Rak b'Yisrael (only in Israel) and a return to Milot HaYom

The intersection of Rav Ashi and Ravina, in the Ramat Aviv neighborhood of Tel Aviv. These two Babylonia Amoraim are traditionally attributed as the editors of the Babylonian Talmud.

And now back to  our Milot HaYom portion of the program:

אֻמְדָּנָה, umdena: assessment, evaluation. 

I am the only American in the class where we read this word in an article (as well as the only male, providing a particularly unique perspective) and the teacher still chose to translate it into simpler Hebrew. That was encouraging.

מַשְׁכַּנְתָּא, mashkanta: mortgage.

Ari thinks that this word sounds like an expletive when said quickly and sometimes uses it as such.

Why a Palestinian state is essential for Jewish nationalism

As part of our Israel education seminar yesterday, run through Makom , we heard from Israel Kimhi of the Jerusalem Institute for Israel Studies (I found it amusing that Kimhi works on Radak Street, named after the medieval Biblical commentator, Rabbi David Kimhi). We then participated in a tour along the separation fence/barrier/wall (choose your favorite narrative) with Ir Amim,  an organization which seeks "actively [to] engage in those issues impacting on Israeli-Palestinian relations in Jerusalem and on the political future of the city.  Ir Amim seeks to render Jerusalem a more viable and equitable city, while generating and promoting a more politically sustainable future."

Kimhi provided statistics, anecdotes and long-term trends during the course of his talk. Among them, in explaining how Jerusalem is largely a taboo topic in governmental circles, he remembered how Yitzhak Rabin z"l once ate an entire plate of biscuits because he was nervous that people would hear that they were talking about the future of Jerusalem. 

Kimhi also illustrated the demographic trends of Arabs and Jews in the city:

In 1967, there was a 74/26 Jewish/Arab majority in Jerusalem.
Today, it is a 65/35 Jewish/Arab majority.
In 2035, following these demographic trends it will be 50/50.

With these demographics in mind, our Israeli guide from Ir Amim said that the notion of a Democratic Jewish State is gravely in danger if there are not negotiations which lead to a Palestinian state.

If there is not a Jewish majority within the Israeli borders, then the country will either not be Jewish or it will not be a democracy.

Taking that a step further, one can posit that ensuring the reality of a Palestinian state is one of the most pro-Zionist acts one can take: Without a Palestinian state, Jewish Autonomous Democracy dies.

I certainly had never considered this perspective before. 

Halkin on Yehuda HaLevi

Hillel Halkin (I wrote about our encounter in a previous post) recently wrote a book on Yehuda HaLevi, published by the new force on the Jewish publishing scene, Nextbooks.

Click here for a fun interview with the author.

29 November on 29 November

A note of advice before the core of this post — a recommendation to all, really. Walking home from the Conservative Yeshiva tonight, Ethan and I were looking for a garbage can to throw out the pizza boxes we had taken from the Yeshiva. Good citizens, and whatnot.

The first garbage can we happened upon was at the Schocken Center on Balfour Street — across the street from the Prime Minister's house. We throw out the pizza boxes, walk back to the street and are met by a man showing us his badge.

"What were you doing there," he says in the gruff voice you would expect from a security guard across from Bibi Netanyahu's residence.

The giant gun would have been enough, but thanks for the id, too.

He took us back to the garbage can and asked us to show him the inside of each subsequent pizza box. We then both wished each other a good night. Suppose I should have seen that one coming.

Ethan and I made the requisite jokes about the event after we cleared the security territory. Laila tov, officer, indeed.







The pavement of Israel speaks with each step people take.

The street signs tell a narrative history of the entirety of Jewish nationhood, neighborhood by neighborhood.

We at Bustenai 11/7 live in the neighborhood devoted to the Israeli War of Independence. Our cross-street is 29 November, the day of the U.N. vote for the partition of Palestine.

Today it was 29 November on 29 November.

