Gingy In Jerusalem

Yom Hazikaron

2010-04-21T07:08:00.001-07:00

At 8pm Sunday night, a one-minute siren sounded throughout the country ushering in Yom Hazikaron, Memorial Day, in Israel. Yom Hazikaron is always an emotional and inspiring day, as the country collectively reflects on the individuals who were killed serving the State of Israel. Monday morning I went to Har Herzl (Mount Herzl, the national military cemetery,) to participate in the national ceremony, which is broadcast over the radio. I stood erect and silent, overlooking a portion of the cemetery, as a two-minute siren brought the masses of Israelis to attention.

As the siren sounded, I was struck, as I am every year on Yom Hazikaron, by the diversity surrounding me at Har Herzl. The cemetery is packed with hundreds of thousands of Israelis, many of whom are visiting the grave of someone they knew personally. I saw families and friends huddled by individual graves. I saw units of young soldiers, in uniform, crowded around the graves of their friends and fellow soldiers who were recently killed. There were religious Israelis, secular Israelis, young, old, Sephardic and Ashkenazic Jews, people from every socio-economic strata. The army is an equalizer, bringing together Israelis from every strain, every background, every corner of the State and of the world. It is truly amazing to witness the unity that pervades Israeli society in mourning those heroes who fought, and died, for the State of Israel.

Though the number of Israelis who have lost their lives for the sake of this country, 22,684, sounds relatively small, in a country the size of Israel, it means that almost every Israeli family has either lost someone or knows someone personally who was killed. Even our prime minister, Bibi Netanyahu, is from a bereaved family. His brother, Yoni Netanyahu, was killed in the heroic rescue of hijacked Israelis in 1976 during the Entebbe raid. During the national ceremony, Bibi spoke about his service in the most elite unit in the IDF, the sayeret mat"kal, and his recollections of holding his dying friend in his arms. I was struck by Mrs. Peretz, who, just a month ago, lost her second son, Eliraz, in Gaza. Mrs. Peretz was faced with the dilemma of which son's grave to stand by during the siren.

A mere eight hours later, the country transitioned from sadness and grief to celebration and joy as we celebrated Yom Ha'Atzmaut, Independence Day. I davened the special prayer service in honor of Yom Ha'atzmaut with hundreds of young Israelis, secular and religious, overlooking the Old City walls from a lookout point in Yemin Moshe, one of the first Jewish neighborhoods established outside of the Old City Walls in 1891. The tefila (prayer) was especially moving, accompanied by a keyboard, flutes, drums and harmonicas. With the powerful force of hundreds reciting Hallel together, we danced in circles rejoicing over the miracle that is the State of Israel.

My celebration was tempered as I realized I was standing behind Shaina Applebaum. Shaina Applbaum lost her father, Dr. David Applebaum and sister, Nava, on the eve of Nava's wedding in a 2003 suicide bombing. I was touched by this young woman's personal loss, and by our loss as a nation. The words of Natan Alterman's poem "The Silver Platter" (http://zionism-israel.com/hdoc/Silver_Platter.htm) raced through my mind. Our celebration is possible in this small country only because of the sacrifice of the 22,684 who have lost their lives.

And my heart sang as we declared together "זה היום עשה ה' נגילה ונשמחה בוThis is the day which G-d has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it."

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Here's a guest post from my dear friend, Yael, about her experiences in Tel Aviv on Yom Hazikaron:

As I was finishing up a project on my computer, I happen to glance at the clock and see that it was 7:59 pm. It suddenly dawned on me that in one minute, the siren to commemorate the Israeli soldiers who died serving our country was about to sound. I quickly tried to shift mindsets from graphic design to the topic at hand and stood up just as the siren began. At that moment, I glanced out the window of my work corner to see a silent scene frozen in time. I live at the corner of a normally very busy Tel Aviv street. It is usually bustling with cars, buses, scooters and pedestrians. The rhythm of the AMPM (a chain of Tel Aviv mini markets) scanning machine has become part of the music that surrounds me in my apartment on a daily basis. But at 8:00 pm on the eve of Yom Hazikaron, I looked out of my window to see the AMPM gated shut along with the lights out on every single storefront on the street. An eerie darkness had settled over the almost empty boulevard. The two random passersby who happened to be on the street at that moment were frozen mid step standing in silence to remember. The scene moved me. It touched me to see how the daily grind had ceased in order to give the proper space for people to remember and pay tribute to the brave people who gave of themselves so that we can live in the country we live in today.

A few hours later, I walked over to Kikar Rabin to participate in the memorial concert that takes place there annually. The ceremony consists of famous singers performing songs and ballads of war that every Israeli school kid knows by heart. Interspersed between songs are the stories of soldiers who died in combat. The stories tell us about these brave men describing their beautiful personas both outside and inside the army. As I walked in the streets towards the memorial square, I realized I was being joined by masses of people. As I got closer, I saw that the masses were coming from all directions towards the square. The streets were quiet, there were barely any cars but there were people coming together. As I got to the square, I roamed around looking at the people. There were people of all age groups but the predominant strata of people there were the Tel Aviv Hipsters. There they were in all their glory, skinny jeans, Converses, Funky rimmed glasses, cigarettes in hand but they were there participating in the hurt that belongs to us all. While standing there, it struck me that most of these people were probably politically left wing and therefore most likely didn’t believe in the wars that were and are being fought but nonetheless they were there participating, absorbing the pain that is part of the fabric of our society.

As the stories of the soldiers came to an end, I saw individuals wiping away their tears and young couples holding each other tight. As we all stood together at the end of the ceremony singing Hatikva (Israel’s National Anthem), I heard the loud proud voices of everyone in that square come together. At that moment, I glanced to my immediate left and saw two Israeli women soldiers saluting as the anthem came to a close. Although we were all experiencing the loss, I felt whole.

my sweet set of wheels

2009-09-16T12:39:00.000-07:00

After almost four years of living in Israel taking buses, walking and hitchhiking, I decided it was time to purchase my own means of transportation. I rejected the car option out of hand. It seemed impracticable, expensive and a hassle. I watched my friends spend hundreds of shekels weekly on gas, circle for hours looking for parking, and wait impatiently in traffic at all hours of the day.

An adventurer at heart, the obvious option was a קטנוע, aka a 50cc motor scooter. The first task was obtaining a motorcycle license. Shortly after I made the decision to purchase a scooter, the Pope arrived in Jerusalem for a visit. His presence disrupted traffic and temporarily closed down several bus routes. One morning during his trip, after waiting for over a half hour for my bus to work, I thrust my finger into the street, hoping someone would stop for a hitchhiker within the city. Fortuitously, a generous man in his 70's pulled over and offered me a lift to work. As it turns out, Gabi was just finishing giving an American couple driving lessons. I ended up with a ride to work and a driving instructor who cut through tremendous amounts of red tape and expedited the process of obtaining a motorcycle license.

With license in hand, I was anxious to own a scooter already. I researched the various options and decided that buying second-hand made the most sense. I scoured websites and asked everyone I knew with a scooter about anything for sale. My Israeli friend, Prezman, an expert in motor scooters, graciously accompanied me on many trips to view potential scooters. He advised me on many such trips not to purchase the scooter for sale due to problems with the engine, the amount of kilometers, price, etc.

I had all but given up hope. The license was burning a hole in my pocket as I was still riding buses to every corner in Jerusalem looking for the perfect fit.

One day in the midst of searching, I was riding on the back of Prezman's scooter, returning from yet another failed attempt at purchasing a used scooter. We were stopped at a red light on a main street when Prezman said, "Becky, look, that's the exact scooter you want!!" I glanced to my left to see a Charedi (ultra-orthodox) man sitting atop a Typhoon 2006 gray 50cc scooter, the very model I wanted. "But Prezman, it's not for sale, and there's a Charedi man sitting on it, and the light's about to turn green!" I responded.

"סליחה, אדוני, אתה מוכן למכור את הקטנוע שלך? היא מאוד מעוניינת" ("Sir, would you be willing to sell this girl your scooter? She's very interested"), Prezman addressed the man. "Well, I hadn't thought about it, but why not?" the Charedi man responded. As the light was changing colors, he shouted out his name and his number, which I hastily stored in my phone. There's no way this guy is serious, I thought. And there's no way I actually saved his number correctly.

Nevertheless, I called him several hours later to follow up. I was dismayed to hear a generic voice-mail at the other end of the line. I left a message hoping for the best. Later that evening, Shimshon returned my call. The next day he brought the scooter over for me (and my friend) to check out. Prezman was shocked at its excellent condition, and its low number of kilometers, and strongly recommended I buy the scooter.

The following day I found myself in the post office with Shimshon in order to transfer ownership of the scooter. There I was, standing with a Charedi man whom I'd met at a red light on the streets of Jerusalem! While waiting in line, Shimshon and I exchanged a few words of small-talk and when he discovered I have no religious family in the country, he invited me to come to his family for Shabbat! Only in Jerusalem, I thought to myself as I drove away on my new scooter.

Take me out to the ballgame

2008-10-06T08:32:00.000-07:00

Soccer is probably the most popular sport in Israel. Beitar Yerushalaim, the primary Jerusalem-based soccer team, has possibly the largest and most fervid fan base in the country. The Beitar website taunts viewers with the banner 'Welcome to Hell.' Indeed, Beitar fans have dubbed Teddy Stadium, where games are played, "Hell" because of the atmosphere they create for rival fans in the stadium.

The team was formed in 1936 by David Horn, the local chief of Beitar, the Revisionist Zionist youth movement. The youth movement was named after Joseph Trumpledor; it is an acronym for Brit Trumpledor (Covenant of Trumpledor). Joseph Trumpledor became a symbol of heroic Jewish self-defense when he died defending the Galilean village of Tel Hai. He famously uttered "Never mind, it is good to die for our country" in his last breath. This fighting spirit pervades Teddy Stadium during Beitar Yerushalaim soccer games.

On game days one is alerted by afternoon time that Beitar will be playing that evening as the streets and buses become increasingly crowded with fans sporting the team's yellow and black scarves. Earlier this year, I boarded a bus at Hebrew University and sat with a friend of mine, clad in black and yellow, who was en route to a Beitar game. As we wound our way through Jerusalem's streets I asked him about his loyalty to the Jerusalem soccer team, given the fact that he is from Haifa. My secular Haifa friend who is a member of the left-wing Meretz party told me that when he was a teenager he decided to be a Beitar Yerushalaim fan, despite its distance from his home and its reputation as being politically right-wing, because of his love for Jerusalem. I was moved by his devotion to our capital city, which defies logical explanation.

Last week I finally attended my first Beitar Yerushalaim game. I joined a friend and a colleague of mine who took his "Sports and Zionism" class to view the Zionist athletes in action. We chose to buy tickets in the section where the crazy fans sit, akin to the bleachers section at Yankee Stadium. It was an enlivening and wild experience. One of the most popular Beitar Yerushalaim chants calls upon G-d: "We are believers, the sons of believers. We have no one to rely on, except for our Father in Heaven." After watching the fans shout this tune with such fervor, one gets the sense that soccer, Beitar Yerushalaim soccer, has become their religion.

(Beitar fans waving the team scarf)
("We are believers, sons of believers...")
(Johnny- my student, me, crazy Beitar fans)
(Yael, me, Joanna- my student)

Partying with the President

2008-05-15T12:46:00.000-07:00

Over the last two days, there have been grumblings throughout Jerusalem because of the disruption in traffic. Several main roads have been all but closed due to President Bush's presence in the city for the President's Conference, hosted by Shimon Peres. Friends of mine have sat in their cars for double the amount of time it should take them to get to work. Thankfully, I left my house early enough each morning to avoid the re-routing. I even enjoyed a surreal jog the other night down the middle of Keren HaYesod, one of the busiest roads in Jerusalem, as the street was closed to automobiles.

