise. They do it as a duty, conscientiously, modestly. They are Israel’s riches that no inflation can ever devalue; they are our hopes and our future.

Israel is a unique ethnic mosaic. It has taken in Jews of every background, language and social level; it has provided a home for the homeless; a refuge for the persecuted. It doesn’t ask an immigrant, “What are you bringing to us – what skills, what capital?” Those who bring little or nothing are no less welcome. Israel, as a whole, really cares.

And it is a beautiful country, no matter where you travel. Haifa, seen at night from Mt. Carmel, is diamonds scattered on black velvet. The Galilee – terraced rows of grey-green olive trees and lush vegetation of date-palms. Cosmopolitan sidewalk cafés in Tel Aviv. Scarlet sunsets over the Dead Sea and deep indigo twilight over Eilat. And Jerusalem – our eternal city – the special, spiritual, abiding jewel in our crown.

Yet, that is not all. There are so many more things you could add. Really, there is no end to them. It is a country of enormous achievement – in agriculture, in science, in high-tech, in the arts. It is a country where every festival – religious or secular – is celebrated, to a greater or lesser degree, by the whole population. With all their troubles, Israelis are a spontaneous people who don’t need expensive entertainment. They can have a wonderful time singing around a campfire, having a backyard barbecue or dancing in the streets.

Thinking it over, you realize that the assets column far outweighs the liabilities column. And then you ponder the fact that, even if the opposite were true, Israel, with and without the blemishes, is yours.

Happy New Year to us all.

Dvora Waysman is the author of four books, one of which, The Pomegranate Pendant, has been made into the movie The Golden Pomegranate. Her latest novel is Searching for Sarah. Australian-born, she has lived in Jerusalem for 47 years.

Reflecting on Jerusalem Day

The Kotel in Jerusalem. (photo by Marek69)

Jerusalem has been reunited now for 50 years. For five decades, we have had the privilege of praying at the Kotel, the Western Wall. On Jerusalem Day, 28 Iyar, which falls this year on May 13, thousands of worshippers will flock to the city, many before sunrise.

Nothing has ever come easily to the Jewish people. For 19 years, from 1948 to 1967, Jerusalem was cut in half and, at the Mandelbaum Gate, outside the Old City, there were signs: “Danger. Frontier ahead. Snipers nearby … stay out of the middle of the street!” Neighbourhoods and streets were split down the middle. Jews were evicted from their homes and synagogues in the Old City, and the Western Wall was out of bounds. Across the dividing line, Jordanian troops stood with rifles at the ready.

Jerusalem’s story covers thousands of years, but this segment began in 1948. Before the ceasefire was signed on Nov. 30 that year, Moshe Dayan, the commander of Israel’s forces in Jerusalem, met with his Jordanian counterpart, Abdullah El-Tel. In a deserted house in Musrara, they marked out their respective positions. These rough, indistinct marks expanded from the heat and blurred over time, yet they were accepted as the borders between Jordan and Israel in Jerusalem. The map was locked up at Government House and referred to in all disputes.

On June 5, 1967, while Israel was still warning King Hussein of Jordan to stay out of the impending war, a foreign radio station announced the conquest of Mount Scopus by Jordanian troops. It was a mistake, but it confirmed Israel’s suspicions of Jordan’s intentions, and that Mount Scopus, with its Hebrew University and Hadassah Hospital, was in danger. The Jordanians believed that Israeli troops would come from east to west, but instead the Jerusalem Brigade attacked from the opposite direction, taking Armon HaNetziv, three Jordanian positions, the Arab village of Sur Baher and Mutzav HaPaamon, before several Arab troops came out of hiding and killed six Israeli soldiers.

Below, on the road to Bethlehem, stands Kibbutz Ramat Rachel. Jordanians and Egyptians fought Israelis on the southernmost part of the dividing line and the kibbutz changed hands three times. However, the Israelis eventually held it, which helped stop the Arab invasion of southern Jerusalem.

Soldiers of the Jordanian legion conquered the British High Commissioner’s residence, but were driven back by the Israeli Defence Forces, who moved towards the City of David. At dawn on Tuesday, 27 Iyar, a unit of paratroopers advanced, taking the police school, the district of Sheikh Jarrah, the American Colony and the area of the Rockefeller Museum. After a bloody battle at Ammunition Hill, the paratroopers reached Mount Scopus.

