Yes, We Have No Bananas (Maybe)

September 12, 2007
29 Elul 5767
Erev Rosh Hashanah


Shalom, it has been a long time; remember me? I haven’t written since last April. Much has transpired in the intervening months. Wendy and I traveled to Southern California, not once, but twice to celebrate weddings at which I had the honor to officiate, including one at the end of July for my nephew and, now, niece Scott and Lainie Donnell. Those trips kept us away for much of the summer, so I did not have much to report from our home base in Jerusalem, hence my protracted silence. One thing that our sojourn back in the familiar climes of California underscored for both Wendy and me was the fact that no matter how much we enjoyed being with family and friends and how “at home” we felt in those accustomed surroundings, Jerusalem is really home to us now. Celebrating our second anniversary as Israelis on July 7th away from Israel just didn’t seem right to us. It felt so good to get back home again.

When we returned from our first trip in June, I received a phone call asking me if I would join the faculty at the Hebrew Union College—Jewish Institute of Religion to teach liturgy as a sabbatical replacement for the coming year. Realizing that I would have to spend much of my second trip to Los Angeles gathering and preparing class readings and materials, I nonetheless could not resist the temptation to get back into the classroom.

This past week the College has interrupted the regular curriculum and class schedule to prepare the students for the upcoming High Holy Days with a special Elul program. Elul is the Hebrew month that precedes the advent of the Days of Awe—Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur—and is traditionally a period of preparation, reflection, prayer and repentance in anticipation of the holy days ahead. Among Sephardic Jews, every night during the month of Elul beginning in the wee hours after midnight through dawn special penitential prayers called Selichot are recited. Ashkenazic Jews recite their Selichot on the Saturday night prior to Rosh Hashanah (at least three days prior to the new moon of the month of Tishri). The High Holy Days don’t “just happen,” they take preparation, concentration and dedication if they are to have any spiritual value and efficacy.

During our Elul program we presented a “walk through” the liturgies of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur for the students to give them a deeper appreciation and understanding of the prayer services of the holy days. In keeping with my approach to Jewish liturgy in general, I described to my students how the liturgy is by no means a random compilation of prayers, poetry and readings piled upon each other over the centuries like the strata of an archaeological dig. On the contrary, a better way to view the liturgy of our tradition is to see it as a magnificent symphony, carefully orchestrated with recurring themes, distinctive movements and clear voices. Unlike a symphony, it is not the work of one composer, but the result of many hands and hearts working together in a unique harmony.

Viewed from this perspective our liturgy is a kind of tone poem weaving together the collective, aspirations and fears, triumphs and tragedies, strengths and foibles, spirituality and human frailty of our people. It sings of our past and to our future; it cries for our dead and praises God for the gift of life. It takes us up and down and up again from hope to despair to hope again as we consider the human condition, our own humanity and sinful frailty and the enormous God-given power we have been granted to effect change in our lives and in our world through repentance/accepting responsibility, prayer/resolving how to effect necessary change, and righteous action/implementing those changes. Our liturgy helps me get a perspective on the “now” and see it in a much broader perspective.

As I look back on the year that has past it seems to unfold like a kind of litany of woe—the tumultuous aftermath of the Second Lebanese War; the scandals that have beset our government at the highest levels; the violent take over of Hamas in Gaza; the daily Kassam bombardment of Sderot and other towns in the Negev while the world remains silent; Iran’s nuclear threat growing more ominous and its verbal threats more odious, raising no one’s ire but our own; the revelation that there are neo-Nazi gangs from the Former Soviet Union right here in Israel. And this is just from the Israeli news!

There is, indeed, much that is troubling in the news right now, but the is also much that bears the promise of hope. Olmert and Abbas are very close—so rumors and news pundits tells us—to producing an outline of principals for the upcoming meeting in November based upon the near-agreement proposed by President Clinton at Camp David and an unsigned agreement between Yossi Beilin and Abbas subsequent to the Camp David proposals. What may prove to be most significant about the hoped-for November meetings (if they materialize) will be the presence of the Saudis. Their very attendance may have more significance than any specific proposals that may emerge from the confab.

The Israeli economy is still growing despite the upheaval that is coursing through the American and European financial markets. Our financial czar, Stanley Fischer, the Governor of the Bank of Israel, assures us that Israeli banks and financial institutions have pretty much kept themselves away from the sub-prime fiasco. There is much promise on the economic horizon.

Yes, there is much in the news these days…bad news, good news…all kinds of news. But, if you really want to know what has been eating up the column inches in our newspapers of late, here is the real scoop—

This year, 5768 on the Jewish calendar is a biblically ordained sabbatical year (Ex. 23:10-11). That means that no annual crops may be grown on jewishly owned land within the borders of the Land of Israel. That means that only imported produce and that gown on land owned by non-Jews may be consumed by those who observe the laws of the sabbatical year (an important issue in the kosher laws). Thus any market, restaurant, hotel or any other public establishment that requires kosher certification, must make sure that its source for produce complies with the laws of the sabbatical year. Now, to complicate matters, there are several kosher-certifying bodies here in Israel. The largest two are the Chief Rabbinate, the official governmental body (supposedly representing the interests of the general public in matters of Jewish Law) and the other is BaDaTz that represents the anti-Zionist ultra-orthodox communities—there are more certifiers, but these are the main two.

Heretofore, over the past many, many decades, the Chief Rabbinate has gotten around the laws of the sabbatical year by means of a legal loophole called a heter mechira in which Jewish-owned land was “sold” to a non-Jew for the duration of the sabbatical year, thus allowing Jewish farmers to work the land and Jewish consumers to purchase and use the produce. Those who were more stringent were free to purchase produce only from non-Jewish and imported sources, and these products were so designated in the stores. Everyone was happy and a viable solution was realized, right? Wrong!

This year things changed…as the Eidah Haredit (the ultra-orthodox community) has gotten politically more powerful, it has gotten more brazen. Not satisfied with controlling its own community and what produce it consumes and has access to during the sabbatical year, the Eidah Haredit has put pressure on the Chief Rabbinate not to accept the time-honored heter mechira as a means to allow Israeli-grown produce to enter the markets this year. This will place a major financial burden upon the farmers forced to forego a year’s production income and impose additional costs on the non-Haredi Israeli consumer who will be forced to pay higher prices for imported products and restaurant bills.

Now the Chief Rabbinate is in a bind, it cannot do away completely with the heter mechira, after all, it made it official in the first place under Israeli law, nor can it resist completely the enormous pressures of the Eidah Haredit who hold considerable political clout. So, what did the Chief Rabbinate decide to do this year? They maintained the heter mechira however they allowed the district rabbi in every locality to decide for himself whether or not he would allow it to be used. That means that in some localities where there is a secular majority, such as Herzliya where very few citizens even care about whether or not their produce has the heter or not, only produce that meets ultra-orthodox standards may be sold. If a restaurant refuses to use the more expensive products (often at the risk of their slim profit margins) they will forfeit their kosher certification. In other words, the Chief Rabbinate—a governmental institution—is being dictated to by an anti-Zionist body and failing to enforce its own policies in the interests of the state and its citizenry because of the coercion of a small but politically power minority. The issue is now being brought before the High Court of Justice…

So, when you consider that we spend so much time and energy worrying about the kashrut of a banana, the rantings of an Iranian lunatic pale by comparison, don’t they?

You know, I am really looking forward to sitting back and enjoying the symphony of my High Holy Days services this year…I need the perspective.

To you and yours, Wendy and I send our best wishes for a happy, healthy and fulfilling New Year and may you be inscribed in the Book of Life with signatures of blessing.

Tizku le-shanim rabot! Shanah Tovah u-metukah!

Shalom from Jerusalem.

A Country Comes to a Standstill

April 16, 2007
28 Nisan 5767

A notice appeared in our mailboxes last week. It informed all citizens that a representative of the Home Guard would be calling during this coming week between the hours 16:15 and 21:45 (military time, of course) to pick up each family’s emergency kit—including gas masks and other protective paraphernalia—providing a receipt to pick up a new kit at a local distribution center.

Well, as new immigrants, we don’t have an emergency kit! All this time we have been exposed to danger, falsely clinging to the illusion that the “bomb shelter” in our apartment (yes, we have a room right here, I’m sitting in it now, typing away) would provide ample protect should—heaven forefend—a katyusha, scud or other projectile land on us.

I guess the friendly representative from the Home Guard will present us with a coupon to get our “new” issue emergency kit. I plan to get the gas mask model for bearded men, a very popular design here in Israel. Given so much saber rattling from Iran, Hamas and—recently from Gaza— al Qaeda, maybe an emergency kit isn’t such a bad idea.

