<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/platform.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d25630096\x26blogName\x3dSolid+Gold+Dancing+in+the+Holy+Land\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLUE\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://solidgolddancingintheholyland.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_AU\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://solidgolddancingintheholyland.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-695517129689318804', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

Lest We Forget April 30, 2006 |


This last week Australian Jews commemorated both Anzac Day and Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Memorial Day). This coming week, we will commemorate and honour those who have lost their lives in war and terror attacks in Israel only to then discard our grief and transform it into joy as we celebrate the anniversary of the formation of the State of Israel.

Two years ago, I was blessed enough to be in Israel during this week and I wanted to share with you a little bit of my experience there.

Holocaust Memorial Day in Israel is an experience you cannot forget.

As we gathered in our student lounge and listened to music, songs, poems and family stories, we lit six Yarhzeit (Memorial) candles that burn for 24 hours in memory of the lives lost. We had the honour of meeting Solomon Malik, a survivor of the Holocaust, and we listened to his story.

Solomon was born in Hungary in the 1920’s. He and his twin sister tragically found themselves in the experimental laboratories of the infamous Dr Mengele in Auschwitz. By some miracle that can only be described as divine intervention, Solomon and his siblings survived. They survived starvation. They survived cruel and barbaric experimentation. They survived disease. One can only imagine the unthinkable horrors and images that those young children endured.

But Solomon survived. He and his sister both came to Israel and to illustrate the unbroken bond between them as twins, they both ended up having their children born on the same day. His sister died a few years ago of a disease no one could properly identify, and we can only guess that her disease later in life was in some way linked to the experiments the Nazi’s had cruelly conducted on her.

This morning, at 10am precisely, Israel stood still for two minutes. Sirens throughout the land rang out and the entire country literally stood still and in complete silence for two minutes. Try and conjure that image in your head. Imagine huge freeways coming to a total standstill. Drivers and passengers getting out of their vehicles and standing up on the road. Every place of work, every school in the country, even people in their homes.

As the siren faded, I could hear a lone bugle sounding in the distance. Everyone from the Merkaz Klita where I live came out and assembled on the courtyard, many of us wearing white, to signify mourning. Each one of us stood still and listened as the air was filled with the haunting echo of the siren. I looked around me. We were American, English, Australian, Belgian, French, Canadian, Russian, Ethiopian and we were all Jews.
We were all Jews in Israel and we were all united in our remembrance of the blackest moment in the history of our people.

I thought about all the people from my mother’s family that lost their lives in the Holocaust. I thank G-d that my grandparents escaped Poland just before the outbreak of the war – because had they not, I would not be standing here in Israel today, honouring the lives of all those people who were slaughtered like animals.
I thank G-d for many things. But today, I thank G-d for Israel.

Less than a week after observing Yom HaShoah, we were once again, as a nation, united in grief and mourning for the loss of countless lives – of Israel’s fallen soldiers, and now, tragically, the victims of terror.

On the eve of Yom HaZikaron, we gathered in the town centre for the official ceremony. There, against a backdrop of torches, each signifying the loss of some of Arad’s local residents, we listened to songs, testimony, and the Kaddish – the Jewish prayer for the dead. Once again, a two-minute long siren brought with it, silence.

I awoke the next morning and headed downstairs to hear testimony from my friend and former madricha (leader), Galit. Galit performed her army service during the war with Lebanon. Although she personally was not stationed there, many of her friends were.
Among them was her childhood friend Itamar, a boy she had known while growing up in Arad. Itamar had been accepted to an elite combat unit in the army. He was on a secret mission in Lebanon that failed – tragically. Itamar and several other members of his unit were ambushed and blown up. Itamar’s body was the one body the army were unable to piece together. He was 21 years old.