Jerusalem’s great day was 28 Iyar. With a daring thrust, Israeli soldiers scaled Mount of Olives, advancing beyond the village of Al-Azariya. Armoured vehicles burst through the Lions’ Gate towards the Temple Mount. At 10 a.m. came the announcement: “The Temple Mount is ours. It is in our hands!” Soldiers, even secular ones, ran towards the Western Wall, caressing its stones, their eyes full of tears and with a prayer on their lips, even if they didn’t know the words. A few minutes later, Rabbi Shlomo Goren, then IDF chaplain, blew the shofar at the holy site. David Rubinger, a military photographer, took the now-famous photo that has been reproduced around the world, of a soldier named Yitzhak Yifat (who is now a gynecologist living in Rishon lesion), removing his helmet and looking up at the wall in awe.

One of the first to reach the Kotel was a former Australian, Mordecai (Mark) Rechtschafner, from my hometown of Melbourne. He told me that, although he was overwhelmed by the sense of history at that moment, he was far from euphoric. Heavy losses had been sustained and he had lost many comrades. “I was exhausted, filled with sadness at the unbearable death of so many of my friends,” he said. “The Six Day War ended swiftly, but we paid a heavy price.” Every year, on Jerusalem Day, he comes to the city from Kibbutz Ein Zurim, where he lives, for the memorial service, to pay tribute to the many friends he lost in the battle.

Until the First Intifada and its ongoing aftermath, the hope of peaceful coexistence between Jews and Arabs seemed a possibility and some believe it still is. Thousands of Arabs used to pour into Western Jerusalem each morning to work. On weekends, the narrow lanes of the Old City’s Arab shuk (market) would be packed with Israeli shoppers, but, today, it is mostly tourists who fill the market. The future is a question mark, as ongoing violence brings renewed tears to families throughout the land.

But the city of Jerusalem remains unforgettable and heartbreakingly beautiful. To me, it is a poem. One night, as darkness descended, I was moved to write these lines:

Black velvet spangled with stars
Is night in Jerusalem.
Splashes of silver,
The sob of the wind,
An ancient perfume,
A taste of nectar.
Skyline of turrets and domes
Is night in Jerusalem.
Pine trees are sighing.
Through a tracery of leaves
Golden lights dot
A midnight canvas.
Landscape of enchantment
Is night in Jerusalem.

The bond between Israelis

This photograph by Ziv Koren is from My Jerusalem: The Eternal City, a collection of reflections on the city by notable Israeli and Diaspora (mainly American) Jews edited by Ilan Greenfield and published by Gefen Publishing House last year.

I read a lovely quotation recently: “I met a hundred people going to Delhi. And every one of them was my brother.” I often feel that way in Israel. In the 40 years I have lived here, I have met saints and sinners, business tycoons and homemakers, and many, many others. But, by the very fact of them pulling up their roots, leaving behind their birthplaces and culture, here they become ordinary people leading extraordinary lives. I once had a friend, sadly passed on, who used to say that he stood on the corner and watched all the poems walk by.

Israel makes demands on us. We don’t just drift along acquiring more and more material possessions – a bigger home, a more luxurious car, a wardrobe of designer clothing. No matter how rich or poor we may be, when our children turn 18, they are expected to serve their country, either in the Israel Defence Forces or national service (Sherut Leumi). Almost everyone I know is a mother, father, grandparent, sister, brother, wife or daughter of a soldier, and there is always the fear for their safety, or of terrorist attacks that can occur anywhere, changing lives forever. And the six-day work week doesn’t leave much time for leisure, or keeping up with friends and family scattered around the country. Yet there is a resilience here. On the whole, we are optimists. It is almost a cliché that, if you live in Israel and don’t believe in miracles, then you are not a realist. We live on miracles and expect them – the Entebbe rescue and the Six Day War victory are just two examples.

Stand on the corner of any Jerusalem street and, in the space of 10 minutes, you can hear several languages. There might be a monk in a long habit; a soldier whose face is etched in weariness; a teenager with earrings and tattoos; tourists with cameras slung around their necks; a housewife trundling a shopping cart; a Charedi Jew with peyot; and everywhere people talking on their mobile phones. A gregarious lot contributing to the rich mosaic of our society. Each one unique.

They may be strangers, but Israelis won’t hesitate to speak to you … on a bus, waiting in a queue, sitting at your doctor’s office. They may ask you where you bought your shoes, where you work, how much you earn, and why haven’t you dressed your child warmly enough. One big family. It’s not just idle curiosity – they are really interested.

This is what’s so endearing about living in Israel. We all express our identity differently, in the way we dress and the words we speak, but, in the end, it’s a similar identity. We are bonded by birth, by choice or by belief and it creates a link – invisible perhaps but, when needed, we will help each other. It’s an unspoken commitment. How lucky we are!

