Horrific. But NOT the Holocaust.

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I had an uneasy feeling.

But I knew that in spite of that feeling, I had to protest. I was devasted, outraged and frightened, and I had to do something with my grief. 

I didn’t want to feel powerless, and I was determined to show solidarity.

So, on a freezing Sunday night, I went to Kikar Paris in the center of Jerusalem to protest the Muslim ban.

I went as the daughter of a man who, in the 1970’s, fled Greece illegally due to political turmoil and was able to build a new life in the United States. 

I went as the descendent of a long line of immigrants who passed through Ellis Island and worked incredibly hard to successfully build new happy, healthy and safe lives.

I went as the former classmate of an impressively diverse group of students, many of whom were Iranian and known for their above average grades and acceptance at top universities. My Iranian classmates never showed any hesitation to work with me on class projects or let me join them for lunch. In fact, the mother of one Iranian student carried hard-to-find kosher for Passover products in her middle eastern grocery store.And she has an even bigger selection today.  

I went because it felt like the moral thing to do, and I was in such pain about the situation I couldn’t imagine staying home and doing nothing.

I also feel strongly that as a Jew who complains regularly about how the world turned its back on us during the Holocaust and has continued to do so, I shouldn’t be able to accuse myself of being a hypocrite.

But like I said. I had an uneasy feeling.

A few minutes into the protest, when I saw a sign that said “Never Again” and featured a yellow star with the word “Jude” in the center, I knew my uneasy feeling was justified.

The next morning, I saw two different pictures of women wearing yellow stars with the word Muslim in the center. I’d known that was coming, and try as I might, I couldn’t be okay with it. 

Soon after, I saw a post from Dan Rather, who I highly respect and whose Facebook posts I’ve been devouring lately, that referred to the St. Louis and Japanese Internment as “twin stains” on American history.

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Of course both events were horrific and both are nasty stains. But they are not “twins.” Only one of those events played a part in the largest genocide in history.

And there was that queasy feeling again, and it’s a feeling I share with many, even with people on the other end of the political spectrum: 

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(I’m somewhere in that crowd.)

Yes, I absolutely believe that our history should be used as a cautionary tale. 

On the other hand, as much as I detest Trump with a passion that makes me physically ill, I absolutely believe that Hitler has always been and will always be in a class by himself, and no event in history has been as horrific as the Holocaust.

These are beliefs I’ve held for a long time and became even stronger after I studied the history of the Holocaust during my junior year abroad at the Hebrew University, after which I went to Poland on a tour of ten concentration camps where I stood in gas chambers and saw display cases filled with chopped off hair, a lot of which was still tied with lovingly tied bows and glowing green from the effects of the gas.

But it’s not just the comparison of the horror that bothers me (and believe me, it does).

There is one glaring difference between what’s happening now and what was happening at the beginning of the Holocaust.

And that’s the fact that people are speaking out: 

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After the ban was announced, people flew off their couches in the middle of a Saturday so they could protest long into the night and even through the weekend. There were lawyers sitting on airport floors while they worked to free the detainees, politicians resisting and risking their jobs (thank you Sally Yates), defiant judges, and celebrities showing up at the SAG Awards holding signs and making speeches.

Before and during the Holocaust, Jews didn’t have even a fraction of that kind of support.

And now, all these years later, we still don’t.

According to the Anti-Defamation League, 71% of hate crimes in the United States that are directed towards religious groups are targeted towards Jews.

Yet when I share a link to an article about one of these hate crimes on social media, only one or two people (if that) even take the time to respond with a teary emoji.

Who spoke out when over thirty Jewish community centers had to be evacuated because of bomb threats? Okay, a haunting photo of empty cribs in the snow went viral. But beyond that, there wasn’t much action taken.

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I’ve been wondering why I didn’t I learn about the St. Louis until college, when I found out about it myself when I was writing a paper.

I’ve been wondering if the now famous twitter account that shares the names of Jewish refugees trying to enter the United States had gone live on last year’s Holocaust Memorial Day, would people be paying as much attention?

Don’t get me wrong. I love that Madeline Albright, Jonathan Greenblatt and many others plan to register as Muslims if, G-d forbid, it comes to that.

I love even more that Mayim Bialik, along with her vow to register, has been sharing her family history and leading a conversation on refugees and immigration that we need to have.

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These are scary times, and it’s not suprising that people are using the phrase “Never Again.” But let’s not forget the phrase’s strong link to the Holocaust. 

Same goes for the yellow star. It’s part of our history. 

While it’s true that the many non-Jews were killed during the Holocaust should not be forgotten, we can’t forget that Hitler’s main goal was to exterminate the entire Jewish people.

It was about us.