I watched the President's speech at the Knesset on television this afternoon. I am often amazed by a seeming dichotomy between the president's statements on "good" and "evil"- dealing with terrorist states- on the one hand, and his actions in attempting to broker a peace accord with the Palestinians, on the other. His speech today shone with a sense of moral and political clarity. The President said: "Some seem to believe that we should negotiate with the terrorists and radicals, as if some ingenious argument will persuade them they have been wrong all along. We have heard this foolish delusion before," referring to the Nazi's. And yet, President Bush has said that he hopes, during his current stay, to "shore up the faltering negotiations" between Israel and the Palestinians.

Six days ago, I received an e-mail from a good friend, Yehuda, who lives in Boston. I knew he would be coming to Israel for a visit this week, as he was to participate in the President's Conference. In the e-mail, Yehuda informed me that he had been invited by the White House to an exclusive party at the Israel Museum Thursday night and would be bringing me as his guest. I was obviously delighted; and immediately amused by Yehuda's inimitable way with words: "get out your sunday finest," he instructed me, "we'll be throwing back a few beers with the prez."

Indeed, I put on my "sunday finest" and got myself gussied up for what I was hoping would be a tete-a-tete with the president. Security was so thick that all of the guests had to first undergo a security check at a parking lot several minutes away, before boarding a shuttle to the Israel Museum. I met up with Yehuda and his father, the former United States ambassador to Israel. We boarded the shuttle bus, sitting a few rows behind Rupert Murdoch, and a few rows in front of MK Ophir Pines-Paz.

The party took place on the veranda overlooking Jerusalem. The views were magnificent and the party was elegant, although the brisk Jerusalem night air sent shivers down my spine. The food was definitely the most delicious food I have eaten in this country. Waiters streamed out of the kitchen with platters of fillet steak, short ribs, seviche, carpaccio, spring chicken, mushroom cigars, and other fine delicacies. Yehuda and I spent most of the first hour and a half stuffing our bellies with food while people-watching, as the party was attended by the who's-who of the Jewish world. At one point, I helped Ron Silver with his tea cup. Occasionally we found Yehuda's father, and were introduced to someone interesting.

After about an hour and a half, the President and several Israeli and American dignitaries and diplomats entered the veranda. I stood next to Tzipi Livni as President Bush addressed the crowd. Following his brief remarks, the President slowly made his way toward his awaiting limousine. There was a barrier, and Secret Service men, blocking me from the front, VIP group of people whom the President was greeting personally on his way out.

I tried once to edge my way into the front section, but was physically turned back by the Secret Service guard. Finally, when the guard was distracted, a few moments before the President had departed, I sneaked forward and squeezed through the gaggle of VIP's. I thrust my hand forward and shook the President's hand. The people who had greeted the President before me congratulated him on his speech and remarked about his trip to Israel. As the President shook my hand, I said: "Mr. President, mazal tov on Jenna's wedding!" Tickled, he looked me in the eye and responded: "Thank you! It was such a wonderful day!"

Traffic annoyances and policy differences aside, it was truly exciting to meet the President. While I didn't get to "throw back a few beers with the prez," I am grateful to my friend Yehuda, and his sweet and generous father for inviting me to an unforgettable party with the president.

(President Bush and First Lady Laura Bush)
(Fmr U.S. Ambassador to Israel, Jerusalem Mayor Lupolianski, my friend, Yehuda)
(The President)

(President Bush shaking my hand)

Im Tirzu Ein Zo Agadah

2008-05-05T02:03:00.000-07:00

Theodore Herzl, credited with being the father of the modern Jewish state of Israel, ended his 1902 utopian novel about the Jewish state ("Altneuland") with the following line: "If you will it, it is not a dream." This axiomatic statement has become part and parcel of the Jewish people. Indeed, following Herzl's extraordinary efforts -though he did not live to see its realization- the Jewish state was established, the dream realized.

With the arrival of my parents and sister looming before the Pesach holiday, I couldn't contain my excitement. It had been several months since I'd seen my family and whenever we are together, we manage to seek out adventure and share many laughs.

During the week of Chol Hamoed (the intermediate days), we visited sites we had never seen. We traveled to the Judean desert, climbed Herodian and descended into the caves later used by those who participated in the Bar Kochba rebellion. We learned a great deal from (what turned out to be) a private tour hosted by Ir David of sites along the path from the top of Har HaZeitim (Mt. of Olives), descending to the Old City walls. We took in the excellent exhibit at the Israel Museum on Orphaned Art: Looted Art from the Holocaust. We visited the vast Tzidkiyahu's Cave near the Damascus Gate. We traveled around the northern Galilee, stopping in Tiberias, Rosh Pina, Tzfat, the Dalton Winery, and Haifa. My father and I even managed to take an accidental tour of Ras al-Amud (an Arab neighborhood deep in East Jerusalem).

The highlight of the trip, however, was definitely our annual visit to Hebron. As I described in last year's post below, we truly enjoyed the unique opportunity to tour the kasbah, which is not open to Jews during the year. We wanted to give my sister the chance to see and learn what we had learned during our previous visit.

This year, we chose to visit Hebron on the second day of the annual two-day festival. The second day is always busier because many big-name Jewish-Israeli bands perform in front of the Ma'arat HaMachpela. The tour was called for 12:30pm, which left us plenty of time to tour the various booths.

At 12:20pm, I heard a voice over the loudspeaker announce: "Unfortunately, the army has informed us that they are only able to take a small group on the tour due to security concerns. As a result, we will now be giving out tickets. You must have a ticket in order to join the tour." Before I could finish translating the announcement, a large and unruly crowd gathered around the announcer's booth, pushing, shoving and elbowing, in order to obtain tickets. My mother, father, sister and I decided to split up in the hope that we'd be able to penetrate the mob of at least 100 people.

After a few moments, I dejectedly gave up. It quickly became clear that the announcer would hand out a paltry 25 tickets to a clamoring crowd quadruple the size. I was disappointed with the behavior of those around me, and could not contend with the bigger men who neglected to notice my presence. I made my way to the back of the crowd, only to discover my mother busily fussing with something.

"Mom, I just can't get in there. What are you doing?" I asked. Almost too intent on what she was doing to look up, she briefly raised her eyes and responded in a hushed and mysterious voice, "I'm making tickets." Fairly confused, I asked again, "What are you doing?" Once again, my mother responded, "I'm making tickets," and continued to fold and tear thin slivers of paper.

The sight of my Mom, with eager and precise attention, crafting counterfeit tickets for a tour of the Hebron kasbah threw me into a fit of giggles. My sister, after a few minutes, also gave up and joined us in the back of the crowd. Similarly confused, she queried, "What's Mom doing?" Barely controlling my laughter, I informed her that our Mom was making tickets. Soon after, my Dad rejoined us and received the same explanation.

Moments later, those who had tickets set out for the tour. My Mom hurried us along and we joined the group, sticking toward the front. No longer laughing, I worried aloud to my mother, "What if the army discovers we have counterfeit tickets and arrests us?" My mother dismissed my unfounded fear and we carried on with the group.

At the entrance to the area of Hebron in which the kasba is located, there is a huge metal fence. An entire unit of Israeli soldiers, present to accompany and protect the tour, stood by the opening of the fence, letting one person at a time through the opening after taking their tickets. Somehow, my sister and mother managed to enter with their tickets, which resembled everyone else's. A few more people passed by, and then it was my turn. As my heart palpitated, I handed the captain my "ticket" and he waved me through. My father followed.

My family looked at one another with sheer astonishment. My mother, drawing upon her seemingly endless resource of ingenuity, had managed to get us in to the tour. We, once again, were moved by what we saw and learned in the kasbah- the homes that still betray evidence of Jewish ownership, the attempt by several European countries to invest millions of dollars in order to entice Arabs to settle in the kasbah, and so on. My sister particularly appreciated being there as she had not been present during the previous trip.

Herzl applied his bold dictum to founding a Jewish state. Pluck, persistence and a dash of ingenuity. For my family, on a much less grandiose level, "If you will it, it is not a dream" is now synonymous with my mother's concise response: "I'm making tickets."

(IDF soliders accompanying us through the Hebron kasbah)

(The commanding officer of the platoon of soldiers and me)

(Sarah, Mom, and I at the Israel Museum exhibit in Jerusalem)

(Dad and I at our hotel in Tiberias, overlooking the Kinneret)
(Dad, Mom and I at the Dalton winery in northern galilee)

Of Celestial Slopes

2008-02-20T12:17:00.000-08:00

two weeks ago, following the snowfall in jerusalem, my friend from school, assaf, sent me a text message saying: "snow up north. we're going skiing on tuesday." not having a blackberry, or even the more traditional calendar, i made a mental 'save the date.' by the next monday i had forgotten that i was meant to be going skiing the following day. thankfully, assaf reminded me on monday, which sent me into a tizzy, scrambling for ski clothes and gear. he added a critical detail: "we're leaving at 3:30am."

since i had plans for monday night, i didn't have time to nap before the early morning departure time. it took all the energy i could muster to leave my warm apartment and brave the chilly night. i hopped into assaf's car at 3:30am. i had to stay awake until we got to tel aviv, where we picked up assaf's friend. from tel aviv to the kinneret, i slept for about an hour and a half. somehow, i suddenly woke up right when we hit the kinneret, only to witness the most magnificent sunrise. i made the boys pull over so that i could capture it on film. from the kinneret until we reached the hermon the scenery was too beautiful to miss and i forced myself to eschew sleep in favor of the gorgeous views.

finally, around 8am, we arrived at the hermon. the highest summit of the hermon is on the border between lebanon and syria, and under syrian control. the southern slopes have been in israeli control since 1967.

when we hit the slopes the conditions were optimal. it had snowed just a few days prior, it wasn't very crowded, the weather was pristine, and the views were simply spectacular. skiing is a frightful sport; for the relative novice, at least, it can engender feelings of utter recklessness and sheer exhiliration all at once. i hadn't been skiing in several years and didn't have high expectations for my skills or performance. shockingly, after a few practice runs i managed to improve markedly, hitting up even the black diamond slopes. the views were glorious and breathtaking. i'm pretty sure i now understand the etymology of the phrase "on top of the world" (-- some wise israeli, skiing on the highest slopes of the hermon--).

we ended the day by skiing down a slope nestled in the 'other' side of the mountain, two chairlifts away from the main slopes. it was quiet, isolated and all of my senses were alert. i couldn't help feeling there was something ethereal about the experience. we returned to the car feeling exhausted, but buoyed by our incredible day. we retraced our path down the loopy roads of the golan, witnessing a gorgeous sunset, to match the sunrise we saw on our way up.

(overlooking the golan, with miscellaneous snow gear)

(becky, tal, assaf on top of mt. hermon)

(view of the golan)

(tal, becky, assaf in one piece at the end of the day)

(sunset in the golan)

A Hazy Shade of Winter

2008-01-30T07:24:00.000-08:00

All week the country has been abuzz with talk of an impending 'blizzard.' The implications of said blizzard are rather large here in Israel...

Last night snow began falling around midnight and continued through the night. This morning Jerusalem looked beautiful, but there was little more than an inch or two of snow on the ground. Nevertheless, the city pretty much shut down. Apparently, we are not equipped to deal with snow in the Middle East. All schools and universities in Jerusalem closed down and the newcaster on the radio urged Jerusalemites to stay off the road.

My roomate and I ventured out of our cozy apartment this morning looking for adventure. We discovered that aside from a few restaurants and the grocery store, everything in our neighborhood was closed. The streets were mostly empty. At 3pm today there was a snowman-building competition in the park, with the mayor of the city serving as judge. All this served as a (minor) distraction to the announcement this evening of the final findings of the Winograd commision.

Here's hoping for more snow tomorrow!

