So I will focus on a small part that I think has often been misunderstood. Let’s start with a reminder out of Psalms: Hodu L’Ad-nai, ki tov, ki l’Olam chasdo. Be grateful to Ad-nai, for G-d is good, G-d’s mercy extends through all time and space. Wow. Pretty powerful statement. Okay, so if G-d is goodness and merciful, forgiving and all those good things and we are created in G-d’s image — that Genesis thing — then it is reasonable to believe that G-d loves us. Love is wanting the best for the object of one’s love. Since we are all created in G-d’s image and G-d loves the world (since we are all G-d’s creation), then it follows that G-d’s love is and must be unconditional.

So how do we understand Exodus 20:5-6 and Deuteronomy 5:9-10, “for I, Ad-nai, your G-d am a jealous G-d, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children to the third and fourth generation of them that hate me; 6. And showing mercy to thousands of those who love me, and keep my commandments”? [Jewish Publication Society translation with Ad-nai for L-rd]

Well, let’s look at two Hebrew words that might have a somewhat different meaning than this translation implies. They are kana and pokeid — “jealous” and “visiting upon.”

Kana is also zealous, passionate. Pokeid is an interesting word, associated with ordering, as in official, officer, clerk and it is what G-d does when Sarah becomes pregnant — G-d “pokeids” Sarah in remembering the promise of giving her a child. So perhaps a better way to look at this line (repeated verbatim in Deuteronomy) is to consider pokeid as remembering or even “taking into account.”

Another word to consider is sonai, usually taken as hate. In Torah, sonai is used to refer to the second choice (as in Leah). You might think that Jacob “hated” Leah because he so loved Rachel — but Rachel is buried along the road where she dies and Leah is in the family tomb in the cave of Machpelah, and it is next to her that Jacob wants to be buried when he instructs Joseph to bury him there, not in Egypt. Leah is specifically mentioned as why Jacob wants to be buried there. So there is clearly not a hate relationship between them. However, she was second and that caused considerable relationship damage in the family (another column, another time).

When we look at these understandings, the line out of Torah becomes: “for I, Ad-nai, your G-d, am a passionate G-d, taking into account the iniquity of the parents upon their children [even] to the third and fourth generation of them that place me second (or lower) in their lives; 6. And showing mercy to thousands of those who love me, and keep my commandments.” Placing G-d second could mean putting their own ego above G-d or G-d’s creation (life).

For me, that reading fits much better with a compassionate, loving G-d.

For most of my life, I couldn’t begin to ask such questions. My sister, three years my junior, was the only daughter in our family. And though I hated being a boy, I could be messy, dirty, ruthlessly self-centered, indifferent to my appearance, careless of others to the point of rudeness — behaviors my sister could never have gotten away with. I hated myself for deceiving my family and it broke my heart that they were so easy to deceive.

I felt utterly alone and, as so often when I was child, my estrangement from the world around me drove me to the Torah. There, I found someone I recognized as the direct ancestor of my own unbearable tangle of love and lies.

In a passage I read over and over, Jacob serves his blind, aged father Isaac his favorite dinner as a prelude to receiving his blessing. There’s only one problem with this scene of filial devotion: Jacob is impersonating his twin brother Esau, who older by a moment, is his father’s heir. Esau, a vigorous, hairy, hyper-masculine hunter, is his father’s favorite.

Jacob is a smooth-skinned, domestic, almost feminine farmer. Lest his blind father become suspicious, Jacob conceals his smooth forearms under hairy swatches of fresh-killed kid-skin that will make his arms feel as hairy as Esau’s. If his father recognizes that the manly Esau is really the feminine Jacob, Jacob will be cursed instead of blessed.

Like Jacob, I wasn’t the boy my parents meant to bless with food, shelter, clothing, love. Under the skins of masculinity — the pants and shirts I hated, the roles and games I forced myself to play — was something too smooth, too soft, too feminine to be loved like the male “twin” I pretended to be. Like Jacob, I found deception heartbreakingly easy. As long as I kept my hair short and wore pants and shirts, no one could see the girl cowering beneath.

But Jacob had something going for him that I didn’t have: a mother, Rebekah, who knew him for who he truly was. It was Rebekah’s idea that Jacob masquerade as Esau because she knew he was destined to transmit Abraham’s spiritual legacy to future generations. She sees that Jacob is a first-born trapped in a second-born’s body, and that only by flouting law and love can he become the person he was meant to be.

