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Vacationing Separately

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By Avi Frier - FJN Publisher

Yes, even Avi gets a break once in a while. Please enjoy this encore presentation of a previously printed Avi’s Corner.


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The first time I learned of the "Yeshiva winter break," the last full week in January during which the more "right wing" Orthodox schools take their winter vacations (as opposed to the more common late-December break), I must admit I thought the idea was a bit silly.

"What are they worried about?" I wondered to myself. Was it that God forbid, folks might think the schools were condoning the celebration of Christmas? Or perhaps that sharing a winter break with the rest of American society would lead to assimilation?

Of course there are benefits to having winter break during the "off-peak." Flights tend to be a little cheaper and the lines at Orlando’s theme parks and Colorado’s ski lifts are considerably shorter.

But for an unfortunate few (my family included), there is also a downside; my wife works for the public school system, so when she has break in December our children are in school, and when they are off in January, she’s at work. I can only imagine how difficult it must be for families whose children are split between Yeshivot and public schools!

Years ago, I accepted this seemingly quirky vacation schedule as just another part of the Yeshiva educational system. I figure it’s not within my power to change it, and besides, the inconvenience is minute compared to the other sacrifices we make to provide a solid Jewish education for our children.

But last month, I learned that for Orthodox Jews of the 21st Century, there is clearly no better option than to take our vacations separately from the rest of the world.

Did you ever witness a scene that transformed an old joke into real life? Like the first time you saw a chicken cross the road. Personally, I have a vivid memory of standing in the hall of my high school watching three janitors attempting to change a light bulb.

There’s an old joke about an airplane that lands at Ben Gurion Airport. The pilot makes an announcement requesting that everyone remain in their seats until the plane has come to a complete stop. A few minutes later, the plane stops and a flight attendant grabs the microphone.

"For those of you who are still in your seats, let me be the first to welcome you to Israel," she announces. "You may now unfasten your seat belts and collect your belongings. And for those of you who were already standing, welcome home."

Recently, I flew from New York to Ft. Lauderdale. It was the Thursday immediately preceding the Yeshiva break, and the plane was packed with the first wave of Northerners heading to sunny South Florida. Although we landed ahead of schedule, it took an exceedingly long time to taxi to the terminal, and we ended up arriving at the gate five minutes late. The long taxi was not due to heavy plane traffic at the airport. On the contrary, the airport was pretty quiet. We were delayed because the plane had to keep stopping on its way to the gate. It seemed that my Yiddishe brethren thought that the "please remain seated" announcement applied to everyone but them. Without exaggeration, we stopped no fewer than eight times between runway and jetway, waiting for people to return to their seats.

At Jon’s Place in Boca Raton last week, the non-Jewish staff asked store owner Jonathan Surasky why "his people" were so rude. Didn’t they understand the concept of waiting patiently on line, especially when the restaurant was so crowded?

And last Shabbat, as I sat with friends discussing our various Orlando vacation experiences, there was a common thread of embarrassment at the way our fellow Orthodox Jews cut in lines, littered, and allowed their children to run wild in the theme parks.

"Don’t confuse Jews with Judaism," my friend Menashe Frank told me recently.

Boy, ain’t that the truth. We’re so careful to make sure that our food is kosher enough, that our tzitzit are long enough, that our kippot are big enough, and that our Shemoneh Esrei takes long enough. But somewhere along the line, as we’ve been so vigilant in the intricacies of our mitzvot bein adam l’Makom, between man and God, we’ve forgotten to pay attention to the basics of mitzvot bein adam l’chavero, between man and his fellow man.

I’m often accused of writing this column each week from high atop a soap box, but please know that as I write these sentiments today, I include myself in the rebuke. I need constant reminder, as do too many of you who are reading this, that every time we go out in the street wearing a kipah* or other badge of Judaism, we are judged by those around us, not as anonymous faces in the crowd, but as Jews.

Just as we are bound by the laws of Shabbat and Kashrut, we are forbidden to perform acts of Chillul Hashem, desecrating God’s name, a mitzvah we violate every time we do something publicly that brings embarrassment upon the Jewish People. And here’s a little known fact: Chillul Hashem applies even more to the way we behave in front of other Jews than in front of non-Jews.

So our Midot need some work. Yours, mine, all of ours. We need to realize that when we leave our little Frum communities, there’s a world out there waiting to judge us. We need to watch how we speak, how we conduct ourselves, and how we allow our children to speak and conduct themselves.

And until we get it right, maybe it’s a good idea for us to just keep on vacationing separately.




* Hey, you there in the baseball cap, I’m talking to you too. Don’t think for a second that your hat is fooling anyone. We Jews, especially Orthodox Jews, have a certain unmistakable look about us. You’re a Jew just like me, and the world knows it.



Posted by Avi Frier - FJN Publisher on 03/30 at 02:00 AM • Hits: 221



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