(view from my bedroom window this morning)
(pedestrian braving the streets beneath my balcony)
(around the corner from my apartment, in full snow/slush gear)
...look around, leaves are brown now, and the sky is a hazy shade of winter...

If I forget thee O Jerusalem...

2008-01-09T07:52:00.000-08:00

On Tuesday afternoon, as clouds gathered over Jerusalem, I grabbed my camera and headed to the Old City. In anticipation of President Bush's visit to Israel, a group called One Jerusalem organized a rally to oppose Olmert's declaration that Jerusalem should be divided. The rally called upon Israelis to come to Jerusalem and form a human chain around the Old City as an expression of our firm support for a united Jerusalem. It was hoped that this would send a message to President Bush: Jerusalem is the eternal capital of Israel and the Jewish people, and must therefore not be divided.

By the time I arrived at the Jaffa Gate, the human chain went on for as far as the eye could see. From what I observed, the chain was made up of mostly high school and yeshiva students. Many of the participants were singing songs, arm in arm, about Yerushalaim. It was heartening to see that the youth, far from being apathetic, are actually involved, aware and active.

The reasons to keep Jerusalem united are numerous and compelling. Almost immediately, upon liberating Jerusalem in 1967, the Israeli government enacted the Protection of Holy Places law, protecting all holy sites “from desecration and any other violation and from anything likely to violate the freedom of access of the members of the different religions to the places sacred to them...” Every religion is entitled to worship freely under Israeli rule in Jerusalem. Holy sites are protected. This in stark contrast to the period from 1948 until 1967, when Jerusalem was under Arab control and Jerusalemites were subject to religious persecution and holy sites were desecrated and destroyed. (When Arab forces stormed Jerusalem in 1948 they blew up 58 synagogues, rabbinical schools, and other buildings in the Jewish Quarter. Remaining synagogues and other holy sites were used as stables and garbage dumps.)

Dividing Jerusalem would serve to strengthen radical Islam and its proponents, who call for the liberation of Jerusalem and the Al-Aqsa mosque. Arabs living in Jerusalem have come to appreciate, albeit begrudgingly, living under Israeli sovereignty. In an article in US News published this past June, the author wrote that Jerusalem's Arabs recognize that "a Palestinian bystander in Gaza is liable to be killed by a Fatah gunman, a Hamas gunman or an Israeli-fired missile; a Palestinian bystander in Jerusalem is extremely unlikely to be killed by anyone. Notes the local attorney: "The saying you hear [from Arabs] in the city now is 'Give me hell in Jerusalem over paradise in the PA.'" Olmert seems to refuse to respond to what even the local Arab population feels on the issue.

Perhaps most significantly, Jerusalem is of supreme importance to the Jewish people from a religious and Biblical perpspective. The Bible refers to Jerusalem by name over 700 times. Additionally, Rabbinic literature, the Talmud and Midrash, are brimming with references to Jerusalem. The Midrash tells us that the Beit HaMikdash (the Temple) was built in Jerusalem on the very site where Abraham bound Isaac. Yet another midrash locates the site of the Temple as the place where Hevel (Abel) built his mizbeiach (altar) to G-d. This was the first time a human attempted to connect with G-d following the expulsion from the Garden of Eden. King David declared Jerusalem the capital during his reign as monarch of the Jewish people. King Solomon took the political centralization of Jerusalem one step further by building the Temple and creating the spiritual-religious center for the Jewish people. To this day, wherever in the world a Jew may be, he turns in prayer toward Jerusalem.

The rabbis explain that there is a heavenly Jerusalem (Yerushalaim shel ma'alah) perched over the earthly Jerusalem (Yerushalaim shel matah). This idea is anchored in both Isaiah's, as well as Micha's, prophecy. In masechet Taanit 5a, Rabbi Yochanan is quoted as saying: "The Holy One blessed be He declared, ‘I shall not enter the heavenly Jerusalem until I can enter the earthly Jerusalem.'" The relationship between the 'upper' Jerusalem and the 'lower' Jerusalem is clear. We must constantly strive to make the Jerusalem in which we live, Yerushalaim shel Matah, worthy of G-d's presence in order to merit the union between the two Yerushalaim's, for the two are inextricably connected.

As the skies opened up on Tuesday, these thoughts invaded my mind. I gazed at the human chain hugging the towering Old City walls. I stood near Natan Sharansky as he was interviewed by several different news outlets. To stand next to such a hero, as he exercised his freedom of speech at the entrance to the Old City, was quite inspiring. Sharansky criticized President Bush for failing to implement the ideology he has repeatedly outlined regarding terrorist states, such as Hamas. Similar views were echoed by MK Yisrael Katz, Nir Barkat, opposition leader in the Jerusalem City Council, and Yechiel Leiter (former chief of staff to Netanyahu), who called Olmert to task for forgetting that eight years earlier- to the date- Olmert had pleaded with then President Clinton to keep Jerusalem united.

During the rally itself I stood next to a woman in her mid-sixties from Ma'aleh Adumim. Not a religious woman, she told me she had emigrated from Argentina as a teenage girl. When I asked her why, she responded: "Simply, Zionism." Zionism, she explained, guided her then, and is still the primary signpost for her to this day.

Walking home in the rain, through Yemin Moshe, I couldn't help but think of King David's relevant and poetic words from the book of Psalms: "If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy." (Psalms 137)

(at the rally: a man blows a shofar)

(Natan Sharansky, MK Yisrael Katz, Yechiel Leiter)

(top picture: human chain wrapping around the Old City walls)

clang, clatter, clash....koubeh....

2007-08-23T11:33:00.000-07:00

at precisely 7am of my first day in my new apartment on Graetz St., a residential street in a rather upscale Jerusalem neighborhood, i was awakened by an unusally loud sledgehammer drilling directly above my head. after rubbing my eyes and trying to figure out how it was possible that whoever was drilling had not yet drilled a hole through my ceiling, i wearily rolled out of bed.

in the hallway, i met my roomate, yael, who looked as bewildered and groggy as i felt. i asked her why she hadn't informed me upfront that there would be blaring 7am wake-up calls in our apartment. yael told me that this was the first time she had experienced the dreadful noise since she'd been living here, for over a year. unable to become productive members of society at 7am(since we had both gone to sleep well past 1am), we plopped down on the couches in a daze.

after continuous drilling for more than a half hour, i decided to head upstairs and meet our neighbors and kindly request that they begin their drilling after 8am, at the very least. i dragged myself up the stairwell and mustered whatever strength i had to knock on the door. after a brief wait, the door opened and i discovered a 6"2, perfectly tanned, chiseled, muscular israeli guy.

i stood, mouth agape, horrified that i hadn't yet bothered to brush my teeth... or my hair! after staring at the handsome guy in front of me for what seemed like an eternity, i managed to stutter something about the noise. he explained that he was the "kablan," the contractor, and promised that the "massive" noise, as he described it, would last only three days. not one to miss making a new (-and very good-looking-) israeli friend, i introduced myself and offered daniel, the cause of my quickly disappearing anger, a cold drink.

later that day daniel came down to our apartment looking for keys to the roof, which he needed access to in order to fix something in the apartment above. we gave him the number of the woman in charge of the building and he left. the next day he returned to fix a pipe in our apartment that was connected to the work he was doing above us.

over the course of his visits to our apartment we learned that daniel is a yerushalmi (native jerusalemite) who runs his father's construction business and lives in the adjacent neighborhood. despite his rugged good looks, daniel is an extremely sweet, thoughtful, giving person. as i have been working on papers for school from home, and yael works from our apartment, we both welcomed daniel's afternoon visits to fix our pipes. from fixing the pipes, daniel has graciously become our own personal fix-it guy. we have also gotten to know daniel's friendly crew of ahmed, muhammad, and rizik.

it has now been three weeks, well beyond the promised three days, of "massive" noise every morning at 7am. each morning when yael and i meet in the hallway we bemoan our upstairs friends. but by afternoon, we are all smiles when our "fix-it" guy stops by to fix something or just say hello. despite myself, i have even begun to appreciate the amplified beckoning call of the drill awakening me from my slumber during this month of elul...

last night after dropping his crew off near beit lechem, daniel stopped at his parents home to bring us dinner. daniel surprised us with his mother's homemade koubeh, an authentic middle eastern dish. after raving about his mother's skill in the kitchen, i tasted the koubeh, and to my pleasant surprise, really enjoyed the new delicacy. sitting in our dining room, discussing israeli culture, travel, and family with daniel, the contractor from the upstairs apartment, while eating his mother's homemade koubeh made me smile to myself... despite the fact that i had been up since 7am.

(Daniel, our "fix-it" guy)

You say you want a revolution....

2007-05-07T14:16:00.002-07:00

The people of Israel came out in throngs this past Thursday night demanding a change of government. I joined hundreds of thousands of fellow Israelis in Kikar Rabin in Tel Aviv to call on prime minister Ehud Olmert and defense minister Amir Peretz to resign. In the wake of the damning Winograd Report, it appears that the Israeli people have lost their patience with the current government. (A comparable protest in America would have drawn between 11 and 12 million people to the Capitol!)

The rally drew people from all segments of Israeli society. While I am saddened that it takes a situation like this to bring together opposing political parties, I must say that it was an amazing feeling to be surrounded by and united with people from groups as diverse as Meretz and National Union party. There were young and old, Sephardi and Ashkenazi, religious and secular, left and right. The organizers insured that the rally would be apolitical by refraining from inviting politicians to speak. The speakers included authors, bereaved parents and leaders from the miluim (reserve officers). I found most of the speeches to be passionate and moving, although somewhat repetitive ("Olmert: Resign!")

The state of affairs in this country has reached a moral low. Our suspended president has been summoned to a hearing with the attorney-general on two counts of rape. The finance minister has suspended himself on suspicions of bribery. The prime and defense ministers are clinging to power despite the complete loss of the public's confidence, as demonstrated by the rally.

Furthermore, university students across Israel have been on strike for the past three weeks. There are domestic problems, and terrorist threats abound. Not to mention threats against this country's very existence. In some ways, it seems this country is falling apart at the seams! And yet, as I wrote a friend who lives in America the other day, somehow, miraculously, this country continues to function, flourish and thrive. People continue to learn, go to work, party and the pulse of democracy beats wildly. At the end of the day, there's no place I'd rather be.

(Becky almost getting arrested at another protest outside of the Prime Minister's residence. Sign reads: "The right and the left call on Olmert to stop!")

the road less traveled

2007-04-19T04:44:00.000-07:00

Without a definite game plan in mind, on the first day of Chol Hamoed (intermediary days of Passover) Pesach, my parents and I got into our rental car and headed out for a day of adventure. As we hit the road, we were still unsure whether we would go to Sderot, to participate in a solidarity march and rally with the local population or to Hebron, where it had been advertised that there would be all sorts of festivities in honor of the holiday.

My father always seems to have a good hunch with these things, and steered us in the direction of Hebron. While many of my friends, and my secular cousins from Haifa, are amazed (and sometimes horrified) that we so nonchalantly hop in the car and drive to Hebron, these sorts of adventures do not faze me. I have visited Hebron on several occasions, as well as other significant religious and historical cities to the Jewish people, such as Shechem, Elon Moreh and Beit El, with my parents.

When friends and schoolmates question my desire to visit such a "hotbed" of controversy and terrorism and "dangerous" spot such as Hebron, I bristle. A tour guide once told my parents that when asked why the Jewish people don't simply give up Hebron to the Arabs since they are the majority there, she responded to the questioner by saying: "by the same logic, we ought to leave the State of Israel, as we are similarly surrounded by 22 Arab countries (4 on our immediate borders)." If we are willing to give up one of our holiest cities because it is surrounded by Arabs, then perhaps, by the same logic, we ought to eventually give up the small state that is Israel, located amidst 22 Arab countries, many of which call for its demise.

