Dei'ah veDibur - Information & Insight
  

A Window into the Chareidi World

22 Adar II 5763 - March 26, 2003 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
NEWS

OPINION
& COMMENT

OBSERVATIONS

HOME
& FAMILY

IN-DEPTH
FEATURES

VAAD HORABBONIM HAOLAMI LEINYONEI GIYUR

TOPICS IN THE NEWS

HOMEPAGE

 

Produced and housed by
Shema Yisrael Torah Network
Shema Yisrael Torah Network

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Home and Family


Lonely Bird on a Rooftop
by Bayla Gimmel

On a lovely spring-like day I went to mail a letter. As I approached the local post office, I noticed that, as usual, there were several recent immigrants from the former Soviet Union sitting on the benches opposite the entrance.

It was about eleven o'clock in the morning, a very busy time at the post office, and the line of would-be customers had filled the tiny building and then spilled out onto the sidewalk, near the benches. I took my place on the line and, for want of anything else to do as I waited to slowly inch forward, I glanced over at the bench-sitters closest to me.

One bench was occupied by a pair of straight-faced senior citizen card players, laconically taking cards form the deck in front of them and discarding others from their hands. Sharing the bench were their same-age cronies who were kibbitzing or cheering on the players.

Seated at one end of another bench were two gentlemen involved in an animated conversation. At the other end, in what appeared to be a self-imposed isolation, was a man of about 60. His appearance was much the same as the other Russians, except for two things: on the lapel of his jacket was a rather large, quite elaborate medal, and on his face was a look of despair.

What flashed through my mind as I looked at this extremely forlorn individual was the verse in Tehillim in which Dovid Hamelech describes the Jew in exile as a "lonely bird on a rooftop."

Some of my fellow Americans have experienced minor adjustment problems upon making aliya. There is the matter of spending months in Ulpan and then trying to make oneself understood in newly acquired Hebrew -- often with hilarious mistakes. Then there are cultural differences. And of course, every family has a favorite story about how they battled windmills at some strata of the bureuacracy, be it with a government agency, the city or even a bank.

Someone once pointed out to me that in Hebrew, when one wants to say he is taking care of some matter, he says, "Ani metapel b..." The letter beis always follows that verb as a prefix to the next word. The most common meaning of this prefix letter is `in.' As my friend explained, here in Israel, when you want to take care of anything, you have to get right `in' there in order to do so. You are going to really get involved; hence the beis is well deserved.

One of my neighbors used to come home after a morning of trying to deal with a battery of clerks and say, "I am a college graduate. Really. I went to a good college." But within a few minutes, he could shake off his bewilderment over this, the most recent evidence of his inability to convey to the people in charge the most elementary of arguments in Hebrew. Similarly, he would brush aside his frustration at being unable to accomplish such seemingly straightforward tasks as negotiating terms for his annual municipal property tax payments. He would shrug his shoulders, laugh, and go back to being his own jovial self.

The forlorn Russian on the bench near the post office is most probably also a relatively recent immigrant. He is also learning Hebrew and dealing with the bureaucracy. But he isn't so resilient. He isn't landing on his feet. His equivalent of my neighbor's "I am a college graduate" is the medal he wears on his chest. It says, "Look! In the old country I was someone. I amounted to something. I exerted power. See! I have this medal to prove it."

What is the difference between the American immigrant and the Russian? the American is an observant Jew. He has a feeling of self worth because he knows he is a beloved child of the Master of the Universe.

The Russian was born in a Communist state that outlawed religion and made Jewish education a criminal offense. His grandfather might have been a proud Jew who davened with tefillin and observed Shabbos and Kashrus. However, seventy years of Communism created three generations of Soviet Jews who were very far removed from their heritage.

Many years ago, a friend of mine attended a workship for people who had expressed an interest in going behind the Iron Curtain to do outreach. They were told that in order to develop a bond with the people they were going to meet, to ask each person for his birthday and to acknowledge their birthday when it arrived. It seems that in a state that outlawed Shabbos, Pesach, Shavuos, Sukkos, Chanuka and Purim, the only regularly occurring event that one could look forward to was a birthday!

Yes, there are successful Kiruv programs and yes, they are making inroads. However, the ignorance of Yiddishkeit that still exists among many of our Eastern European brethren is extremely sad. No wonder the man on the bench was so forlorn.

Today, Jews may live in Monsey, Moscow or Meah Shearim. But until Moshiach comes, we are all still in exile, and therefore, we are all lonely birds sitting on a rooftop.

Nevertheless, we observant Jews have a distinct advantage. We know Whose rooftop is providing our perch.

 

All material on this site is copyrighted and its use is restricted.
Click here for conditions of use.