Today at precisely 10:00 AM a siren sounded. Now, with the threats from all around us you might think that we would head straight into our secure room, not exactly. Last night began what in Israel we call our national “Days of Awe,” or “High Holy Days”—the commemorations from Yom HaShoah ve-HaGevurah (Holocaust Memorial Day) through Yom HaZikaron (Memorial Day) and culminating with Yom HaAtzma’ut (Independence Day). During Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron all Jewish places of entertainment are closed. With the exception of the few foreign stations, all broadcast channels on radio and television play only programs appropriate to the themes of memorial—about the Holocaust on Yom HaShoah and about the struggles for Israel’s survival on Yom HaZikaron. Finally, with the fading of the sun at the close of Memorial Day, the celebrations begin as the BBQ’s light up and the bands begin to play as we begin the festivities of Yom HaAtzma’ut.

That siren at 10:00 AM marked the solemn minute when the entire country stops—traffic, commerce, teaching, everything—and people stand at attention in sacred memory of those who died during the Shoah.

It is an amazing sight. On the streets everything comes to a standstill. The traffic stops (even on the highways) and people get out of their cars to stand for the duration of the siren’s blast. The ubiquitous cell phones attached to the ears of most Israelis come away (disconnected?) and there is reverent silence for one minute. I have never seen anything like it anywhere else.

This morning Wendy and I decided to take a walk so that we would be out and about when the sirens went off. At precisely 10:00 AM we heard the piercing sounds. We were sitting on a low wall at an intersection near our home and immediately stood at attention—even Kipper seemed to sense the solemnity of the moment and didn’t squirm about. Cars stopped in the street and the drivers got out. Pedestrians stood in their places. The huge industrial cranes (Israel’s “national bird”) ceased their load-bearing motion in mid-air. Everything stopped—almost.

We watched, and it was interesting to see who continued about their business while the rest of us stood at attention. Arab cars continued past (it was obvious as the women were wearing Muslim head coverings). But, also moving about normally were what appeared to be Europeans (or Americans) who make up the many foreign diplomats, NGO workers, and UN employees that live in our neighborhood. It struck me that as all-encompassing, as this moment of memory was it was not universal.

Quite frankly, I can understand why our neighbors might not stop when the siren sounds next week in memory of those fallen in Israel’s wars (a clearly national commemoration), but this silent vigil was in memory of the victims of the Shoah! Isn’t the message of the Shoah universal? Is the Holocaust only a Jewish memory?

The front page of today’s Jerusalem Post carried the headline, ‘Worldwide violence against Jews surging.’ The study conducted by Tel Aviv University, notes that the change in the nature of the incidents as well as the number is cause for concern. Now, more and more, people as well as property are the targets.

In an op-ed piece in the same paper, Manfred Gerstenfeld writes of the distortions of Holocaust memory. First is what he calls “Holocaust promotion,” encouraging the extermination of Jews to finish Hitler’s work. This is manifested in some neo-Nazi groups and in extremist voices from the Muslim world. Next he cites “Holocaust justification,” suggesting that the Jews were responsible for their own destruction.

Gerstenfeld suggests that this view is promoted by many of those who seek the destruction of the State of Israel. Then there is outright Holocaust denial—those who claim that the Holocaust is a Jewish lie. A not-too-subtle variant is “Holocaust depreciation,” which belittles the severity of the Holocaust, suggesting that reports of the extermination of Jews were “exaggerated.” Another category is “Holocaust equivalence,” alleging that the Nazi’s behavior was similar to the actions of the Allies such as the bombings of Dresden and Hiroshima. Then there is “Holocaust inversion,” which targets Israel and Israelis claiming that Israelis have become the Nazis of today. Holocaust inversion has made major inroads in the Western world and is being used to legitimize the very existence of the State of Israel today.

As Gerstenfeld notes, “Portraying Israel as a Nazi state enables its enemies to kill three birds with one stone.” It delegitimizes Israel by associating it with a symbol of ultimate evil; it allows for attacks against Jews by equating them with the perpetrators of evil and genocide; and, it frees Europeans of remorse and shame for their history of lethal anti-Semitism going back many centuries.

If the truth be told, most of the world is sick and tired hearing about the Holocaust. It seems that we Jews are obsessed with it. That may be why many of the non-Jews living and working in Israel may not have stopped when the siren sounded (though many, I am absolutely sure, did). And that, my friends, is why we must continue to remember.

Those who remember the Shoah first-hand are almost gone now. Of the 110 eyewitnesses who testified at Adolf Eichmann’s trial, only ten are alive today. If we do not remember the lessons of the Shoah then “Never Again” will become an empty slogan with as much moral meaning as “Drink Coca Cola.”

That is why it is so enormously important that—at least in one place on earth—almost an entire nation comes to a standstill for one moment in sacred memory. And for a full day a people that loves to party refrains from cafes and restaurants, gives up on shopping and outings, and watches documentaries and memorials instead of The Simpsons and Seinfeld. It is just one of the many things about Israel that make it so unique—and why I live here.

Shalom from Jerusalem.

The Messiah on Wheels

April 6, 2007
18 Nisan 5767

Today is the Shabbat of Passover. On Christian calendars it is Good Friday. The confluence of these holy days is all the more remarkable because, this year, both the eastern and western rites of Christianity will be celebrating Easter Sunday on the same day. We Jews are not the only ones who get involved in the intricacies of lunar and solar cycles, so, too, do our Christian and Muslim neighbors. Following two different calendars, western and eastern Christians celebrate their major holy days of Easter and Christmas often weeks apart but this year, all celebrate Easter this Sunday just as we Jews bid farewell to our Passover festival. For we Jerusalemites that means that our city is the sacred destination of thousands of pilgrims as it has been at this season for millennia. The faithful and the curious, Christians and Jews alike, have been converging upon the Holy City this whole week to the delight of the merchants—Christians, Jews and Muslims who welcome the refreshing stream of visitors and shoppers after the long draught of the Intifada.

Jerusalem has been the destination of pilgrims since the days before the Bible entered the religious imagination of the people who gave it to the world. According to Jewish tradition the rock that crowns the Mount at its symbolic heart is Even ha-Sh’tiyah—the very foundation stone of the world. Thus it is believed that the mount upon which the Temple was built held sacred significance before David conquered the city and Solomon built the House of God there. Mount Moriah, the place where Abraham was to sacrifice Isaac as told in Genesis, is identified with that hill, thus making the patriarch the first pilgrim to Jerusalem in Jewish tradition. Since the Temple was built, Jews have been bound in sacred covenant with this place; commanded to appear three times a year at the festival times of Passover, Shavuot and Sukkot, to bring their festival thanksgiving offerings to God—in pilgrimage, a sacred journey. In Hebrew we call these festivals the Regalim from the word for feet, because of the walking that was required to reach the Holy City.

For hundreds and thousands of years, Jews and then Christians have made their way on foot from their homes, often across seas and even continents, to express their devotion to their faith and draw strength and inspiration from the holy stones of this sacred city.

During this, our second Passover in Jerusalem, Wendy and I decided to make a kind of mini-pilgrimage from our home over-looking the Old City, down Hebron Road to the ancient walled town some two miles below. It was an incredibly beautiful spring day; the weather was clement and the wildflowers spread a beautiful carpet in the empty lots and open spaces along our way. We made our way past the old British prison at the top of the hill near the derelict train station (just waiting for restoration—it’s bones are so good) and then began our descent past the Hinnom Valley (Gai Hinom in Hebrew, which became Gehenna in Greek, and is the Biblical metaphorical source for the post-Biblical concept of Hell in Christianity and the divergent concept of Gehinom in Judaism).

Before too long (it was mostly downhill at this point as you would expect of a descent into Hell…but paved with Jerusalem stone, not good intentions) we found ourselves at the foot of the city walls. We decided to make our way along the walls up to Mount Zion and into the Zion Gate in order to avoid the crowds that we knew would be massed at the Jaffa Gate. We were rewarded not only by lighter crowds, but also by a spectacular view of the valley below and of the terraced gardens from Mount Zion above us.

Once we entered the Old City through the Zion Gate the human crush of the crowds and the cacophony of people speaking in a dozen different languages engulfed us immediately. We hadn’t seen Jerusalem like this in years! Slowly we elbowed our way through the snaking throng and made our way to the Cardo, the ancient Roman commercial street in the Jewish Quarter, covered over now and restored as a shopping area. We were hoping to find some wedding gifts and decided to look in on two of our friends who had stores along the street. Both were very busy, a real change from recent years and we were happy to wait before speaking with our friends. At the shop of Ezra Dayafani, a scribe who does beautiful calligraphy, illuminated manuscripts and work in silver, I got to help out, relieving his assistant by translating for some customers so she could wait on the many customers that were converging on the tiny shop. That was a real treat for me.