The importance of Hebron was not lost on our first prime minister, David Ben Gurion. In a speech he gave on January 25, 1970, the prime minister outlined the biblical and historical significance of Hebron. In concluding his remarks, Ben Gurion exhorted: "we will make a great and awful mistake if we fail to settle Hebron, neighbor and predecessor of Jerusalem, with a large Jewish settlement, constantly growing and expanding, very soon. This will also be a blessing to the Arab neighbors."

Half a year ago, my parents and I joined a group on an enlightening and meaningful tour of Hebron. We were taken to places in Hebron we had never visited. We saw the ancient Jewish cemetary in Hebron, where the 1929 terror victims, as well as Torah giants are buried, and the Sephardic synagogue in the Avraham Avinu neighborhood, among other sites. Consequently, when we arrived in Hebron this Chol HaMoed Pesach, we expected to enjoy ourselves, but not to see new sites in Hebron.

While enjoying cotton candy and french fries with the Ma'Arat HaMachpeila in the backdrop, we heard an announcement offering a free tour of Hebron. Never ones to miss an opportunity to learn and see more, my parents and I joined the group of about forty Israelis gathering at the entrance to the festival. The group consisted of all stripes of Israeli society-- young and old, Sephardi and Ashkenazi, religious, Charedi and secular.

We were led to a large, locked, steel gate where we had to wait for an Israeli army escort. A platoon of chayalim (Israeli soldiers) promptly arrived and escorted us through the Hebron "kasbah." Once inside the alleyways of an area that is currently off-limits to Jews, we were shown many houses and doorways that once belonged to Jews. Our guide shared many stories about the history of the buildings, the Jews who lived in them, etc. The souk used to bustle with Israeli customers and Israelis whose front doors opened right into the kasbah.

Following our tour of the kasbah and surrounding areas, the guide offered us the opporunity to go to an important Jewish site which is in Palestinian territory. He explained that Jews rarely have the opportunity to go to this site, the tomb of Otniel ben Kenaz. Otniel ben Kenaz was the first shofet (judge) in biblical Israel, as well as Calev ben Yefuneh's brother(one of the "good" spies). In the Talmud, Temurah 16a, we are told that upon Moshe's death, 300 laws were forgotten. These laws were restored only due to the erudition of Otniel ben Kenaz. We jumped at the chance to visit his tomb.

In order to reach his tomb, we had to cross through an Israeli army checkpoint. While our group, now down to about 20 people, reached the checkpoint, we stood in one line and noticed three Arabs in the line next to us. One was an older man, one was a pregnant woman, accompanied by her friend. While we were waiting to cross the checkpoint, we noticed that two Israeli guys in their early twenties began filming us and the events that were unfolding. The Israeli army was poised to let us enter the checkpoint first, and to the cameramen this was reprehensible. A third Israeli guy spontaneously appeared and challenged the young Israeli army officer: "Why should these Arabs have to wait while those Israelis get to go in?" Without missing a beat, the Israeli soldier whipped back: "Why should these Israelis be barred from entering and visiting this site every day of the year when these Arabs can enter at any time?" My Mother, realizing that the entire episode was a set-up, turned to the camera men and said: "Where are you and your cameras when Arabs kill innocent Israelis?" After seeing my mother's courage, our fellow Israelis, who were part of our group, exchanged words with the cameramen and their friends who work for various NGO's.

Shortly thereafter, we crossed the checkpoint. Once on the Palestinian-controlled side of Hebron, we were followed by a flurry of cameramen and European NGO representatives. I felt like Lindsay Lohan walking down Rodeo Drive. The tomb was a three minute walk from the checkpoint. The chayalim closed down the road for us to visit the tomb for about ten minutes. And yet, our visit seemed to engender a reaction apropos an international crisis.

We visisted the tomb, led by a local Hebron resident, who told us that the tomb had not been open to Jews in several years. We felt very lucky to have had the opportunity to visit the site. Upon emerging from the tomb, we were surrounded by a swarm of Arab and international cameramen, reporters and NGO representatives. My father aptly referred to this group as the "useful idiots," borrowing the term from the sixties, when it was used to describe Soviet sympathizers in the West.

We crossed the checkpoint and returned to the Israeli-controlled part of Hebron. My parents and I returned to the site of the festival and went to pray in the Cave of the Patriarchs. Passover is one of the few times when all of the halls in the Cave are open to Jews.

Driving back to Jerusalem, we reflected on our extraordinary day in Hebron. We saw parts of Hebron once populated by, and now off-limits to, Jews. We learned about the Jewish community that was. We visited the tomb of one of the great shoftim. We saw first-hand the way the media manipulates and exaggerates seemingly innocuous episodes into explosive affairs.

As I closed my eyes and drifted into sleep, I felt grateful that my Dad had steered us to Hebron...

(Becky and Mom eating cotton candy in front of the Cave)

(Jewish star above a home formerly owned by Jews in the Hebron kasbah)

(Dad, Becky, Mom in the Tel Rumeida neighborhood of Hebron, with the Cave of the Patriarchs in the background)

Purim, Parades, Parties, and Pesach...

2007-03-17T11:59:00.000-07:00

Purim is a particularly fun Jewish holiday, wherever one may be. However, as with all Jewish holidays, I find something extra special about celebrating in Israel. In Israel Jewish holidays become national holidays and are therefore celebrated in a more public, large-scale manner. Religious and secular Jews alike celebrate- albeit to varying degrees- the Jewish holidays in this country. In my experience, there is a sense of unity that pervades while preparing for and celebrating Jewish holidays here. Radio stations play music that relates to the particular holiday, news channels on tv cover holiday festivities in different cities throughout Israel, local stores are filled with special decorations and foods, and there's an overall buzz in the air as the day approaches.

This year Israel celebrated Purim on Sunday throughout the country, except in Jerusalem, where we celebrated it on Monday. On the Friday morning leading up to the holiday, I was pleasantly aroused from my sleep by festive, loud music outside my window. I raised my trisim (blinds) and discovered a Purim parade comprised of hundreds of children in costume, accompanied by their parents and followed by a car with loud speakers. The parade was escorted by policemen who closed off the streets to traffic as the children marched through the neighborhood. Below is a glimpse of the parade. The picture was taken from my bed as I rubbed the sleep from eyes!
The Friday morning parade kicked off several days of celebration and festivities. I celebrated Tel Aviv Purim on Saturday night and then Jerusalem Purim on Sunday night and Monday. One of the highlights was celebrating the holiday with my sister. We were both dressed up as characters from the 70's. She, a 70's film producer (with all the attendant attitude) and I, well, I'm not sure what or who I was meant to be. We took Jerusalem by storm, hearing megilla together, dancing at a Chaim Dovid concert, creating a spectacle with our costumes at a friend's party, and celebrating with over 10,000 fellow Jerusalemites in the shuk (open-air market), Mahcane Yehuda from 12-2am!!

My Mother shared some reflections with me on the megilla and Ester's pivotal role in saving the Jewish people. She noted the importance of strong women who take action to affect change. Throughout Jewish history, the Jewish people have repeatedly found themselves in desperate, threatening situations, similar to that faced by the Jews of Persia during the time of the Megilla. While at first she was reluctant, Ester came into her own and realized her responsibility to the Jewish people when Mordechai reminded her: "Who knows if it was for this sole purpose that you became queen?" Ester was inspired and transformed by Mordechai's words and felt compelled to act, saving the Jewish people. On that inspiring note, my Mother reminded me (and the women who sat at her Purim seuda in Los Angeles) of the role we play and the potential we have as strong women to continue to affect change for the Jewish people today. I can think of no better role model to impart this very lesson than my own Mother, who is a sterling and singular example of a strong woman, dedicated to her convictions, who exudes integrity and grace in all she does.

Although we have barely recuperated from Purim, we are already beginning preparations for Pesach (Passover). We anxiously await our parents' arrival and the celebration of the Jews' redemption from Egypt...

fengxingruha

2007-03-01T13:37:00.000-08:00

mandarin for: "picturesque"

perhaps this word best describes my recent travels through southern china. my friend and i were repeatedly amazed by the sheer beauty of the towns we visited in china. in the south: yungshuo, longxi, xingping, guilin, and shenzhen. in the north, we visited beijing. while beijing is more interesting than beautiful, there are striking mountains and spectacularly breathtaking views just outside of beijing in places like mutiyanu, where we visited the great wall.

we were amazed at the graciousness and kindness of all of the chinese people we met and befriended. china is almost entirely devoid of english- spoken or written. it is at times almost daunting to get around on one's own, let alone to find out about local concerts, obtain tickets, arrange rides, figure out bus schedules, etc. we felt as though every time we were on the verge of despair, God sent a messenger to help guide us, in the form of incredibly wonderful chinese people. we left china with true friends, living in such fascinating and diverse places as nanning, tiajin, beijing, and even korea! we were likewise lucky to have such hospitable hosts in hong kong (an expat family living in hong kong for 13 years!)

while there are so many stories and moments to share, i will simply share a few photos that capture a glimpse of our adventures (of which there were so so many!)....

above: becky and elderly chinese women selling flower wreaths on the bank of the river in yungshuo, china. in the background are limestone green karsts surrouding the region. yungshuo is known as the "backpacker's paradise." it truly is a slice of paradise- a charming village tucked away in the mountains and limestone karsts of southern china, surrounded by rivers, populated by welcoming and kind natives.

above: yael and becky with fenguangjien, fengenjie, and mochaoyan, our incredible friends from nanning. this picture was taken on the main bridge in yungshuo after fengenjie, 11, set off a gigantic case of fireworks in front of us! apparently, it's a chinese custom for children of all ages to set off fireworks during the week of the chinese new year! this warm and quirky family took us under their care, hiking with us, arranging rides for us, making phone calls to get us tickets to a sold-out chinese conert which was attended by 10,000 people, treating us to beer and tea, and translating for us with the minimal english they knew. we are forever grateful!

above: our bamboo boat captain, his daughter and becky with fresh fish from the li jiang river. our captain, who gracefully took us down the li jiang river took us to his village, a small, primitive town called longxi, on the banks of the li jiang river. we asked if we could see his village, whereupon he brought us to his house, invited us in, went to the river to catch fish and crab to cook us lunch! thankfully we were with our friends from above who didn't really understand us, but grasped enough to explain to our hosts that we had some dietary restrictions and therefore could not partake in the veritable feast they cooked, also presenting their guests with pig's meat. on our walk around their village, we walked through their backyard where we discovered tomorrow's pig in the pigpen! we did enjoy some chinese beer and delicious home-grown sugar cane.

above: famous artist and becky in his shop in xingping. thanks to our chinese friends we discovered that this artist is one of the most well-known artists in the guanxi province (a region in southern china). i bought the painting i'm holding from him for $2.00!

above: becky on the great wall in mutianyu, china. this was a real highlight of the trip. we arrived at the great wall before 8am. there was not a person in sight for miles in either direction. perhaps i had had low expectations, but i was overwhelmed by the experience. the wall and its surrounding panaroma were awe-inspiring. the stunning mountains rolled on for as far as the eye can see in every direction. the air was crisp and fresh. and it was silent. perfect serenity.

above: a snippet from the forbidden city in beijing, china. the forbidden city, like beijing is incredibly vast. instead of trying to capture the vastness, i chose to focus on the exquisite colors and unique chinese architecture which are emblematic of the forbidden city. the forbidden city housed the qing and ming emperors and stretches over one million square meters-- in the middle of the city of beijing! it is truly a sight to behold. beijing itself can only be described as vast. one block on a map can stretch on for close to a mile and the streets are comprised of between 10 and 12 lanes!

these pictures only begin to scratch the surface of the incredible sights and experiences we enjoyed during our two weeks in asia. there is much too much to write here about the culture we saw, the experience of being in a communist country, the impressions of the people about their own country and ours, the diversity of such a large country, the land itself, and onward. overall, i had an extremely positive impression of the country and its people. i look forward to returning one day.