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According to Jonathan Greenblatt, CEO of the Anti-Defamation League:

“The suffering of the Jewish people is not an afterthought, a prepositional phrase to be bolted onto the end of a sentence. The suffering of the Jewish people is the whole reason that the concept of the Holocaust was defined. It became shorthand to explain the unexplainable, the inconceivable — an intentional, transnational campaign to exterminate an entire people perpetrated in broad daylight in front of the entire world.”

If we downplay what happened during World War II and jump to make comparisons and make our tragedy inclusive (as the White House just did in its statement on Holocaust Memorial Day), we’re in danger of forgetting the details of the past and the chances of “again” increase.

So please, learn from our history. Listen to warnings from the heroic Holocaust survivors who are speaking out.

But if you’re going to use our history to protect and defend others, please use it to defend and protect us, too.

I, as a Jew, will proudly and eagerly speak out against and fight the Muslim ban. If it comes to it, I will register.  

Besides the fact that I feel an ethical and moral responsibility to do so, I want a strong leg to stand on the next time I climb up onto my soapbox and complain that the world is turning its back on us.

Right now, the Jews who are protesting are leading by example. May the world learn from them and follow their lead the next time the lives of Jews or any other group of people are in danger.

During these difficult and painful times, I will vow to learn more about the Holocaust and the plight of refugees in our world today.

And in my heart and mind, I will always keep the Holocaust in a class by itself.

So where exactly am I?

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All about my neighborhood. . . Part 1

Well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Forgive me. I’ve been dealing with tons of nonsense, construction going on inches from my front door, and a dog who has been mentally and physical ill (no exaggeration).

Oh yeah, and it’s HOT.

I’ve got lots to blog about, thanks a list of suggestions I got on Facebook, but I thought I’d start with a simple tour of my neighborhood, which is called Old Katamon.

I figure that after my two posts about the flight, you might want to see where I ended up.

Ready?

I’m not exactly thrilled with my apartment situation, but I do adore Old Katamon, and I’m lucky that my first Jerusalem apartment is on a busy street that has just about everything I need.

(Note: You can click on the photos to make them bigger.)

When I leave my apartment and turn left, I get to the hardware stores and deli:

The hardware stores (there are 2) are tiny, but somehow they have EVERYTHING. It’s the whole clown car idea.

See?

If I turn right, I get to the pharmacy (where they know me as the girl who comes in to get prescriptions filled for the dog),

the bank, where I’ve spent waaay too much time,

the bookstore (priorities, people, I have them),

and then to the bakery, the catering place where I get take out sometimes, and the supermarket.


And how can I not show you the pet store? It’s right around the corner from me. It’s called “Jurassic Park.”

So there you have it. That’s my street. I’ll write another post soon with some other neighborhood highlights.

Meanwhile, here are some photos of my apartment (the second one). It’s fine, but kind of weird, isn’t it?

Apartment 2

One last thing. I’ve become addicted to a show called “Srugim” (which means “The Knitted, which refers to the knitted kippot worn by the men). It takes place in Katamon. It’s like “Friends,” only it’s more dramatic and the characters are Modern Orthodox (they don’t even take a sip of water without making the blessing first). The show is great for my Hebrew!

[And the writer in me feels the need to point out that the character development is excellent and the show has great examples of internal and external conflict. I can talk about the storytelling in the show almost in the same way I talk about Buffy. Which is saying a lot.]

Here’s the theme song, which I get a kick out of because it shows a lot of places I recognize:

And here’s a scene I found interesting:

More soon!

Thanks for reading! 🙂

Aliyah Day – Part 2

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Mishaneh makom, mishaneh mazal / You change your place, you change your luck. . .

Hello Again!

Last time we talked, I was telling you about getting on the plane. As promised, here’s what happened next.

The first hour of the flight had a busy feel. Our passports were collected, there were a lot of announcements, and reporters were walking up and down the aisles.

The reporters had obviously been filled in as to who was sitting where. The reporter talking with the people in the row in front of me was doing a story on families. The reporter who came to my row was doing a story on singles. Yes, Nefesh B’Nefesh did a pretty good job of seating the single olim together.

My most important advice to anyone on an Aliyah charter flight? Get used to having a cameras inches from your face from the minute you get out of the car at the airport. Another piece of advice is to have a prepared, one sentence answer to the question, “What made you decide to make Aliyah?” (It’s like having an “elevator pitch” about your book when you go to a writing conference.)

After things settled down, everybody seemed to fall asleep simultaneously. Guess all that packing had taken a toll on everyone. But then the pilot made an announcement that it was time for Mincha (afternoon prayers) and we all woke up again. It was then that I discovered that my iPhone was pretty useless. My ebooks and audiobooks had disappeared, and the iPod wasn’t working. So I took out my iPad. Thanks to the fact that I’d been without Internet access for the few days before the flight, none of the movies and TV shows I’d bought from iTunes had finished downloading.

