Category Archives: Gratitude

Traveling for Six Weeks with ONLY my Husband

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About ten years ago a friend came to try on some dresses of mine to wear to a wedding. A few of them looked GREAT on her. She ended up not borrowing any of them and when I asked her why, adding how good they looked on her, she explained that she prefers not to attract attention to herself. She dresses nicely but, in fact, once I considered it, with much fewer colors and “fashionable” new thingamagiggies on her clothes than some of my clothes.

An eye opener for me. I’d always just assumed that every woman tried to make herself as attractive as possible, within her particular social group’s unspoken rules. Not so, it seems.

This year another friend, noticing some highlights I’d put in my hair, said she, too, had put highlights in her hair for one of her kids’ weddings, having been persuaded by her hair stylist, but was happy when they grew out. I asked innocently, “Didn’t they look good?” She answered that, well, yes, she’d gotten quite a few compliments but she prefers for her hair to look “okay” and not attract compliments.

A re-enforcing “ah-ha” moment. Sooo, here it was again. That difference in basic behavior from what I (no longer by this time) assumed to be generalized to the population of women.

All this to say that when my husband and I began to talk about our upcoming 6-week travel adventure to South America and New York City, I was less surprised to learn that the idea of 6 weeks both away from home and routine AND with my husband, was an adventure whose positive effect on one’s life was not necessarily generalized to the population of couples.

Men who work with Gershon expressed surprise, “What?!? SIX WEEKS with ONLY your wife? Why would you want to do such a thing?”

Women were also quite vocal in telling me that the heat and humidity of the Amazonian jungle (not to mention the mosquitoes, leeches and occasional lack of hot water), the cold of the Patagonian glaciers and, yes, being with ONLY my mate for six weeks was of dubious enjoyment in their minds. (putting it mildly!) One friend went so far as to ponder aloud whether we would be speaking to each other when we returned.

Once upon a time I’d thought that the excitement and adventure of experiencing different cultures and seeing the beauty of God’s wonders was something everyone dreams of. But, this particular trip being the sixth or seventh Gershon and I have taken, I long ago learned that leaving one’s daily comfort zone is not something many people take lightly. The personal discomfort and anxiety level being too high a price for all that excitement and adventure.

One friend put it well when he said that he preferred to see the glory of foreign flora and fauna from the comfort of his living room – the National Geographic tv station is just fine for him and there are always DVDs.

Okay, here’s a news flash – Being with “only” my husband for six weeks is a bit of a challenge sometimes.

But it’s not because of my companion being my husband.

There probably isn’t anyone I’d rather travel with. I can only wish for everyone a partner who is as mellow, go-with-the-flow, enthusiastic, considerate and happy-to-be-on-the-road as my husband.

Nope, the only reason it’s a challenge for me is because of ME!

I have a hard time being with ANYONE 24/7.  I’m happy as a clam having a few hours, minimum, of private time, all to myself, every single day. So six weeks of 24/7 with anyone requires planned “alone time” and some deep, meditative breathing from time to time.

Probably the secrets to traveling for a long time with one’s partner are the same secrets which hold the key for long-time relationships in general and, ultimately, all relationships, including with oneself.

  • Non-violence – don’t aggressively try to dominate and control, yourself or others
  • Truth – be honest about and respect who you (and others)  are
  • Don’t steal – don’t take away from one place to compensate another – physically, emotionally or interpersonally
  • Don’t envy – don’t compare yourself or others to an ideal or to fellow travelers
  • Moderation and renunciation –  try to do, say and experience everything in proportion

“Hmmm…sounds suspiciously like the “yamas” of yoga”, she said blushingly.

Oh! That’s another secret of retaining my enjoyment (and composure). Taking time out for yoga and meditation practice brings a little bit of home, comfort zone and gratitude with me wherever I go.

Because, after all, wherever you go, there you are. Ommmmmmm…

 p.s. I got complaints about the writing style of “Addictive Behaviors” – “too heavy”; “not like you”; “didn’t get a chance to read it”

 So here’s a lighter, more like me, opportunity to read, blog. Happy Spring everyone!