Voted in the General Assembly of 29 November 1947, there were 33 affirmative votes, 13 against, with 10 abstentions to recommend the division of British Palestine in two, with Jerusalem remaining an international territory, governed by the UN.

Six months later, on 14 May, 1948, (ה' אייר) David Ben-Gurion and what was at the time collection of Jewish upstarts, declared Israeli independence in a Tel Aviv basement — the day before the British were officially designated to leave their favorite Middle East port.

In terms of international recognition, it all started on 29 November. It continues on today.

And it was precisely at this time that international voices said that Israel was handed over on a Silver platter, the namesake for this blog, and my rabbinic name, even. After the Holocaust, what other choice did UN members have? — so goes the argument.

Indeed, as Natan Alterman states both lyrically and assertively, the one percent of the population which fought and died in the Israeli War for Independence (1 PERCENT!), and the remainder of the population that lived through the 1948 war were that מגש הכסף, the silver platter, that upon it a Jewish state was given.

62 years later, people continue to build the state upon the foundations which were laid with the blood, the tenacity of those who dared to dream.

In my neighorhood it is kaf tet b’November on kaf-tet b’November. Just another day in the neighborhood, living the status quo in the land of Israel.

A response to Halkin — from a teacher

One of the educators on our Thursday informal programs through Israel recently published what I read partly as a response to Halkin's talk with our group. Alex Sinclair's article Why Silence over Israel's wrongs is anti-Zionist mandates American engagement with Israel, and condemns Halkin's explicit Israel-centrism of the relationship.

It's well written. Based on what you know from the previous post, I'd be interested in your feedback on how it relates to my own thoughts.

Follow-up questions for Alex are how to make these proposals happen in the micro, on the ground.

Below is the article from Haaretz:

Why silence over Israel's wrongs is anti-Zionist
By Alex Sinclair

Israel is not living up to its potential, and one reason for that is because American Jews have not insisted that their voices be heard.

The recent flood of articles and essays about American Jews "losing their love" for Israel is based not only on a misguided conception of Israel-Diaspora relations, but also on a misguided conception of what a loving relationship is about.

There is a famous Rashi on Genesis 2:18, in which God decides to create a partner for Adam. The Biblical narrator has God say "It is not good for man to be alone; I will make him a helper against him." The Hebrew here, "ezer k'negdo," is tricky, and has always perplexed translators. Some try "corresponding to him," some try "beside him," some try "fitting." None of these captures the oddness of the Hebrew.

Rashi comments as follows: "If he is worthy: a helper; if he is not worthy: against him, to fight with him." Generations of rabbis have used this beautiful comment to talk about the complexity of the relationship between spouses, and to suggest that a true marriage is based on the ability and willingness to give honest and critical feedback to one's spouse if they lose their way. A spouse is not a yes-man (or woman); a spouse is someone who disagrees with you when you are wrong.

The current crisis - and it is a crisis, make no mistake about it - in the relationship between American Jewry and Israel is because we have forgotten this Rashi.

We need to remember this Rashi because it suggests that American Jews should offer angry, vocal, confrontational critique when they feel that Israel is practicing particular policies that they find unworthy. Note the word that Rashi uses: "to fight." Not just to critique, not just to gently remind, not just to seek to influence, but to shout, to confront, to demand to be heard.

If we want American Jews and Israel to be in a truly deep relationship, then we need to enable American Jews to be the ezer k'negdo, the helping spouse who fights. After all, they do enough helping. We can't ask American Jews to support us, visit us, give us their money, and be inspired by us, without allowing them - demanding of them - to tell us what they think. It is taxation without representation. It is an abuse of the relationship between us. It is blasphemy to the very notion of a Jewish state.

This approach will ultimately lead to a much richer marriage between American Jews and Israel. Young American Jews throw their weight behind other causes, causes where demands are made on them, where they are encouraged to fight against injustice, to debate, to create change. We don't give them these opportunities with Israel. Go and change the world, we say; but when it comes to Israel, you must close off your creative energies, your critical thinking, your fiery emotions, and just support politely from the sidelines. No wonder they are not interested.