Not only didn’t my mother know who I truly was, I was sure that the moment she suspected, I wouldn’t have a mother at all.

But for four-and-a-half decades, my skins never slipped.

The first time my mother and I really talked, I was 46, sitting on a box in a dim, cool basement storage room, surrounded by old tax returns and broken computer equipment. An underground room for unwanted things was the perfect setting for the moment I’d been avoiding my whole life — the moment when I would finally tell my mother that I wasn’t her son. I had lived that moment in dreams and nightmares, fantasies and wishes. Now I was about to live it in the flesh.

I dialed her number and waited. Hundreds of miles away, my mother’s phone rang. Don’t answer, I whispered, as though if I couldn’t complete this call I would somehow avoid this conversation.

She answered. “Hello. Jay?”

“Yes,” I told her, “it’s Jay. I need to tell you something, Mom. Something hard. But first, you have to promise me that what I tell you won’t affect your relationship with the children. You’ll stay in touch with them, right?”

“Of course. I’m their grandmother — nothing is going to change that.”

“Good,” I said. “Because soon I’m — I’m moving out. This will be hard for the kids, and they need you to stay in their lives.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

I wished she would ask me why I was moving out, but she didn’t, so I took a deep breath and recited the words — even I found them hard to believe — that I’d practiced.

“Mom, our family is breaking up because I’m a transsexual and I can’t live as a man anymore.”

The pause that followed my revelation — the most honest thing I had ever said to my mother — seemed to stretch for years, years we had lost, years we now might never have. I thought I was ready to lose her. But in that pause, when truly motherless years were only a breath away, I realized that I had never stopped clinging to the hope of her.

“I’ve heard about this,” she said at last. Her voice, rich and low, trained for a radio career she had never had, was thick with feeling. “I know that you have to be who you are, and no matter what that is, you will always be my child.”

The air above my head felt empty. The sword that had always dangled above me, the terror of what would happen if my mother discovered what I was, was gone.

My voice rose to the pitch I had made my own, and for the first time in my life, we really talked.

Joy Ladin is a professor at Yeshiva University. This article is excerpted from her new book, “Through the Door of Life: A Jewish Journey Between Genders” and has been reprinted with permission from the University of Wisconsin Press.

(L-R) Birthday celebrant Ellis Friedman, Steven Stiglitz, Marnie Friedman and Irene Friedman

70th in shul
The day before his 70th birthday on Feb. 12, Ellis Friedman led the Shacharit and Musaf services and chanted the Maftir (Torah reading before the Haftorah) at Congregation Anshei Israel’s Shabbat morning service. His wife, Irene, gave the D’var Torah. Members of their havurah — Vivien and Jacques Gerstenfeld, Barbara and Martin Mannlein, Gail Mordka, Jack Pinnas, Sarah and Leonard Schultz, Trudy and Howard Schwartz, and Paul Smelkinson — were given honors as well. To make the occasion all the more special, Ellis and Irene’s daughter, Marnie, led the Torah service and chanted the Haftorah. When Marnie and her boyfriend, Steven Stiglitz, flew in from Los Angeles Feb. 11, they announced that they had become engaged the night before. Having told no one else, Ellis and Irene arranged for Rabbi Robert Eisen to give Marnie and Steve a special Mishebeirach (blessing) after the Maftir blessing. The rabbi said this was the first time he had the opportunity to announce an engagement from the bimah during a service.
Marnie and Steve met on J-Date and dated for 14 months. He proposed to her at Temple Beth Am in Los Angeles, where Marnie is on the board. The nuptials will take place there on Sept. 2. A hearty mazel tov to all!

Shira Michal, left, and Amanda Rothstein paint an apartment in Dimona, Israel, on JNF’s Alternative Spring Break