Ezra doesn’t just make and sell scribal artwork: each Torah scroll, every set of Tefillin (phylacteries), his illuminated works and manuscripts are works of his soul as well as his hands. A British family came in to buy a set of Tefillin for their son who would become a Bar Mitzvah this coming November. In keeping with his soul-filled approach to his work, Ezra sat with the family and explained each and every step of the process of making the Tefillin and described how the scrolls they contained were written and explained the significance of the shapes of the letters inscribed upon the parchment. As Ezra explained in Hebrew, I translated into English for the family. I also added editorially that Ezra made a set of Tefillin for me (a gift from Wendy when I turned 50 to replace my old set) I told them that every time I put Tefillin on for prayer, I could sense Ezra’s kavannah—his devotional concentration, as he inscribed the scrolls and made the leather boxes to contain them. I was moved to help this family; they must have been moved by Ezra’s gentle piety as well because the father decided to buy a second set for himself.

Wendy and made our own purchases at Ezra’s and decided to leave them at the shop to be picked up next week when we found out that the unusually large crowds meant that there was no bus or taxi service in or out of the Jewish quarter and we’d probably have to walk all the way—uphill—back home.

This time we were brave—or foolhardy—and began to trek up through the main streets of the Old City. For those who have never visited our city, please don’t be mistaken, when I use the term “main streets” I do not mean “highway” or any other broad boulevard or, even, “street” by usual connotation. Most of the streets of the Old City are through the Suk (Arabic for market)—stepped paths lined by shops and stalls selling an incredible array of tourist items, antiquities (many right out of the kiln), fabrics, bric-a-brac, spices, meats (a nice camel’s head, perhaps), jewelry, pastries, you name it… Vendors yelling and cajoling, guides barking their spiels in Spanish, French, English and even Nigerian—all part of the river of humanity, and we were salmon swimming upstream while, so it seemed, the river was as rivers do flowing emphatically downward. We struggled and we strove with all our might until we emerged, finally and triumphantly at the Jaffa Gate to begin our ascent to our home in Talpiyot once more past Gehenna to our heavenly view of the Holy City. Our pilgrimage was completed just like those of millions of Olei Regel—pilgrims both Jewish and Christian—before us.

Looking at the faces of my fellow pilgrims I can imagine that little has changed in the millennia that have passed since the first pilgrim set foot upon Jerusalem’s sacred soil. They were flushed with the experience of Jerusalem. It is soulfully intoxicating. And in the millennia since the first pilgrims, pilgrimage and religious tourism have been and, I suppose, always will be Jerusalem’s major industry. The shops and commercial life of the city have always revolved around the visitors who come here to bask in the special spiritual atmosphere that is so unique to this place. As a result, over the centuries, a variety of entrepreneurs have cropped up to take advantage of the influx of tourists to find new ways to separate them from the contents of the pilgrimage purses.

For Christian tourists, especially at this time of the year, some of the shopkeepers along the Via Dolorosa—the traditional path that Jesus took to Calvary—rent wooden crosses for the faithful to carry on their own journey to the place where Jesus was crucified. These crosses (much smaller and lighter than the original) have been modified by some creative shopkeeper who has added wheels to the bottom of the crosses making them easier to carry along the journey.

Not to be outdone, for Jewish pilgrims there are also wheeled innovations. The City of David Foundation rents for Olei Regel who don’t want to use their regalim (feet) the patented Segway. Now, if you are not familiar with this device, it is a two-wheeled scooter upon which you stand. The wheels are on either side of you and the machine moves in whichever direction you lean. It sounds completely unsafe and unstable, however, gyroscopes in the mechanism keep it upright at all times and even the very young, the very old and very uncoordinated can use it. Not only does this obviate your need to walk, your feet don’t even have to touch the ground as you glide your way on your pilgrimage!

Christian pilgrims have been emulating Jesus’ march to Calvary burdened by the cross for centuries. Jews have made the journey by foot to Jerusalem as long as Judaism has existed as a faith. Jews and Christians, consider what our forbears—those ancient pilgrims—would have thought of all these wheels! Whether one’s faith anticipates the advent of the Messiah for the first or second time, can you for a moment, in your wildest imagination picture the Messiah on wheels? What would this mean? How would this alter faith? How would it change the world?

I think that I will continue to make my own pilgrimages on foot without wheels of any kind, thank you. In some things I am still a traditionalist. Besides, I would be too worried about falling from one of those Segway things and miss out on all the beautiful scenery along the way. One of the wonderful things about our religious traditions is that they teach us to slow down, to appreciate the world and those who inhabit it. Pilgrimages help us literally to step out of the everyday hustle and bustle of our lives and to take an alternate route—even if only for a brief time—as we journey through life. I highly recommend the excursion.

A happy Passover and a happy Easter to those who celebrate.

Shalom from Jerusalem.

Getting Along Like Cats and Dogs

April 2, 2007
14 Nisan 5767


It is the 14th of Nisan (the month formerly known as Datsun), the month of Spring, as it is known in the Bible, the first month on the Hebrew calendar and the month in which we celebrate Passover arguably the most important holy day in the sacred cycle of the Jewish year. On Passover we celebrate our liberation from Egyptian slavery more than 3,500 years ago and in the dramatic retelling of the Haggadah narrative we rehearse the ancient story whose message is as fresh today as the greens we eat to remind us of the hope that story inspires. No Jewish holiday, neither Shabbat nor even Hanukah is as universally observed, as is Passover. Such is the compelling power of freedom’s story.

Passover is the national story—the defining mythos—of the Jewish people. Formerly a nomadic loosely confederated band of clans—slaves among slaves to the Egyptians—we emerged from bondage to begin a journey towards freedom and national identity culminating with the revelation of Torah on Mount Sinai. There, upon the flinty rocks of Sinai a nation and a people—Israel—were forged, and there our destiny was made manifest. So powerful was the Exodus that each Shabbat, each holy day is another reminder—a zecher lizi’at Mitzra’im—commemorating the Exodus from Egypt. And every Passover we literally relive the experience as the Haggadah exhorts us, “In every generation everyone is to view themselves as if they personally left Egypt.”

Passover, of course, focuses upon the Exodus, the escape. Only the beginning of the story relates the hundreds of years of our sojourn in Egypt (the numbers of years is debated by scholars both ancient and modern). At first we were welcomed to Egypt, in fact, it was our salvation. There was famine in the land of Canaan the home of our patriarch Jacob and his growing clan; only Egypt provided hope against almost certain starvation. Thanks to Joseph (assimilated into the “Egyptian” Zaphenath-paneah, vizier to Pharaoh), the Hebrews found refuge and succor in Egypt.

However, all was not perfect. Towards the end of the story of Jacob and Joseph in Genesis we are told that our Hebrew forebears were settled in the land of Goshen because it was most suitable for their flocks and herds. It was far away from Pharaoh and most Egyptians, “For all shepherds are abhorrent to Egyptians (Genesis 46:34).” You see, it seems that much before a pharaoh arose “who knew not Joseph” and enslaved the Hebrews there was ill will between our ancestors and their Egyptian neighbors. Why? Our ancestors were shepherds. The ancient Egyptians counted the ram among their gods, perhaps these nomadic shepherds who raised sheep (for food) were abhorrent to the Egyptians.

If we symbolize the Egyptians by one of their other gods—the cat, and the Hebrews by the shepherd’s trusted companion—the dog, it might be fair to characterize the ancient relationship between the two peoples as being like that between cats and dogs—they simply could not get along. Just like cats and dogs, fighting and enmity, territoriality and tension have defined their age-old relationship. And so, it seems, this animal drama has played on fairly consistently throughout history from generation to generation from era to era.

We tell our story of the Exodus, the Egyptians have theirs. In ancient tales, going back at least 2,300 years tracing back at least to the account of the Greek historian Hecataeus of Abdera around 300 B.C.E. (drawing from earlier Egyptian sources) the Jews were kicked out of Egypt as the source of a plague. They were led out by a man named Moses (whom later sources identify with an Egyptian priest named Osarseph) and resettled in Judea. In their story the Hebrews are the villains, not the liberated. As they told it, Moses was a renegade, and God had nothing to do with the Exodus at all (which is probably why our rabbis chose to leave Moses out of the Haggadah—except for one passing reference—and emphasized God’s role). Cats and dogs.

Earlier, in the 7th century B.C.E. a Jewish garrison colony was set up by the Persians in Egypt at Elephantine. It even had its own functioning temple carrying out many of the same sacral rites as the Temple in Jerusalem until it was destroyed some two hundred years later by the Jews’ Egyptian neighbors. Some of the Egyptians’ calumnies against the Jews at that time sound very much like those cited later by Hecataeus. Cats and dogs.

