[img]96|left|Shachar||no_popup[/img]Dateline Jerusalem — It has been raining non-stop for five days with hail, thunder, lightning and flooding, the biggest storm in five years.

The deluge has been welcomed by all here in Israel because there has been a water shortage. The level of Lake Kinneret (Sea of Galilee), Israel's major source of fresh water, is dangerously low. Our water bills have been exceedingly high to pay for desalinization technology to convert salt water into fresh water.

This is the time of year that our daily prayers ask Hashem (G-d) for rain. He listens and provides!

The storm is just one of the many miracles we receive from Him.

Although the sky has black and various shades of gray clouds engulfing it, as my morning bus approaches Jerusalem, patches of blue peek out amidst the rain clouds.

But the greatest miracle of all is the gradual change to what I call “perfect blue,” in the direction of the Kotel (Western or Wailing Wall), the holiest site in Judaism, the last remaining vestige of the Holy Temple.

A Taste of a Miracle

It never ceases to amaze me. The sky could be absolutely dismal everywhere, but where G-d's presence allegedly rests above the Wall, the sky is perfectly blue.

This past weekend, I was invited out for Shabbat dinner (Friday night), Shabbat lunch (Saturday day), and a Purim Seudah (feast) on Sunday.

The weather was so bad that there was absolutely no way I could avoid the flooded streets and sidewalks. Manholes and drains overflowed. The apartment building across from mine had a waterfall of rainwater tumbling down from its roof. The sidewalks were ankle deep in mud, and every intersection had water sloshing well above the curbs.

Because religious Jews do not drive on Shabbat, I had to wade through this river to my various meal destinations. I knew my shoes and stockings and the bottom of my long skirt would be soaked, but I never expected the rest of my clothes to be drenched.

A Show of Mean-spiritedness

In every society there are inconsiderate boors who take pleasure in causing misery to others.

Usually in my neighborhood, only an occasional car could be seen driven on Shabbat. Normally the day is quiet (our day of rest), and only pedestrians are out and about.

Last weekend, however, it seemed as though more cars were on the road, most creeping slowly through the flooded streets. Unfortunately, there were cars purposely driving through the streets at a high rate of speed in order to create 6 to 8 foot waves of street water splashing over religious Jews returning home from synagogue. These cars would slow down afterward and then speed up again when someone else walked by.

Needless to say, I was one of the victims.

By the time I reached my destination, there was no part of me not dripping. I was able to remove my hooded jacket, but from my skirt on down I was so wet I had to sit on several towels at my friend's dining room table.

I felt as if I were sitting in a shallow bathtub or was a baby who hadn't had a diaper change in a week.

Saturday night and Sunday morning, I observed the holiday of Purim that commemorates the freedom of Jews from the death sentence pronounced upon them in Persia (Iran).

Just as Ahmadinejad in Iran today has threatened to annihilate all the Jews, so did Haman of ancient Persia. The heroes of the tale are Mordechai and his niece Esther who rescued the Jewish people from their dire fate. On Purim we read “Megillah Esther” (Scroll of Esther), which tells the story.

Each time Haman's name is mentioned, all persons in the synagogue stamp their feet, shake baby rattles or groggers, and shouts “boo.” Outside some synagogues, people set off fireworks or shoot guns into the air when Haman's name is read. The noise is to drown out the name of Haman.

This also is a holiday in which entire families walk around the country in colorful costumes. Instead of “trick or treating,” we give charity to whomever asks for donations, and we deliver baskets of food and assorted goodies to friends.

So, in spite of the deluge of rain, the joyous celebration of Purim was not dampened.

L'hitraot. Shachar

Shachar is the Hebrew name of a California-based attorney and former Los Angeles County deputy sheriff who moved to Israel 2 ½ years ago.