Young American Jews will not develop renewed commitment to Israel unless we demand that they make demands; that they become the ezer k'negdo. Every Jewish day school should require every single student to join an Israeli political party. Every synagogue should do the same for its members. When American Jewish groups come here on missions, they should be doing so not just to support, but also to demand, to critique, to tell us where we are going wrong.

The lack of American Jewish voices in modern Israel is a tragedy. Israel, for all its wonders, its achievements, and its robustness, is not living up to its potential, and one of the reasons for that gap is the lack of American Jewish voices in its culture, religion, and politics.

Thomas Friedman writes more perceptively about Israeli politics than any Israeli journalist or politician; why are his pieces not regularly and immediately translated into Hebrew? Abraham Joshua Heschel revolutionized our understanding of Jewish spirituality; most religious Israelis have never heard of him. Diaspora Jewish educational thinkers and practitioners have made enormous strides in working out how to get Jews of different religious streams to sit, talk, and learn together; Israel is decades behind. There are countless other examples. Both sides are at fault. Israelis have been too stubborn, too arrogant, or too busy, to listen; but American Jews have not been willing to be the ezer k'negdo, the spouse who fights.

Israel is not living up to its potential, and one reason for that is because American Jews have not insisted that their voices be heard. This is scandalous. It is anti-Zionist. It is suicidal. It must change

Supporting Israel from the Diaspora — What does it mean?

Israel is one of the greatest human adventures of all time. A people absent from its land for 1500 years, whatever, driven from one corner of the earth to the other. Standing up for its beliefs. Suddenly comes back and reconstitutes itself as a full functioning society. Where else do you have such a story in the annals of the human race? Such tenacity! Such identity! To be able to come back to the original source and reconstitute itself. We have stood up for the rights of small people as no other has. We stand up for others — we want to save the whales, the whooping cranes. The struggle of the Jews is the struggle of small cultures everywhere — of the Indians in the Amazon, of the Inuits in Alaska, the Tibetans in China. We are one of the few people that has survived as a culture. The story of Israel is the story of survival of the small culture.
- Hillel Halkin, author and translator, from a meeting we had on Thursday, 12 Nov. in Zikhron Yaakov, Israel.


On Thursday we journeyed north to Hod HaSharon, Kfar Sababa and Zikhron Yaakov to visit Masorti Congregations and speak about Conservative Judaism in Israel.

Hillel Halkin, who writes for Commentary, has written a few books of his own and translated some of the Israeli classics, concluded the day. He got us all thinking. (for a few articles, see here and here).

It’s not that he doesn’t care about American Judaism. It’s that he wants us to care more about Israel than he does about America. And he realizes that this is hypocritical.

He voiced particular displeasure toward the recent actions of the organized American left (read JStreet) voicing opinions in moral absolutes, as voyeurs on a situation which they interact with from afar.

He voiced frustration with the very formulation of moral absolutes, particularly in terms of defense. American liberals really can attempt to explore the moral ramifications of checkpoints?

Why support the government of Israel? Because they are the democratically elected representatives of the state. After one takes part in that democratic process, protest away — but be a part of it first.

The issue transcends the particularist political view, though. For right-wingers, as well, supporting the settler movement from the Diaspora was encouraging an oppressive state. If people had such ideologies, they should get up and find their favorite hill in the Shomron (Samaria).

What does all this practically mean? He compares the ethics of the Diaspora toward to those of his youth, when he and other like-minded Jews headed down to Alabama during the Civil Rights movement. They did good work for a year. But in the end, they left after a year. And Black Alabamans stayed living in Alabama.

“The ethics of the Diaspora are like the ethics of Jews like me in Alabama — doing a little here and a little there,” he said. “Here everything is our problem. This is the test of Jewish ethnicity. If we can’t make it work here, then it’s not worth anything.”

It isn’t that there is not a role for Diaspora Jews in Israel. But that there should not be an illusion of what that service is.