In 110 C.E. the Egyptians and Greeks in Alexandria dredged up these stories again to “prove” to the Roman rulers that the Jews followed the strange laws given by Moses that were contrary to Roman law and unlike the laws of any other peoples. So much mischief resulted that there was an uprising by the Jews in that city that spread through many Greek-speaking Jewish communities in the Roman Empire during the reign of the Emperor Trajan. Cats and dogs.

There have been periods—very long periods—when the cats and dogs have gotten along fairly well together. Alexandria (the same Alexandria mentioned above) has historically been a model of cosmopolitan sophistication and even tolerance. Elsewhere in Egypt, Maimonides found refuge in Fostat (near modern day Cairo) when he was forced to flee his native Spain). In fact, up until the advent of Zionism and the modern state of Israel, Jews have played a significant role in the cultural and commercial life of Egypt. The cats and dogs have at least called a truce at times.

In 1948 with the establishment of the State of Israel (the modern incarnation of the Exodus as a defining moment in the national identity of the Jewish people) the cats and dogs were at it again. The fighting came to a climax in 1956 following the Suez War when the ancient Jewish community of Egypt was forced to pack up and leave the homes and businesses behind and become refugees in an exodus not of their choosing. Tens of thousands of Jewish refugees became homeless leaving behind them assets worth millions upon millions of dollars in the currency of the day. Cats and dogs.

However, unlike those Jews uprooted decades before in Europe, the Jews of Egypt had a home waiting for them—Israel. Many chose other destinations: Europe, the United States, Mexico and South America. But, for any and all who sought refuge and a welcoming home, Israel opened its heart to them. This is a fulfillment of the Passover promise of redemption.

And there are more promises in the Passover story I believe. Let me share another, perhaps more fanciful story, a kind of fable if you will.

Last October Wendy discovered a black cat in our entry. There are many feral cats in Jerusalem; they rummage through the garbage, hunt vermin and eye humans with a great deal of wary suspicion. But this black beauty wasn’t one of those wild ones. It was obvious that she had once been a house cats. And more, she was obviously “with kittens.” Wendy, God bless her, took pity upon the little mother-to-be and began feeding her—much to my chagrin, as I do not like cats (I am quite allergic to them); I am distinctly one of the dogs. Nature, being nature and taking its course, she eventually gave birth in our planter box to three kittens. And Wendy continued to bring food and milk, promising me that she would stop her ministrations as soon as we left for our trip to California in November. True to her word, she stopped—I emphasize that she stopped—actually, she hired the boy who watered our houseplants to continue the feeding, “just until the kittens are big enough to take care of themselves. Otherwise they’ll starve!”

This continued until January. Now we were buying sacks of cat food in addition to our monthly ration of dog food for Kipper. One day we found that one of the females was no longer to be counted among the little family; in Jerusalem this is not an uncommon fate as outdoor cats have a very low survival rate—we chose not to speculate upon its fate. Then Wendy left for a conference in California in January and left instructions for me to feed the cats. Now remember, I do not like cats—at all, nor, I might add, does Kipper. We’ve always suspected that he was part cat (a “dat” perhaps, half dog half cat), because of the way he acted so cat-like for a dog. But this is where the story gets interesting.

Not being one to ignore instructions from Wendy (unless absolutely necessary, of course), I dutifully prepared the cat food and brought it down to the little feline family as I took Kipper for his daily afternoon constitutional. It was about two days into this routine that something strange began to happen.

At first, the cats would begin to look for us (obviously looking out for the meal) then they began to follow us out onto the sidewalk. And, as for Kipper, he acted strangely himself. His fur didn’t go up in aggression and he didn’t growl at them. He almost seemed to—dare I say it—accept their presence in his domain. Gradually, little by little, the little family ventured farther and farther along the walk with us until, by the fourth or fifth day, two of the three cats accompanied us on the whole walk. Now picture this: here we are, me and this oversized Chihuahua walking down the sidewalk with an honor-guard of two cats right next to us—what a sight!

And, it gets even better…now the cats look for Kipper to go for a walk (even when it isn’t suppertime) and Kipper looks for them. They actually seem to like each other! The cats still don’t like other dogs (they run right away when one approaches) and Kipper seems to hold other cats in as much contempt as ever, but our happy family seems to get along just fine, thank you.

So, what does this mean? Well, if Kipper (of all dogs) can get along with cats, maybe it is possible for human dogs and cats to be liberated from the enslaving bonds of enmity which restrict and conflict them. We desperately need such transformative redemption now every bit as much as in ancient days.

Today our news is filled with hopeful possibilities for diplomatic breakthroughs emanating from the Arabic world—from Saudi Arabia in particular—tenuous and fragile as the overtures maybe they are at least cause for hope. At the same time we have more cat howls and screeches from other quarters in our region—from Iran and (unfortunately) even Egypt. And, here at home, we have our shares of barking dogs that see any concession or compromise as a sign of weakness and capitulation.

I hope and pray the Kipper and the cats are a harbinger of better times when even traditional enmities can be put aside—not without caution perhaps, but with a measure of mutual respect. Cats and dogs…if they can do it, why can’t we?

I wish you and yours a happy holy day of spring renewal.

Shalom from Jerusalem

Purim Fantasies

March 4, 2007
14 Adar 5767

Although it has been more than a year and a half since Wendy and I made Aliyah, I continue to be enthralled by the fact that we live at the very epicenter of world events. Moreover, being an historian, I am captivated by the confluence of ancient historical events and the stories that break on the front pages of the print media and make the opening reports on the nightly news. And these things are happening right here, right in our own backyard!

Take the latest cause celebre to capture the attention of the entire world…at least for the moment. Tonight (primetime Sunday evening) much of the world will tune in to a documentary on a discovery so world shaking, so startling, so revolutionary that it challenges the very foundations of Christianity itself! And this discovery was made right in my own neighborhood! How do you like that!

According to the producers of this documentary, archaeologists discovered the very tomb of Jesus and his family including his wife Mary (Magdalene) and his son, Judah as well as his mother and brother. Now, that my friends is some discovery!!! And it was found in East Talpiyot, a residential neighborhood in Jerusalem’s southern district. Well, Wendy and I live in North Talpiyot, just a stone’s throw away from this history-making (or, history re-making) discovery. Think of it, if this tomb really is that of Jesus and his family, then there was no resurrection, no Easter, in fact, no Christianity. No wonder Christians all over the world are up in arms over this documentary and the potential damage it could cause. Wow, a regular theological 9/11! Yup, it is really causing quite a stir that’s for sure and the epicenter is right here, incredible.

But, not meaning to spoil all the excitement and hullabaloo, there are a few problems. The “documentary” may be making its debut tonight, but the tomb was discovered twenty years ago. It was uncovered during routine archaeological excavations carried out whenever construction sites reveal any evidence of antiquities. When the East Talpiyot neighborhood was being developed such excavations were conducted and the tomb was revealed, cataloged and that was it…until the documentarians got a hold of it after the “Dan Brown Syndrome” had affected the sense and sensibilities of the world.

Ever since the fantastic success of The Da Vinci Code the public has developed and insatiable appetite for sensationalist quasi-historical proof that Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene and fathered children. And, because of the financial success of The Da Vinci Code would-be Dan Browns have sought the Holy Grail of gain in promoting such fantasies wrapped in the sacred mantle of “historical proofs.” And now, archaeology, Israel’s respected historical tool, is brought to bear as evidence that fantasies are facts.

It doesn’t seem to matter to all those curious masses wantonly waiting by their plasma TV’s that none of the archaeologists who actually discovered the tomb agree with the ridiculous claims made by the producers of the fake-u-mentary. That doesn’t seem to daunt the docu-deceivers; they display evidence of ossuaries bearing the names of Jesus, Mary, Mary (one, ostensibly Magdalene, the other, the mother of Jesus), Joseph, Judah son of Jesus, etc. —all “proving” that the tomb was the tomb of Jesus and his family. If this sounds convincing, it ignores (or at least overlooks) the nature of ancient Jewish burial customs in the first and second centuries of the Common Era.

In those times tombs were shared by generations of a clan. A body was placed in a burial niche in a cave (natural or carved from the limestone rock). When the next person required occupancy in the niche, the former tenant’s bones—by now cleaned of flesh by exposure to the elements and flesh-eating creepy crawlers—were placed in a personal ossuary housed in the tomb along with others from the clan. Thus, it would be difficult to tell if ossuaries found in the same tomb were from one generation or several. Given that the names on the ossuaries found at the excavation in East Talpiyot are some of the most common names in Jewish tradition, it is almost impossible to identify them or their exact relationship to each other, except to say that they were most likely from the same clan. So much for exacting scientific and historical proof that the tomb was that of Jesus and his family.

It seems that the makers of the documentary were not interested in facts getting in the way of a good story, but such is the nature of fantasy, isn’t it? And anyway, this is the season of fantasy—it’s Purim!