JNF’s ASB
Amanda Rothstein, 21, a University of Arizona senior majoring in Judaic studies with a minor in health sciences, traveled on Jewish National Fund’s Alternative Spring Break to Israel March 10-18.
Now in its sixth year, this program gives Jewish college students, graduate students and young adults between 18 and 30 an opportunity to engage in community service in our homeland. Amanda had already participated in a Birthright Israel trip during her freshman year and studied at Tel Aviv University during spring semester of her sophomore year. She was now ready to give back to Israel and gain a different perspective of the land, its people and needs.
The 40 students, who were part of JNF’s Blueprint Negev campaign, were housed mainly in the Sde Boker guest house. Due to rocket attacks fired by terrorists from the Gaza Strip, their itinerary was altered to bypass Be’er Sheva and Sderot. Some of the hands-on, hard but fulfilling work projects the group participated in were painting subsidized, rent-controlled apartments in Dimona; weeding grapevines in the hot sun on Kerem Behar Hanegev farm; painting sculptures and building a pond at an artists’ garden in the desert; and moving stones in rain and mud in Jerusalem’s Ein Kerem neighborhood, where community activists turned a garbage dump into an urban green space with paths and terraces for a nature sanctuary.
As part of the educational component of the trip, the group met with students from Ben-Gurion University of the Negev who are working on alternative energy projects in the desert, including the largest solar energy field in Israel. In the Arava agricultural community, they witnessed high-tech water irrigation methods used to grow fruit and raise fish. Asked about David Ben-Gurion’s proclamation that the success of the new state would depend on its ability to make the Negev bloom, Amanda replied, “Little by little.”
Amanda stressed how many activities the group fit into each day and the close relationships that were formed. In closing, she acknowledged that she met a nice Jewish boy from New Jersey …

Hadassah Southern Arizona members in Tucson and Green Valley celebrated Hadassah’s 100th birthday last month

Party time for Hadassah
Hadassah is celebrating its 100th year, joining the Oreo cookie, Girl Scouts of America and the state of Arizona.
On March 22, members gathered for two local Home Sweet Hadassah celebrations. Anne Lowe, Hadassah Southern Arizona co-president with Iris Sapovits, led the Tucson program at Congregation Bet Shalom; Sapovits led the program at her home in Green Valley. Co-chairs Corinne Forti and Ruth Osobow planned the concurrent fundraising festivities, which featured hors d’oeuvres and desserts.
At the Tucson event, following proclamations and a video screening, Shelley Lipowich, treasurer, spoke of her husband, Maury, who was one of the Children of Tehran, Polish Jewish refugee children brought to Iran on their way to Palestine during World War II. Once in Palestine, Maury had the opportunity to meet Henrietta Szold, the Zionist founder of Hadassah, who interviewed every child. Leatrice Ennis, 84, was recognized as having the longest Hadassah membership — 66 years. Batsheva Popovzter, another member in attendance, was born at Hadassah Hospital-Mount Scopus before Israel became a state. She is proud that four of her children trained there to become doctors and that her family has been in Jerusalem for 11 generations.
Anne, in her sixth Hadassah presidency, has served in this capacity in different cities where she’s lived. She related a couple of vignettes of her Hadassah memories:
• Pee for Hadassah — In Princeton, N.J., Squibb Laboratories needed pregnant women’s urine for research and paid for it.
• First Gulf War — In Milwaukee, as Hadassah regional president, Anne was the youngest member to join 250 others in Israel at the beginning of the First Gulf War in January 1991. She was given a tour of the Mount Scopus campus and was introduced to the gas mask and safe room. Before leaving for this trip, members were asked to fill an extra suitcase with masking tape, used to seal off safe rooms. When she went to Ace Hardware and the store personnel and nearby customers learned of her mission, they donated many rolls of tape.
Hadassah, which boasts 300,000-plus members, is the largest Jewish organization in America and one of the largest women’s volunteer organizations in the world. It is known for its work in the fields of medicine, research and education. In conjunction with its milestone anniversary, Hadassah held the official opening of the Sarah Wetsman Davidson Tower, a state-of-the-art hospital facility at Hadassah-Ein Kerem in Jerusalem.

Margo Gray, left, at a memorial service in Spain for the terror victims in Toulouse, France

Memorial service
Margo and Ron Gray traveled on Ayelet’s Jewish Tour of Lisbon and Spain March 11-25. While they were abroad, the heinous murders took place at the French Jewish day school in Toulouse. The next night, in front of the French Embassy in Sevilla, Margo attended an egalitarian service of remembrance and solidarity with 20 participants, organized by an aspiring rabbi from Cordoba. The leader of the Sevilla Jewish community was present, as were two Jewish immigrants from Argentina. Margo was asked to lead the Kaddish (memorial prayer).
Some highlights of the Grays’ two-week journey included visiting the Lisbon Synagogue (founded in 1902) where Portuguese descendants of Crypto-Jews are studying to convert back to Judaism, davening at Shabbat services in Barcelona at a Sephardic Orthodox Synagogue, and walking the Calls (Jewish neighborhoods) of Gerona (formerly a major Jewish center and home to Nachmanides, the Ramban), Granada, Cordoba (childhood home of Moses Maimonides, the Rambam), Toledo and Sevilla.

