A Son of Zion

He was born in a small town in Belarus in the latter part of the 19^th century. His father, Yitzchok, was a distinguished rabbi. His mother, Tscherna, was a hard-working woman who raised him and his eleven sisters and brothers in the finest way .

As the years went by, one by one, several of his siblings left the nest to roam in greener pastures, overseas. Unlike them, he elected to stay and get certified as a Jewish ritual slaughterer.

These were not easy times for Jews in the Russian Empire. Many were exposed to the Haskalah ( Jewish Enlightenment Movement) which promoted the use of Hebrew, in Literature, instead of Yiddish, exposed many to the noble ideas of the French Revolution which ignited their political and social involvement and pushed a great number of them  to follow the Marxist doctrine and even attempt to set up a Marxist party in Minsk in 1898. He was one of them.

As someone who is opposed to any form of such doctrines, I try to rationalize this young man’s political and social choices. These were times when the Marxist ideology seemed like the ultimate panacea for injustice, inequality, and illiteracy. No one, including our young hero, had expected that it would fail and fade into the realm of utopia and in such a short period.

His strong desire to make the world a better place also drove this inquisitive young man to travel to Warsaw in order to meet and befriend Dr. Zamenhof, the Jewish linguist who invented Esperanto. The idea of a world without wars, without religious or linguistic barriers which could be materialized by the use of an international, easy to learn language which would be accessible to all, pushed him to master it almost to perfection. He became one of its most avid advocates and supporters.

In the early part of the twentieth century, this ambitious young man decided to join his sister, Hilda, who had moved to London several years earlier and try his luck there. He started his way as an encyclopedia salesman, albeit not with much success. There were days, I was told, when he suffered hunger and cold. During those times, he would deliberately break a window merely to be arrested, spend the night in a warmer jail cell where he would also get to eat a free hot meal.

Sales, obviously, were not his strong suit. He left London and moved to Oxford. There, our brilliant hero earned a PhD in English Literature.

At the onset of world war I, he was deployed by the British army. During the war, he travelled with the navy all the way to southeast Asia. He did not like what he witnessed there. In his outspoken manner, he criticized the colonial endeavour and protested the way the British treated the locals.

For me, he was an early version of George Orwell.

His words, protests and harsh condemnation of British imperialism did not go unnoticed. He was dismissed from the army and forced out of the kingdom.

Left with no choices, our young man moved back to Russia where the early buds of the Bolshevik revolution were beginning to sprout. Being a firm believer in the Marxist ideology, he joined the effort.

A short while after the onset of the Revolution, disorder settled in. Our intelligent perceptive hero realized that it was a dream which would never come to fruition. He was a living witness to its collapse and the unavoidable conclusion that as attractive as the solution  that it offered to end world maladies, it was doomed to failure.

Shattered by what he observed, he decided to move to Poland.

One day, during a train ride to Vilna, he noticed Sarah, that was her name as he learned later, sitting  across the aisle from him and instantly fell in love with her. Her green, lovely eyes and her red wavy hair mesmerized him. Sarah was on her way to get betrothed to a young man that she had never met. When their glimpses met, they both knew that she would never reach her destination.

Sarah was the daughter of a very wealthy wholesale merchant. Our young man joined him, soon after he married Sarah, learned the art of trade, and eventually ran the whole business together with his fiery wife Sarah.

Yesterday’s Marxist became a capitalist and he loved it. He raised two brilliant talented children. They had everything money could buy, maids, nannies, trips and a summer home.  They even had a radio where they would listen to the finest operas while our man would describe to his children in, as vivid a manner as possible, the various scenes as he experienced them at Covent Garden or other concert halls. Poland, Polania (in Hebrew translates as “here G-d slept”) for him, was just that, the land of milk and honey.

Unfortunately, history had other plans in store for our protagonist. Twenty years later, the world was thrown into chaos when World War II started.