I picked up Halkin’s book, Letters to an American Jewish Friend: A Zionist's Polemic, Sunday at the library. It still has me thinking, frustrated and confused. What is my place here as a continual visitor in Israel? Is there a place for support from the outside? Am I really “on trial” during my visit to Israel, as he stresses repeatedly during the book? Should I be?



In many ways, I felt that Halkin was speaking directly to me on Thursday. I’m about a third of the way through his book — same story.

He presents the metaphor of a person who enters a synagogue and wants people to come up and welcome him:

“There is still a third possibility. This time our visitor has no wish to evade the ambiguous nature of his relationship, it s in the hope of resolving it that he has so eagerly looked to his visit, although at the same time he is apprehensive of being questioned by the congregants and unsure of what to reply. Inside he is disappointed to find that the building is not terribly attractive and that he service is noisy and indecorous; yet he is nevertheless drawn to its dramatic location and to the stark but haunting view with its powerful associations by feelings he cannot deny. In fact, when he rises to leave in the end, he lingers for a moment by the door in the hope that he will be approached after all, since there’s a thought he needs to get off his chest— and this doesn’t happen he lapses into dialogue with himself. “Will you join our congregations?” he asks, taking the part of an imaginary congregant. And he answers: “Your question doesn’t surprise me, and I’m even glad that you asked. Yet, if I may speak frankly, your building is too unattractive to me and your service too foreign for this to be possible. I could never feel ant home with them, and I would be untrue to myself if I allowed myself to think that I could. But I will continue to take and interest in your fortunes, which I know are related to mine, and to remember you fondly when I leave; and I will certainly make every attempt to visit you here again soon.” And with that he drops a modest sum, though it’s perhaps all he has in his pockets, into the donation box, makes a humorous remark to keep the moment from becoming too solemn and walks pensively out the door” (30).


Underlying this paragraph is that one needs to have more than a “shrug and nervous laugh” in relationship to why not live in Israel — particularly after spending a significant amount of time here.

It assumes, in Heschelian language, that Israel is the “ontological presupposition” of Jewish peoplehood, that the experience of Israel and engaging with the fullness of the Jewish nation in Israel presupposes any knowledge of the reality as such.

And while I rarely hear things framed thusly, perhaps there’s something to it — Why aren’t you living in Israel?

Maybe that should be the formulation of the question. Are we afraid of it?

I have several reasons why living in America is best for me individually, and communally, too. A few for why living in Israel isn’t the right fit, as well — some of which are selfish in orientation, some which have more solid backing.

But through this all, what then does it mean to “support” Israel from the Diaspora. Political support? Louis Brandeis’ monetary Zionism of the second decade of last century? Education about Zionism as a fundamental component of Jewish identity?

Halkin comments:

“It all very kind of Jews in New York or Los Angeles to wish to express their solidarity with us in the face of such a scandal and to find no better way to do so than to wear “I am a Zionist” buttons like carnations in their lapels, but since a Zionist is precisely what none of them is — for what Zionism happens to involve is the Jewish decision not to live in Los Angeles or New York — they are doing no one any service by confusing the issue even further” (19).


This is an oversimplification, to be sure.

But castigating it just for the reason that you disagree with it is also silly. What is wrong about the statement? Formulate an alternative in positive terms.

In my mind there is a combination of factors which contribute to answer this central question, chief among them education about Israel’s place in the history of the Jewish people. Putting on a button, waving a flag, very well might be a part of the emotional outpouring of the relationship with Israel, in fact it probably has to be. But that is not the relationship at its core.

Halkin cites a series of statistics about the downfall of Judaism in the Diaspora, of ignorance, of assimilation. While it is not “assimilation,” as such, I could just as easily cite the similar religious ignorance in Israel, even in an enveloping Jewish state, a lack of Zionist ideology, as well.

Halkin himself stated on Thursday that "The age of ideology is dead — now the hard work begins." That is not unique to Zionism, but indeed a primal factor of life in the post-modern world, a term which I dislike, but recognizes this paradigm shift most readily.