Purim celebrates fantasy…we dress up in make-believe costumes, pretending to be people that we are not. We hide behind masks, allowing us to display outrageous behavior that we would not dare at any other time, safe in the realization that it’s just once a year.

We recall the Purim story and the ancient threat to our people by the villainous Haman retold in the Book of Esther. Haman was an Aggagite, a descendant of Amalek the ancient enemy of the Jews. Interesting, here was Haman, an Amalekite, trying to pass himself off as a loyal Persian so as to call into question the loyalty of the Jews—evil masquerading as good to work its mischief.

Hmmm, history does, it seem, repeat itself. Here we have the President of Iran, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, a Persian this time, a Muslim masquerading as the champion of the Arab Middle East, again bent on the destruction of the Jews (or, at least by his own admission, the Jewish State of Israel). Once again, evil masquerading as good to achieve its mischief, weaving fantasies and lies (denying the Holocaust, blaming all the problems of the Middle East on the existence of Israel) into a distorted perversion of the truth. Time will tell if Ahmadinejad’s fantasies will bring about his downfall as they did Haman before him. History indeed seems to repeat itself. I wonder if we will find an Esther to save us this time?

If we do, we’d better not look to her namesake, our own infamous Esther…Esterina Tratman, number two in the Israel Beiteinu party, member of the Knesset, erstwhile candidate for Minister of Tourism and resident voice of racism in the Knesset. It seems that little Esterina is no stranger to the siren’s lure of fantasy and its corrupting influences. Ever since her appearance on the political scene, she was touted by her party and by its star, Avigdor Lieberman for her financial acumen and her managerial background backed by academic credentials including both bachelors and masters degrees in economics and business. Well, as it turns out, the mendacious matron failed to mention that she never enrolled in either Bar Ilan University or Hebrew University as previously claimed or ever earned a bachelors degree let alone a masters…it was all, well, a fantasy. But, instead of fessing up to her fictions, she lashed out at the media for conducting a witch-hunt and for smearing her because the “liberal media” disagreed with her political views. Yeah, right.

Fantasy is a wonderful thing, it allows us to break away from the confines of our super ego-controlled conformity and let our imaginative selves soar a bit. We need fantasy to add leavening to our imaginations, to spark our creativity, to inspire and to excite us. But fantasy left unfettered by reality can be destructive, it can be downright evil.

Purim is great. In fact, most people don’t understand that Purim is needed more by adults than by children. Children have a natural gift for fantasy and make-believe. Children have no qualms about being creative, about painting a sky green or pretending to be a lion for a while. It’s adults who’ve allowed themselves to forget fantasy who really need Purim, but every day can’t be Purim.

The problem with people like the makers of the film about Jesus’ tomb, Ahmadinejab and Esterina Tratman is that they let fantasy take over when reality stares them coldly in the face and they refuse to see it. For them, they can’t remove the Purim mask; maybe they don’t think that it is a mask. And that is their tragedy.

So, go ahead, enjoy Purim, have fun, drink a little, fantasize but remember to take off your mask!

Hag Purim Same’ah! And shalom from Jerusalem.

“At Long Last a Clear Victory”

January 24, 2007

Reading today’s newspaper it smacks me in the face that this is unfolding as a particularly difficult week for us Israelis—old timers and newly minted alike. Never really hardened to fighting for our survival, we are waging battles on a variety of fronts.

Our military continues to reel from the aftershocks of the Second Lebanon War of this past summer. Certainly grave mistakes were made in the prosecution of the war and the readiness of our forces (especially the reserves) for battle. Last week Israel’s Chief of the General Staff Dan Halutz resigned to be replaced by Maj.-General Gabi Ashkenazi, described as “a soldier’s general,” in contrast to Halutz whose roots are in the elite air corps. Many analysts, both military and political, view the events of the summer as but a prelude to a second round of hostilities against Hizbollah next summer. We shall see if they are correct though everyone hopes not. Also on the military front, our soldiers and our civilians are challenged in the south against a daily barrage of Kassams from Gaza (despite a cease-fire declared by the Palestinians and observed solely by the Israelis), so far the restraint imposed by the political leadership is holding though near the breaking point.

Then there are the battles in the political sphere. Most notably, it appears that it is inevitable that indictments will be handed down against President Moshe Katsav accusing him of one count of rape and several lesser charges of sexual coercion and inappropriate sexual conduct against four other women as well as misuse of public funds for private gifts and obstruction of justice. Though he is scheduled to relinquish his office in July when his seven-year term comes to an end, it is very possible that Katsav will be Israel’s second president to end his tenure prematurely under a cloud of legal problems. Meanwhile, the Kadima-led government seems to flounder about as Prime Minister Olmert’s performance ratings continue their downward trend. Yet, problems in Likud, Kadima’s only serious rival, prevent the Right’s leading party from posing any significant threat to the coalition at the present time.

On the bureaucratic front, investigations continue exposing corruption in the Department of Taxation with the internal (revenue) rot apparently running to the very highest echelons. Israel’s once squeaky-clean civil bureaucracy has now become suspect and lost much of the public trust that it once enjoyed. And this may be only the tip of the iceberg of corruption in the civil service.

If these battles raging around us each and every day make it seem that we are besieged by problems too enormous to bear and which adumbrate the sure demise of Israeli society, please do not be misguided by what appears to be a jeremiad. In reality, the coin of these negatives has an obverse positive side for, if they expose weaknesses in the fabric of Israeli society, the fact that they are exposed and are being addressed in the open forum of public scrutiny is an indication of the strength—not the weakness—of this country. Such open confrontation to wrongdoing, misuse of power and bad planning by public officials makes Israel unique amongst the nations of the Middle East and, in fact amongst the nations of the world. And, only a nation that is willing to confront its problems and its shortcomings openly and honestly can over-come them.

And more, with all of these battles being waged, it is heartening to see that Israelis are—like most other people in the developed world (though, if truth be told, we’re more between the developed and semi-developed worlds)—concerned about simple everyday things like family, work, buying groceries, deciding where to go on vacation, trying to fathom how to program the VCR, and complaining about the price of a tank of gasoline. The “everyday battles” of life so familiar to Americans and Europeans also preoccupy most middle-class Israelis and bear eloquent witness to how “normal” the reality of our lives really is.

For the past several weeks the letters-to-the-editor columns of the Jerusalem Post have provided the forum for the vox populi of the Anglo-Israeli community protesting against the draconian actions of the Hot cable company in its decision to discontinue offering the BBC Prime channel in its basic service and “compensating” subscribers with new Ethiopian and Chinese channels. But, that is not all, Israel’s satellite TV provider Yes-TV (coincidentally) announced that it was discontinuing the Star World channel which provides American television programs. Both Hot and Yes claim that their decisions to drop BBC-Prime (Hot) and Star World (Yes) were made for financial reasons as the channels would not renegotiate lower rates with the providers and neither Hot nor Yes determined that the “limited” viewership of these English-language channels warranted the high costs of service.

So—get this—Hot subscribers who wanted to protest the cable company’s decision to drop BBC Prime by switching to satellite would lose Star World while those satellite subscribers who wanted to register their dissatisfaction by switching to cable would lose BBC Prime. Does this smack of collusion on the part of the two companies—a cartel perhaps? Yes announced that it was going ahead with its plans to drop Star World by January 15^th, Hot scheduled to drop BBC Prime on February 1^st. The government business and media regulatory agencies averred that there was nothing illegal in the providers’ actions and there was nothing that the government could do to prevent them from proceeding with these business decisions. And there it stood.

Limited viewership? What about all the so-called “Anglos” in this country—all of us from English-speaking countries? How about all those Israelis who use the media to improve their English? Without BBC Prime or Star World, how would they get to enjoy re-runs of “Becker” or (my favorites) a variety of British programs that I describe as “dumb Brits making bad real estate decisions?” I did my own survey of our personal viewing habits and found that at least 75% of our viewing time was spent watching BBC Prime (not meaning to be un-patriotic, but most of the American programming on Star World is junk, I prefer the high-brow limey stuff). How could those heartless corporate suits (in Israel can you still call them “suits”?) get away with such larceny? Is this but a hopeless battle, a tilting at windmills?

And then, in today’s paper, there was that article on page 7 (if you ask me, it warranted front page coverage), “Hot keeps BBC Prime—But drops David Letterman.” Okay, I can accept the trade off, I hardly, if ever, watch Letterman anyway, at least I can still witness some poor dolt from Dorchester spending 450,000 quid for a bitty bungalow in Brighton. Sweet victory! We, the Hot subscribers won! But ours is not an absolute victory for our brothers and sisters in TV-arms—the Yes subscribers have not won their war against corporate greed, as of January 15^th the satellite tap to Star World has been shut off—no more “Cheers” re-runs and “Friends” is available exclusively on Israeli-channel 4. And what of those protesters who quit Hot and joined Yes over the threatened but unrealized loss of BBC Prime? Apparently, the magnates at Yes are not totally heartless, those who regret their hasty change-over will not be charged an installation fee for Yes unless they took advantage of a sales promotion. So, sometimes, the little guys win one.