No iPhone or iPad on such a long flight? My ultimate nightmare.

Add to that the fact that the kid behind me was kicking and screaming so loudly (as were most of the other kids on the plane) I couldn’t even hear the in flight movie I was trying to watch, and I didn’t know how I’d survive the flight.

I swear, the teacher in me wanted to gather all the kids together, go over the rules for being in a plane, read them stories and sing songs. At least that would’ve kept them somewhat quiet and me somewhat occupied.

The flight did drag, but being surrounded by so much excitement made it a little easier to deal with. At least I got to chat with the guys in my row about things like which health insurance provider to choose.

Towards the end of the flight, we were given stickers and hats to wear for security purposes (although most of us didn’t wear the hat – sorry Lisa).

When the plane began its descent, the clapping started. By the time we were on the ground, there was full on cheering and we were all smiling at each other.

We had to stay on our seats while passport control officials came through, but before I knew it, I was at the top of the stairs waiting to get off the plane. I thought I’d be exhausted, motion sick, and nervous, but I felt oddly relaxed. During the months I’d been preparing for this moment, a lot of my friends had reminded me that, “mishaneh makom, mishaneh mazal” (you change your place, you change your luck). That suddenly felt more true than it ever had.

I was one of the first groups to get off the plane. It was so bright, and there were so many cameras. My mother was watching the arrival online and she was so excited she was taking pictures of her computer, especially of Grace’s wonderful tweets (I’ve since taken a screen shot of all them and will save the image forever). Before we got on the bus to the terminal, we had to wait while more photos were taken.

Then, we were on the bus. I knew what I was about to see. I’d seen videos. But the reality of it was disorienting.

It was actually a little terrifying to walk through that crowd, especially with the cameras, but I’ll always treasure the memory of all those people singing “Shalom Aleichem.”

Since I was alone and not greeting any family, I was one of the first to arrive at the ceremony. Just like at JFK, a woman from Nefesh B’Nefesh was there with a warm greeting and told me to take a bottle of water from under the chairs.

The ceremony was really hard to sit through after a flight like that. But it was worth it for the end, when the soldiers lead us in Ha Tikvah.

After the ceremony, we were taken to the immigration office to be processed. I was the first off the plane, but one of the last to be called. I was too antsy to sit in the orange chairs, and I wasn’t hungry enough to take one of the free sandwiches they were giving out (I didn’t want any of the food at the ceremony either). I just wanted to get the dog and go.

After my first hour of waiting, somebody came to find me and told me I could get the dog and have him with me while I waited. So I followed him downstairs, and there was Hamudi, surrounded by six very young and very tough airport security people who were having an argument about what kind of dog he was. It goes without saying that he’d charmed them all with his “poor, cute, me” expression, and they told me he was a really quiet dog (I’m assuming most of you know why that’s so funny). I told them he was stunned into silence.

I carried him, in his crate (VERY heavy) up the stairs, sat on the floor of the immigration office and poured water into his dish through the door of his crate. He was thirstier than I’d ever seen him.

Finally, I had my turn to meet with an immigration officer. I got my teudat oleh (immigration identification), health insurance, 200 free cell phone minutes, an envelope of cash, a taxi voucher, and a tote bag full of booklets.

Then, it was time to get my luggage. But I had a little help! (Image taken from the Nefesh B’Nefesh Facebook page. Click on it so you can read it better.)

I took Hamudi for a quick walk, but all he wanted was to get in a taxi. He went up to every taxi he saw and tried to jump in. Smart dog.

Since I was so delayed, I didn’t have time to pick up the free lunch (yes, there was more food) and the plant with the Israeli flag in it. Oh well.

I was just glad to be in the taxi. The dog, however, was so traumatized he refused to look out the window. He hid behind my skirt. But he did poke his head out occasionally.

There was an accident so we had to take the long way to Jerusalem, and there were some issues with the van. But we finally got there.

And then I was home! Yes, the word has taken on a whole new meaning.

Stay tuned for a post on my first week as an olah chadasha.

Thanks for reading!

More photos (as if you haven’t seen enough):

Aliyah Day

Aliyah Day!

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The day I moved on up. . .

[Before I start this post, here’s a little glossary for you, just in case:
To make aliyah: Literally, it means to ascend or “go up.” But it’s used to mean “moving to Israel.” 
Oleh: Somebody making aliyah. For a woman, it’s “olah.” So the dog is an “oleh” and I’m an “olah.” A bunch of people together making aliyah are called “olim.” If you add “hadash,” which means new (or “hadasha” / “hadashim”) you specify that the person / people made aliyah recently. 
Nefesh B’Nefesh: The organization that is the link between the “oleh” and the Israeli government. They’re a huge help with the paperwork, and are helpful in countless other ways.]