Time to share
Keep me posted for a May column before my summer hiatus — 319-1112. L’shalom.

Rabbi Thomas Louchheim

One of my favorite stories of my grandfather involves driving home from a Dodgers game. Dodger Stadium is located adjacent to downtown Los Angeles. Even when a game ends late in the evening there’s traffic from the stadium, plus regular evening traffic downtown. In his later years, my grandfather’s sight was failing so whenever we would have family outings, one of the grandchildren drove the car. My grandfather always sat in the passenger seat in front giving directions. I was the driver that evening; but when I drove my grandfather, I was always in a panic. He had lived in Los Angeles since the ’40s and he knew the “correct” way to get from one location to another. He also knew all of the ways to avoid traffic. I was always nervous behind the wheel because I did not dare make a mistake. I often would repeat what he said to make sure that I understood.

So there we were inching our way through the traffic of cars exiting Chavez Ravine and all of a sudden, as we were approaching an intersection, my grandfather said (very clearly, mind you), “Turn left there.” I drove through the intersection, intending to make a left turn at the next light and my grandfather asked incredulously, “Why didn’t you make the turn?” I responded in a cold sweat, “You said, ‘Turn left there,’ not ‘Turn left here.’” Surprisingly, he did not get mad at me. He chuckled, knowing that although in his mind he had clearly stated his intentions, he was misunderstood.

I now drive a car with a GPS system. I do not really need it in Tucson. Like my grandfather in Los Angeles, I have been here for enough years to know how to get to my destination in the quickest manner, and I know the roads to take if there is congestion. Nevertheless, I will turn it on from time to time to see its suggested route. Sometimes, either by mistake or by intention, I will not take the turn the GPS tells me to take. What is amazing is that the system does not get mad at me. It does not call me names. If I make a mistake it responds, “Recalculating … ” It says, “Make a U-turn” so that I can try that again. Or perhaps it suggests another route entirely.

What happens when you make a wrong turn? Do you get mad? Do you blame it on bad directions from others? You can do that — or you can say, “Recalculating” or perhaps chuckle like my grandfather did at my mistake. I could share any number of Jewish stories about our struggle with the yetzer hatov and the yetzer hara (the good and evil inclinations) to illustrate this. Allow me to share a story attributed to Native Americans as a way to honor my 23 years here in Tucson.

A grandfather told his grandson about a fight that was going on inside his heart. He said it was between two wolves.

One is evil: Anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego.

The other is good: Joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf wins?”

The grandfather simply replied, “The one I feed.”

No matter how many wrong turns you or someone else may make, perhaps the kinder, gentler response is one with a chuckle: “Recalculating.”

Guy Gelbart

The state of Israel,” “Israel independence,” “the Israel Defense Forces,” “the prime minister of Israel” … it seems, nowadays, we tend to take all those for granted. We refer to the existence of a Jewish state as a solid fact. Young Jewish adults are focused on the Arab-Israeli or Palestinian-Israeli conflict from the perspective of Israel as the stronger force in the region, losing track of how lucky we are to be in this unique situation.

Several weeks ago, the internationally known Israeli author A.B Yehoshua reminded us of the course of history in a very provocative talk. “We have never analyzed the Holocaust from the perspective of a Jewish failure,” Yehoshua told an audience in Israel. “Clearly the aggression was German, but the writing was on the wall for the last 2,000 years.”

Looking at Jewish history does make one wonder: Why didn’t we prepare? In 1096, Christian crusaders slaughtered thousands of Jews across Europe on their way to Jerusalem; in 1190, the entire York, England, Jewish community was murdered; in 1290, the Jewish community of England was forced to leave the kingdom; in 1492, the Jews of Spain were forced to leave amid the Inquisition; in 1648, there were massive murders of Jews across Poland and in 1736, massive murders of Jews in Iran. Even this partial, random list is too long. All across the world Jewish communities were violently attacked for simply being Jewish, century after century.

In 1897, for the first time in nearly 2,000 years, the Jewish people decided to take their fate into their own hands. They decided to re-create the Jewish state. They made up their minds that waiting nearly 2,000 years for the Messiah was long enough and it was time to take action. Unfortunately, this vision came too late, and its fulfillment was too slow to prevent the Holocaust. Many Jews at the time simply did not want to change their lifestyles and leave their communities for a faraway desolate land. Later, when the Nazi regime came to power, it was too late.