An hour or so later I was standing in front of Itamar’s grave at the Arad Cemetery. I stared at the standard army issue grave, covered in flowers, yahrzeit candles and most oddly, cacti. There were several ceramic pots filled with exotic desert cactus plants, blooming with wild flowers. I thought how amazing it was that such a harsh plant as the cactus could be sitting on a gravestone. And then I really thought about it. The flowers were beautiful. In the desert, a cactus survives, thrives even. It can survive months without water. The cactus was a symbol. Even in the harshest conditions; conditions that would normally kill most living things, beauty and life can survive and even flourish. The memory of young Itamar burns brightly, long after the yahrzeit candle has burned to nothing.

As the sun set on Yom HaZikaron and our thoughts turned to the imminent Yom Ha’atzmaut celebrations, I struggled to understand how Israelis could do it every year – especially when every year there are more tragedies and more parents have had to bury their children. Even more remarkable, how they could turn their grief into joy in a matter of hours? How can a country go from having being plunged to the greatest depth of mourning to overwhelming joy and celebration for Yom Ha’atzmaut (Israeli Independence Day)? Only the night before, another young soldier had been killed in Hebron – and so his family were burying him on Yom Ha’atzmaut. What did this family have to celebrate? What would they ever have to celebrate?

Before going downstairs to attend our Independence Day celebrations, I washed my face, peeled the “Yizkor” (Remembrance) sticker off my white shirt and got changed. Together, we walked into town. Young and old alike were waving the Israeli flag. At 10pm the sky lit up with a beautiful fireworks display.

I looked around me at all the people and felt an undeniable sense of pride and patriotism. This was my first Yom Ha’atzmaut in Israel and as an Israeli. I began to understand how Israel is able to make this fundamental psychological shift in the space of a day. We are an amazingly resilient people, and Israel is an amazingly resilient country. We are a people that have suffered unthinkable tragedy throughout time.

People often refer to native-born Israelis as “Sabras.” The Sabra is a desert cactus – prickly on the outside and sweet on the inside. Israel is a cactus too. It needs to have a strong defensive exterior to protect itself. It needs to protect itself so that the inside – its people – can survive. And they do. Yom Ha’atzmaut is more than a celebration of independence. It is a celebration of survival. And that is every reason to celebrate.

Atypical April 26, 2006 |

I’m an atypical person
But are you Type A
Or Type B?

Would you like fries with that
Or an extra large coke?

You’re really not what we are looking for
Sorry we should have been more specific

But always be yourself
Take pride in your individuality
Just not too much sweetheart
Or people will notice
And who likes to stand out in the crowd?

You know if you were just a couple of inches taller
You’d be perfect -
My kinda gal

Of course you could have bigger boobs
A smaller bum
A flatter stomach
Brown eyes
A tattoo
Believe in the Lord Jesus
And be able to recite Nietzsche backwards
While standing on one foot in the rain

But apart from that
You’re almost perfect.

Is blogging an addiction? I think this says it all... April 24, 2006 |

The Perfect Girly Day April 22, 2006 |


Got bugger all money at the moment and neither do any of my friends, which is great because we have been getting very creative in our poverty-stricken state.
Today, Lena (upstairs neighbour and childhood buddy from Hong Kong days) and I went out and bought some hair dye for me. Why pay $150 at the salon when you can do it at home for less than $30? On went the 80's electronica music, and while I waited for the colour to set, we sat in the sun and flicked through chick mags.
I'd bought a colour that was supposed to be a darkish mahogany. It ended up being pretty bloody red! Good thing I hadn't bought anything lighter or I would have looked like a fire truck.
We got a bit carried away with the old curling tongs tonight - but what the heck - why not?! Here's the result...
"Oh it's Saturday night and I ain't got nobody..."
Thanks Cat.
Laila tov kulam.

Buying chicken in Israel |


I started writing a book in Israel - the first time I was there - in 2003. Yes, I know it is now 2006 and I am still writing the same book, but I will get there, eventually.

It's not something I can hurry along. My life experiences, even the seemingly mundane ones, are what inspire me.

I got an email from a friend who has just moved to Israel from the States. He's full of uncertainty, bordering on dread. He's terrified he's made an incredibly bad decision to leave America. But mixed in with all the doubt is the total flip side - something he can't really substantiate, or really make sense of. That feeling that deep inside your gut that makes no logical sense, but you know what you are doing is right...

