Prior to making Aliyah, one of the concerns I had was that I would always feel like “the other.”
It was a fair concern. And one that has proven true. I am, and will always be, the immigrant to my native children. I will never catch up with their Hebrew skills, their cultural references, their Israeli attitude and understanding.
At the same time, I have sent two sons to war, and have three currently serving. I have spent hundreds of days and nights worrying, hoping, praying; I have a piece of shrapnel from a rocket by my door, scooped up by a son who narrowly survived the events of the 7th. I am part of the nation.
While this dichotomy will never disappear, it often serves to allow me to see things that others may not.
I continue, even all these years later, to feel intimidated in certain situations. There is a lovely, vibrant women’s exercise center in our neighborhood and I’ve been intimidated to start, both because all the instructions are in Hebrew and because I’m always sure I’ll do the exercises wrong or fail to keep up.
But start, I did, and I’ve slowly been adding different classes to my repertoire. Today, I took a Pilates class for the first time; the room was packed and it was impossible to follow along by watching the instructor. Rather, I had to listen to her directions and mimic those around me.
When we finished twisting ourselves into many pretzel forms (what is this Pilates thing?), we finally reached the cooldown. And as the instructor gently told us what moves to make, I noticed that she was weaving a dvar torah (a weekly analysis on the Torah portion) into her instructions. I looked up to see if anyone else was surprised, but soon realized that this must be a weekly occurrence. I was so taken by surprise that I missed the beginning of her analysis; it had something to do with letting the light into our lives.
And her directions went something like this:
“Now bring your right arm around to the left side of your body.
And so, when you bring the light in, even in very small ways, it allows for joy in each of our lives.
Ok now lift that arm up above your head.
And that light might just be greeting someone in the morning with a hello or smiling at your neighbor.
Now lift that arm….”
The interweaving of the parsha with the exercise at such an unlikely time and place made me both chuckle at the incongruity of the situation and tear up a bit.
I was struck by the fact that I was the only one struck.
How incredible it was to realize that this was considered so normal that no one else even noticed. To be living in Eretz Yisrael, taking a Pilates class on a Friday morning, and to have the instructor teaching us a bit of Torah. This is the type of blessing that is hard to explain to people who don’t live here.
After touring the south yesterday and seeing the incredible destruction and pain since October 7th, today’s experience was such a beautiful reminder of what we have been fighting for. Of the joy and beauty of living in a Land that takes a dvar torah during a Pilates class for granted; of the joy and beauty of being just enough “the other” still, after all these years, to recognize how special and extraordinary such a dvar torah is.
And to appreciate these moments of otherness that allow me to see the beauty and the uniqueness of life in Israel in the grand, obvious moments and in the almost-missed small ones offered to me in daily life.
