Our bad neighbour–a Yom Kippur story without a happy ending

There are a few things that make me sad here in Israel, believe it or not.  I’m about to tell you about THE thing that has made me the most miserable over the last 2-3 years.

EDITED TO ADD:  Before you read on, be aware – I was attacked on Facebook about some of the strongly negative thoughts I’ve expressed in this post.  I know it’s unlike me.  I’ll get back to the happy stuff soon, I promise – I am still in love with this country, don’t worry.  And I’ll share a couple of those negative comments below – just for fun.

I believe it’s important to share not just the good stuff.  Everyone who works in aliyah, whether professionally or just for fun, like I do, has a responsibility to present both the good and bad side of what goes on here, and I hope you know I always try to do that.  I love Israel, love aliyah, love our lives here -- but I'm also realistic and try to present the reality on the ground, not the rose-coloured glasses version some people claim is all they get before they arrive.

I’m saying this because I’ve gotten in trouble for posting negative stuff before.  Even though this site is about 90% gung-ho and positive, there are some people who simply won’t let you share your thoughts if they’re at all down.  If you’re one of those people, I suggest you st0p reading right now even though there’s an exciting bit with firetrucks a little further along.

So.  Still with me?

Good.

What's making me miserable these days is our neighbour.
We live in an almost completely religious neighbourhood, and he wears a kippah and you know, I wouldn't have been surprised if you told me before we moved here that there were evil, horrible people who wear kippahs.  I would have said, "Of course there are."  But meeting one in person is just making me sad, sad, sad.  It's bringing down my whole experience.

He plays music.  Super, super loud music.
We're on the ground floor.  In an apartment which is nearly perfect in terms of almost all

On Rosh Hashanah, it’s BYOM (bring your own machzor)

Rosh Hashanah’s coming, so it’s time for a public service announcement. 

Things here in Israel are NOT the same as they are wherever you come from.  That includes shul on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

You probably won’t need tickets, and I don’t know of any shul in Israel that will kick you out if you haven’t signed up ahead of time, but depending on the shul, they might not have a lot of space for you. 

Also, check around your neighbourhood carefully – the davening (prayer services) is very different in different types of shuls.  And I’m not just talking about Ashkenazi and Sefardi (Mizrachi) shuls. 

Yeshivas, for example, may have a longer, more drawn-out davening that’s enjoyable if you like something more spiritual, while “stam” Israeli shuls may have more of a “get in, get out, get home” type of approach.  Most shuls start at 8 am on yom tov, but the ending time really varies, from 10:30ish across the street from me to as late as 1 or 2 in some places.

(So if you’re expected somewhere for either of the lunch meals, it’s extra important to co-ordinate with your hosts so you get there when they want to start.)

If you’re new to your area, ask around to find out which shul is more likely to offer you the best experience.  That depends, of course, on what your criteria are.  Such as whether you like singing or prefer to avoid it at all costs, like at the shul across the street from me, where any necessary musical touches are grudging at best.

Also, if you’re a woman, ask other women – your experience might be very different from what a man would encounter in the same shul.

One thing you won’t get here that you may or may not be used to – calling out page numbers.  Most Orthodox shuls outside of Israel don’t do this either, but our shul in Toronto did because it had a kiruv (outreach) bent. 

Aliyah: the easiest thing in the world

Let me tell you a secret about making aliyah:  Pesach.

When we decided to make aliyah, everyone said “Mazel Tov,” and then they’d start to coo.  Ooh and awe in amazement.  “Good for you,” they’d say.  “You’re so brave.  That’s so difficult.  You must be so strong.”

It was embarrassing, really.  But I believed it, too.  I believed that we were doing something incredibly difficult.  I believed that someday, by the sweat of our brow, we would earn the praise.

And then, along came our first Pesach here in Israel.  Which was easy; almost unbelievably so.

Just about any yom tov here is easier.  I guess that shouldn’t be a surprise in the world’s only Jewish country, but there it is; it was a surprise to me.

Like before our first Rosh Hashanah, when, in the post office, the teller was selling holiday greeting cards.  In the grocery store, honey was on sale (regular and silan, the delicious local date honey).  Along the shoreline, we were far from the only family tipping out our pockets come Tashlich time.

Then came Sukkos, Simchas Torah, Chanukah, Purim… they were all so much easier than the same day anywhere else in the world.

Pesach without the monster

But Pesach.  Pesach.  Sweet, sweet, Pesach in Israel…

We have been here for two Pesachs now and each one has been a delicious, delicious surprise. 

Okay, I don’t mean buying foods free from kitniyos (legume products forbidden to us minority Ashkenazim), which was actually harder this year than last, for some reason.  But just… everything about the yom tov itself.

Here in Israel, there’s no Pesach Monster.

What’s the Pesach Monster?

In Toronto, at least, people treat Pesach like it’s a monster, coming to get them.