It reminded me of something I wrote when I was back in Israel at the beginning of this year:

It’s hard to believe, but I am back in Israel. Even harder to believe, it is work that has brought me here. Roughly eighteen months ago I boarded a flight alone, and flew to the other side of the world, to a country I knew virtually nothing about. Today I am taking nearly four hundred young Australian Jews with me who have come to Israel to discover something about their own identities.

It’s been a strange, somewhat artificial existence here. Living out of a suitcase, living in hotels for weeks on end. Not having to pay bills. I’ll admit, there is a lot to envy. It’s a great job I have landed. A job that pays me to be in Israel for two months of the year. I could do a lot worse! But it’s not enough somehow. I know that if I lived here, it would be tough for me on so many levels. Tough financially. Tough emotionally. Israel is not an easy place to live, I am fully aware of that. I have many friends who have moved here and struggle on all those fronts. I don’t know why I can’t be satisfied with my life in Australia. I have a good job, a wonderful family and great friends. I live in a country where I don’t fear getting on a bus and I can walk into a shop or a café and not have to show a guard the contents of my handbag.

If I stopped to smell the roses for just a second or two, I might even find someone to share my life with, a partner to share the adventure.

I was in a supermarket this evening, just across the road from my hotel in Jerusalem. I was picking up some hot chicken for dinner and a lady with an English accent asked me if I thought the chicken was good. I told her that I had never bought chicken from this supermarket before, but that it looked good. We entered into a brief conversation. What was I doing in Israel? How long was I here? Was I going to come back to live? I was barely able to answer her because she interrupted me and told me that I must come back. That I would find my bashert (soulmate) here. I told her that I hoped so and she replied most forcefully that, “Yes! Of course I would meet him here.”

We grabbed our respective chickens and wished each other behatzlecha (good luck). Where else in the world do you have random conversations like that over a hot chicken counter?

Yesterday I caught a bus from Jerusalem to Netanya, which is a pretty seaside town on the north coast. The bus ride took maybe an hour and a half and during the journey I looked out the window and stared at the scenery. There is something about the Israeli landscape that makes my heart both sing with joy and ache with such a pain I cannot fathom where it comes from. It is even hard to articulate exactly what it is that I mean.

It’s as if what I see around me is as familiar as my own body. The land speaks to my soul like some ancient language that doesn’t need translating. Whether is it is the hills surrounding Jerusalem or the arid moonscape of the Negev desert. I breathe in deeply and fill my lungs with the clean, crisp air. I can breathe more deeply here. I know that sounds crazy, but I am an asthmatic and I know how deeply I can inhale before I start to choke and splutter. Sometimes I feel like I can inhale indefinitely here.

I know all this romanticizing leads to one very simple question. If I am so happy here and so desperately want to be here, why don’t I just move here and be done with it?
Because I am afraid, that’s why. Truth be told, I am terrified.

I am afraid of a lot of things.
I am afraid that financially the move would kill me.
I am afraid that I have created such a deep and entrenched fantasy that I can no longer tell the difference between reality and make-believe anymore. Do I really truly want to be in Israel, or am I looking for a convenient excuse to run away again?
I am afraid that planning a move here will even further harm my chances of meeting someone special and settling down.

I celebrated my 33rd birthday here in December, not long after I arrived. I had hoped to organise something with my friends, but I just didn’t get my act together in time and so ended up spending it with the particular group I was with at the time. The kids were so sweet though. They had learned to sing Happy Birthday in Hebrew and the madrichim (group leaders) had gone and bought me some little cakes which we shared out amongst the group. To be honest though, it didn’t really feel like my birthday.

This whole cathartic, self-examining process has been going on since the eve of my 30th birthday. That’s where this whole thing began. Can it really have been three years already? Am I any further to reaching my mystery destination now than I was three years ago? In some ways I feel like I have been flung even further backwards, that I am more confused now than I was then. Back when this whole crazy plan hatched itself, I felt so sure, so confident that what I was doing was right. I had such faith in my convictions and now, I feel like am floundering all over again. Drowning in self-doubt.