Why I collect

I never set out to be a collector. Whenever I read about millionaires with fabulous private collections of art and sculpture, I thought, why not just keep a few pieces you really love and give the rest on loan to a museum or gallery so that others can share their beauty?

Yet, I find now that I do have collections. They’re not worth any money and probably no one else would want them. Most people in my age group have accumulated possessions they can’t bear to part with, despite moving homes and maybe even countries several times in their lives.

Who remembers that song of yesteryear: “Among My Souvenirs”? Part of the lyrics were: “Some letters tied with blue, a photograph or two, I find a rose from you, among my souvenirs.”

What we are collecting are memories. There are moments we want to hold on to forever and, when we handle these mementoes, they bring a smile, a tear, a bittersweet wave of nostalgia.

I have more than a thousand books, and nowhere to put them all. Many are paperbacks, yellowed pages and tattered covers. But, to throw them out would be like disposing of dear friends. Lots of poetry – some by almost-forgotten writers like Alice Duer Miller, Rupert Brooke, A.E. Housman, Dorothy Parker. Novels by Somerset Maugham, Evelyn Waugh, Hemingway, Steinbeck. Volumes of Jewish essays, which provide great divrei Torah. Books on philosophy, psychology, the craft of writing. They all represent my youth, when I discovered the world and the wonders it contained. No, I can’t throw them away!

Then there are the photos. They started out in albums, but there are too many and I’m too lazy. Beloved family no longer with us. Friends from long ago. Weddings. Babies, bright-eyed and dimpled. Rites of passage – first day at kindergarten and school, b’nai mitzvahs, graduations. Grandchildren. Holidays. They are all cherished, and overflow from drawers and cabinets.

Bric-à-brac. One earring (the other lost), given by my first boyfriend. Small children’s drawings. Their clumsy efforts at making you things from wood or papier mâché. A challah cloth with crooked stitches. A letter on a torn page that proclaims in shaky Hebrew letters, “Savta, I love you.” How could you ever toss those?

I also have a collection of shells and rocks. Most were gifts from grandchildren who wanted to give me something in return for the toys I gave them. There is a pinecone. There are stones I gathered at the Dead Sea on my sister’s last visit, when we spent a perfect, quiet day together, exchanging memories of our parents and siblings, our childhood, the dreams we realized and the ones we lost along the way. All precious. All irreplaceable.

“Get rid of the clutter,” we’re told. Not me. I shall go on collecting mementoes and memories until I die. And I hope my children, even then, will save a few of them. Because some things are worth more than money.

Despair tempered by hope

On the Sabbath preceding the fast of Tisha b’Av, the ninth of the Hebrew month of Av, we read in our synagogues from Isaiah, and this reading is one of the three “Haftorahs of Rebuke.” The fast completes the cycle of the Jewish year and commemorates the destruction of the Temple in 586 BCE by the Babylonians and, 656 years later, on the same date, when the

Romans destroyed the Second Temple.

The prophet Isaiah, from whose book we read, was the son of Amos, a native of Jerusalem. He came from a respected family that moved in royal circles and was a prophet in Israel from 740 to 701 BCE. These were stirring years, for the kingdoms of Syria and Israel both fell to the Assyrians in 721 and only by a miracle was Jerusalem delivered from their grasp 20 years later. Isaiah brought the message of the holiness and sovereignty of God, seeking to interpret the crises of history in the light of Divine guidance.

On Tisha b’Av, we read from Lamentations and the writings of another prophet, Hosea. In describing Jerusalem, he wrote: “for their mother hath played the harlot … she that conceived them hath done shamefully….” (Hosea 11:7)

There is an interesting story connected with Hosea. He was married to a woman called Gomer, beautiful but faithless, who eventually ran off with one of her lovers, later becoming a slave and a concubine. Despite her degradation, Hosea continued to love her and bought her back from slavery. He did not take her back as his wife, but as a ward who he hoped would one day repent and be worthy of his protection.

During this period, Hosea had a strange awakening. He felt that this traumatic personal experience was symbolic of God’s love for Israel. The loving husband who had been abandoned by a faithless wife could be compared to God’s beneficence towards Israel, who repaid Him by worshipping the golden calf. God had redeemed the Israelites from slavery in Egypt and made them His special people. Yet, instead of keeping their part of the covenant made at Mount Sinai with God, they adopted the idolatrous practices of the Canaanites, forsaking their God for heathen idols.

However, just as Hosea continued to feel love for Gomer, he realized that God’s love for His people would not change. Just as he did not despair that his wife would one day repent, he believed that God’s everlasting mercies also encompassed His sinning people and that their exile would lead to self-knowledge and a return to God.