The infamous Riventrop-Molotov agreement of September 1, 1939, put him and his family at harm’s way. Luckily for some, not for our man and his family, though, they were situated in that part of Poland which fell into the hands of the Russians. As a business owner, a rich bourgeois, our man suddenly became the enemy of the state. “Criminals,” like him deserved only one fate. They should be sent to the Gulag where they would be placed in forced labour camps. On September 3^rd, the “culprit” was already on a howling train which made its way eastward to the unknown. He never came back.

This great man was my maternal grandfather, Ben – Zion (son of Zion, in Hebrew). I, Bat-Zion, am named after him and I pledge here and now that I will never desert his legacy and will continue to share his story with the world.

Shanah Tova, Am Yisrael <3

Against all Odds

As a child, Alina was always skinny, sickly and constantly bullied by her friends. They mocked her for her small size and pale complexion.

“One day,” she used to retort back at them, “I will be on top of the world. Where will you be?”

The dream to shake off the image of her dreary childhood, in the city of Khabarovsk, her birthplace, located in the far eastern part of Russia, took hold of her heart and shaped Alina’s essence. Though she ended up living a very comfortable life, earned a business management degree from one of the top and most prestigious universities and had all her needs taken care of, something was missing in her life. Life in that remote part of the world was empty and seemed to hold no future. The dream, however, refused to extinguish itself. Parts of her spirit and soul were begging for a change.

It was her Jewish ancestry, of all factors, which helped revive the dream, bring about the change and help fulfill her wish.

“Why don’t you travel to Yisrael?” her mother asked her one bright day trying to cheer her up. “Since my father is Jewish,” she suggested to Alina, “ under the Law of Return, you can move there without any problem. Give it a try. You can always come back home.”

Despite warnings against the difficulties that Yisrael poses to new immigrants and in spite of the doubts expressed by those that were close to her about her ability to adjust to life here, Alina took her mother's advice. In 1999, she arrived in Yisrael. She was immediately placed in an absorption center in Tiberias where, a year later, she was joined by her mother.

From Tiberias, they both moved to Eilat.

In 2004, Alina moved to Herzliya where she commenced her studies towards earning a Personal Training Certificate at the American-Israel Fitness college. Life, it seemed, was finally beginning to smile at her. She was on her way to realize her childhood dream.

In October of that year, Alina was preparing for her final exams in the course. She needed a break and, along with her mom, went on holiday at the Hilton Hotel in the resort town of Taba in the Sinai Peninsula. She was planning on doing her studies in the tranquility of the relaxing desert atmosphere. That vacation changed her life and shaped its destined path in every respect.

Many Yisraelis may recall October 7^th of 2004 as the day in which two devastating terror attacks took place in two resorts frequented by Yisraeli travelers. The Hilton Taba was one of them.

Alina was sitting just outside the hotel lobby reading her course notes when a powerful blast ripped through the hotel. It was caused by two separate car bombs each carrying 200kg of explosives detonated in the lobby. He mother was upstairs in the room.

The scars caused by the many pieces of flying glass that hit Alina are etched on her body. They are an eternal reminder of that devastating day, a day that marked a turning point in her life.

With each passing moment of her long and painful recovery, following the terror attack, Alina felt weakness leaving her body. She was getting stronger not only physically but also emotionally. The “skinny and sickly” young girl from Khabarovsk was fading away into parts of a very remote past. Determination to defy all odds filled every cell in Alina’s body. If she can challenge death, she decided, she can overcome any of life’s tests.

Her attempt to study for the final exam of her course were one of those tests. The blood-soaked notebooks and her scarred body refused to let the waves of grief that threatened her troubled soul to subside. At the same time, Alina was determined not to let victimhood dictate her life. She would study and pass her exams! Failure was one term that evaporated from her vocabulary. Her efforts paid off. She passed her exams with flying colours and earned her certificate.

Something else happened to Alina on the day she survived the terror attack. She realized WHY she survived. “Mom,” she called her mother one day, “I am going to convert to Judaism. My maternal grandfather was Jewish. His People became a nation on Mount Sinai. I am coming back Home.”