Is blogging a healthy addiction? Answers on the back of a postcard to... April 20, 2006 |

This whole blogging thing intrigues me. It's becoming quite an addiction actually. I've been thinking about who it is actually for. Well, me obviously. But to some extent bloggers, are, by nature, exhibitionists. If all we wanted to do was keep a journal, well, we'd write a private diary - and not post it on the World Wide Web for one and all to peruse at will.

I've been thinking about starting a blog for a while now. I think I actually tried to start one a couple of times, but the technology involved evaded me at the time. I seem to have got my head around it now.

So why now?

Well, in just over 8 months from now I will be returning to Israel - permanently. Gee, I don't think I have ever used the word "permanently" before. This has got to be a first. Generally the word "permanent" is enough to send shivers down my spine. But for some reason, the shivers have been replaced with an idyllic sense of calm and peaceful reassurance. I am going home...

I recently returned from spending 2 1/2 months in Israel for work. One of the many hats that I wear is that I manage educational touring programs to Israel for young Aussies aged between 17 - 26. It was without doubt the hardest bloody job I have ever done. I might be 33 years old, but there was more than one occasion when I rang my mother in Melbourne to have a good cry "Mum I can't do this bloody job. It's too haaaaarrrrrddddd!"

Despite the insanity, I kind of made up my mind that 2006 would be my year to go back. Unless you've been to Israel and dare I risk being tres controversial here - unless you are Jewish and have been to Israel, I don't think I could possibly explain to you the connection to the Land. It's spiritual, it's physical. It's instinctive.

When I am there I can feel the blood circulating in my body. I feel my heart pumping and I think to myself, "this is living. This is how life should be."

And so the countdown begins. 8 months until lift-off. I'll try to write regularly. I'll try really hard not to be artistic and obscure and downright obnoxious. I want this to be real.

Ode to Julian |


My bestest friend in the world had her first child on January 24th. A gorgeous little boy called Julian. Yes, I know January 24th was a little while ago, but he was born while I was still in Israel and as I live in Sydney and she lives in Melbourne, last week was the first opportunity I have had to meet the little man himself. I think he is adorable - and well, I just had to share...
Welcome to the the world Julian.

Word Clouds |


Just found this really gorgeous thing on the web. It's called a Word Cloud and it maps your most common words in your blog and creates a picture. I think it's really beautiful.
Here's mine...

Buckets make great hats April 14, 2006 |


My brother recently scanned in a mountain of old family photos and I couldn't resist posting this one. I guess I was around 2 years old and it just goes to prove, you can never be too young to be a cheeky bugger.

Passover... with a difference |

I flew to Melbourne on Wednesday afternoon to spend Pesach (Passover) with my family. Well, my mother and my brother to be precise. My dad isn't Jewish and is therefore more likely to be scoffing hot cross buns than matzah at this time of year.

In the diaspora, Jews have two seders. A seder is the ceremonial meal that you eat on Pesach. It's a totally dumb and outmoded reason that we have two seders these days. Another reason I can't wait to move to Israel. One seder. One meal that takes 5 hours to get through and a whole less constipation at the end of it.

The first night's seder was spent at the home of my mother's cousin. Her family are very religious and as such, we knew we were in for a LONG night. Not only do they read through every last word of the Hagaddah (the book we read which tells the story of the exodus of the Jews from Egypt and their subsequent liberation from 400 years of slavery) and trust me, at times I felt like the evening was taking 400 years to get though... but being a family of Talmudic scholars they all like to boast and show off just how smart and scholarly they all are. Not just one explanation of a particular passage, but seven.

