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Flying El-Al was an adventure. I enjoyed a pleasantly smooth flight with a very upset 18-month-old behind me. I think he was crying for approximately 85-90% of the flight. He also was simultaneously kicking my seat. The parents either didn't care or made just as much noise "attempting" to calm him down--mainly--"you take him," "no, you take him." There was no walking him around the plane, no attempt to see if his ears were hurting or if had other pain, just complaints back and forth between the parents about whose responsibility it wasn't to take care of the poor child.

All in all, I discovered new reserves of patience (as well as abilities to complain and discuss poor parenting with the lovely Baltimorian woman next to me). I somehow managed to sleep for a good portion of the flight, but it was still not enough. I know this is true, since my sister came by to visit twice and I was only awake for one visit, or so she tells me.

After some more adventures with luggage, I succeeded in getting some Israeli money and finding my sister's rabbi, who kindly drove us to Jerusalem.

After a burger at the burger bar, time to retire for the night.

Tomorrow will require shopping for electrical adaptors, pillows, food, and Israeli soap.


Since this blog is called itorah, perhaps a little Torah is called for.

As Rabbi Mark Greenspan of Oceanside Jewish Center spoke the first days of Sukkot, a sukkah is a fragile structure,, much like our faith. It is something that must continually be rebuilt as our assumptions our challenged. Sometimes we have to step outside of it altogether when the weather gets too rough. In the end though, we must return and rebuild anew, strengthening the walls, and adding a new roof each year.

The sukkah is truly a beautiful metaphor for faith. As someone who regularly struggles with faith and doubt, continually striving to make the leap, I see the beauty in Sukkot. Throughout the regional community in biblical times, people built huts during the harvest to keep an eye on their crops and to allow them to work from sunrise to sundown. Jews are commanded to remain in their Sukkot, to build their Sukkot, immediately after the logical time, after the harvest, when every one else was taking down their dwelling places. In this way, they demonstrated their faith in Gd, who truly provides all. The act of building a Sukkah is a supreme act of faith--especially in places outside of Israel, where the weather is even more unpredictable--Sukkot at Brandeis was almost always a chilly (and often wet) experience--yet year after year, we keep building Sukkot, even if we are sometimes cold and wet. This persistance is also beautiful.

For me, faith is not something that has occured over night. It is a process. One I strive to continue daily. It waivers, it falls, it fails, but hopefully I continue to build it up again.

For me, this is one of the beautiful aspects of chaplaincy work. Working with people in times of crisis, we get to help rebuild their sukkot, or help them feel the rain and decided whether to go inside. What a wonderful opportunity.

ps I saw Grey's Anatomy last week and was quite impressed by Meredith's psychologist in the elevator, telling her that she still had work to do and it was not about being happy in such a difficult world, but recognizing and appreciating the difficulties of the world, and still living in it.