Re-creating a Jewish state was not a simple task: drying the swamps, building institutions, learning to work the land, protecting the community, even reviving the Hebrew language. Many young men and women have paid with their lives and many are still paying to make this vision real: of being a free people in our land; of being a nation like all the nations, with a flag, an anthem and an army that can protect us, assuring that never again will Jewish people be marched to their deaths. It is with a mixture of tears, pain and joy that we celebrate Israel today — with a fierce memory of one-third of our people murdered in the Holocaust; with a burning pain for the loved ones, friends and relatives who died protecting our Jewish state; and with the hope and happiness of knowing we are now a fully free and liberated people, controlling our fate. Knowing that we are home.

On April 22 at 2 p.m. we will gather at the Tucson Jewish Community Center to commemorate the Holocaust. On April 25 at 6:30 p.m. we will commemorate Yom Hazikaron — Israel’s Memorial Day for fallen soldiers and victims of terror. The memory of the Holocaust and the memory of those who made the miracle of a modern Israel go hand in hand. On May 6, we will celebrate the Israel Festival, celebrate this tiny place on earth in which the Jewish people are really a nation like all nations and not a minority group. The only place on earth in which Jewish lives are protected by Jewish hands.

Guy Gelbart is Tucson’s community shaliach (Israeli emissary) and director of the Weintraub Israel Center.

Rabbi Yossi Winner

Each year on the holiday of Pesach some 500 Jewish students join my wife, family and me for the Passover Seders. It is an extraordinary scene!

Who would have imagined that on a college campus where the challenges to Jewish identity and practice are many, a place where students for the first time in their lives have the freedom to decide their own destinies, hundreds of Jewish students seek out a Passover Seder.

What is it about Passover that makes it the most universally observed holiday on the Jewish calendar?

I’m sure it’s mom’s brisket or grandma’s matzah ball soup. Yet, here the students find themselves miles away from home in search of a place to observe the Seders.

In the beginning of the Haggadah, we read how “we were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt, but G-d, our G-d took us out from there with a strong hand and with an outstretched arm.”

This slavery to Pharaoh was physical, psychological and spiritual.

Physically, our sages teach us that in the history of Egypt not a single slave had ever escaped. The Jewish people were subjected to backbreaking labor and unbearable torture.

Psychologically, the Midrash tells us that after the death of Joseph and his brothers their descendants began to assimilate into Egyptian culture.

Spiritually, Kabballah points out that “We were slaves to Pharaoh” means that our sustenance from Hashem came in a way of oreph, from the Hebrew word for “back of the neck,” which contains the same Hebrew letters as “Pharaoh.” Our existence and connection to G-d was hidden, similar to a backhanded compliment or a person giving you a present he tosses at you over his shoulder.

Then, after 210 years of slavery, the equivalent of eight generations, we walked out of Egypt in the sunlight of a Thursday afternoon in the sunny spring desert.

We read in the Haggadah that G-d himself “passed over” and delivered us out of Egypt. “Not through an angel or messenger, but only He, alone, delivered and revealed Himself to us.” We were free. Physically, psychologically and spiritually.

The exodus from Egypt and the Passover Seder remind us of the powerful and unique relationship we have with

G-d. Despite the odds of our exile in Egypt, where no slave ever escaped, and the spiritual level of impurity we reached, G-d bent the laws of nature, revealed his infinite powers and delivered the Jewish people from the confines of Egypt.

We can translate the word “Pesach” as “jump” or “leap”; thus Hashem passed over or jumped over the Jewish homes during the final plague (death of the firstborn) in Egypt. Chassidic philosophy explains that Pesach is also a state of G-dliness that is revealed through G-d passing over all rules and restrictions of nature and order.

This is the essence of the Passover holiday. Just as when a person jumps or leaps he can reach a farther state than walking or running, so too, we can be in a state of total exile or despair and instantly we can jump over, or “pass over” with one leap of courage and faith.

At the time of our exodus from Egypt G-d introduced to us an eternal legacy. He freed us from Egypt and ingrained in our DNA an innate sense of absolute freedom. Passover was the introduction, and 49 days later G-d gave us the Torah, the method to retain our freedom for all time.