Raise Your Voice

2007-01-30T02:49:00.000-08:00

It has been over six months since Gilad Shalit was taken captive by Hamas and Ehud Goldwasser and Eldad Regev were taken captive by Hizbullah. All three young men have celebrated their birthdays in captivity. We have not yet received a sign of life.

I find it disquieting that life goes on as normal in this country. You almost never hear about the missing boys and you see few, if any, posters or bumper stickers calling for their return. It is cold and rainy in this region and I cannot begin to fathom what the conditions are like where each of the boys are being held captive. It is easy to become depressed and even complacent about the seemingly hopeless situation. In those moments, I return to a powerful message I heard this past summer.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, the Chief Rabbi of England, spoke at my synagogue in Los Angeles this past year on Tisha B'av (a day commemorating the destruction of the first and second Temples, as well as many other Jewish calamities). Rabbi Sacks, on what is known as 'the saddest day in Jewish history,' spoke about the indomitable spirit of hope which is embedded in the Jewish people. He traced this quality as far back as the biblical figures of Yaakov and Rachel, respectively. When Yaakov is (falsely) informed of Yosef's death, his children come to comfort him, but Yaakov refused to comfort himself, "va'yema'ein l'hitnachem."

Similarly, in the book of Jeremiah, it says that Rachel, weeping over the exile of her 'children,' refused to be consoled, "mei'anah l'hinachem." Both Yaakov and Rachel simply refused to capitulate, to be comforted, and would not give up hope, despite the desperate and dire circumstances. Rabbi Sacks developed this point and weaved it through Jewish history, explaining that this quality of hope -even in the worst circumstances- is a uniquely Jewish characteristic. (So much so, that our national anthem is entitled "HaTikva," "The Hope")

I recently overheard two friends discussing the fate of the captive soldiers. They were debating whether or not the boys are still alive. I believe it is not the time or place to debate such questions. We must continue to hope and pray that as G-d responded to Rachel, He will respond similarly now "... they will return from the enemy's land. There is hope for your future... and your children will return to their border."
***
Aside from hope and prayer, we must raise our voices in an effort to return the captives. Below is a website that is devoted to bringing the soldiers back. There is a petition, there are form letters to send to congressmen and there is a moving video of Karnit Goldwasser (Ehud's wife) pleading with us to make a difference....

http://www.freethesoldiers.org/index.html

(Gilad Shalit, Eldad Regev, Ehud Goldwasser)

leprachauns on the loose

2007-01-18T16:07:00.000-08:00

leprachaun: (irish mythology) a type of elf said to inhabit the island of ireland

these leprachauns, clad in native colors green and orange, escaped to make a brief foray down their friend's aisle in closters, ny. [mazal tov shira and h!]
shortly thereafter, they returned to their true home... jerusalem, israel

friday night dinner

2006-12-31T09:08:00.000-08:00

last friday night i joined a couple i'm friendly with for friday night dinner. the host happened to be isaac herzog, named after his grandfather, rabbi yitzhak halevi herzog. rabbi yitzhak halevi herzog was the first chief rabbi of ireland. subsequently, from 1937 until his death he was the chief rabbi of british mandate palestine and then israel, once it was formed. my friend, isaac herzog, the host, is also the nephew of the late chaim herzog, the sixth president of israel.

to eat a shabbat meal at the table of the grandson of a former chief rabbi of israel and nephew of a president of the state of israel is pretty remarkable. and yet, while this lineage impressed me, these facts did not faze me. in israel, there is a certain accessibility like nowhere else. perhaps because the country is so small, it seems almost commonplace to bump into and break bread with renowned professors, famous politicians and great personalities. isaac briefly mentioned his grandfather and shared a few stories.

as if that were not special enough, a guest knocked on the door during dessert. it was an older couple who live in the building stopping by to wish our host a shabbat shalom. it turns out that the older couple who visited were dr. and mrs. ephraim shach. dr. ephraim shach is the son of rav elazar shach, zecher tzaddik l'vracha, a leading eastern-european born and educated haredi rabbi of the past generation. rav shach was considered a "gadol hador" (supreme leader of the generation) and was the rosh yeshiva of the ponevezh yeshiva in bnei brak, as well as the founder of the degel hatorah political party.

dr. shach regaled us with stories about his father, his education, life in eastern europe, and stories about other gedolim for over an hour. i sat, mouth agape, totally enthralled. as a student of early modern jewish history and someone who is passionate about judaism, i could not believe how fortunate i was to be getting a first-hand lesson in jewish history. dr. shach spared no detail in painting vivid stories and connecting the dots between all of the great jewish personalities of eastern europe.

we learned of rav shach's early yeshiva studies and about how he was one of rav isser zalman meltzer's (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isser_Zalman_Meltzer) top pupils, along with a handful of other rabbis who went on to be esteemed figures in modern jewish american and israeli life. rav isser zalman meltzer's talmidim (pupils) included rav aharon kotler, who founded the lakewood yeshiva (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aharon_Kotler), rabbi shlomo zalman auerbach (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shlomo_Zalman_Auerbach), and rabbi yehuda amital (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yehuda_Amital), among others.

dr. shach explained that his father, while part of the haredi community, was in fact a zionist. he also told us how his family was supported primarily by his mother (who was rav isser zalman meltzer's niece). rav shach's wife had studied medicine for 3 years. she accompanied a prominent doctor when he made rounds to check on the roshei yeshiva of israel. while the doctor would examine the roshei yeshiva, mrs. shach would wait in the other room. the doctor would then share his findings with mrs. shach and she would diagnose the patient and prescribe medication.

dr. shach recounted the details surrounding his family's escape from lithuania shortly before WWII. rav isser zalman meltzer, who was by that point already in palestine, helped rav shach and his family obtain certificates to go to israel. along with several prominent rabbis and many family members, the shach family set sail from odessa to turkey, from where they would continue their journey by train and foot. the turkish authorities refused to let the eastern european jews disembark, leaving them with no option but to return to the increasingly dangerous situation in russia and eastern europe. a wealthy jew named brotzky heard about the plight of this group of jews and took matters into his own hands. he argued with the turkish authorities, bribed them and offered to personally pay all room and board expenses of the stranded jews. the authorities agreed, and this wealthy jew singlehandedly saved the lives of rav shach and his family. dr. shach, with a gleam in his eye, said to us: "imagine that. a jew, who didn't know us, completely secular, insisted on saving us. just like that. he had a 'pintele yid' (a little jewish spark) in him."

dr. shach is himself a fascinating man. he left the haredi world and became a religious zionist. he served in the IDF and received a doctorate in history and philosophy.

above are just a few of the myriad stories dr. shach shared with us. the stories i heard were moving, enlightening and inspiring. how special it is to live in jerusalem. a city where one's neighbors range from taxi drivers to descendants of great torah luminaries and renowned political figures, where one can stumble upon a history lesson at a neighbor's shabbat table. where once again, there is an inextricable connection to one another and to our rich and powerful heritage.

(below left, rabbi yitzhak halevi herzog. below right, rav elazar shach)

brush with stardom...

2006-11-22T10:18:00.000-08:00

love him or hate him, you have to respect avigdor lieberman. his 'israel beiteinu' party managed to score a huge victory in the recent israeli elections, winning 11 (of 120) seats in the knesset.

as i was leaving the inbal hotel tonight, following a friend's wedding, i noticed a large group of men entering the lobby, all clad in black suits. it was clear that someone important had arrived. i quickly realized lieberman was visiting the inbal hotel for a meeting, whereupon i remarked to my friend: "that's avigdor lieberman!" my friend attempted to hush me, but i couldn't miss the opportunity. i excused myself as i brushed past his bodyguard, stuck out my hand, said hello and wished him well. avigdor shook my hand and responded with a quick greeting and a smile.

i returned to my friend wondering to myself why i hadn't challenged him about his recent political move in which he joined olmert's government. the flawed move has only served to bolster olmert's government, something i'm not in favor of. in any event, when i returned to my friend, she said: "that's why you're going to be president one day!" if only it were that easy!
just another night and another politician in jerusalem...

duv'devanim

2006-10-25T06:50:00.000-07:00

duvdevan, meaning cherry, also refers to an elite special forces unit in the idf (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Israeli_Defense_Forces). while we unfortunately did not get to spend the day with those duvdevanim, we at least enjoyed an afternoon of cherry-picking.

friday afternoon... a short drive from jerusalem and we are in a beautiful cherry orchard stuffing our bellies with delicious ripe cherries!

(these pictures are from this summer, during the month-long cherry season in israel)

The People You Meet

2006-10-09T02:36:00.000-07:00

Last night I was invited to join my friend's family, the Robinson's, on a night hike not far from the Dead Sea. I jumped at the opportunity. I enjoy hiking under any circumstances, but the darkness of night adds an element of excitement which I couldn't pass up.

We left Jerusalem around 7:30pm and headed in the direction of the Dead Sea. About twenty minutes outside of the city limits, we stopped in the yishuv of Mitzpe Yericho(http://www.geocities.com/m_yericho/MY_Eng.htm). There we met up with our guide, Moomie, and several other local Mitzpe Yericho inhabitants who would join us.

After departing Mitzpe Yericho, we traveled about five more minutes before reaching the beginning of our hike. All told we were about 25 people. A few of our fellow hikers carried glow-sticks or flashlights, but for the most part, we were guided by the shining full-moon above us.

At night, the Judean desert has an altogether different feel. We felt like we had landed on another planet. There was a delightful breeze and the expanse was simply striking. It was silent, beautiful and awe-inspiring. The hills and rock formations gave off a pale, silvery hue in the moonlight. The land beneath our feet was both firm and sandy at once.

Moomie, our guide, looked and sounded like he had hiked this trail (and probably most of Israel) many times. He stopped us at various junctions to point out something interesting, give us a brief geology lesson, or caution us with safety tips. As our hike continued, I gathered that Moomie, who looked like he was in his mid-forties, is a fireman in the district stretching from Jerusalem to the Dead Sea. Additionally, he is in charge of search and rescue operations for the area. At more than one location he told us a frightening story of a rescue attempt he had made in the region during flash floods.

The hike started off as a medium-to-rigorous walk. After about twenty minutes, however, it became a serious hike as we descended into the canyon. "Descending" into the canyon involves steep inclines, metal rungs bolted into the side of the cliffs and lots of sliding. What was most amazing was watching how stealthily and fearlessly the children who were in our group navigated their way down the steep precipices.

At one point, there was a bit of traffic as we waited for each person to make their way down a narrow and rocky incline. While waiting my turn, I struck up a conversation with Moomie's wife, Efrat. I asked her how many of the children on the hike belonged to her and Moomie. She showed me five of her six boys who were with us on the hike. The three older sons all looked alike and like their parents. The younger two, however, stood out. She explained that she and her husband had "adopted" the younger two.

The younger two boys had come from an abusive home and were taken from their parents because they had been abused by their parents. Efrat continued by telling me that the two boys, who are natural brothers, had joined her family a year ago at the ages of 3 and 5. The boys' father is in jail and the mother cannot, or does not want to, care for them. I heard grueling stories about how difficult the boys were at first. These stories were shocking in light of how gentle and loving the boys were toward their "adopted" brothers and parents. It was not without much effort, love and care, Efrat shared, that the boys had come to view themselves as part of her family.

The efforts of the past year, unfortunately, may come undone soon. The courts are considering returning the boys to their father, who is now claiming he wants to raise them. She is distressed at the thought of having to give up the boys, especially knowing what kind of home they will return to.