Alina embarked on the journey of Halachic conversion to Judaism. Several months later, her mother joined her.  The sliver of hope on the cloudy skies of Alina’s life was getting wider.

In 2007, Alina gave birth to a beautiful boy. “I named him Roniel,” she told me as she turned around, exposed part of her upper back and pointed at one of her scars. It was in the clear and defined shape of the Hebrew letter Reish. “Roniel is my precious gift. He is part of my reward and the soothing balm to my bruised soul.”

Alina’s regained inner strength has pushed her to take her dream even further. This year, she has participated in three body building competitions. The first, Nabba - Israel where she earned first place in the 40+ category. The second WBF – Israel where she earned second place in the bikini 35+ category. She also earned second place in the NAC competition of bikini 40+.

 

“Though my resolve to turn my life into a success came from within me,” she told me when we met for lunch last week, “I am very grateful to my partner, Oded Saba, for his ongoing support and encouragement through this journey.”

The balance of beauty, wisdom and determination that Alina has been blessed with are the traits that have brought her thus far and have made her a role model to many.
  

We wish her the best of luck and every blessing! 🇮🇱 🏆 🇮🇱

Have Jews learned anything from the story of Purim?

Years ago, when I lived in the US, I purchased an ancient Megillat Esther, the scroll of the Book of Esther. It was a fragile piece written by an expert scribe on leather that bore the marks of time. I had no doubt that this piece of Judaica crossed my life’s path for a reason. I decided to have it framed and displayed on my wall for all who come to my home to see.

When I went to the frame shop, the framer asked me, which part of the Megillah I would like to have shown since parts of the scroll had to remain rolled. It was then that I realized why I was destined to own this treasured piece of rare Judaica. The teacher in me realized that it cradled a very important message for all Jews. That made the choice easy.

The part of the scroll that I selected to remain revealed was where Haman drew a lot (Purim) to determine the day in which the Jews of ancient Persia would be killed. I knew my choice was right when the framer asked me, “Out of curiosity, why did you choose that section of the scroll?”
“You see,” I explained to her, “there is a lesson, one of the few lessons of Purim that we Jews should have learned. That lesson is hidden in plain view in the part of the Megillah that I depicted.”

I briefly shared with her the background to the story of Purim and asked her, “If anyone told you that they were going to kill you and specifically listed the date for it, what would you do?”
“I would run for my life,” she answered immediately, wondering where my question was leading to.
“Indeed,” I rushed to answer, “especially when the Jews of ancient Persia had  a haven to escape to.” She seemed perplexed. “Escape to where?” she asked. A brief lesson in history was in place. In as succinct a manner as possible, I recapped the chain of events that preceded the story of Purim. I mentioned Cyrus the Great who granted the Jews the right to return to Eretz Yisrael from their exile in Babylon along with a commission to rebuild the Temple.

“Unfortunately,” I concluded, “that is precisely what the Jews of Persia did not do. They preferred to remain there and wait for a miracle.” Luckily for them, the turn of events was miraculous at that point in Jewish history. “But, as our Jewish history has proved,” I sighed, “miracles have not always been in abundance.”

There were other occasions in Jewish history where the writing was on the wall and in big letters yet Jews refused to apply past lessons. “Remember the Spanish Inquisition?” I continued my swift walk through Jewish history.

By a decree of the Papal court which was implemented by Ferdinand and Isabella of Castile beginning in 1478,” I continued, “any Jew who refused to convert and did not leave Spain was executed by the Crown with Papal approval. Only fourteen years later, when expelled, all practicing Jews left Spain. As promised, those who did not were executed.

A similar decree was issued by the Czar of Russia who in the 1800’s dealt with the “Jewish problem” in “three ways, conversion, emigration and destruction. Through a series of harsh decrees, Jews would convert to Russian Orthodoxy, emigrate out of Russia or face destruction.”
Its message remains the same. Fortunately, Russia of that time was very corrupt and in many ways, Jews could finesse their ways out of these edicts either by paying bribes or changing their last name. “Had the Czar’s decrees been enforced with a consistent hand for a long period, they would have almost undoubtedly accomplished their purpose.”