Wars, social and political traumas, we have them aplenty—and amidst it all, we still worry about little things like what we watch on TV, go figure. What does that say about us? I think that it says that we are “normal people” despite the fact that we live in a place where life seems to be anything but “normal.” We live, much more than survive, and that says a lot about the resiliency and vitality of Israelis and Israeli society I think. People looking in on us from the outside might wonder how we get by, what keeps us from caving in to fear and despair. But, the view from here, from the inside is so very different. I find that I have a great appreciation for so much in my life here—even for the little things, even for what channels I get to watch on my TV. Sometimes the little things put the big things in perspective and sometimes it’s vice versa.

Shalom from Jerusalem.

“”Twas the Night Before Christmas”

December 22, 2006

Something strangely quaint happened in line at the market checkout yesterday. Wendy and I were doing our usual pre-Shabbat Thursday shopping routine what it being Shabbat and Hanukah and all… Maneuvering the cart to the checkout I chose the one attended by my favorite clerk. She is a young Russian woman who always does her job with speed and efficiency all-the-while maintaining an air of cheerfulness despite the impatient crush of pre-Shabbat Jerusalem shoppers.

Just ahead of us in line was a middle-aged couple exuding that rarified aura that announced to the world without their having to say a single word, “We’re Americans!” Dress, body language and facial expression spoke more eloquently (and regionally) than speech. Not even assaying a few words in our ancient Semitic tongue, they addressed our lady of the register directly, “Nice to see you again!” Ah, so they were not complete strangers, but were acquainted—at least somewhat—with the Sylph of Super Deal, who, with her usual alacrity, executed her accounts and announced the tally courteously in English caressed by an accent reminiscent more of the Volga than the Jordan.

Their custom now completed, our American friends turned and smiling warmly saluted one and all, “Merry Christmas everyone!”

Merry Christmas!? We all looked quizzically at them. To whom did they address their good wishes—to me, to Wendy, to our clerk with her Star of David shining at them as prominently as any star of Bethlehem? Wendy was the first to respond. She said simply, “Happy Hanukah.” This seemed to awaken within them a realization of where in the world they found themselves at that moment in time at which point they said, “Oh yes, happy holidays everyone!” And then they left the store.

I suppose that this well-meaning couple simply greeted us out of sweet, loving reflex. They were being friendly. They were reacting out of the “holiday spirit.” But the incongruity of someone wishing people “Merry Christmas” at a Jerusalem market brought home another kind of reality for me. Here in the land where Christmas began, Christmas and the people who celebrate it are, quite nearly as possible, invisible.

At this very moment I am sitting a scant three kilometers (about two miles) from Bethlehem—the very place where Christian tradition relates that Jesus was born. That town and the church built around the little manger in which the Christian world’s Savior was born is the focal point of all the festivity, all the hoopla, all the media bombardment, the constant carols on the radio and the specials on television, the commercials and the sales, the prayers and the charity, the spirituality and the sacred works that make Christmas a holy day, as well as the holiday that it is for Christians.

Yes, here I am, just three kilometers away and absent is any sign of Christmas. No, that is not completely true. In the Jerusalem Post there has appeared a small advertisement placed by the Jerusalem municipality wishing the Christian community Merry Christmas and indicating where interested people can pick up a free Christmas tree as a gift from the city. But there aren’t any Christmas displays in store windows (except in the Old City), and no Christmas music on the radio, though you can see the occasional Christmas greeting and Christmas special on television broadcast from abroad. There are no Christmas lights on the streets, even though some of the Hanukah decorations can fool you. No, Christmas is definitely as nearly invisible as possible in this land where it all began. I feel for that couple at Super Deal, this must be a very lonely time of the year for them. Kind of like being Jewish in America during Christmas, only more so…

But, it is not just Christmas that is quite nearly invisible here in the birthplace of Christianity. Christians themselves are disappearing. By that I do not mean Christian tourists and pilgrims. Thankfully our Christian friends continue to show their loyal support by visiting the Holy Land. I only wish that our fellow Jews—especially liberal Jews—were as faithful in making pilgrimage to the Holy Land. No, I am referring to the Christians who live here and have dwelled in this land ever since the first followers of Jesus began their new faith. Their once significant presence in this land has been reduced to a mere remnant that is threatened by demographics with near extinction. That reality is a potential tragedy far more serious than the absence of Christmas trees and Christmas carols around December 25^th. And, it is a tragedy in the making that is generally under reported in the world’s media.

In 1950 Christians made up 15% to 20% of the Arab population of what is now Israel and the areas beyond the Green Line. Today, Christians number between 1.5% and 2% of the Arab population. Historically, the cities most closely associated with Jesus’ life and Christianity, Bethlehem and Nazareth, had sizeable Christian majorities. In 1948 the population of Bethlehem was 80% Christian and 20% Muslim, presently those numbers have reversed and the Christian population continues its exodus from the city. In Nazareth, following World War II the Christians accounted for 60% of the Arab population of the city, today they comprise only 30%.

To what do we attribute the depletion of the Christian population in their Holy Land?

Of course, there are no simple answers. Moreover, I am neither a demographer nor a sociologist. But anyone who is an observer of the social and political life that goes on around us and affects us and our neighbors can see clearly some of the more obvious factors that would contribute to the exodus of Christians from this area.

To be sure, the political unrest is a major factor. The Christian Arabs in the main identify as Palestinians and have suffered economically and socially as have Muslim Palestinians as a result of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Yet statistically, far more Christians than Muslims have left, why? Demographically more Christian Arabs than Muslim Palestinians come from higher economic and educational social strata. In addition, more Christian Palestinians than Muslim Palestinians have family contacts who live abroad, beyond the conflict. These two factors make it all the more possible for Christian Palestinians than Muslims to flee and establish themselves abroad, and so they do.

This is the case regardless upon which side one wishes to place the blame for the tensions and conflict. And there is blame to be placed on both sides. Many sources and anecdotal reports demonstrate that Israeli government policy over last 40 years, including draconian immigration and travel regulations have restricted the Christian Arab population along with the Muslim Arab population and have put unwarranted pressures on an already hard-pressed population making life for the area’s Christian population increasingly difficult. Many of these policies, of course, are predicated on the fact, that the Israeli government does not distinguish between Christians and Muslims in formulating its policies regarding Palestinians.

On the Palestinian side, though generally downplayed by both Muslims and Christians for political reasons, there is ample evidence of internal Palestinian faith-based tensions and discrimination against Christians. Some of these tensions flared up recently this year after the Pope’s remarks about Islam were misinterpreted by much of the Muslim world. In Bethlehem, as reported by the AP’s Brian Murphy in November, Muslims made death threats against Christians. According to Murphy: A group calling itself "Friends of Muhammad" accused a local Palestinian Christian of selling mobile phones carrying offensive sketches of the Muslim prophet.

Murphy goes on: These days Palestinian Christians, dominated by Greek Orthodox and Latin rite churches loyal to the pope, face questions about whether their hearts lie in their homeland or in the West. It gets even more complicated because of the strong support for Israel and Jewish settlers from American evangelical Christians. "We are stuck in no man's land," said a leading Palestinian Christian activist, who spoke on condition of anonymity because of reported death threats. "In the eyes of the West, we are Arabs. In the eyes of Arabs, we are a fifth column."

In 1999 Sheikh Yussef Salameh then the Palestinian Authority’s undersecretary for religious endowment caused a stir when he praised the idea that a future Palestinian state should accord Christians the status of dhimmis under Muslim rule. According to Sharia (Muslim law) dhimmis—a status assigned to both Jews and Christians under the Ottoman Turks—are a protected minority guaranteed security for themselves and their property in exchange for which they must pay a special poll tax and do not enjoy equal rights with Muslims.

Bringing us back to the season at hand, in a June 1999, edition of the Islamic Movement’s weekly Al-Haqq wa Al-Hurriyya, Sheikh Khatib criticized the way that Chrisitans celebrate Christmas. Addressing the words of the Prophet Mohammed, he wrote, “…on the birthday of your brother Jesus…the fools who claim to be of relation to him [the Christians], celebrate by committing deeds that he [Jesus] himself denounced, loathed, and forbade [like] drinking wine, playing games of chance, cursing, and screaming. They think that by doing so, they become closer to him. Oh, how wretched they have become…” This was cited on the website of MEMRI, the Middle East Media Research Institute (August 2, 1999, Special Dispatch Series, Number 41).