I was impressed with the sincere love and generous dedication that Moomie and Efrat and their older sons showed toward these adorable little boys. I asked Efrat what had inspired her and Moomie to adopt the boys. She told me that both she and her husband, Moomie, had grown up in homes in which their parents had also taken in children from foster or abusive homes! I found this incredibly inspiring.

Here I was on a night hike in the Judean desert with what seemed like a group of "regular" Israelis. Instead, I was marching through the desert with utterly selfless, generous and unique people. Just another night and hike in Israel....

Kol Yisrael Areivim Zeh La'Zeh

2006-10-05T07:43:00.000-07:00

"All Jews are responsible one to the other"

I witnessed a subtle, yet powerful, scene today on the #18 bus as I traveled from Emek Refaim toward Machane Yehuda (the largest outdoor marketplace in Jerusalem). What I saw reminded me that every Jew is part of an organic nation that is Am Yisrael (the people of Israel).

I sat in the first row behind the back door of the bus. The bus trudged along in heavy traffic, stopping and starting abruptly at random intervals. At one point, a young woman boarded the bus with a stroller and her baby. Because the bus was so crowded, it was easier for her to alight with her full load through the back door of the bus. I was sitting on the inside seat in my row and had been engrossed in the book I was reading, so I didn't notice her until she had put her purse down on the seat across the aisle from me.

Her clothes and head-covering betrayed her religious affiliation. The long, flowy dress, with white pants peaking out at the bottom, coupled with the colorful scarf that hid every last strand of hair, immediately (albeit unfairly) labeled her as a "dati leumi" (national religious) woman.

With her purse resting on her seat, the young woman now needed to fold up her stroller and make her way to the front of the bus to pay for her fare, all while balancing her baby. Without hesitating, she asked the man sitting next to me, a complete stranger to her, to hold her baby.

My neighbor, whom I had heretofore not taken note of, was a handsome Israeli "sabra"-looking man in his sixties. He did not wear a kippa (yarmulke) and he dressed casually. Without missing a beat, he cradled the baby in his arms in the most delicate and natural manner. The woman smiled and made her way to the front of the bus, paid the bus driver and returned to retrieve her baby.

She was gone for under one minute and yet the moment, the whole scene froze in time for me. The utter trust that this woman assigned to this complete stranger was simply breathtaking. One can imagine that there is nothing more precious to a woman than her own child and yet it was so clear to this woman, that this man would care for her baby for those few moments. He held the baby so firmly, yet gently in a way that made even me feel secure.

The woman returned and thanked her "babysitter" graciously. I was left feeling something so special. While some might view the woman as naive, I couldn't help thinking that I had just witnessed the fulfilment of the Talmudic dictum that instructs us to look out for and take care of one another. The notion of accountability toward a complete stranger is something difficult to grasp, and yet it is part of the fabric of the Jewish people.

It did not matter to the woman that the man appeared to come from a different neighborhood, religious background, and political affiliation. Likewise, the man did not hesitate for even a moment because of the gap that stood between him and the woman making the request. When all is said and done, we are all Jews. And we must be "responsible one to another."

May this small moment in my day inspire us all to be united together as Am Yisrael.

"more precious than rubies"

2006-09-28T04:58:00.000-07:00

it's time for me to post pictures of the most precious baby...
my beautiful, darling niece, Sabrina!
below she is enjoying the company of her wonderful savta and saba.

a pastiche of jerusalem

2006-09-11T14:17:00.000-07:00

"there's no diversity in jerusalem." a good friend of mine uttered these words to explain why she misses new york city so deeply. she shared these sentiments at a passover meal my parents so graciously hosted when they visited earlier this year. at the time i found this comment somewhat bewildering and i was reminded of it again this past friday night.

as i left my sister's apt in old katamon, a smile crept on my face. the night was simply divine. the breeze was perfect. the moon was full, radiant and glorious. and i was sated from a delicious shabbat meal. when i walk through the streets of jerusalem, i am startled anew each time i look up and examine the striking architecture, the old arab homes, the hodge-podge of apartment buildings, the newly renovated, modern homes, the shikkunim (projects), and the occasional consulate. i am simply taken with the beauty and unique nature of jerusalem.

i must confess, that i often strain my neck ever so slightly to peer into the windows of these varied homes and catch a glimpse of the interior and the life inside.

on this particular friday night, i could not help but shift my gaze from left to right as i strolled down my sister's street. the first house i passed revealed three children around a shabbat table playing cards as they wiped away the crumbs from dessert. as i continued down the street my attention was drawn to an open door of the second story of a two-story house, from which i could hear the sounds of a yeminite song being sung. below, the first-floor door was open exposing a family that looked like they had recently arrived from the former soviet union. further on, i noticed a group of young secular israelis, probably around my age, hanging out on a large balcony, drinking beer and discussing the latest political crisis. as i turned the corner, making my way from old katamon to the german colony, i smiled at an elderly couple, who looked as if they had stories to share from pre-State israel.

i ambled down the main street, connecting the two neighborhoods, and i felt serene. i felt lucky to be part of the melange that is my neighborhood. somehow, without knowing personally any of the neighbors i passed, there was something that united us. the songs, the discussions, the games, the food looked and sounded foreign to me and yet i felt close to the people singing, discussing, eating, and playing. i couldn't help but think of my friend's comment and how wrong she is. the difference between new york and jerusalem is not diversity. it is our connection to the diversity that surrounds us.

tomorrow night i will dance at that same friend's wedding as she, a modern orthodox girl from new york, marries her lubavitch fiancee from venezuela.

Close to Home

2006-07-18T13:14:00.000-07:00

Signs like this appear all over Jerusalem. This particular sign appears on the road exiting Jerusalem. The homemade sign reads: "Soldier, Thank you for watching over us. Come home in peace!"
Amen....

Yesterday I attended a prayer rally at the Kotel. I stood next to my friend, Yael, as prominent Jerusalem rabbis led us in the recitation of Psalms. King David (who authored most of the book of psalms), had a way of penetrating the human soul and capturing the deepest of fears, joys and inner-workings of human beings. The Chief Rabbi of Israel, Rabbi Metzger, urged the crowd, which filled the entire plaza extending upwards from the kotel, to have special kavana (intention) for the kidnapped soldiers when reciting the last verse of chapter 142: "Release my soul from confinement to acknowledge Your Name.."

Standing next to us was Yael's mother and her neighbor from Ramot, whose son has been stationed on the southern border of Lebanon for the past week. Yael told me that her neighbor's son is allowed to send one text message a day. Yesterday, he wrote to his family: "Ti'hi'yu chazakim. Ani ohev otchem," "Be strong. I love you guys." I closed my eyes and thought about this boy as we recited chapter 22, "For dogs have surrounded me; a pack of evildoers has enclosed me..." Later I looked up this verse and discovered that one commentary explains: "dogs" refers to "frenzied mobs comprised of base people." How prescient, potent and relevant King David's words are so many thousands of years after he wrote them.

We continue to pray on behalf of the IDF and am Yisrael that, in the words of King David, "G-d will protect you from every evil; He will guard your soul... from this time and forever."

sderot "hizdahut" trip

2006-07-18T03:08:00.000-07:00

last night i led a group of nine friends on a trip to sderot. the trip to sderot was born out of a desire to show solidarity with the people of the community. sderot has been pounded with kassams for the past five years, but in the past year since the disengagement, it has intensified tremendously.

i have wanted to visit sderot for several months. initially, before gilad shalit was kidnapped, there was the extra layer of wanting to protest the government's inaction in halting the daily kassams that disturb, disrupt and sometimes destroy the lives of israeli civilians. however, following gilad shalit's kidnapping the government finally sent the army into gaza in an effort to both rescue gilad shalit and to destroy the kassam launching infrastructure. at this point, we thought, we were traveling to sderot to let the people of sderot know that we continue to think of them and pray for their well-being and for the success of the army operation in gaza.

in israel, the experience begins from the moment you board the bus. i reserved a ten-seater nesher and a driver named sabari sabari (- from the word "sabra," the word used to describe a native Israeli, after the fruit of the prickly pear cactus, which is prickly on the outside and sweet on the inside). our drivers first and last name can be translated as: "my cactus!" obviously, someone with a name like that has a personality to match! sabari was friendly and talkative from the moment we alighted his bus. he was impressed with our group and referred to us over the radio as an "achla," awesome, group of kids. as we left the hills of jerusalem behind us, someone from our group began reciting "tefillat haderech," the traveler's prayer. immediately, sabari turned off the radio and placed a kippah on his head.

after driving for just over an hour we reached sderot. i found this remarkable. only one hour outisde of jerusalem and we were as close as you can get to the border with gaza! only one hour away from our comfortable lives in jerusalem and we were standing in sderot, a place where kassams fall at random intervals throughout the day!

we met with rabbi fendel, the head of the hesder yeshiva and an american oleh who arrived in sderot twelve years ago. rabbi fendel gave us a tour of the yeshiva, which cuts through the middle of the town and took us to the edge of sderot. we followed him up the stairs of an abandoned building and emerged on the roof in time to watch an exceptional sunset.

as we gazed at the beautiful sun slipping away, rabbi fendel gave us a brief history of the town. sderot was found in 1955 as an immigrant town. the israeli government settled persians and then morrocans in sderot. in more recent years, russian immigrants have also been settled there.

rabbi fendel arrived in sderot twelve years ago as part of a large-scale program to bring torah and judaism to development towns and communities throughout israel. to his credit, rabbi fendel turned a kollel of nine guys into a yeshiva that today boasts 400 students. the yeshiva has implemented several worthwhile programs in the community, including a pensioners kollel for retired men.

after telling us about the yeshiva and the community, rabbi fendel pointed toward a lone tree, the golani tree, on a hilltop only a half-mile distance from where we stood. "behind that tree, behind that hill," rabbi fendel told us, "is beit hanoun. it is from there that the kassams are fired." i was taken aback at the proximity of this terrorist breeding ground to the beautiful town of sderot. he pointed out that the israeli government promised peace and quiet once israel evacuated gaza and handed it over to the palestinians. contrary to the empty promises, the palestinians have been working more diligently than ever at creating a "ghost town" out of sderot, as rabbi fendel describes it. this is even more striking as sderot is within israel's pre-1967 borders. rabbi fendel left us with the following: "it is immoral for the israeli government to not wipe out the kassams and terrorists of beit hanoun. there is a moral obligation to protect the citizens of sderot. we cannot live like this."

standing on the rooftop of that building, taking in the beautiful sunset, i looked back at the city of sderot. there were young boys playing on a basketball court not far from us. we saw the yeshiva boys behind us in the distance rushing to their classes. and sderot looked stunning in the sunset. i felt serene taking in the scene. it was hard to imagine the fright that must paralyze the people of sderot when they hear the blaring sound of "shachar adom," red dawn, which gives a 15 second warning for incoming kassams.

as rabbi fendel bid us goodbye, his wife, mechi joined our group. mechi, also an american-born olah, spoke with us a little while longer about life in sderot. she told us about a family who sleeps in their living room because there are no windows in the living room and that way they can be safe from kassams. she told us about children who have trouble sleeping at night. she told us about ella abukasis, who was killed by a kassam while shielding and saving the life of her brother (please see the following link to learn more about ella's tragic death and about other sderot citizens who have been killed by kassams: http://www.zionism-israel.com/vic/sderot1.htm).
we walked with mechi back to our bus so that she could show us around sderot.

before we arrived at the bus, we stopped by the protest tent next to the municipality. the protest tent was erected several months ago by residents of sderot wishing to send a message to the government: put an end to kassams falling on sderot. i had assumed that the protest tent would be empty following the idf's incursion into gaza. however, we discovered about 10 people, secular sderot citizens, sitting in the tent.