This is why each year men, women and children, grandmas and grandpas, and students away from home, gather around the Seder table to relive and recount the numerous miracles that G-d performed for us. We ask the four questions, crunch the tasty matzah and conclude the Haggadah with “Leshana Haba’ah b’Yerushalayim” — this time next year we should be in the land of Israel with the complete and final redemption!

Rabbi Yossi Winner is the University of Arizona campus rabbi and executive director of Chabad at U of A Rohr Jewish Student Center, JewishWildcats.com.

Guy Gelbart

The month of Adar is here, “Mishenichnas Adar marbin b’simcha!” — It’s Adar, be happy!

The month of Adar is considered the month of joy in Jewish tradition. As my grandmother used to say, “That’s the way we are; you need to tell us to be happy.” It seems that happiness and sadness have always mixed in the Jewish tradition. We fast on Taanit Esther to commemorate the attempt to annihilate the Jews and we celebrate our victory the next day. As an old Jewish joke says, “They tried to kill us, they failed, let’s eat!”

Focusing on joy, I came across a fascinating study that suggests, surprisingly, that Israelis are happier than Americans. The Gallup’s global well-being survey of 2010 is, it seems, the most comprehensive and profound worldwide survey for well-being and “happiness” ever completed. Quantifying happiness isn’t an easy task — researchers for the Gallup world poll surveyed thousands of respondents in 155 countries between 2005 and 2009 to measure two types of well-being. First they asked subjects to reflect on their overall satisfaction with their lives and ranked their answers using a “life evaluation” score from 1 to 10. Then they asked questions about how each subject had felt the previous day. Those answers allowed researchers to score respondents’ “daily experiences”— things like whether they felt well-rested, respected, free of pain and intellectually engaged. Subjects who reported high scores were considered “thriving.” The percentage of thriving individuals determined each country’s ranking on the study’s “thriving” index. Israel ranked 7 with 63 percent of thriving individuals. By comparison, the United States ranked 11 with 59 percent.

These findings are extremely surprising when you take into account the period of time in which the survey took place — these were the years of massive homicide-suicide terrorist bombing attacks on Israeli civilians. These inhumane, unjustified and cruel attacks led to over 1,000 deaths, inflated fear across the country and led to the creation of the security fence; yet the Gallup study suggests Israelis’ level of happiness was still higher than that of Americans, Austrians or the British.

Taking into account financial differences between Israel and the United States makes those findings even more peculiar: the cost of living in Israel is on average 30 percent higher than the United States, while the average Israeli’s income is about 30 percent lower than his or her American counterpart.

So what makes Israelis happier? What makes their lives more joyful? I can only try to look into my own life to seek an answer. It could be the feeling of being part of something big, bigger than you, bigger than life, being part of history. It could be the amazing unmediated connection to Jewish memory, history and culture. Maybe it’s the unique sense of family you feel walking through the streets, as a stranger tells you to put a sweater on your baby girl “because it’s too cold outside for her.” Maybe it is the knowledge that you will always have someone to whine to, and someone to shamelessly brag to. There is some kind of crazy magic that makes those often rude, sweaty, impolite, way too emotional and sometimes brainy Israelis happy. Somehow this happiness is contagious!

As our Purim celebrations come to a close, hoping to infect you with some crazy happiness, uncensored smiles and uninhibited laughter, I wish you a very happy Adar.

Guy Gelbart is Tucson’s community shaliach (Israeli emissary) and director of the Weintraub Israel Center.

Years ago, the Jewish Federation of Southern Arizona’s Super Sunday consisted of a phone-a-thon only. On Jan. 29, not only did volunteers exceed the day’s projected fundraising goal but they performed acts of loving kindness. Activities on this expanded Mitzvah Day included an American Red Cross blood drive, Gift of Life bone marrow registration, PJ Library story time with a tzedakah box craft project, and writing letters to the troops overseas.

Richard White

This day of giving usually evokes a human interest story and this year was no exception.

Richard White, executive director of the American Red Cross Southern Arizona, was a volunteer phone solicitor. During his shift, he was asked if he would consider having his cheek swabbed for the bone marrow registry. He replied that he has already been a donor.

In 2004, he said, everyone at the American Red Cross registered with the bone marrow registry in an effort to save a former employee’s dying daughter. Unfortunately no one at the Red Cross was a match for the little girl. A week later, Richard learned that he was virtually a perfect match for a nine-month-old boy in Cleveland who was born with almost no immune system. Richard donated stem cells at the Arizona Cancer Center, undergoing a procedure he describes as being “a little bit of discomfort.” The little boy lived for about nine more months after receiving the stem cell transplant before succumbing to an infection. Richard’s altruism gave the boy’s family that extra precious time with him.