When Hosea realized the similarity between his wife’s conduct and that of Israel, he felt that his marriage to Gomer had been preordained and was God’s way of speaking to him.

So, while we mourn the destruction of the Temple and the many tragedies that have befallen our people through history, we can still take comfort in the fact that God’s compassion is ever available to us when we truly repent. In Judaism, despair is always tempered by hope. Because of this, we conclude the Tisha b’Av reading with the words: “Turn us unto Thee O Lord, that we may be turned. Renew our days as of old.”

Jerusalem, the Eternal City

Today I arose early and took a few minutes to look at the pearly dawn through my bedroom window. A bit later, I walked to the nearest grocery store and bought fresh bread for breakfast before I began my work day. All trivial, mundane things? Yes, but there is a difference, for I was doing them in Jerusalem.

No matter what ordinary events shape my day, the fact that they are happening here, in the Eternal City, somehow endows them with an extra dimension.

Jerusalem got its name because it has been the city of the Jewish people since the days of King David and his son Solomon, who built the First Temple here. Generation after generation continues to pray: “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, may my right hand lose its cunning.” Devout Jews the world over turn towards Jerusalem three times a day in prayer, as the focus of their longing.

Five thousand years ago, a group of settlers chose to make their homes on the steep ridge called the Ophel, south of today’s Old City. Two thousand years later, David captured it from the Jebusites and, by bringing the Holy Ark here, he established forever its sanctity for Jews.

Jerusalem’s history spans 4,000 years. In 2000 BCE, Abraham offered his son Isaac for a sacrifice on Mount Moriah – ready to carry out the ultimate renunciation until the angel stayed his hand. A thousand years later, David captured the city and, from 961 BCE to 922 BCE, Solomon constructed the First Temple. In 537 BCE, Jews returned from Babylon, where they had been exiled by Nebuchadnezzar and, in 517 BCE, the Second Temple was completed. After that, Alexander the Great took the city and then Antiochus ruled it, until the Maccabees liberated it. In 63 BCE, Pompey captured Jerusalem and, over a period of 33 years, Herod reconstructed the Second Temple.

Jerusalem’s history continued to be a story of conquest and destruction by a chain of occupiers lusting for this precious jewel: the Romans, the Greeks, the Crusaders, the Mamelukes, the Ottoman Empire, the British Mandate, the Jordanians … a succession of nations who wanted to rule this battle-worn city that possesses no material riches – no gold, no precious metals, no minerals, no oil, nothing to enrich their coffers. So what does it possess?

I don’t know the answer but, in 1907, Hermann Cohen, in his Religiose Postulate, put forward the idea that they had no choice: “All nations, without exception, must go up with the Jews towards Jerusalem.”

Prior to that, in 1882, Peretz Smolenskin wrote, in Nekam Brith, a prophecy about its conquerors: “This shall be our revenge; we shall quicken what they shall kill and raise what they shall fell…. This is the banner of vengeance which we shall set up, and its name is – Jerusalem.”

Jews and non-Jews alike have always felt a magnetic pull towards the Holy City. It is written in Midrash Tehillim 91:7: “Praying in Jerusalem is like praying before the Throne of Glory, for the gate of heaven is there.” Every Jew who prays at the Western Wall feels an unusual closeness to G-d. Judah Stampfer, in his book Jerusalem has Many Faces (1950), expressed it poetically: “I have seen a city chiseled out of moonlight / Its buildings beautiful as silver foothills / While universes shimmered in its corners.”

There are many enchanting cities in the world, and I have visited many – Venice, Avignon, Bruges, Hong Kong, Paris, all have a magic that transforms the senses. Yet there is something extra in Jerusalem that I simply can’t define. It is a beautiful city, but there are many that exceed it. It is dignified, ancient, historic – all adjectives that can be applied to other cities, like London and Rome. Jerusalem, however, is an emotion, a state of mind even more than a place. It arouses dormant passions. It nurtures the soul. It is spiritual and inspiring.

To call Jerusalem home for the past 46 years is, for me, an enormous privilege. I am always aware of the history under my feet. I never forget the nameless heroes who fought to retain it for the Jewish people. And so, let us pay homage to the Maccabees, to those who withstood the Crusaders and Saladin and the Ottomans. And, in our own time, our Jewish soldiers who reunited Jerusalem in the Six Day War in 1967, 50 years ago. So many heroes, who made the ultimate sacrifice so that those of us in Jerusalem today could live out our lives in the Eternal City.

Dvora Waysman is the Australian-born author of 14 books. She came with her family to live in Jerusalem in 1971. She can be contacted at dwaysman@gmail.com or through her blog dvorawaysman.com.