approaching the tent, one is greeted by several different homemade posters. one reads: "government of israel, you have failed!" another states: "security does not exist for us." after entering the tent, we met with the local sderot citizens. i asked one of the men sitting there, who told us he would be sleeping in the tent that night, "now that the army has entered gaza, what are you protesting?" he responded: "we are happy the army is in gaza, but that does not change the fact that six kassams fell on sderot today. in fact, one kassam fell in my very own yard today. until kassams stop falling in sderot, we continue to protest." he explained that sderot citizens have banded together to create a 24-hour a day presence in the tent.

we met another woman in the tent who told us that she had heard the red dawn siren, looked up, and saw the kassam veering toward her. she stepped aside, and thankfully, avoided the kassam. one of the men sitting in the tent thanked us for coming, saying, "with everything going on in the north, it is so special to us to know that you are still thinking of us and that you came all the way here to support us."

we left the protest tent touched by the two teenage boys, the women, the men, the russian woman and her daughter. these are the people who live in constant threat of kassam rockets!

before heading to a local restaurant, to offer a little financial support as well, we pulled over by an elementary school. our guide showed us a dip in the concrete road where a kassam had fallen not long ago. the kassam fell at 7am, just fifteen minutes before students would have flooded that very street to begin their school day. we learned that when a kassam falls in the middle of the street, even if it's just several feet from a school yard or a house, it is reported in the news as having landed in an "open area." we saw and understood very clearly that this is a gross misnomer. the term "open area" conjures images of an abandoned, large field and yet, in this case, the kassam had fallen just feet from a school yard!

we ended our trip to sderot with dinner in the local dairy restaurant. once again, we were received warmly. we enjoyed dinner and boarded our nesher to return to jerusalem. i left sderot feeling torn. part of me felt relieved to leave the city unscathed and looked forward to returning to the "safety" of jerusalem. part of me felt very reluctant to leave this beautiful city and its inhabitants who live with a constant fear of kassams. one thing was clear: i'm happy i went. i'm happy i was able to tell the people of sderot: we're still thinking about you and we continue to daven for you.

may the idf mission in to gaza be swift and thorough and safe!

"and behold, there came a great wind"

2006-07-09T08:33:00.000-07:00

a friend from the states inquired this morning: "what is the average citizen in israel feeling right now?" underlying the seemingly casual question was a serious expression of concern. how is the country dealing with the kidnapping of gilad shalit? what do people here feel about the idf incursion into gaza? how is the government responding to the continued kassam shelling of sderot and now ashkelon and is the response strong enough or effective?

"with all of these terrible things looming in the air," i wrote, "life does continue here." israel is a place where one is forced to integrate, or perhaps, balance, the tension of a constant terrorist threat with the vibrant and enriching cultural, intellectual and religious life that exists here like no other place in the world. in fact, just this past week, jerusalem kicked off a ten-day film festival. the jerusalem film festival is said to be the most impressive in the country.

hoping to escape the radio and internet updates for a few hours, i scanned the film festival program for the days afternoon movies. one title caught my eye: "and behold, there came a great wind." recognizing, the biblical origin of the title, i clicked on the synopsis and discovered the film is a documentary about a couple from nezer hazani and a rabbi/principal of a school in atzmona.

i was immediately intrigued. i arrived in the country just a week after the disengagement, in time to witness the aftermath. this past year i volunteered at a local jerusalem hotel doing arts and crafts projects with boys between 2 and 10 years old and their mothers from neveh dekalim. i worked with this group of incredible children and women through the winter, as they remained in the jerusalem gold hotel (due to the fact that the government had still not "resettled" these families).

my weekly visits to the hotel afforded me the opportunity to get to know some of the special people of gaza. while i did spend quite a bit of time with this group, we almost never spoke about their "previous" life in gush katif. both the boys and their mothers seemed to find the art projects cathartic and soothing. i hesitated to ask questions about life in neveh dekalim, as i didn't want to open the fresh wound. consequently, i was all the more interested in seeing the documentary which followed three people over the course of eight months leading up to the disengagement.

i arrived at the theater just before the movie began. i was gratified to see that the large hall was almost full and that the demographic ranged from teens to senior citizens and kipah-wearing to bare(and sometimes bald)-headed men.

the film was an incredible piece of history that everyone must see. we meet the yefet family from nezer hazani in the opening shot of the film. we are introduced to everyday life in the beautiful community. the camera follows both mr. and mrs. yefet through their respective daily routines. i can think of no better way to describe this extraordinary couple than just salt-of-the-earth, deeply-believing people. they arrived in and helped found nezer hazani in 1977. while mrs. yefet seemed to always be cooking up some delicacy for her family, mr. yefet was busy tending to his farming business, producing herbs such as basil and chives.

the yefet family lost their son, and brother, itamar, in 2000 (please see the following link to the tragic death of itamar yefet: http://www.nic.gov.il/MFA/Terrorism-+Obstacle+to+Peace/Memorial/2000/Itamar+Yefet.htm). despite their son's untimely death in gush katif, the yefet's were committed to living in gaza. in fact, mr. yefet at one point says he does not fear the mortar shells that occasionally fall into his hothouses. until the month preceding the disengagement, both yefet parents are convinced the disengagement will not happen.

in the days leading up to the disengagement, when it becomes clear to the family that they will in fact be removed from their homes, mrs. yefet expresses her exasperation at the lack of governmental planning for the "day after." the documentary juxtaposes her concern with a clip from a news station aired the night before the disengagement. the newscaster explains the intricate plan of how the residents of gush katif will be removed from their homes. the movie then returns to rachel yefet whose post-disengagement home is still not ready. the filmaker seems to be telling the viewer: you see, the government did not spare anything to insure that the removal of jews from their homes would go flawlessly. however, the government failed to plan, with the same effort and concern, the follow-up for people who would be without homes, jobs, community.

the film weaves another story through the yefet narrative, that of rabbi rafi peretz. rabbi peretz is the beloved head of the pre-military "mechina" yeshiva in atzmona. in the months leading up to the disengagement, rabbi peretz preaches civil disobedience, not violence, to his yeshiva students. even while disbelieving, he cautions his impressionable students that they must never stop respecting the government, however flawed the government's decisions may be.

rabbi peretz invokes the persona of king david to convey his stance. when saul was still king of israel he repeatedly threatened to kill david, who was annointed by G-d as the new king. rabbi peretz points out that david did two things: 1. he never stopped treating saul with respect (see samuel I, chapter 24 as one example) and 2. he never stopped fighting for his people. rabbi peretz seems to embody this two-tiered tactic. he refuses to disrespect the government or the army, and yet he insists on remaining in his beloved beit midrash until the end.

in the final scenes of the documentary, we witness the yefet family in their yard, sobbing together. we are also shown rabbi peretz weeping and speaking in the beit midrash of atzmona to his 200 talmidim (students), who echo his cries in the background. i did not expect to cry and i did not cry until these last shots. the grief woven into the brow of the stoic mr. yefet as he watches his hothouses being dismantled is too much to bear. the yefet family clutching each other, sobbing; the tears shed by the yeshiva boys as they are asked by an army officer to leave their beit midrash.

after the film ended, the director introduced himself and fielded a few questions. the director, ziv alexandroni, is a self-proclaimed tel aviv liberal. he described the experience he witnessed in gush katif as a "tragedy." when asked why alexandroni did not include footage of the people of gush katif rebuilding and rehabillitating their lives, the director stated: "i wanted the film to end on a sad note."

that it did. after watching this film, i was struck by the beauty, depth, simplicity and richness of life in gush katif. the sight of the bulldozers destroying the yefet's, and so many other, homes was that much more tragic after seeing the life that was.

this film resonates even more clearly now. just several days ago, the army returned to a number of the jewish settlements that were evacuated almost one year ago. the army did this in a strategic effort to curb, if not wipe out, the kassam shelling of israel (pre-1967 israel). additionally, the army is in gaza to find and return gilad shalit.

it is not surprising that reports continue to be published analyzing the "failure" of the disengagement. many jewish families who were evacuated are still without permanent homes and jobs. since the disengagement more kassams have been fired into israel than had been fired since 1967. gaza is currently governed by a terrorist organization that avowedly calls for the destruction of israel. in the midst of this, olmert recently reiterated his intention to go forward with the convergence plan, removing 10 times as many people from the west bank as were evacuated from gaza.

"and behold, there came a great wind," the title of the documentary, is part of a verse taken from the book of job (job 1:19). the verse appears after we are told that job's animals, servants and sons and daughters have been taken from him. "and behold, there came a great wind," begins the verse, "and smote the four corners of the house..." the houses and homes of an unbelievable group of people were destroyed. in many ways, their lives were, at least temporarily, destroyed. one must see the film to understand the gravity of this destruction.

Tense Weeks....

2006-06-30T04:07:00.000-07:00

It has been a difficult and tense week in Israel. We awoke a week ago, Sunday, to discover the horrible news that Gilad, a 20 year-old soldier in the IDF, had been taken hostage by Palestinian militants. Along with his capture, the terrorists also killed two other chayalim (soldiers).

By Tuesday morning the Israeli government had done little more than entertain diplomatic options and amass tanks along the border with Gaza. That same morning, I attended a briefing at a Jerusalem think-tank, where I work part-time. The former head of the Mossad, Epraim Halevy, spoke with foreign diplomats, press and researchers from the think-tank.

Halevy described the kidnapping of Gilad as "the fatal moment, the moment of truth" for Hamas. This, he claimed, is the moment for the Hamas leadership to prove their mettle, to prove that they are competent and capable of governing the Palestinian people. And the manner in which they handle the crisis will determine the future of Hamas as a governing body.

He viewed this "moment" as a contest between Mashal, the head of the military wing of Hamas, based in Damascus, and the "civil" wing of Hamas. The ex-Mossad head predicted that we would see where Hamas is headed within two days. I sit typing this post nearly a week after Halevy's briefing. It seems abundantly clear that Hamas has failed to "create a structure of command, control and viable governance," the challenge Halevy outlined in the briefing. Gilad remains in the hands of the terrorists and we continue to pray for his well-being.

Amidst the horror of Gilad's kidnapping, the country was informed that Eliyahu, an 18 year-old boy from Itamar was also kidnapped. For some reason, Eliyahu's kidnapping did not generate the same publicity and media attention as Gilad's. Perhaps because Eliyahu was from the "shtachim," the settlements. However, Eliyahu was kidnapped while hitchiking from French Hill, a neighborhood in Jerusalem.

On Thursday, it was revealed that Eliyahu had been killed immediately after he was kidnapped (on Sunday). One of the murderers, who was arrested by the Israeli government in an effort to crack down on the Hamas leadership, led the police to Eliyahu's body on a hilltop near Ramallah.

I attended Eliyahu's funeral in Jerusalem. Needless to say, the scene was heart-breaking. I stood in the blazing sun with several thousand Israelis. We listened to the hespedim (eulogies) over loud-speakers. A number of rabbis and local Itamar politicians eulogized Eliyahu. Although it was difficult to hear and decipher the speeches, the sobs and wails of Eliyahu's four younger siblings and parents were a distinct undertone throughout.

The sound of the continuous wail of the family members will always remain with me. The sickening sound of a young girl sobbing, wailing over her 18 year old brother's casket was haunting, eerie and unnatural.

Both Eliyahu's mother and father gave eulogies. Eliyahu's "adopted" grandfather, Rav Druckman also spoke about his son. One common theme that all of the speakers touched upon was Eliyahu's biblical namesake, Elijah the Prophet and his ability to intercede on behalf of the people of Israel. Eliyahu's mother beseeched him: "Eliyahu, please pray to God on our behalf."

Today I joined a group of several people who desired to pay a shiva call to the Osheri family. We traveled on a bullet-proof bus to the town of Itamar. As we left Jerusalem behind us, I was struck, as I always am, by the beautiful vast expanse of land, mountains and hills that is the "west bank." Only fifteen minutes outside of the bustling city center of Jerusalem, the serenity of the stunning landscape is striking.