Apparently, these decrees were not enough to warn Jews about the upcoming storms that would devastate their communities in Russia. The period between 1903 and 1907, proved to be of great internal unrest in Russia. It also proved disastrous for the Jewish community. It suffered through 284 pogroms with over 50,000 deaths. It was only then that Jewish mass immigration started.  Between 1881 and 1914 “some 50,000 or more Jews left every year to an estimated total of 2.5 million Jews.” A lesson finally learned albeit a little too late. (http://www.aish.com/jl/h/cc/48956806.html).

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My own recent family history is yet another proof that the lesson of Purim had not been mastered by the Jews. My maternal grandfather, Ben-Zion, a wealthy and highly educated practicing Jew failed it. Being the only family in their town to have owned a radio, my maternal family should have been the first one to have learned the lesson of Purim. Hitler’s voice carrying his passionate speeches was heard loud and clear by its members every night. His constant threats to clean Europe of its Jews, unfortunately, went unheeded. “Poland is the Land of Milk and Honey,” my grandfather used to say as he brushed off those vile speeches. “It will never happen here.”

Obviously, he was wrong.

I think of him each time I pass by my framed Megillah. I think of all the Jews throughout our sanguine history who failed to learn its lesson. I hope I have.

Wishing you all a joyous and meaningful Purim.

Russia and Yisrael

Last night I attended a concert of the Red Army Choir. It brought fond memories of an early childhood in Yisrael, memories of a home where the Russian culture was an integral part.

My parents who moved to Yisrael in 1949 were born in Belarus and Lithuania. Russian was one of the languages spoken at my home. We listened to Russian songs and we sang them. I will never forget how at the age of seven, my mother, who was a brilliant singer, taught me “Under Moscow’s Nights” (which I can sing in Russian until this day). I used to sing it on family celebrations such as weddings and Bar-Mitsvahs when I had to reach up to the microphone which was always much taller than me. We also sang Russian songs, in their Hebrew translation, during my youth movement days. Those were happy songs. Those were happy times for me.

Unfortunately, however, Russia does not evoke only doting memories in me.

It was the Russian Gulag where my late grandfather, Ben-Tsion, (after whom I am named) was deported to and where he eventually perished for no crime other than being a wealthy Zionist Jew. His legacy drove me to visit Siberia in my desire to trace his last footsteps. That was a hard experience. There was no comparison between the conditions under which I visited the place and the ones he experienced. I learned about those settings through avidly reading books written by Solzhenitsyn and others, hoping to learn as much as I could about the last phases of his life. I could not even begin to fathom what he had to face in that horrible place.

It was not, though, the only visit I made to Russia. Something drew me to that place, some unexplained call from the unknown and painful parts of my Jewish being - a call to go visit that part of the world. As hard as it might be to admit, I loved every minute I spent there.

I know, some would be quick to point out all the ugly aspects of Russia, its regime, its bloody history of anti-semitism and violation of basic human rights. Despite these, I could not help but be fascinated by its wealth of culture and great contributions, Jewish and other, to world civilization.

Listening to the Red Army Choir with its perfect performance, vocal and visual, triggered a resurgence of my admiration for that culture. I was so proud when I heard the choir chant Hebrew and Yiddish songs, songs of my happy childhood in Eretz Yisrael, songs of a culture that shaped me into who I am. I was dancing in my seat to the sounds of a wonderful amalgamation of my past, present and future.

As the lump was growing in my throat and my eyes were welling up, I could not help but express a silent wish that the coming days will see a growing cultural exchange between our two countries. I was praying for the building of bridges that would melt the political barriers and divisions and help improve the lots of both the Russian and Jewish People.

I hope you will all join me in this vision and in unison say “Amen!”