So, it seems, there are ample reasons for the exodus of Christians from this, their Holy Land, and there is plenty of blame to be spread around on all sides to be sure. What a tragedy it is that the long history of Christian presence and contribution to this land of its origin is apparently coming to an end; all the more so because it is a tragedy that is and should be preventable. But, where are the voices and support both moral and financial from the Christian world to help their brothers and sisters in their time of need? International Christian organizations that are quick to come to the defense of Palestinian Muslims seem to do precious little on behalf of the co-religionists, especially when it comes down to conflict between the two groups.

Who then is to stand up for the Christians? Would it not be ironic if it were world Jewry? Imagine if the Jews were to come to the defense of the Christians while the world’s Christians remained silent to their plight? It would be an act of real altruism given the Jews’ very problematic history with the Christian world. But the world is crying for altruism right now, isn’t it? And why stop with the Christians? We could begin by elevating all Israeli Arabs (those living within the Green line and who are citizens of the state) to the equal status that they deserve. We can insure that religious discrimination between faiths is not tolerated in the State of Israel. In short, we can enforce the provisions for full religious freedom enunciated in Israel’s Declaration of Independence for all its citizens. Then, even if Christian Arabs may choose to flee areas under Palestinian control at least they can find refuge in Israel and maintain a significant Christian presence in the Holy Land.

Religious tolerance and dialogue is not a pipe dream, not even here, not even now. I know, I have seen it happen, not in the ideal but in real terms. Last week I attended a meeting of Kedem, a project of the ICCI, the Inter-religious Coordinating Council in Israel. It is a wonderful organization in which I have taken great interest since making Aliyah (check out their website at www.icci.org.il). Kedem is a project that brings together Jewish, Muslim and Christian clergy for dialogue on various issues. The interesting thing is that these are not the “usual” faces that one sees in dialogue. There are rabbis, priests, ministers, imams and kadis who are not usually engaged in inter-faith efforts of any kind, so, the very fact that they get together in the first place is of significance no matter what they discuss even if was just the weather! The reality is, you probably never hear that such discussions, religious discussions like Kedem take place. This kind of event isn’t sexy; it doesn’t make headlines. But it is significant and these efforts can and do make a difference and can help to change the religious climate here in this land that is holy to three faiths so that all of the children of Abraham can feel at home here.

We should not allow the tragedy to happen that here in the land of Jesus’ birth there are none of his followers left to celebrate his birthday.

I wish I that was back in the checkout line at Super Deal right now, because I would wish that nice couple a very Merry Christmas.

Shalom from Jerusalem.

“Snapshots of the News” and Hanukah Thoughts

December 13, 2006

It has been over a month that we have been away from home, so we were longing to return to Jerusalem and our routines and familiar surroundings. A month is a very long time to be away. Much can happen in the course of four or five weeks, especially in the volatile climes of the Middle East and I hardly trust CNN or the scanty reports in the Los Angeles Times to give me an accurate picture of the latest moves and steps in the diplomatic and political ballet performed in the quotidian realities of life in Israel. The fact that I had but limited access to the Internet during my Los Angeles sojourn only added to my news-junky angst. So I could not wait to get home and sink into my easy chair as I caught up on the latest copies of the Jerusalem Post and the Jerusalem Report and went on-line to peruse HaAretz, YNet and various other sources of news and gossip about happenings in and around Israel and the Middle East.

So much has transpired since we left, here are just some snapshots of what was in the news when we got home.

Prime Minister Olmert has gotten himself into more hot water through a slip of the tongue made in an interview with German journalists during his recent visit to the German Republic. It seems that he implied the obvious—that Israel is a nuclear power, when he intentionally or unintentionally included Israel in a list of nuclear powers. This remark ran counter to Israel’s carefully maintained policy of ambiguity and obfuscation when it comes to declaring whether or not it has nuclear military capabilities. The fact that there is no one in a position to care who harbors so much as a scintilla of doubt that Israel maintains a stock of nuclear weapons did not stop the eruption of a firestorm of criticism against Olmert in the Israeli media. Not surprisingly, in his subsequent remarks, the Prime Minster reiterated Israel’s long-standing position that it would not be the first to introduce nuclear weapons into the Middle East conflict. This, of course, was a clear warning to Iran.

Truth be told, there was little reaction to the Prime Minister’s “slip” outside of Israel, so it appears, though there was a great deal of a flap within Israeli political circles. Not that this should astonish us, as the only ones who seem to believe that Israel’s position of ambiguity is at all believable—or effective—are Israeli politicians, specifically those in opposition to whoever transgresses the once-sacred doctrine. This is yet another reminder, perhaps, that in Israel there is no such thing as foreign policy divorced from domestic politics. The political wolves circle around any sign of weakness in their prey. Ever since last summer’s war it seems that we have endured one long, sustained drought in leadership.

One of the biggest stories here (and, I imagine, even in the US) was the “International” conference on the Holocaust held in Teheran, Iran. Holocaust deniers and anti-Zionists from around the world joined for an orgy of truth-twisting and fact-bending all in the name of the pseudo-history of “Holocaust Revisionism.” Perhaps the most disturbing of all the participants were the delegates of the Natorei Karta, the Ultra-Orthodox anti-Zionists whose antipathy towards Israel drives them to such extremes that they willingly join with these modern day Nazis to bash Israel and deny history itself. It is amazing that our own religious authorities in the Haredi world have not excommunicated these internal enemies of our people who overtly work for our own destruction. And there they were, prominently displayed in the front rows of the convocation of evil, their side-curls and beards and frock coats proclaiming to the world that the conveners were by no means anti-Semites, because here were good and pious Jews right in their midst, supporting them and their twisted agenda.

I was gratified to read the responses of world leaders who joined in condemnation of the conference. Outstanding among them (not surprisingly) was Prime Minister Tony Blair, but we also heard from Germany and France and Italy and officially from the EU. Notably silent was the United Nations as a body and all those NGO’s who raised their voices against Israeli racism in the infamous Durban Resolution of 2001, once again demonstrating the unfortunate hypocrisy of the world body when it comes to issues relating to Israel and anti-Semitism.

It was just reported that the Israeli High Court annulled the Intifada Law passed by the Knesset in 2005 which absolved the state of financial responsibiliy in nearly all "non warlike" instances of personal and property damages since 2000. The law applied to all areas of the territories declared as "conflict zones" by the defense minister. Before the amendment was passed, hundreds of damage suits were filed by Palestinian residents who had sustained corporal or property damage from the IDF during the intifada. In its ruling the High Court supported a petition brought before it by nine civil rights groups (spearheded by the Palestinian Adalah Center and including Rabbis for Human Rights) allowing non-combatants and those not associated with terrorist activities to sue the state for damages caused by military and government personnel.

Thuough this was a controversial decision, it is another significant indication of the strength of Israel’s independent judiciary. It also says much about the substantive concern for the protection of civil rights even during trying wartime conditions. I am not sure that this perspective of Israel is properly depicted in the international media where picures of destroyed houses and lines of Palestinians at checkpoints make for more spectacular press than this kind of news. Yet, while not denying those picures that make it into the media, it is precisely this kind of under-reported news that speaks of the real Israel and the vibrant democracy that it is.

So, these are just a few of the stories that we came home to. Though Israel is often singled out for criticism and even condemnation on CNN, on the BBC, in the New York Times and in the LA Times, the news abroad and in Israel is also filled with unrest in Lebanon brought on by the Lebanese themselves, virtual civil war in Gaza with Hamas gunmen killing the innocent children of Fatah officials—all independent of any Israeli actions. We live in a very rough neighborhood and this makes the prospects for peace in the short run dim. But, though I may be pessimistic in the short run I am, nonetheless, an optimist in the long run. Why? Well, perhaps because this is the season of miracles and this is the land of miracles.

When playing with my dreidel at Hanukah in America I followed its spin with its facets bearing Hebrew letters standing for “A great miracle happened there,” reminding me of a far-off place and a legend from long ago. Here we play with tops that spin out a message of “A great miracle happened here.” Here, all around us…in those days at this season. If then, why not now? In Israel, the difference between reality and miracles is that miracles sometimes take a bit longer to happen.

For me, the fact that we are getting by—at least for the present—without a Judah Maccabee to lead us is scary, but all-in-all, maybe something of a miracle.

For me, our very existence after the Holocaust, especially at this moment and despite those who would deny history—and us—is a miracle.

For me, the fact that we struggle but are determined to maintain our humanity and our sense of what is right when so many forces both internal and external seek to throw us off our moral balance is something of a miracle.

In a few days it will be Hanukah. We will light the candles, spin the dreidels and eat too many latkes, doughnuts and chocolate coins. But the shining lights displayed prominently in the windows will remind us that we live in a land of miracles. Perhaps this year…

Hag Urim Same’ach and shalom from Jerusalem.