Patience and Determination; forgiving myself

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Yom Kippur – probably the most serious day on the Jewish calendar. A day of introspection to take self-inventory, acknowledge all the places you’ve fallen down in being the person you want to be and resolve to make the changes you need to make.

Synagogues and temples fill up all around the world. People dressed in white with somber faces. There’s an earnestness in their prayer.

Notice I said “their”…hmmmm…yep, I’ve barely been in a synagogue on Yom Kippur in years. Our community shul is in my backyard. Well, right across the street from my backyard. I can hear the davening and the blowing of the shofar from my kitchen. And, yet, I haven’t walked in there much since I finished saying kaddish for my father almost 25 years ago.

My father was a community Rabbi. I hear that things have changed over the past few decades, but, when I was growing up, the Rabbi’s wife and kids were an unspoken part of the contract between the Rabbi and his congregation. We all had to tow the line. We were examples of correct Jewish life in a town which couldn’t support a kosher restaurant and in which most social events and interactions took place on the Jewish Sabbath when we couldn’t participate.

My father was from a rabbinic family. Nine generations of Rabbis, or so the story goes. He was the black sheep because, although he was certified as an orthodox Rabbi, he became a conservative community Rabbi instead of orthodox. To his hassidic, Israeli father, who had been the head of a yeshiva, my father was a minimally better Jew than his brother who had married a shiksa and for whom he and my grandmother had sat shiva. So suffice to say that my father had his own issues with Judaism.

Looking back from my own life perspective of living in a community where people take joy in their Judaism, I understand how the stern, unemotional Judaism of the home in which I grew up created obstacles to my own Jewish observance. Every Shabbat, every holiday, three afternoons a week and Sunday morning – all filled with restrictions and none of the incredible beauty and spiritual fullness I’ve seen in my Israeli community’s observance.

And all carried out in our glass house under the scrutiny of my father’s employers.

So, no, I don’t join in the davening on Yom Kippur or any other day. It’s all too fraught with darkness for me.

But over the past 20 years an apparent need for spirituality – the seed of spiritual growth – has been watered and nurtured in a constant and persistent manner. An unconscious patience and determination took advantage of every opportunity, every glimmer of interest, to lead me to a softer, kinder relationship with spirituality.

Patience and determination. They go hand-in-hand.

Patience without determination can mean mediocrity, settling for less, never becoming the person you want to be and could be, never having the influence for good in your own life and the lives of others that you might.

Determination without patience can mean aggression, violence, insensitivity to yourself and those around you, hurrying ahead, constantly pushing, mowing down the fragile buddings of beauty in your path.

Patience without determination may lead to frustration, sadness, regret.

Determination without patience may lead to disappointment, self-flagellaltion, isolation.

I’ve been harsh to myself for the past couple of weeks. Critical of my lackluster pre-Yom Kippur state.

Always before I’ve justified my lack of formal Jewish observance in knowing that pretty much every day is a day of introspection and self-inventory for me. Pretty much every day for the past 20 years or so has been a day filled with spirituality and filled with God. But this year I’ve felt removed from that place.

Not that it’s never happened before.

As is truth for so many aspects of life, I see my spirituality and partnership with God in terms of waves. Waves that come in and go out. Just as I wouldn’t try to grab onto a wave and hold it constant and I wouldn’t try to make a wave rise and come toward me (what could come of that other than failure and frustration?), so I don’t try to force spirituality to reside in me. I encourage it with reading and music and meditation and yoga but, ultimately, I am like the ocean – providing a welcoming home but knowing that waves come and go in their natural rhythms.

But it’s never happened before around Yom Kippur.

So for quite a few days I felt irritated with myself, disappointed and impatient.

And then, yesterday, on my morning walk, I listened to one of my favorite teachers, who has regrettably few teachings available, Phillip Moffit (www.dharmaseed.com look for his Oct. 24, 2010 talk), speaking about patience and determination. And then saw in an email post I subscribe to by Rick Hanson (http://www.rickhanson.net/writings/just-one-thing) about having compassion for yourself.

