Vayishlach

Dear friends,

I returned home to Eretz Yisroel yesterday. The Great Plan obviously was that Tuesday would be the day, but my Little Plan was to get home on Monday. No, you didn’t ask for any particular details of how things evolved, but as you already figured out, this never stopped me.

I knew I had a problem last Thursday.

We were on the way to a wedding in London. For some reason, my dear dear student Tamar, the kallah, who arranged the tickets, actually assumed that the names that she knows us by, Dovid and Tziporah Gottlieb, would appear on both the tickets and our passports. Our passports were made out to (blush, but a very inappropriate one) Dale Victor Gottlieb and Phyllis Bonnie Heller….
There was no problem getting out of Israel. I just sweetly smiled at the young woman checking documents and told her how back in America he was called Dale, but of course here in Israel things are different. I began to tell her an Aliya story, but she went on to my passport. When I told her how we recently married and how wonderful it was to have a new beginning at this age, she realized that she had better just let me go if the plane will make it out on time. When we were on the way back, in the airport in London, as soon as I saw the woman checking documents, I knew we were in Big Trouble. She was about 60, named Clara, and looked as though in a previous gilgul she may have been the rector of the University of Berlin. I knew the smiley dotty stuff wouldn’t work. It didn’t. All it achieved was her carrying on the rest of her conversation exclusively with my husband, leaving me to watch the clock and the bags. When I asked if having my lawyer email a statement from Israel attesting to our identity would help, she asked someone to get me a chair….

The story ended with a pending refund and new tickets. 

Now for the reason I told you the tale of Dale, Phyllis, Dovid, and Tziporah.

CHAPTER 1

My mother was one of six sisters. They all went to the same public school in the lower east side. In those days, the teachers were almost all Irish, and they didn’t particularly like Jews. On the first day of school, the teacher asked each child for her name.

Fagaleh became Fay.
Raizeleh became Rose.
Dvairah became Dorothy.
Tzirel became Celia.
My mother, Sara, z.l. became Syd.
When it was Goldie’s turn, the teacher told her that Goldie isn’t even a name. Gold is a metal. She will be called Gussie.

Goldie turned to the teacher and said (at the age of 6!) “I won’t answer unless you call me Goldie,” and Goldie she remained.

A generation later virtually everyone had English names. Even the children of the Very Frum had names such as Regina, Irving, Milton, and more oldies but goodies. Things have changed. I don’t know anyone who is shomer Shabbos who gave their child a secular name (unless pressured to see that Aunt Shirley had a namesake or similar reasons).

CHAPTER 2

When Yaakov left his home behind him (imagine what growing up with Yitzchak and Rivka must have been like, but that’s another story), he had to go to Lavan. When he finally left and encountered his brother Eisov he said the words “Im Lavan garti” which means “I dwelled with Lavan.” Rashi asks why this phrase is part of the Torah. What does it teach you? – The word Torah is related to the word Horaah, which means, “teaching.” Nothing in Torah is either irrelevant or there for the ride. He answers by mentioning that the number value of “garti” is 613, the number of the mitzvos. He hinted that even in Lavan’s house he kept all of the mitzvos. He didn’t have to – the Torah had not yet been given, so his observance reflected a desire to serve Hashem rather than an obligation. That desire was his entire identity.
 
CHAPTER 3

Some of us are what I call pseudo-Marranos. You were Dale or Phyllis but never never never let anyone suspect you of having been anything other than Dovid or Tziporah. It’s a deep dark secret of a past you left behind. You may forget that the process makes you who you are and that it is Hashem who authored your first chapters.

No one reading this letter had an experience similar to my mother’s and her sister’s experience. Episode one is your entire early life. Some of your grandparents were sisters under the skin of Goldie. Others were not. You may have grown up in a family that identified as Americans. You alternatively may have grown up in a family that identified as Jews, or any mixture thereof.

Episode two is the one you write for yourself. You can learn to ask questions, real “what” questions, to deepen your awareness of being Jewish and its meaning to you. You can ask “why” questions about your relationship to the current progressive society, questions about who you really aspire to be. Everyone writes their own book. Our books could be read (at least to some degree) by looking at our passports. There is no reason for shame – my blush was misguided (a misguided blush? Nu nu). You are on a journey with a beginning determined by Hashem’s providence, but your last chapter is determined by your choices.

I haven’t been back to the States since Covid. I miss you, and miss being back to episode 2 and watching it morph into episode 3 which is still unfolding….

My husband and I will be in the States for two weddings (I imagine that if we had stayed Dale and Phyllis this is would have been extremely unlikely). We are both available to speak from January 15 through January 27. We can speak either individually or together. For instance, we did a speaking engagement in England in which we spoke for about a half hour each and then did Q and A with people in the audience addressing their questions to whomever they wished to hear.

The one who is arranging things is my daughter Chani. You can reach her by email at [email protected]. She will let you know which days are available and will send you a menu of topics along with what the cost will be. Because of the weather and my history of canceled flights, only the East Coast will be possible this time around.
 
Looking forward to seeing you,

Love,
Tziporah