Such is the polemical approach, one which I wish Halkin didn’t take. He didn’t needed it, and it is counterproductive.

The underlying question in my mind is there such thing as Jewish nationhood outside of Israel. Is there such thing as it in general, quite frankly?

On Thursday, Halkin suggested that Israel represents Jewish ideology and ethics in action, the activation of a living tradition, the test of the fabric of the religion itself.

Indeed, Israel Friedlaender (my favorite Zionist, if you’re keeping track at home) voiced this sentiment 100 years ago, while the state was but a dream:

We Jews love Palestine, not because it tickles our political ambitions, or allures us with material prospects, but because we fervently hope that those great ideals which were proclaimed in ancient Palestine thousands of years ago may once more be realized in modern Palestine, not only for the benefit of the Jews, but as an object-lesson for the whole of humanity. “For out of Zion shall come forth the Law, and the word of the Lord out of Jerusalem."¹


Goosebumps, really. Beautiful stuff. Friedlaender was killed by a gang in 1920, in his forties, while on a relief mission to Russia. It is amazing to think what he would have accomplished with more years.

Yet where Halkin differs from Friedlaender is his polemic against the Diaspora. These pillars of Jewish peoplehood, of nationhood, are not irreconcilable poles, but necessary compliments to the other. I understand that, again, I cite from a document a century old. But the contemporary relevance is uncanny² (this is a long source, but is gold, Jerry, GOLD. Read to the end, please. I also guarantee that you haven’t read it — unless you hang out in the JTS archives):

As one who follows carefully your public utterances, I may be forgiven for saying that your remarks about Nationalism and Zionism do not seem to me to be wholly justified. I would not say a word if Nationalism and Zionism would actually be guilty of what you attribute to them. We would simply have to respect your convictions, though they be unfriendly to us. But, it seems to me that neither Nationalism nor Zionism, as generally understood and advocated by their representatives, deserve your strictures. When Jewish nationalists speak of the Jews as a Nation, this does not at all imply that they have, or should have, a political government. The word is merely used in the meaning, which it has all over Europe, i.e., in that of a community bound together, not only by the ties of religion, but also by the bonds of common birth (from the Latin natio), in the same way as they speak in Europe of a Polish nation…. It is true, the term “nation” has assumed a somewhat different connotation in America, but I am sure that few, if any, Jewish nationalists use the word in the sense which you attribute to them. The best proof for this is the fact that there are thousands of Jews, right here in this city, who call themselves Jewish nationalists, but are not Zionists and are, in many cases, even anti-Zionists.

As for Zionism, you [sic] contention would be justified if Zionism were to teach that all Jews must leave the lands of their abode and settle in Palestine. Such exaggerated notions may have found isolated expression in the first beginnings of the Movement, when the wonderful personality of Dr. Herzl made the impossible appear possible. But, I can assure you that no responsible advocate of Zionism upholds this idea. All that Zionism, as generally understood, hopes and works for, is that of the twelve million Jews, who are scattered all over the world and are, or should become, part and parcel of the commonwealth in which they live, a fraction, let us say, one or two millions, shall settle in the land of their Ancestors where, undisturbed by any non-Jewish or anti-Jewish influences, they may develop a genuine Jewish culture and may give full and unrestricted expression to our great Jewish ideals. If I may speak for myself, I am a strong believer in the future of American Jewry, which, I hope, will grow in numbers and in powers and will be equally American and Jewish, and I dream of the time when American Judaism will be as great and as glorious as was Judaism in Spain. But I cannot possibly see any contradiction in believeing [sic], at the same time, that there will be a Jewish settlement in Palestine, which, under the suzerainty of Turkey, will live the life of a free people, will build up our historic home, will speak our historic message, will cherish our great religion with its historic institutions and will foster our lofty historic ideals, so that, far from interfering with the Jews in other countries, the Jewish centre in Palestine may be a source of inspiration and instruction for them and that the law may once more, come forth from Zion and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.³


Thus, education about Judaism fundamentally is also teaching about Jewish nationhood. Jewish nationalism fundamentally is not restricted to Israel, though Israel is an, even the, essential part of this discussion in 2009. Is Jewish peoplehood really dead, as Halkin suggests here?