I didn’t have that “Poof, you’re spiritually enabled” moment that I might have wished for but I felt immeasurably kinder toward myself and more able to recognize my oceanness and my spirituality’s waveness.

And, so, I’ve shared with you below a short “compassion for yourself” exercise after having done it myself a time or two. Maybe you’re being kind to yourself anyway these days. No worries, there’ll be days for which you’re happy to have saved it.

Sending prayers for your inscription in the Book of Life…and the book of spiritual nourishment and personal growth…

* Take a moment to acknowledge your difficulties: your challenges and suffering.

* Bring to mind the feeling of being with someone you know cares about you. Perhaps a dear friend, a family member, a spirit, God . . . even a pet. Let yourself feel that you matter to this being, who wants you to feel good and do well in life.

* Bring to mind your difficulties, and imagine that this being who cares about you is feeling and expressing compassion for you. Imagine his or her facial expression, gestures, stance, and atti­tude toward you. Let yourself receive this com­passion, taking in its warmth, concern, and goodwill. Open to feeling more understood and nurtured, more peaceful and settled. The expe­rience of receiving caring primes circuits in your brain to give it.

* Imagine someone you naturally feel compassion for: perhaps a child, or a family member. Imagine how you would feel toward that person if he or she were dealing with whatever is hard for you. Let feelings of compassion fill your mind and body. Extend them toward that person, perhaps visualized as a kind of light radiating from you (maybe from your heart). Notice what it’s like to be compassionate.

* Now, extend the same sense of compassion toward yourself. Perhaps accompany it with words like these, heard softly in the back of your mind: May this pain pass . . . may things improve for me . . . may I feel less upset over time. Have some warmth for yourself, some acknowledg­ment of your own difficulties and pain, some wish for things to get better. Feel that this com­passion is sinking in to you, becoming a part of you, soothing and strengthening you.

Nemaste!

Discovering America

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America gets a bad rap abroad.

Speaking as a semi-ex-pat who visits the big cities in the United States frequently but has lived in Israel for over 30 years and seldom has occasion to be in the smaller towns and rural areas of America, I was in for a big surprise when I ventured out of California and into Nevada and Utah in September.

First, if you’re sitting in a big city in the United States and have little contact with anyone who doesn’t sit in a similar place, you may not even know that elsewhere in the world you’re thought to have questionable values, unruly children (if you have children), little or no knowledge about anything outside your city limits and to be clueless about any of your above traits.

Okay, now, I have good friends living in the big cities of America so I know that not all of the above is true of everyone geographically near you but I have to admit to basically accepting much of that criticism for many people in your situation.

I recently went to a family wedding in Oakland and stayed in Berkeley, one of my favorite university towns, for Labor Day weekend. One of my favorite university towns only because I don’t have to live there. I used to live there in ancient times (ps it hasn’t changed much) but left Northern California when I tired of trying to get re-acquainted with my friends every month as they totally shed one persona for another.

Late Monday night I flew to Las Vegas, my planned jumping off point to go hiking in the canyons of Utah, Bryce Canyon and Zion Canyon.

Las Vegas.  I had thought I might enjoy a little gambling – the glitz and sparkle of the man-made wonders of the world; The Venetian Hotel, The Luxor Hotel (complete with pyramids) – and had planned my trip to come back to Las Vegas for all that on the weekend. But while walking through the lobby (read: casino) to get to the hotel registration desk I began to hear a loud whisper in my ear warning of my mistake.

It went something like this:

OMG! Cigarette smoking is allowed here? And what’s with all these sleazy people who look like miserable zombies? Yikes!

Followed by:

Is this another “old person” reaction? Have I totally lost my sense of fun? Hmmm. Doesn’t look like anyone’s actually having fun. 

Up bright and early to make my getaway. More or less made a beeline for the parking lot through all those not-so-happy-time gamblers. There were many more of them at 8 a.m. than there had been at 2 a.m. but they still didn’t look very happy. I noticed when grabbing some breakfast that plenty of them had children in tow so I guess they don’t think of Las Vegas with its gambling and, ahem, other sports, as sleazy or shameful.