Through the markers used to ascertain match compatibility, it was determined that, through their Polish ancestry, Richard and the little boy were related three or four generations back. “I would fly anywhere in the world, at my own expense, for the chance to save someone’s life, and hope that, if G-d forbid someone in my family ever needed a bone marrow transplant, they would find a donor through the bone marrow network,” Richard said.

Research adventure

Jenna Kloosterman with project apparatus during testing in Antarctica

From Nov. 7 until Jan. 19, Jenna Kloosterman, 30, a fifth-year University of Arizona Ph.D. student in electrical and computer engineering, traveled to Antarctica with her research group on a project called Stratospheric Terachertz Observatory. STO is a NASA-funded Long Duration Balloon experiment designed to study the lifecycle of the Interstellar Medium. On Jan. 16, STO launched from Williams Field near McMurdo Station in Antarctica, following a circular path around the continent at 120,000 feet. The flight lasted two weeks.

Throughout this remarkable experience, Jenna kept family, friends and colleagues informed through a blog with photos. Some of the highlights of her adventure included observing sea-ice pressure ridges, penguins and camping overnight in tents on the Antarctic ice during Snow School. She ate latkes on Chanukah at the bottom of the world during 24 hours of daylight and enjoyed the annual Icestock six-hour music festival over New Year’s.

In retrospect, meeting new people and making new friends in this intense environment, Jenna said, countered the feelings of isolation and fatigue from the stressful workload and grueling hours.

Senior Olympics

On Jan. 27, during the 28th annual Tucson Senior Olympic Festival, Larry Dalkoff won the silver medal in the men’s power lifting category (ages 60-64). He competed in squat, bench press and dead lift at the Mid-Valley Athletic Club. Our competitor works out at L.A. Fitness three to four times per week and has participated in this senior competition for several years.

Mountain bike relay

(L-R) Jeff Silvyn, Matt Holland, David Plotkin and Damion Alexander

Todd Sadow, president of Epic Rides, is co-founder of the 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo mountain bike relay, now in its 13th year. From noon to noon, Feb. 18-19, thousands of competitors, spectators and volunteers converged on Willow Springs Ranch in the desert northwest of Tucson for this event. Bikers rode the 17-mile loop and repeated it throughout the 24-hour period. Some racers rode solo; others handed off the wooden baton to their teammates in this test of mind and body. Riders, some with their families, camped in the Sonoran desert during the contest, which promotes solidarity with friends and a sense of accomplishment. Event sponsors included Kona Bikes and Tucson Medical Center, with proceeds donated to the Arizona Cancer Center, the Cascade Foundation and several other worthy causes.

Some biking buddies who took part in this year’s relay included teammates Matt Holland, David Plotkin and Jeff Silvyn; Damion Alexander and Jeff Wortzel rode solo.

Time to share

Keep me posted at the Post — 319-1112. L’shalom.

— Rabbi Yochanan as cited in Shabbat 127

Rabbi Jason Holtz

Back in September, I was a very healthy guy, never having anything more than a cold. That changed back in October, when I was hospitalized for almost a week with brain hemorrhaging. I was released after doctors thought the bleeding had stopped and I was on my way to recovery. Things didn’t go according to plan, though. After being released, I wound up in the emergency room three times over the following three weeks with related complications, and ultimately ended up in the operating room having urgent brain surgery when my brain had an even larger bleed than the first time around. Quite literally, I needed this like I needed a hole in my head.

It’s amazing how much can change so quickly. Physically, I went from biking, hiking and playing softball to being fairly immobile for a while. The changes weren’t just physical though. Before it all started, I had many social realities. I was a husband, a son, a brother, a Jew, a rabbi, a (very bad) athlete, occasional movie-goer, book-reader, you name it. Once I ended up in the hospital though, all of those things seemed to change and I became “the patient.” Socially, I was always treated as someone who was sick and needed to be taken care of. Regular old conversations were few and far between. Mentally, my cognitive abilities were quite stressed with even basic tasks like counting coins. Fortunately, this is mostly behind me now.