We passed Beit El, Eli, Shilo, Ofra and many other charming and vibrant towns as we headed toward Itamar. When I got off the bus in Itamar I took several pictures. Although Nablus is only 3 kilometers from Itamar, I immediately did a 360 and realized I could see no other village or town in any direction.

As we approached the Osheri house, we discovered the family sitting shiva in the yard outside. Apparently, the home was too small to contain the large numbers of friends, families, and strangers like myself. I joined the group surrounding Eliyahu's parents. I sat toward the back of the circle and listened and watched the bereaved mother and father. I glalnced behind me and saw a girl, Eliyahu's sister, the source of the horrifying wails at the funeral, who looked like she couldn't be more than ten or eleven, surrounded by a circle of her peers.

The woman sitting next to me reminded me that the town of Itamar (which is populated by around 100 families) has seen its share of tragedies. In the past five years, fourteen members of the community have been murdered in terrorist attacks. I cringed at the thought. And then the woman told me that one of those fourteen had been a dear friend of Eliyahu's. (please see the following link to the unspeakable tragedy of the shabo family from itamar: http://www.shechem.org/itamar/eshabo.html). I later found out from Eliyahu's father that Eliyahu would have been at his friend's house that night, but had rushed home immediately after the night's activities at his father's instruction.

After sitting with the parents for a little while, I joined a group of three journalists who interviewed Eliyahu's father. The father agreed to speak with the press, for what ended up lasting about an hour. Mr. Osheri spoke of his son's development in the years leading up to his murder last week.

Apparently, Eliyahu was not much of a student in high school. He was not interested in the material being taught. Once he entered a "pre-military" mechina program, however, Eliyahu seemed to turn over a new leaf. His spiritual development progressed very quickly. As his mother had told us earlier, he asked penetrating, thoughtful and deep questions about belief and Judaism. He thrived at his yeshiva.

Mr. Osheri shared with us that Eliyahu's mother had given voice to concern several months back regarding Eliyahu's spiritual growth. His mother worried:"He's so close to the Almighty now, I'm afraid the Almighty will take him." (How unfortunately prophetic her words were). I was told that when Eliyahu prayed the mincha, afternoon service, it was like watching someone pray the Yom Kippur service.

Eliyahu's father's words left an indelible imprint on me. I kept returning to the picture of Eliyahu smiling, emanating "chein," goodness and a deep spirituality.

After discussing Eliyahu for a while, the questions veered toward Mr. Osheri's own spiritual journey. He shared with us his own path to Judaism. As a non-Jewish child in Australia, he told us, he knew at the age of ten that Catholicism was not for him. He studied East Asian religions in college and found them engaging only on a cursory level. When he lived in New Guinea for two years, he met an architect whose wife happened to be Israeli. This woman encouraged Mr. Osheri to visit and spend time in Israel.

He did. He spent a year living on a non-religious kibbutz. Mr. Osheri explained that it was on that kibbutz that he sensed something special, unique about the Jewish people. The kibbutznikim possessed some sort of intangible spiritual, ethical quality. He asked them the source of that spark. Someone handed Mr. Osheri a pamphlet of "pirkei avot," "ethics of our fathers." Reading Pirkei Avot, for him, was like discovering a canteen of water in the middle of the desert. Subsequent to his stint on kibbutz, Mr. Osheri returned to Australia where he studied and learned for a year, culminating in his conversion to Judaism.

I was amazed at the quiet, humble and methodical manner in which Mr. Osheri shared such a personal and unbelievable story. Toward the end of the conversation, the ha'aretz journalist asked him how he would respond to people who think that he should not be living in Itamar. Eliyahu's father softly, yet firmly, answered: "I would tell them to open the Bible and read very closely and discover that G-d gave this Land to only one people, the Jewish people."

On the bus ride back to Jerusalem, I thought about Eliyahu, his parents and his siblings. His parents, such salt-of-the-earth, gentle, spiritual people grieving over the loss of a son. I thought about the people of Itamar, their beautiful town, their idealism. I thought about the little children who were playing in their "gan," schoolyard when I walked through the town. I thought about Mr. Osheri, his spiritual journey and his son Eliyahu, and his own spiritual journey. I thought about Mrs. Osheri, who could not release my hand from hers when I blessed her upon my departure that G-d should comfort her.

These sights are difficult to understand and accept. I am left without words. Only with prayer. For Gilad. For the Osheri family. For the Jewish people. For the State of Israel.

(the picture at the top of the post is Eliyahu Asheri, Hashem Yikom Damo)

a nation of hope

2006-06-28T04:19:00.000-07:00

(i wrote this on april 2, 2006 just after the israeli elections)

leading up to last tuesday night, i had the honor of working with ari h. on the likud campaign. ari was the likud spokesperson and responsible for the foreign press. although i got involved late in the game, i still enjoyed attending a press conference, and meeting with several diplomats and MK's, including Bibi Netanyahu. the climax of my volunteer work with the likud culminated with the results from the israeli elections on tuesday night of last week.

i was invited to join and assist at likud headquarters in tel aviv, at ganei hatarucha, as election results arrived. the buzz leading up to the first tally was still optimistic. i met with the cnn people and the bbc people and as MK's arrived, i met with their press people. i rushed around the oval-shaped room matchmaking press people with MK's available for interviews. but as the results were announced, the mood quickly devolved into a palpable gloom.

according to initial results, the likud, which had received 38 mandates in the previous election, was slated to receive only 11 seats this time around. as all of the supporters, aides, press people and MK's hovered around the large tv screens to watch the results, we witnessed rejoicing at almost every other campaign headquarters. the mood was quiet and despondent at the ganei hataarucha likud headquarters. eventually, bibi came to make a speech. all of the likud MK's who were present joined him on the dais. (every MK was dressed in suit and tie except for Natan Sharansky, who, at least several inches shorter than the next shortest MK, donned his trademark army green cap and wore a dark colored shirt). netanyahu gave an inspiring speech, given the circumstances. he vowed to remain at the helm and guide the likud forward.

when netanyahu finished his speech, he paused for a moment, and the room became silent. seconds later the opening chords of "hatikva" wafted through the room. every person stood in place and sang loudly and proudly with netanyahu, sharansky and the several other likud MK's who likely will not enjoy a seat in this knesset.

i sang loudly and felt proud to be in israel, a part of this incredible country and people, a part of a democratic process in a democratic country amidst a sea of muslim terrorist countries. i sang loudly because i was inspired by watching the "defeated team" - netanyahu, MK uzi landau (quite an impressive man) who will not make it into the knesset because he was #14 on the likud slate, and others- sing with pride... "od lo avda tikvateinu" ..." we have not yet lost our hope".... "hatikva bat shnot alpayim lihiyot am chofshi b'artzeinu eretz zion yerushalaim"... "the hope of thousands of years, to be a free nation in our land, the land of zion, jerusalem"...

less than a day later, i found myself standing in the cool jerusalem night breeze on a balcony at the king david hotel overlooking the walls of the old city. my sister and i joined eight people who had journeyed to jerusalem from yucaipa and redlands, california. we came together to witness the wedding ceremony of a couple from redlands, california who had just converted to judaism. every guest present participated in the ceremony, whether reciting a bracha, or holding up a corner of the talit to create the chuppa.

it was interesting and almost surreal to participate in such a small jewish wedding and play such an integral role. the symbolic act of the chatan stamping on the glass, commemorating the destruction of the beit hamikdash and expressing our yearning for it to be rebuilt, seemed that much more relevant and potent as the old city walls loomed in the backdrop. the impressive stone structures, lit up at night, exuded an almost magical quality from our vantage point. the walls, built in the 16th by sultan the magnificent of the ottoman empire, surround the remnants of the outer walls of the beit hamikdash.

i've been thinking about how i spent tuesday and wednesday nights last week. at the election headquarters and then at a tiny jerusalem wedding. the events were separated by fewer than 24 hours and a solar eclipse. when i think of those two nights and many other incredible nights that have passed since i first arrived in this country, the words of hatikva pulse through my head.... "od lo avda tikvateinu".. "we still have not lost hope"... the likud, the newly jewish couple, the jewish nation. democracy prevails in the middle east despite our neighbors best efforts. we are not always satisfied with the results, and we continue to hope and pray for a government that will protect its people and its land, and yet, democracy prevails. as do the jewish people. we vote, we rejoice, we live.

the words of jeremiah continue to be fulfilled "od yishama b'arei yehuda u'v'chutzot yerushalaim kol sasson v'kol simcha kol chatan v'kol kallah" (jeremiah 33:10-11) "there will still be heard in the cities of judah and in the streets of jerusalem the sound of gladness, the sound of happiness, the sound of the groom, the sound of the bride." i witnessed the fulfillment of jeremiahs words last week. for these reasons, the words "od lo avda tikvateinu, we have not yet lost hope" are always on my mind in this country. because we are a people of hope.

Vive la Fete

2006-06-25T15:17:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine informed my sister and me that there would be a Republican Party gathering at the King David Hotel that Saturday night. We decided to attend.

When we arrived, there were probably forty or so people in the hall. Shortly thereafter, a contingent of about fifteen men, looking like upscale business-men entered the room. As it turns out, they were all elites of the Republican party taking part of a Republican mission to Israel.

One of the gentlemen struck up a conversation with me. I told him about where I had gone to college, what I was doing in Israel, etc. I spoke about myself for about fifteen minutes, when I finally asked him: "And what is your affiliation with the Republican party?" to which he responded: "I'm the Chairman."

There I was, slightly aghast, that I had been blabbing on about myself to the Chairman of the Republican Party! The Chairman, Ken Mehlman, was lovely, personable, friendly and intelligent. He continued by informing me that he had run President Bush's re-election campaign! I felt somewhat humbled, but also delighted by the fact that I was casually shmoozing with such an important figure in the party.

We also met Matt Brooks, the head of the Republican Jewish Coalition. He was also very friendly. Mr. Mehlman spoke and fielded questions. He was quite articulate and impressive, reiterating President Bush's support for Israel.

As we exited the room we nearly collided with Former Prime Minister Bibi Netanyahu, who was headed to the King David gym! I shook hands with him and wished him a goodnight!

The entire night left me with the feeling: "Only in Israel." Where else would I have rubbed elbows with dignitaries from the Republican party and bumped into a former prime minister?!

(The pictures are of me, Ken Mehlman and my sister; the second one is us with Matt Brooks)
(Enjoy the irony of the French title to describe a Republican party gathering!)

Freeways, Fireworks and Fearless Sisters

2006-06-25T14:46:00.000-07:00

My sister just sent me pics from a recent adventure that began on a disappointing note but ended on an exciting, if somewhat dangerous high note...

To kick off the recent French Festival in Tel Aviv, a big-name French fireworks company decided to launch the largest fireworks show in Israel to date. My sister and I, never ones to miss out on something fun, decided to travel to Tel Aviv after a short stop in Modi'in. The only problem was that half the country had the same plan. We left Modi'in only thirty minutes before the extravaganza was to begin. (Modi'in is about 40 minutes from Tel Aviv when there's zero traffic). It quickly became clear to us that we would not make it to Tel Aviv in time. As we sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic, we turned to each other and decided to give up. We got off at the next exit and headed back to Jerusalem.

As we alighted a hill on the freeway heading home, we noticed several cars pulled over on the shoulder. It occurred to us that these cars had pulled over to view the fireworks from the road. Because we were on the top of the incline, we would have a perfect view. We immediately decided to pull over. Shortly thereafter, the fireworks began. An Israeli who had parked his car not far from ours ran across the freeway to the middle of the freeway and called us to join him for a better view. We foolishly agreed and ran to the island in the middle of the highway! Needless to say, the fireworks were spectacular, and that much more exciting from our vantage point!!!