On Thursday last, I went with a friend to the Ashdod seperate beach.

We had been talking about going for months, and our first date got ruined by ‘Iran’. So, we decided to try again this week. Last time I was at the seperate beach in Ashdod was 14 years ago, when I was so grossed out by all the diapers floating in the water, and so claustrophobic from all the buses full of women in stockings from Bet Shemesh – I fled that beach swearing I would never go back.

But, I figured the beach would be pretty empty after Elul 1, when the chareidi schools start up again.

==

We got there around 10am, I find parking, I’m already wondering why the carpark is so full, this early in the morning, and then, I spot the first of many migrations of chareidi girls in long black skirts and rubber rings around their waist, walking to the seperate beach.

I think I went into denial, because it took me another few minutes to really register the fact that a hundred chareidi girls are walking to the seperate beach right now….

Suddenly, my brain snapped back to attention, and started sending me the warning signal. I turned to my (chareidi…) friend and I asked her:

What are all these girls doing here? I thought everyone went back to school on Elul 1st?

Only the boys, only the boys.

Uhoh.

==

By the beach itself, there was a black flag flying above the lifeguard’s hut, and most of the seperate beach was cordoned off by red tape, and big signs saying you couldn’t swim.

The waves were massive.

After we walked a bit further on, we saw that you could still swim – in a small square of space that had been left open directly in front of the lifeguards’ hut, hemmed in all three sides by red tape and yellow buoys.

It was more packed than a Beis Yaakov school outing to Kever Rachel.

==

Wow, what a tikkun for 14 years ago! I mused to myself.

Hashem had arranged things that I was going to be experiencing the full joy of the Ashdod seperate beach, once again. And this time, to come out of the experience better. Hopefully.

==

Each wave that hit sent the standing rows of girls falling on to each other like dominoes.

Either they don’t care, or this is what they are used to anyway, when they go to the sea, but for me, I was going a bit bonkers.

The lifeguard decided that even hanging out by the side of the red tape, where you could still breathe, was also ‘dangerous’, so he corralled everyone into even tighter formation in front of the hut.

I decided to go and stand at the very front, by the yellow buoys, so that all I’d have to deal with was the smashing power of the waves themselves.

It’s because I haven’t been to the Rav for a few days, I suddenly realised. When you go to the Rav, you routinely get trodden on, walked into, smacked in the head by a passing bag, or draped in the hem of a shawl as the wearer passes by oblivious.

Not only does this build good character, patience and tolerance, it also wipes off a million and one sins, as it definitely counts as suffering, in its own way. And I’d missed a few days of that, because I’d been relaxing in Eilat.

So now, God was playing catch-up.

==

I stood with my friend at the front for five minutes, jumping waves that were huge, and feeling like I was being properly pummeled by the water, like in a boxing match, or something.

Then, I got smashed by such a powerful wave, it took me completely off my balance and I felt my ankle wrench, a little.

That’s crazy! How can you twist an ankle standing in water?!

The lifeguard was crowing victoriously over the loudspeaker you see?! I told you it’s very, very dangerous! Maybe now you’ll listen.

He sounded jubilant, as he watched the chareidi dominoes smash into each other big time, and wash up the beach with a mouthful of seawater.

==

At that point, I decided to go and sit down on the beach, to the side, by the cordoned-off area, and just stick my feet in the water.

My friend was enjoying herself, and I didn’t want to rush the outing just because I’d been out-punched.

I found a quiet-ish spot, settled down. Two seconds letter, some hefty woman accidentally trod on me – dafka, on the twisted ankle foot.

I waited to see if she’d even notice – it took her ten seconds. She called back to me from a few feet away slicha. In the meantime, three little kids came and sat right next to me, and they were throwing sand at each other, running into the surf and away again, acting like happy, active little kids act, when they aren’t doped up with Ritalin because of adult-annoying ‘ADHD’ behaviours.

Because I spend a lot of time at the Rav, I didn’t mind.

==

There were still some big waves to deal with, even there, right by the shore.

More than one sunbather up the beach got a rude surprise when a huge wave or two broke through and surged an extra three metres up the sand, right up their noses. I was still being pummelled, too, just it was more manageable, and I figured out that I’d twisted my ankle by trying to ‘stand firm’ instead of going with the flow.

Something else I figured out, is that right now at least, I am at a stage where I’m happier watching from the sidelines, than slugging it out centre ring. I just don’t have the koach or motivation to do that at this stage.

==

I have been pondering a lot what direction my writing should be going in, as the new year approaches.

This is the stage where I can often delete my blog and annoy my readers, in pursuit of a ‘new start’. This year, I am trying something different.

I am going to try to hive-off the historical stuff that I love so much into a seperate Substack, HERE, and continue to post my musings and Rav translations here.

So many people are looking for information to try to counter all the antisemitism sprouting like a poisonous weed in the hearts of so many, all over the world. I’m not promising the Substack is going to fill that need, as I still can’t / won’t dumb down enough to become commercially successful.

But what I am aiming at, is to start putting the historical content into its own space, so history buffs can enjoy it, while people like my husband don’t have to pretend to read it….

==

But in the meantime – it seems this will be the year of watching from the sidelines, as opposing forces duke it out centre stage.

I feel quite happy with that.

There is so much more to do than to continue wasting time and energy trying to argue people into good middot and out of MSM delusions.

I’m really tired of conversations that just return on ‘rinse and repeat’ for fifty years. It’s time to try something new, a little bit, whilst still holding on to the stuff that I like writing, and that at least some of the time, can be helpful.

Bezrat Hashem.

==

I limped away from the beach properly bashed-up, and then spent the next 4 hours in a massive traffic jam to Jerusalem, compounded by really needing a wee for two hours.

The traffic was so stand-still, I managed to say three Tikkun HaKlalis in Abu Ghosh while I waited an hour to travel 2 kms…

Tikkunim, tikkunim, who knows what is really going on?

But generally, it was a good trip to the beach.

It was a ‘rectified experience’ from last time.

But I’m not planning on heading back to that particular beach, any time soon.

Because I’m not chareidi, I didn’t realise that only the boys went back to school on the first of Elul, whilst the girls only went back on September 1.