That’s my story demonstrating how life can and does change. Other people have their stories too. For some, their stories reflect life changes that were just as significant or more so, and happened just as quickly. For others, the changes came slower but have just as profound an effect on their lives. Some changes are ones of growth, others are changes of decay, and others are just changes. There is one thing that binds us all together though, everything always changes. The wise King Solomon is said to have taught gam zeh ya’avor, this too shall pass — whatever it is.

People sometimes ask me now, what got me through it? The answer is, I didn’t always feel like I was getting through it OK. Sometimes, I felt like life was getting through me, not the other way around. But if there was anything, it was being part of something larger than myself and not having to go through anything by myself. That meant a lot of things. It meant having a loving and supportive family. And something that was overpowering for both my wife, Jodi, and I, was how much the Jewish community rallied to us. We received phone calls, visits, cards, meals, rides and more. The care and concern shown to us meant the world, and at times there was never enough. Each time that someone expressed care, we felt a bit renewed. So how did I get through it all? I don’t always know, but I know I didn’t have to get through it alone.

There are two ways to learn Torah. One is to study what our sages taught and one is to experience life. Ideally, they work together and from each, the lesson is the same. Bikkur cholim, visiting the sick, is a mitzvah that has eternal value.

Jason Holtz is assistant rabbi at Temple Emanu-El.

Guy Gelbart

A safe haven? Is this really all there is to it? Is this the only reason for us to support Israel, teach about it and engage with it? Is this the reason for us to fly to the other side of the world for a visit, just so we will have a potential safe haven in case of need? If you seriously believe the state of Israel was created so the American Jewish community will have an insurance policy for a cloudy day, then I am sorry to be the one telling you this but: No! That is not the reason! That is not why the modern state of Israel was created nor is it the reason why I, as an Israeli, wake up in the morning, go to work, send my kids to school and, later on, to the army before I send them to university.

True, Israel also serves as a safe haven for Jews at risk. Yes, as a state and as individuals Israel and Israelis sometimes do heroic things to rescue Jewish communities around the world. The Jewish Ethiopians were one example. But this is just one element, I might say a side effect, a bonus, of Israel’s existence. If all we want is a safe haven, why in Israel? Why not in New Zealand or New Jersey? Why bother with all this Middle East challenge, the malarial swamps in the early days of the state, the desert, the surrounding unfriendly neighborhood? Wouldn’t it make more sense to have a safe haven someplace more safe?

For generation after generation, Jews around the world have been promising on their wedding night, “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither, let my tongue cleave to my palate if I do not remember you, if I do not set Jerusalem above my highest joy” (Psalm 137: 5-7). This is not a quest for a safe haven; it is a promise to remember something deeper and more significant. For generation after generation, every Passover we bless each other with “Next year in Jerusalem.” It was in the land of Israel that our forefathers and foremothers became a people. It was in the land of Israel where David fought against Goliath and King Saul lost his temper. It was in the land of Israel that we created our heritage, culture, faith and ethnicity, where we grew from the family of Abraham to a people. It is only in this land of Israel that we can fully fulfill the wish “To be a free people in our land.”

Lately there are voices coming out of some academic sources, parsing life in the Diaspora, claiming that living in exile is the true role of the Jewish people, the only way to really teach people how to repair the world, how to do tikkun olam. Those voices are going so far as to claim that the biblical Israel is a utopia, an imaginary concept. The truth is, that anyone who reads the Bible clearly sees that Israel is not a utopia and never was. Israel was always real! It was never the perfect land of milk and honey. It is very comfortable to sit on a sofa in a fancy university somewhere and preach to the world what is and what is not moral behavior; mainly because you are not really accountable for anything, you do not have the power in your hands and you do not bear the weight of responsibility.

Only through the creation of the modern state of Israel did the Jewish people gain the deep responsibility and challenges that power brings. Through the creation of the state of Israel we became once again a free people in our land, we reconnected to our heritage and historical sites, and for the first time in 2,000 years we can stop being the scholar on the sofa and become the real person doing the work.

Israel is not perfect, it has significant issues, but it is a fair and decent country with fair and decent people facing challenging realities and hard, real-life moral dilemmas. Israel definitely handles things better than most other nations would under the same circumstances. My strong connection to Israel is not because I was born there and am an Israeli citizen, but because Israel allows me to be a better Jew and a better person; it allows me to be free, be real and be responsible.

Guy Gelbart is Tucson’s community shaliach (emissary from Israel) and director of the Weintraub Israel Center.