Prayers for a Rainy Day

October 15, 2006

Well, here in Jerusalem the holy days are officially behind us—a day before traditional Jews in the Diaspora observe the final day of the holy day cycle between Rosh Hashanah and Simchat Torah. But, here in Israel we also observe an “extra” day of the fall festivals. This “extra” day is called Isru Hag and follows the three pilgrimage festivals of Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot. The Talmud (Sukkot 45b) states that “One who makes an addition (Issur) to the festival (Hag) is merited as if building an altar and sacrificing upon it.” The medieval commentator Rashi interprets this to imply the day after the festival. So, we acknowledge the day after the hallowed and hectic holy days as a kind of semi-holy day to allow us to ease our way back into the rigors of everyday, profane life after our sojourn in the sacred during the festival.

Yesterday, Shabbat, Shemini Atzeret (see Leviticus 23:36) and Simchat Torah, was an incredible confluence of celebrations. Amidst all the singing and dancing with the scrolls of the Torah, the (seemingly) endless Aliyot to the Torah read in small minyanim throughout the building to allow everyone a chance to recite the blessings— I recited the Cohen blessing on the fourth complete reading of the portion in our minyan—and the general raucous cacophony that accompanies our Simchat Torah festivities, two decisively serious notes were introduced to the day’s liturgical symphony.

Following the Torah reading, our mood of joy and almost Dionysian abandon of decorum changes abruptly as we turn to the Yizkor service of memorial for our departed. In a whiplash of emotion, we move dramatically from exultation to solemn memory as we look to the past and those who have shaped us. For most of us, were it not for the people in our past and the undying influences that they etched upon our lives, we would not be the people we are as we approach this new year so filled with hope and prayer. And, so we pause to reflect gratefully upon our antecedents, giving thanks for the bounty of their harvest as manifested in and through our lives, just as we offer our Sukkot-thanks to God for the bounty of earth’s harvest. It is this reflective pause and the one that follows, amidst the frivolity and celebration that—for me—is key to the meaning of this festival of thanksgiving.

After reciting our service of Yizkor memory, we turn to the Musaf (additional service) of Shemini Atzeret during which we recite the blessing for rain—which we continue to recite until Passover and the end of Israel’s rainy season. The blessing traditionally is chanted at that service (at the end of the festival) in the hopes that rain will begin to fall in a few days. I say “in a few days” because our ancient forebears anticipated the need for pilgrims to return home on dry roads before the rains began to fall in earnest. Hence, our prayers for rain are accompanied by the unuttered proviso that the Master of the Universe hold-off on the blessing until the most practically advantageous moment. Like Yizkor, the prayer for rain adds another texture to the holy day—it directs us to the future (just as Yizkor reminded us of the past) and the realization that, despite all our scientific and technological advancements, we are still at the mercy of God’s natural blessings.

Today (Sunday, October 15, 2006) is Isru Hag and already some people have taken advantage of this break from the workaday routine to begin the daunting task of taking down their sukkah and putting it away for the year—the truth is that many of the sukkah booths, like America’s Christmas lights, often stay up well past the end of their appointed time. But, as for those who diligently began to take down their sukkah today, they were greeted, right in the middle of their labors, with a “premature” downpour! And, believe me, there is nothing like a Jerusalem downpour.

Due to our topography and climate, clouds move through Jerusalem with incredible speed. Clear and blue one minute, in a twinkling of an eye, the skies can transform into steel-gray as sheets—really sheets—of rain fall to the ground.

And so it was today, Isru Hag Sukkot 5767, the heavens opened up and blessed rain (quite literally, considering our supplications just yesterday) began to fall. Thankfully the rains were brief, though plentiful. Thus, any pilgrims caught in Jerusalem’s first major downpour of the season had no worries about being stranded on muddy roads as they make their way homeward. But, after months of desert dryness, this rain was welcome indeed. We were given a wonderful Isru Hag continuation of the meaning and message of the holy days just ended. We are reminded once again that life is filled with changes—often unpredictable—just like the turning of the year with its sudden downpour, and that it is as fragile as our Sukkot booths. So, too, we realize that life is about the gifts and griefs that we inherit from those whom we recall in Yizkor memory, while at the same time rich in hope for the future expressed in our prayers for nurturing rain.

May God grant you all the life-giving and life-affirming blessings of Isru Hag and a year of blessed rain and the raining of blessings.

Shalom from Jerusalem.

Last Minute Things

October 1, 2006
9 Tishri 5767


In just a few short hours Jerusalem will undergo one of those incredible transformations that mark its singularity as a city holy to the Jewish people. Sometime before sunset virtually all traffic will cease. Public transportation will come to a stop and there will be very few private vehicles presenting moving targets for the over-zealous young people who use rocks to enforce tradition. Yom Kippur—the White Fast—will be ushered in with families feasting in anticipation of twenty-seven hours of self-deprivation in fulfillment of Levitical statute.

Here in Israel, because our Jewish holy days are—by definition—national holidays, the atmosphere everywhere is charged with the spirit of Israel’s answer to America’s “holiday season.” People greet each other (even strangers and even on TV) with a “Shanah Tovah—Good Year,” and a “G’mar Hatimah Tovah—May you be sealed in the Book of Life for a year of blessing.” This past week the holy days have taken hold upon the homeland of the Jews and nothing important has any hope of being completed until “after the holy days,” meaning after Sukkot, not Yom Kippur! For religious Jews (from the most orthodox to we liberals) this is an intense period of spiritual reflection and celebration of God’s creation and beneficence, for secular Israelis this is the last major vacation period before Hanukah.

Right now, as I write these words, the streets of Jerusalem are busy with people scurrying around on last minute errands to complete the preparations for the Aruhat Mafseket—the meal beginning the fast—and the meal to break the fast which, in my family, we called the Kurtar Ta’anit—Ladino for breaking the fast. It is inevitable, plan as you might, you forget something: cheese for the borekas, pomegranate seeds for the salad, or, worst of all—dessert itself! Or, in the midst of your culinary endeavors you realize that you didn’t buy enough of something and, so, someone has to run out to the stores and shop before everything closes around midday.

A Half Hour Later…
Guess what—I had to interrupt the writing of this reflection because Wendy sent me on an errand. It seems that she forgot to put grapes and watermelons on the shopping list so I had to dash off to the greengrocer to pick them up. Derekh Beit Lehem (the ancient road to Bethlehem and our village main street) bore witness to the approaching advent of the holy day as fellow last-minute shoppers mingled with patrons at the cafes filling up on carbohydrates and liquids before tomorrow’s fast. So, believe me, I know whereof I wrote in the preceding paragraphs of this reflection.

I love this time of soul-savoring anticipation, as we make ready for the sacred day ahead. We feel it every Friday as we prepare for Shabbat; but this anticipation of Yom Kippur is all the more intense due to the particular sanctity of the Day of Atonement. Moreover, no one wants to be caught unprepared, as there is absolutely no chance to pick up a loaf of bread or an extra pastry (“just in case”) on Yom Kippur itself. No, there are no second chances if you missed something; all break fasts are final! This decisiveness of the culinary decree adds to the excitement, I think. But, it also brings a spiritual message—just like the Shofar blast on Rosh Hashanah beginning this season—we are reminded to wake up, take stock and make things right before it is too late. Let’s be honest, it is easy to deal with culinary shortcomings—so what, so we don’t have grapes and watermelon and have to make due with whatever else Wendy has prepared in abundance; but, it is not so easy to deal with our spiritual shortcomings. How do you make up for the lack of an ingredient in your character, or make do with the realization that things may be missing in your life?

The days between Rosh Hashanah are to be spent in spiritual inventory and our self-denial of food on Yom Kippur reminds us of our daily self-imposed denial of spiritual sustenance. Lest we assume that the Days of Awe are a kind of Hebraic Feast of Guilt, consider that they bring us the very positive message that we have the God-given capacity to make things right—not perfect but right—in our lives.

Part of our preparation for this spiritual fine-tuning is the tradition of seeking out people whom we’ve wronged during the past year and asking their forgiveness. And, of course, there is its corollary in the mitzvah of our forgiving others (further reminding that it is much easier to ask forgives for wrongs that we have committed than it is to forgive the wrongs that others have done to us). We might add to this the granting of forgiveness to ourselves for those things that—despite our best and truest efforts—we are incapable of changing. Thus we have a Jewish tradition of exchanging the most precious of gifts during the holy days—forgiveness. Don’t wait until it is too late.

And so, in the spirit of the “holy day season,” I wish for all of you that this year be one of much blessing for and from you. G’mar Hatimah Tovah, and…

Shalom from Jerusalem.