I have more faith in Judaism than that.

The above thoughts didn’t emerge from Halkin alone. Such feelings don’t exist in a vacuum.

After a long talk with a good friend, I no longer feel the painful discomfort that I had over the past week. My autonomy really does matter, as do the contributions which I hope to contribute to Jewish nationhood, to Jewish civilization, in the Diaspora. The discomfort will undoubtedly reappear. Israel has had that affect on people for centuries.

Halkin’s views certainly have merit. To dismiss them is easy to do because of simple discomfort. But that precisely is the “nervous laugh” which he pins right back on the individual. Encountering this view is an essential component of being honest to the very fabric of her being.

Israel perhaps should be the ontological presupposition of modern Jewish nationhood— we should at least think to frame it in those terms.

And some do.

In Hebrew the letter “Vav” (ו) can be both conjunctive and disjunctive. Two years ago, we studied an example in Talmud where Rashi and the Ritba read the course of a sugya in completely opposite ways, depending on whether that vav meant “but” or “and.” I’ll leave it ambiguous here, too.

Vav there’s good stuff happening in America. I’ve seen it. There’s a need for hard work across the Jewish nation.

--

1. Friedlaender, “Palestine and the Diaspora,” in Past and Present, (Burning Bush Press: New York, 1961), 333

2. Chancellor Arnie Eisen also noted the startling parallels:

It is positively eerie to read Israel Friedlaender’s essay of a century ago and consider how utterly contemporary its formulations remain. The awesome events we call the Holocaust and Israel still lay far in the future. The successes of the present-day Jewish community in this country were unimagined and unimaginable. Yet the quandaries Friedlaender posed are still our quandaries for the most part, his commonplaces and assumptions closely resemble ours, his evasions are the ones to which we too resort. Even the conception of the American Jewish situation as ‘problem’ remains in full force despite achievements and opportunities which should have made us, long since, far more confident of our present as well as our future.

See: Eisen, “The Problem is still very much with us,” Conservative Judaism, Volume 56, Special Supplement, 2004, 20

3. Letter from Friedlaender to Jacob Schiff, April 10, 1911, Archives of the Jewish Theological Seminary

Some accomplishments in Hebrew

I have been giving directions to a number of cars that stop and roll down the window.

- That I can direct Israelis, both Guy and others, from one spot in the city to another shows that I actually live here and have ownership over it. Earlier tonight, somebody stopped right by my apartment in Katamon and asked how to get to Tel Aviv. Three lefts and straight until the city gates, if you're curious.

- In Bible class, right at the beginning of Monday's session, an Israeli woman in the back told the professor to slow down a bit. I honestly can say that I was staying up with the class.

- In philosophy on Wednesday, the teacher lamented that because there is no Hebrew translation of Levinas, he would simply summarize the points, because his "accent in English is even worse than it is in Hebrew." I raised my hand an exclaimed that I have been working on my American accent and would be happy to read.

Not as many laughs as I was looking for. Microphone wasn't on, I guess. They proceeded to ask if I was going to simultaneously translate Levinas. So much for jokes.



And with that, here are some pictures that Kuppy took from the Mosh concert. Talented photog.




Good times.



The night started with a group of bagpipers winding their way through the crowd.




Baller.



Avraham Tal (former lead signer of Shotei Hanevua, continual rockstar) performing with Mosh.



Ehud Banai, Mosh, Barry Sakharof. When the icons of Israeli rock show up to kick of your new album tour, you know you've made it.

You also know you've made it if people turn your name into an adjective.



Good concert, Kupps.

Rockstars — Israeli Music and Me

After the second song of the night, Kuppy turned to me and said “He’s a rockstar!”

By that time, Mosh Ben Ari had untied the makeshift bundle of dreads and let them down.

