Part III
In our home, the mother tongue is English, because the
mother, me, uses it exclusively. But almost all the kids
choose to answer me in Hebrew, besides one older son who
speaks to me from the yeshiva in English. I can hear the boys
in the background imitating the English rolling off his
tongue. For me, the most important thing is the good
communication between me and the children; therefore, I'm
happy that I can speak to them well in their language,
because I think that this is one of the important basics of
education. This is why I never made a big deal about the
language and I let each child choose the language in which he
expresses himself best.
Now I am especially happy that I didn't make speaking English
an issue. My oldest daughter married a boy from Bnei Brak who
has no connection to English. When they visit us, it isn't
difficult for Hebrew to dominate the Shabbos table. When my
daughter was involved in shidduchim, people said,
"You're probably looking for a boy from an American family
for her." I said that while it might be more comfortable for
me, my daughter grew up and belongs to this country. I would
choose whatever was best for her. And, in fact, Hashem deemed
me fit to merit a son-in-law who is a Ben Torah and a pure
Bnei Braker.
What, in your opinion, are the differences in mentality
between the chareidi community here and that in
America?
Shevi claims that it is almost impossible to compare. We're
talking here about two groups, each one including tens of sub-
groups. How can one generalize, in order to reach common or
uncommon points and draw conclusions? It is impossible to
focus on key issues. Shevi has decided that it is easier to
focus on the American mentality in contrast to the general
Israeli one. She says:
The first thing that stood out for me when I arrived in
Israel was the wild and dangerous driving. The awareness of
road safety is very weak in comparison to America. If an
American mother won't allow her son to ride a bicycle without
a helmet, perhaps, she wonders, it isn't only a question of
awareness but of price-to-pay, because every American knows
that any cop at any corner who catches a bicycle rider
without a helmet, even if he's only eight, will slap a fine
of $50 or $75, depending on the area, on his parents.
Yes, there is a principle issue which differentiates, and it
has bothered her from the beginning -- the separation between
groups and nationalities. I haven't been able to understand
at all the distance and alienation, she says. For example,
when I was growing up in Pittsburgh, I went to a religious
school, but they accepted children whose parents desecrated
Shabbos. On removing the "junkbox" from the house, there was
nothing to talk about. My friends' fathers wore knitted
kipot, and my father, of course, wore a big black one
and a hat. We didn't visit each other, but neither did we
keep our distance because of a group, community or country-of-
origin that others belonged to.
It disturbed me greatly when I learned here as a teenager,
that in Israel, everyone is catalogued, and there is no
understanding between groups. Today, I understand it well.
Today, I also wouldn't want my children to learn with secular
children or non-chareidim. But in America -- at least
in those times - schools accepted any Jewish child, because
if they didn't, who knows what would happen to him or his
children? I assume that today, however, in chareidi
circles in big cities, the situation has changed and there is
separation and safeguarding from those who are distant from
one's viewpoint and practice. The religious society is more
insular now and protective, I am sure.
Here in Israel, the chareidi numbers have grown and
there is a selection of education institutions that are
filled to capacity with quality and quantity students.
Because of this, when there is a problem or a complaint, they
don't always get to address it. Sometimes, the answer is: You
can go somewhere else. There isn't enough personal attention
given to everyone. In America, every child who remains a Jew
is considered a precious diamond, and they try to address
every problem in depth, and find a solution. In spite of
this, I appreciate the education here in Israel, and in no
way would I exchange it for the education that I received as
a child, an education that out of necessity determines the
conditions and circumstances.
In conclusion, I will tell a few anecdotes about the
reception the Holy Land gave me over twenty years ago. During
that time, the halachic problem arose regarding the
inspection of joints in animals, and it was very difficult to
get chicken. On my second Shabbos here and the first on our
own, I went shopping for a chicken. I wasn't a patron of any
store, so I got a negative answer in all of the butcher shops
I visited. Finally, when I found a butcher who agreed to sell
me one chicken, I happily put it in the pot, according to my
"vast knowledge" in cooking, and placed it as is on the fire.
In the meantime, I had to run an urgent errand outside and
left the house quickly. Upon my return, already from the
stairwell my nose caught the strong smell of smoke hovering
in the air, and I thought to myself: There must be some
pretty industrious housewives who barbecue their meat on
Friday. As I approached my apartment, I realized that all of
the smoke was coming from my own door. All that remained on
that Friday, instead of a lone chicken which had taken such
effort, time and money to buy -- was a burnt pot, which I
labored to clean, and improvised servings of food. To this
day, whenever I cook chicken, I remember my first chicken,
and I know to appreciate how easy it is to get today and to
cook without mishaps.
One other small story about fish. In America, nobody had a
grinder because the storekeeper would automatically grind the
fish for you unless you wanted it sliced. Here the picture
was different. This first time I came to a fish store, I
looked for the kinds of fish I was used to buying at my
parents, like whitefish. I checked to see if the store had a
hechsher, then asked what fish to buy for gefilte
fish. The vendor suggested carp, but I wasn't familiar with
it. Willing to give it a try, I nodded and asked that he
grind it as well.
"Grind it?" he raised his voice at me. "Why should I grind it
for you? Where are you from, lady?"
Embarrassed, I left the store with the salty taste of
ignorance and loneliness in my mouth. I had gotten another
small Ererzisraeli lesson.