Personally, it all seemed like America at its worst to me…or at least not a very pretty side of glory, glory hallelujah. But this blog post really isn’t a rant about Las Vegas.

The drive to Zion Canyon put me immediately in a different frame of mind. As soon as I broke free of the construction-entangled highways of Las Vegas I found myself breathing easier and more deeply.

Crusing down a ribbon of highway, I was surrounded on all sides by open, rolling desert savannah with mountains in the distance to my right and to my left.

It went on for miles and miles getting more and more beautiful as I traveled further away from the city. I’m a big fan of the desert in all its many variations and soon was singing along with the golden oldies radio station.

By the time I pulled in at The Dream Catcher’s Inn just outside of Zion Canyon the world seemed like a kinder place. One of the owners suggested that even though the sun would be setting in another hour or so, it would be a good idea to go on the Park shuttle to get an overall idea of a plan for the next day. So off I went.

In the parking lot of the park before getting on the shuttle I ran into a young couple who asked that I take their picture together with the gorgeous mountains in the background. After I’d taken a couple of photos and they’d checked to make sure the pictures were okay (he told me that she’s sensitive about her (miniscule) thighs. Sigh) he enthusiastically told me that they’d gotten engaged 20 minutes ago and I was the first to know. We chatted about their news and my own 37 year marriage for a bit. I wished them a good life as we parted. Nice kids.

The Shuttle was one example of the U.S. national parks’ exemplary organization for handling large numbers of people in the most efficient and ecologically sound ways.  At every stop along the way there are (clean!) bathrooms and spigots to fill water bottles so that people only carry in one plastic bottle and no tissues or toilet paper.

The sunset over The Court of the Patriarchs (three peaks names Abraham, Isaac and Jacob) was peaceful and pretty. The ringtail cat sighting was exciting (they’re rare). Laying on a low-lying wall at one of the stops and gazing up at the spectacular night time sky, as suggested by the shuttle driver, was wonderful (I didn’t want to head back but was afraid I’d miss the last shuttle back to town).

But even though every time I thought I couldn’t possibly see anything more gorgeous than the last amazing, breathtaking sight,  I came around the bend to see something even more mind-bogglingly beautiful, this blog post isn’t about God’s handiwork (He so outclasses anything Humankind has come up with so far).

“So what the Sam Hill is this blog post about?” I can hear you asking. (you may have substituted another word for ‘Sam Hill’.)

It’s about America. It’s about Americans. It’s about major misconceptions about both.

I was travelling, hiking, horseback riding alone.  

There are some really great things about doing all that with other people – especially people you love and find interesting. But there are also some really great things about going it alone.

For me, anyway, I find that I think more and I talk to strangers more when I’m alone. And, usually, first I think more and then I talk to strangers more so the conversation can be simple, “how ya’ doin’; where ya’ been; where ya’ from; where ya’ goin’ next” conversation but it can also be “I’ve been thinking about how people must’ve lived and felt back when this area was pretty much unpopulated. What do you think they were like?”

And then there’s alot more just plain eavesdropping on other people’s conversations. Something to keep in mind when you see someone sitting alone who looks like she’s reading a book.

And that’s what this blog post is about. The wholesome people who visit and live in the Western States of the US of A.

The teenagers who actually speak to older people and actually listen to them with respect.  

The waitress in Hurricane,Utah, who works to pay for the upkeep of her horses and the couple in Springdale who spoke to me about past vacations – all hiking, camping or skiing with their entire family – and the mountain marathon runner from Southern Utah University who chatted with me in Dixie National Park while she waited for her teammate to show up and pass her the baton. She mostly spoke about her college organization’s volunteer activities for children with special needs and her upcoming wedding.

In Bryce I spoke with an elderly couple from Minnesota as they rested on a  bench along the sunrise hike trail. They were with a group of 12 retired  couples, all with recreational vehicles, who were travelling together across the United States. As we talked, another couple in their group came along and we all shared hiking experiences in between long minutes of companionable silence.

