122 — O Jerusalem (Aug 30-Oct 7, 2023)

We had rented a 3rd-floor BnB for our first month in the Baka neighborhood of Jerusalem in Emek Refaim (Valley of Rephaim) about 1.5 miles south of the the Old City.  There were shops  and restaurants within two blocks with the large and modern Hadar Mall shopping center just a few blocks away in the Talpiot shopping neighborhood.  There was a nice grassy park for Scout to sniff around just across the street. It couldn’t be more convenient!  

We spent the entire month of September connecting with Israeli governmental offices to get our Israeli citizenship and residency documentation, Olim (immigrant) benefits, enroll in the healthcare system, open a bank account, and looking for an apartment to rent.  It was crazy busy, but exciting.  We had to hustle to get all of this done before the 2023 Jewish High Holiday season (Sept 15-Oct 7):  Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Simchat Torah.  

On our fourth day in Israel we found a nearby apartment that was just perfect for us.  It was in a new high-rise community on a hillside overlooking the entire valley in which Jerusalem nestled.  From our view on the 21st floor we would experience Jerusalem as the sun arose and set each day. Just across the street there was a beautiful park with a large playground, picnic tables , fenced dog park, and a primary school which also served as a synagogue for morning prayers and Shabbat services.  

Our attention now turned to purchasing and arranging the  delivery of furniture and appliances—that meant it was time to go shopping!  After all, the one thing we Jews enjoy other  than worshipping HaShem is . . . shopping!

Taking a break while shopping 

for appliances in Jerusalem

We began moving in to our new apartment on Sunday, Oct 1st.  In Israel, Sunday is the first day of the work week.  By Friday afternoon on Oct 6th all of our furniture and appliances had been installed, we were unpacked and settled, and ready to enjoy our first Shabbat that evening and the Simchat Torah holiday in our  Jerusalem home.  

On Shabbat morning (Saturday, Oct 7, 2023) we watched the quiet valley that was home to a million people as the sun awakened this day of rest.  We were in our home in the place that has been the home of the Jewish people for 3000 years.  

    

As we gazed out at Jerusalem (city of peace) early that Shabbat morning and as Scout lounged on our terrace, the peace was shattered with the wail of sirens and a notification on our phones that we should take shelter from imminent rocket attack.  One of our two bedrooms was a mamad ממייד) “protected space”(—our 2nd bedroom fortified against projectiles and chemical weapons.  Pegi, Scout and I moved from the living room to the mamad until the all clear signal was given 10 minutes later.  

We checked our phones for news and discovered that at 6:30 that morning, Hamas terrorists had attacked the Israeli communities bordering Gaza.  There were a few posts on X and WhatsApp with videos of Hamas terrorists in white pickup trucks infiltrating and attacking civilian communities.  Since it was the Shabbat day of rest, most Israelis had silenced the distractions of weekday “busyness” including social media, TV, radio and especially that king of distraction—the smartphone.  Our technological connections to the busy world were silenced too as we enjoyed our Shabbat rest. 

But after we heard sirens and heard the booms of rocket interceptions overhead, we decided that it was time to turn on our brand new TV to see if we could find some news reporting.  Of course, the news was on, but the discussions were in excited Hebrew which was too rapid-fire for us to decipher.  We could only see the pictures and hear the urgency in the voices.  Before we could get an idea of the scope of the emergency, the sirens sounded again and we headed back to our mamad.  I think we ended up in our shelter four times that morning, but by noon we had found English-language news programming.  

As each hour passed, the news got worse.  6,000 Gazans spearheaded by 3,800 elite Hamas terrorists had broken through the security fence and attacked 119 locations all along the northern part of the Gaza/Israel border—just 50 miles from us in Jerusalem.  Over 1200 men, women and children were killed—many massacred in their homes that morning, including 364 cut down at the Nova music festival.  Another 254 men, women and children had been kidnapped and taken back to Gaza as hostages.  Over 4,000 rockets were launched from Gaza into Israel.  We heard the booms as the Iron Dome anti-missile system destroyed them over our heads.  The next day (Sunday, Oct 8), Hezbollah began firing rockets and drones at us from Lebanon in the north with the Houthis in Yemen launching their own missiles at us from 1300 miles to the south on Oct 19th.  You probably know the story.

We weren’t frightened and it wasn’t a surprise that Hamas, Hezbollah and other Iranian proxies wanted to kill us all.  They had been promising this for a generation.  I really can’t describe what we felt.  We were still happy and fulfilled that we were home, but we were stunned. 

 

121 — Planting My Flag (Aug 30, 2023)

    In 1953 my parents (not divorced until two years later), enrolled me in kindergarten based in a nearby synagogue.  One of our activities was to draw pictures of national flags.  Of course, we all came home with our rendering of the Stars and Stripes!  Of all national flags, its field of 5-pointed stars and 13 stripes led to wildly impressionistic renderings.  Mine was not worth writing home about—or taking home to display on the refrigerator door!  So, I looked for another flag to draw.  The modern nation of Israel had been established in 1948, the year before I had been born.  Its white flag had a single blue 6-pointed star that was easy to draw and adding two horizontal stripes was something that I could draw—and it looked pretty good!  That one I took home and it was displayed on the refrigerator.

It was so well received in my home that I decided to create a full-scale replica and fly it from the flagpole (a tree branch) of my fortress (a hole in the dirt) that I dug in the field behind our house. With the assistance of Anna May (our housekeeper who loved God and Israel [see chap. 39, 113], it was proudly waving when my mom returned from a shopping trip.  