Why read "Why is this night different from all other nights?" in one language, when you can read it in 12? We finally started the actual dinner at 11pm and after dinner we completed the Hagaddah which took another hour or so (by this point the table had shrunk from 20 people to about 10 - and we were hanging on by a thread). My brother was long gone by this point, so it was just mum and I who walked home, finally crawling into bed at 2.45am... Zzzzzzzzz

I wasn't planning to go to a second night seder. I really can't be bothered going through the whole rigmarole twice. During the day I was out visiting my best friend who had her first baby a couple of months ago. I hadn't met the new little addition, so I was in 7th Heaven playing Aunty SGD for the day. I got a call from my mum in the afternoon and she asked if I wanted to go with her to a second seder. But it was not going to be like any normal seder. This was going to be a seder with a difference.

It was at the home of a friend of my brother's - a theatre director. A gay theatre director. A non-Jewish gay theatre director - who loves all things Jewish - decided he wanted to have a seder.
He really didn't know what to do, but had Googled "Passover" and did a bit of research. He went to the supermarket and bought a heap of Kosher for Passover food (including the obligatory matzah) and even bought some really authentic chicken soup with matzah balls from a local Jewish restaurant. He really wanted to do it properly.

I asked mum if apart from us would there be any other Jews coming. She didn't think so.
Oh great. Looks like I am going to be Rabbi SGD tonight. Compared to my religious cousins I was a total heathen. To my audience tonight, I was a veritable expert. Cool. I can play that role!
Actually, I do know a fair bit. Definitely enough to educate a table full of people who had never been to a seder in their whole lives.

It was the strangest set up I had ever seen. From a "halachic" (religious Jewish law) perspective, this seder was as un-kosher as you can get. On the other hand, the effort this guy went to and the commitment of everyone there to learn and be a part of the ceremony was the most touching and endearing thing I think I have ever experienced.

It made me realise that in some bizarre way, this highly un-orthodox seder was the most authentic seder I had ever been to. It utterly encapsulated the spirit of Pesach. The importance of including the stranger, of people coming together, thinking about our lives today and being grateful for our freedom. Sure we were slaves 3000 years ago, but a shitload of people are slaves today.

We ended the night by walking down to the beach - all of us (and Charlie the cross beagle/chihuahua) to light Chinese firecrackers and watch them light up the Melbourne sky.
Me and mum, our eclectic host Jonathan, his new love - and his teenage daughter and a Chilean artist. A greater hodge-podge you are unlikely to ever come across, especially at a Pesach seder.

Another late night, but a wonderful one. As I lay in bed last night, I thought about another famous line from the Hagaddah; "B'shana haba'a b'Yerushalayim" (Next year in Jerusalem).
Next year I will be in Israel (G-d willing) and this time next year I will think back to my Melbourne Pesach and I will smile.

Chag sameach xxx

I've become a blogger... April 08, 2006 |


I've done it.
I've succumbed to the blog conspiracy.
I've become a... BLOGGER

Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!

It's Saturday morning and I am sitting on my couch in my lounge room, in my pyjamas and 20 minutes ago had no intention whatsoever of starting a blog.
So why am I doing this?

1. I am a writer
2. No - I will qualify that last statement. I am a GODAMN LAZY WRITER!
3. I am supposed to be writing a book (but clearly not doing that at this very moment in time)
4. Until late last year, I had been a compulsive journal writer. I have volumes of past diaries sitting in taped up packing boxes. Why did I stop? (see point #2)
5. I still haven't answered my own question.
6. Because I think my life is interesting.
7. Oh BS! Everyone's life is interesting!
8. Am I in the middle of an internal struggle here?
9. I want to document my life
10. I will qualify this statement too. I am an EXHIBITIONIST!
11. Ok. No promises. I will just start writing and see where this thing takes me.

All about Solid Gold Dancing in the Holy Land

I started this blog in April 2006 essentially on a whim because I was bored one day (big mistake). As time went on and the countdown to my return to Israel really began, the blog began to take shape, form and meaning (some of the time). I realise that it has become an outlet for my many varied and often jumbled emotions, but most of all it is tracking the adventure of a lifetime. Bookmark me and come along for the ride!