At Hoover Dam a woman from South Carolina struck up a conversation with me about the ingenuity and work ethic that went into the Dam Project.  Later, over coffee, she told me about the two children from Guatemala she had adopted when they were 3 and 5 and how proud she was to be at her younger son’s college graduation in June. She showed me pictures of them with her hiking in the mountains near their home. I traveled in Guatemala a few years back and she pondered the wisdom of, perhaps, making a trip there with them. None of them had been back since she brought them to the plane upon adoption.

There were many others who made me proud to be an American and gave me renewed hope for the future of the land of my birth.

It’s true that many of the conversations made me sad for an America whose economy is not only bad but unimproving and sadder about the resulting disappearance of the optimism which typified my youth and university days. Several people spoke of losing their jobs and securing a new position more than a year later…at a lower salary. A few mentioned that our children’s generation is the first to have no hope for a better life than that of their parents…or even equally good.

As an Israeli I nurtured an inward smile at the disillusionment with President Obama which I heard over and over again from Democrats, Republicans, those who voted for him and those who voted against. But as an American I despaired together with them in the reasons for their disillusionment – the high rate of unemployment, family businesses closing down, a “new” health plan which leaves so many worse off than before. (I continue to be shocked how many Americans make significant life decisions based on where they can find the best health care coverage.)

If you’re old enough to remember, there was a human interest show of heartwarming and nostalgic vignettes about simple Americans on CBS news in the olden days.  It featured Charles Kuralt and lasted for a quarter of a century, airing for the last time in 1992, just five years before Kuralt died in 1997 from complications of lupus at the age of 62. The popularity of the show surprised the decision-makers at CBS and even Kuralt himself.

I met some people worthy of a couple of minutes of Mr. Kuralt’s time on my recent wanderings and it’s a great feeling knowing that so many of them are still out there almost 20 years after Kuralt closed up shop.

Might I dare to hope that they make up the majority of Americans?

Silence is Golden

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Let us be silent that we may hear the whisper of God…Emerson

For the past two years I’ve participated in a silent meditation retreat offered by the woman who brought Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) to Israel in 2002. It’s a very special time out of time.

My youngest son’s reaction to the concept of such a retreat says alot. After I told him last week that I’d be away again for 4 days in silence, and after a brief pause, he said that he couldn’t remember a time that he was silent for more than 2 hours while awake.

I remember about a decade ago listening to a tape cassette (remember those?) of a lecture given by Sylvia Boorstein about “right speaking”. She had people in the audience raise their hands if they’d broken a bone and then if it was still a source of pain. Then she had people raise their hands if they’d been hurt by other people’s words and then if that was still a source of pain. You can guess what the results were.

In that same tape, she gave an instruction which has stuck with me all this time and which I try to put into practice when I’m mindful enough to remember. The instruction is, before a thought is released into the air with words, to consider what my motivation is – is it good or not-so-good? Maybe it’s to make me look smart or perpetuate some other image I have of myself. Maybe to protect myself from potential  insult or getting hurt in some way. Maybe it’s to persuade someone to adopt my opinion or way of life.

Next – if the motivation is good  – what’s my goal and, given the situation in that moment, is there a possibility of reaching the goal?  Is the other person too angry, sad or stuck to be open to hearing what I have to say? Is there unpressured time to talk? Are there other people around who make it an inappropriate place to express my thoughts?

Someone in the audience said that it would take so long time to get through that process that noone would ever say anything. Her answer? And wouldn’t the extra silence be a wonderful thing?

Would it?

My youngest daughter spent 10 days in a silent meditation retreat in Thailand about five years ago. It was one of those strict silent retreats where people get up at 4 a.m.  to spend the entire day in silent sitting, walking, and working practice. The silence is only broken for a 2-hour chanting meditation practice and, every other day, the possibility of a half hour personal interview with one of the monks. She said that a number of people literally went crazy being left alone with their own thoughts and left the retreat.

As Anne Lamott says, “The mind is like a dangerous neighborhood. I try not to go into it alone.”