I was puzzled that my mom didn’t seem thrilled.  She explained, “Sure we are Jewish, but we don’t like to draw the attention of our neighbors to that.  This could offend them and they might treat us badly.  Why don’t we get you an American flag to fly from the flagpole?  Everyone appreciates that!”  So, it was okay to be Jewish, but just don’t let it show??? I took the Israeli flag down and before I could replace it with an American flag, it rained and my fortress became a pool of mud.  I set aside my fort-building plans and my excitement about being a Jew with our own special country . . . for a while. I still wondered—why would others respond negatively to being Jewish?  What was that all about?  And why was my mother so sensitive to this? What about being Jewish made her anxious?  What about that Israeli flag stirred her so much?  And what was the tingling I felt as a 5 year old?

During my elementary school years, my being Jewish didn’t seem to be a concern for my teachers or friends.  There was the pretty girl who lived up the street, but my mom cautioned me that they were very serious Christians who believed that we Jews had assassinated their God! In addition, her dad was a member of the antisemitic John Birch Society. It would be best if I didn’t hang out with her and definitely never go inside their house!  I was now aware of the Holocaust, so no further explanation needed!

When I got to high school I began to notice occasional strange attitudes from some of my schoolmates. For example, when I joined the freshman basketball team, my teammate Ricky playfully (?) nicknamed me “DJ” for “dirty Jew”—apparently picking that up from his parents.  It didn’t really bother me—it was cool to have a nickname!  Ricky and I were friends and “Ricky” was his nickname!  Are you out there Roscoe?    

That was the extent of reaction to my Jewish identity until my early twenties.  I was just an average American who happened to be Jewish—no one seemed to be concerned one way or the other.  Fast-forward to 1975 as the Vietnam War that had challenged my patriotism in the late 60s had ended.  My renewed enthusiasm for American liberty blossomed with patriotic fervor.  I was conscious of a personal imperative to take an active role in defending that liberty.  I had tried to reenlist in the Army after my crash and burn in Navy basic training in 1969. [See chap. 13-16, 22] The 1976 stunningly successful Entebbe raid to free Jewish airline hostages contrasted strongly with the previous year’s humiliating abandonment of Saigon. Frustrated by rejection of my attempts to reenlist in the US military, I had heard somewhere that, as a Jew, I could obtain dual citizenship and serve in the Israeli Defense Forces. I flirted with that idea, but it was just too much of a stretch and when the opportunity came up to join the fight against Communist-terrorism in Rhodesia, I put thoughts of Israel on-hold.   

In Rhodesia I found myself posing for a photo-op with other foreign soldiers standing in front of their respective national flags of the USA, UK, Australia, Canada, France, Belgium, and South Africa. This was a quasi-political/marketing promotion for Robin Moore’s book on the Rhodesian bush war, The Crippled Eagles focused on the Americans serving in the Rhodesian Army.  I was asked to stand in front of the Israeli flag even though I had never been to Israel!  But, in Robin’s thinking, I was connected to Israel.  [See “The Interview” chap. 33 - 34]  Again, when I became the base chaplain in Bulawayo and met the local rabbi [See chap. 56], I heard a faint whisper that reminded me of something that was stirring in my heart once again.  That night I heard a direct invitation to “come to Israel” from an Israeli rabbi.  

As Pegi and I returned to Houston and we reintegrated into American life, I felt I needed to learn to read the Bible in the original Hebrew and enrolled in biblical Hebrew correspondence courses. My Hebrew studies progressed quickly and I was soon reading the first few chapters of Genesis on my own!  

The more I engaged directly with the text of the Hebrew Bible, the more my heart was stirred.  Up until this time, I had engaged with its message through others:  parents, teachers, theologians and philosophers.  I had listened carefully to what they said was the godly direction/meaning/purpose of life, but there was something stirring in me that was somehow different and uniquely Jewish—and connected to the land of Israel.  [See 60 -- ♪♪ On Wisconsin, on Wisconsin ♪♪ Again! (1979)]

The voice that drew my attention to Israel stirred again with our trip in 1986. [See chap. 101]By 1999 as I finished my dissertation on the diversion of Christianity from the root of Judaism, we seriously considered moving to Israel.  When Abi started high school we again considered moving from Chicago to Israel.  But what would we do there for a living?  What could we contribute?  What practical role could we fill?  

In 2010, I was teaching college students about religious experiences.  The more I taught, the more that Jewish draw to Israel intensified.  And now in the fall of 2022, with Pegi’s retirement  and Abi’s move to Georgia, I was hearing that urging insistently.  Our response was to initiate the process of making Aliyah [to go up/ascend] to Israel. We would go as retirees to Israel. 

In January of 2023 we began the Aliyah process.  It was an exciting but grueling process that I won’t detail here.  But by the end of August, 2023 we whittled our possessions down to six suitcases and a crate for our Bernedoodle Mini, Scout.  Although we were now senior citizens we were still filled up with life and ready to go on one final adventure. [I am reminded of Caleb full of vigor and spirit at age 85.  Josh 14:6-14]  

Scout, Pegi and I climbed into our rented SUV and drove to Newark to board an El Al flight to Ben Gurion airport outside Tel Aviv.  We were officially Israeli citizens as we landed!  After gathering our luggage and rescuing a relieved Scout from his crate, the three of us once again climbed into an SUV for the hour taxi ride to our new home—Jerusalem. 

It is impossible for me to explain how this felt.  I just don’t have the words, but a wordless voice vibrated through our very beings.  We made it!  It is wonderful!  This was it—we were here!  This was the dream of seven decades.  This was the fulfillment of what I had been hearing.  This was “The Place”—the Place where God’s voice resonated even from the broken stones of 3000 years.  We raised our flag in our eternal Home!