Shalom l’kulam! Hello Everyone!

So, here’s the story of what happened exactly one week ago. I still can’t believe it.

After too many days of packing and doing errands in the awful New York humidity, July 11th finally arrived. (July 11th, July 11th, July 11th had become my mantra, thanks to my friend Grace, who’d turned the special date into my version of “serenity now.”) Not that I believed anything out of the ordinary was actually going to happen. I believed it was supposed to, but I didn’t think it would. All I wanted was to be on that plane, and leave all the stress of packing up my apartment and wrapping up my job (which also involved packing) behind.

But, even though I didn’t believe I’d actually be flying to Israel, I got up early anyway, did some last minute packing, and waited for my friend Lisa to pick me up and take me to the airport.

One last look at Grand Army Plaza

Then, before I knew it, she arrived, and Hamudi (aka Creature) and I were in her passenger seat, on our way to JFK.

We had fun in the car. I wasn’t nervous or sad, even as we drove through Grand Army Plaza one last time, because I didn’t believe I was actually leaving. Between all the texts, phone calls, emails and Facebook messages I was getting, my phone had never been so noisy.

The Nefesh B’Nefesh check in line

When we arrived at JFK, I got into the very long line (there were 229 olim on that flight, plus six dogs) at the special Nefesh B’Nefesh check in counter, and within seconds, a woman was giving me a hug, wishing me mazal tov, and bringing me water. Before I knew it, I was checked in, had special luggage tags on my suitcases, and had talked to an official with an iPad who was processing my teudat zehut (my Israeli identity card).

Saying good-bye. . .

Even the dog’s check in was smooth. Which was a miracle, after all the drama with his paperwork and the needles he was subjected to.

He’s been on planes before. He knew what was coming, and I don’t think he was too thrilled about it.

After that, Lisa and I had time for coffee before the good-bye ceremony. (It was Peet’s coffee, which, as a Berkeley girl, couldn’t have thrilled me more.)

Then, came the ceremony:


It was a little hard to concentrate, so Lisa and I sat on the floor and watched from a distance while we talked. After that, it was time to say good-bye and go through security.

I stopped in my tracks when I saw this through the window:

Before long, I was on the plane, surrounded by 228 other olim. When Rabbi Yehoshua Fass, the cofounder of Nefesh B’Nefesh, got on the loudspeaker and congratulated us all, everyone clapped and cheered.

Which was overwhelming.

But not as overwhelming as the outpouring of support I’ve had from all of you over the past few months. All the cards, phone calls, texts, emails, tweets, and Facebook comments / wall posts mean more than you know, and I can’t thank you enough.

What happened next? I’ll tell you the rest of the story tomorrow.

Thanks for reading! 🙂

Where’s Creature?

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So you probably already know that there’s this dog, whose nickname is Creature, who is coming to Israel with me. (Well, as long as the paper work is all squared away and they allow him on the plane.)

I refuse to say he’s actually mine. I prefer to think of him as my mother’s dog. 😉 But anyway.

In all the chaos – and chaos is an understatement for what I’ve been living with – I keep losing him.

See?

(click for larger image)

It’s like a new version of “Where’s Waldo.” But now that the shipping company and Salvation Army have come, the apartment is much emptier, and there are fewer places to hide. And tomorrow the haulers come to take away the rest of my stuff. The empty living room makes for a fantastic squeaky toy field!

But life’s been rough for the little guy. He’s watched me throw away a lot of stuff, and ever since I accidentally put his beloved rhinoceros into a garbage bag (he shrieked in the most heartbreaking way), he’s been keeping a close eye on me.

He’s also had to deal with a lot of needles lately. He needed a new rabies vaccine and a fancier microchip. He also needed a weird blood test that’s only analyzed at The University of Kansas. He had to have the test four times before the vet got useable blood.

So he’s been through a lot. And he’s not eating. I’d like to think he’s fasting on purpose because he’s suddenly become more religious (today is a fast day), but who knows.

Yesterday, we had yet another trip to the vet. No needles this time, but he was not happy.

Behold:

Yeah. We left with a prescription for doggie Xanax.

My poor little oleh hadash. . .

Shalom / שלום

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Hello,

This is the site I’ll be using to post updates and photos of my Aliyah process and experiences.

Meanwhile, I’ll leave you with this recording of my fourth graders singing HaTikvah on the last day we prayed together (yes, the photo is of the flag in their classroom). It’s the best sendoff I could ask for.

Thanks for reading!

Melissa

Please stay in touch: melissakalkstein@me.com