In the retreat this year, we broke silence in small groups each evening. It was a time for people to ask very specific questions regarding difficulties or confusion in their direct experience with the meditation retreat. No advice could be offered by other retreatants. No “Oh yeah, that happens to me sometimes and I usually…” Only the group leader commented and only with specific instruction how to deal with whatever issue was raised. Several people in my small group talked about how hard they were finding being alone with their thoughts for hours and hours.

One very articulate, attractive woman said that she’d thought the retreat would be a relaxing, peaceful holiday; that her life is good and her friends were jealous of her getting this special time away. She went on to say that it’s far more relaxing and peaceful at home and at work. She was unpleasantly surprised at how upset and anxious she was every moment of her “special time away”.

At the conclusion of the retreat, this particular woman said that it never got any better.

In most of our lives, should we be lucky enough to have time on our own, how many of us use it to think,  meditate, enjoy nature, to just be with ourselves? There’s iPad, iPod and iPhone. There’s TV, DVD, Kindle, podcasts and games online. There’s Facebook, Twitter and LinkedIn. There’s shopping and chatting, planning and making lists. And, if all else fails, there’s always the possibility of a well-deserved nap.

I have quite a bit of time to myself. In fact, easily 50% of my waking hours are spent alone. Probably more. I have a daily sitting meditation practice (well, almost daily) but, truth be told, I’m inordinately proud of devoting 20 minutes out of my 17 hour day to sitting on my meditation cushion. Hmm.

Tara Brach said in one of her talks that a famous Indian guru was asked if one has to be Hindu to meditate and his answer was, “I not Hin-du; I un-do.”

Hmmm. 20 minutes out of 17 hours (or 1020 minutes). What percentage of my day is spent in “un-do” mode?

About 2 weeks ago, I had a playlist of Donna de Lory, Jaya Lakshmi , Krishna Das, Lama Gyurme, Wah! and the like  on while doing an hour and a half of yoga and  meditation on my back porch. When I’d gotten my stuff organized to bring in the house, I was in the middle of a beautiful song so I sat down in a chair, put my legs up on a table, closed my eyes and let the sun bake my face and warm my bones while the song finished.

It was a beautiful feeling of “un-do”.

The next song came on. And then the next. And thoughts about the things I’d planned to do next came up.  I let them float by and basked in the un-do of the moment. No thinking. No planning. No doing.

It couldn’t have been more than half an hour until I was once again “on my way to somewhere else”. That place we spend so much time.

Looking back I see how rare that half hour is in my life. I vow to un-do more often and to cherish that time. But I also feel a huge amount of gratitude for the promise that such time holds for me. That I’m not (or at least am no longer) the people who went crazy and left the retreat in Thailand. That the 4-day silent retreat was a peaceful, relaxing holiday for me, though I’d compare it more to a mountain-climbing holiday than a stretch-out on the beach in Ko-Mak.

Some people are born with a natural appreciation for silence and solitude. I’ve nurtured my relationship with silence for the past 20 years. Today I can say that I’ve made good friends with silence. It’s a result of becoming good friends with myself.

LOVE AFTER LOVE

Derek Walcott

 The time will come

When, with elation,

You will greet yourself arriving

At your own door, in your own mirror,

And each will smile at the other’s welcome

and say, sit here.  Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine.  Give bread.  Give back your heart

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you have ignored

for another, who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit.  Feast on your life.

Enduring equals endearing

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A couple of weeks ago I had one of those days where circumstances bring about epiphanies from the ordinary.

My cell phone’s batteries, unbeknownst to me, didn’t get charged properly even though I dutifully plugged the charger in before going to sleep. In the morning, I plucked the phone out of the charger on my way to the car and, blissfully unaware of impending crisis,  drove to Ramat Gan to spend time with my oldest daughter and her baby.

I was meeting Gershon at a restaurant later in the day before joining friends to go to a movie. Which restaurant? What time? We hadn’t finalized either choice. Why bother when we could talk later on the cell phone?

I parked my car outside Hana’s apartment and used my cell phone to call the automated parking payment provider I use.  I could only pay for 2 hours of parking at a time but, hey, no problem! I’d call again in two hours to renew the process.

Two hours later my older granddaughter came home from daycare to excitedly see her first bicycle. It was her afikoman gift and I’d brought it so we could take it out for the first time.

We all trooped downstairs but when I went to call and renew my parking – whew! good thing we came down in time because we saw the meter guy checking a few cars up from mine – uh oh! no phone batteries.

Yikes!

I called Gershon who promised to call the automated parking place to rescue my car from danger and we made up to meet at 6 at Aroma in the shuk. Okay. All’s well that ends well.

Or not.

I told the meter guy what had happened and that my husband would take care of it.  One crisis averted.

It turns out that learning to pedal a bicycle isn’t as easy as it might be but Yarden loved the bike anyway. All pink and sparkly as she likes everything to be.

We parted ways. I got to my eye doctor appointment in Jerusalem. Finished in time. Got to Aroma in the shuk. No Gershon. 6 o’clock passed. 6:15 and 6:30 passed, too. Ordinarily I’d call to see what was up and make new plans if these didn’t work. Hmm.

And then I saw a familiar face. A woman. Smiling. Waving. At me.

Took a minute but it dawned on me that it was Michal – a woman who lives a few streets over from me. She teaches nature classes to the children in my community. I hardly ever see her now that all our children are grown and have moved away. I heard, though, that she and her husband, a nature guide,  just got back from a month in India.

I could feel a nice, warm feeling spread through my heart. I’d always liked Michal.

We hugged and chatted and then I told her what was going on.

“Why not call him on my phone”,  she asked.

Saved!

So I called Gershon on her phone…but he didn’t answer. We decided she’d send him a text message and laughed that neither of us was sure what we’d sent since we didn’t have our reading glasses on. Wow! She’s alot younger than I am. I’d always thought of her as such a young person. Reading glasses indeed!

As we parted I began to think about living in the same community for 30 years. In my days of wandering from the Bay Area to Orange Country to Sonoma to San Antonio to Madison – and moving from apartment to apartment in each of those places – I sure never thought I’d live in one place for 5 years, much less 30.

For the past 30 years I’ve lived in a small, religious community in Israel. All of that is a bit foreign to me. Small. Religious. Israel. And I’ve certainly had my issues with it all at one time or another.

Small means everybody thinks they know everybody’s business…and how it should be best conducted. Monkey chatter out loud – or almost out loud – in the background all the time.

Religious equals rules, rituals and, for me, rebellion.

Israel’s an amazing, beautiful, intense place and, more than that, it’s Home, but it also means a foreign culture, a foreign language and all those foreigners!

Needless to say, I’ve had my ups and downs with my community. Many, MANY times I’d have moved away if Gershon hadn’t been so connected to the community and intransigent about moving.

But as I watched Michal walk off I realized something about long term relationships.

If you can endure them, the ups and downs, the irritations and frustrations, the anger and hurt, the rub of too small and the sloppy discomfort of too big, they endear themselves to your heart, making a place that’s warm, familiar, comforting and safe.

There are 650 families in my community. About 100 of them have spent the last 30 years with mine. They’ve known me in all my metamorphoses. They’ve watched my children grow up as I’ve watched theirs. There were times when mydifferences from them chafed – them and me.

Some of my children still feel resentment toward our community about the gossip that accompanied their childhood and the cultural differences from the home they grew up in. None of them have chosen to raise their families here.

But for me – I think my relationship with my community is like my relationship with my husband. We’ve been together 37 years. (who even does that anymore?) More than once “we’ve called it everything but quits”. I look around at all the people who don’t make it past the inevitable crises of marriage and feel alot of gratitude that we made it to this place – this peak of the mountain – where we have that lofty perspective of a lifetime of companionship.

Hana and Archie were together for quite awhile before they decided to get married. She asked me a few times how you KNOW when he’s the right person and it’s the right time. I gave her that annoying answer we give – “When it’s right, you’ll know.” And she did.

The beauty of a long term relationship is like that. You don’t know how worth it it is until you get there.

A community. A partner. A friend.

Enduring equals endearing.