Sporting a black vest, a tattoo of what looks like a caricature of a scarecrow, featured prominently on his left arm, and neon guitar picks up and down the mic stand, he let loose with the band for three full hours.

I’m not going to try to define his music, in part because I don’t have that vocabulary in my arsenal. For now, let’s say rock with a kick of funk to it. See for yourself.



I received a text from Kuppy mid-day Thursday saying that Mosh was performing with Ehud Banai in Tel Aviv that night. I made a bit of a scene at the time, yelling something to the extent of “Oh my goodness, what do I do?! 150 shekels? But Mosh AND EHUD BANAI.”

Then she called. More pressure. No message.

I had made my decision, though. Just too much money. It had been a long day. Sure, if Hackit were in Israel I would just stay in T.A. But to come back that night and then to shop and cook all in one swell foop on Friday morning?

I called back.

“Sorry, Kupps. Not this time. He’ll come to Jerusalem. But I’m planning to go to the Peshutei Haam concert in a week. You want to come to that?”

“Who are they?”

“All of the singers that aren’t the lead singer from Shotei HaNevua. You know them?”

“Wait. The lead singer is going to be there tonight.”

“Avraham Tal is going to be there, too!”

And like that, I was there.

Objectively, three of the most famous music artists in Israel, and subjectively my two favorites in Mosh and Tal, plus a classic for decades on the Israeli music scene — this is after all what money is made for. As my Uncle Itz once said when I was about 8, while handing each of the cousins a bill, “It’s just paper.” And indeed, there are few things in life that I enjoy more than Israel music.

We arrived at the nine, when “doors open.” I’m learning quickly that means: “Sure you can enter the building at that time, but nobody is going to perform for another hour-ish.”

After an opening act of African-ish ethnic music, sung in a language I couldn’t identify, with various instruments which I also couldn’t recognize, and the lead singer jamming out on the xylophone, in came from the back of Hanger 11 a set of four bagpipe players, clearing the way as the wrapped through the crowd.

Located at the Tel Aviv port, in what originally must have served as a ship hanger, the venue fit thousands.

Over the course of my time this year, I’ve been to several concerts. The same is true of four years ago. And for that matter, any time I find myself here, I find a concert.

When here on Ramah Seminar in 2000 (Kevutzat Rahel, kavod), I returned home with five CD’s — Shabak Samech (Kna’an), Shabak Samech (Live in Concert), Shlomo Artzi Ahavtiya, Bari Sakharov (Simanim shel Hulsha), Reva L’Sheva.

Israeli music, in short, is no less than a fundamental part of my Jewish identity, indeed my human identity. Which has led me to think — why? I don’t particularly enjoy American music. Nor do I read poetry.

But when you put Israeli poetry to music, I latch on. I connect to the allusions that weave their way through the texts. I latch onto the Hebrew and take it with me everywhere I go. Such is the nature of the iPod generation.

During our Nivonim summer at Ramah Wisconsin (1999 — Save the best for last. We had socks), we ran an educational day-long “proyekt” for all of camp around the topic of Jewish music. We defined Jewish music as music which was written by Jews, with the underlying thesis that Jews infuse their music with their Judaism, sometimes consciously, often not.

My dad is currently working on a book on Jewish art with the same underlying thesis; at one point it had the working title of “Modern/Jewish/Art,” noting the fluidity and overlap between the terms. We’ll see how the name sticks. I should note that he also proposed that an exhibition on large prints be called “Size matters.” He was kindly reminded that this is an age of Google. The final product was called “Grand Scale.”

I found this idea best expressed by Waldo Frank, from an article he originally wrote in 1926:

"Our premise is that the classic forms of Jewish life, as they survive today in custom and in manner, are decadent. They are decadent because the Idea underneath them and nourishing them has been withdrawn from them. The imitative Jewish artist, he who is satisfied only with surfaces and effects, may be precisely the one to employ these forms for subjects. The community which looks for Jewish art with Jewish subjects will probably be exiling the very matter from which, alone, it can be nourished and can achieve self-knowledge. For the true creator begins by rejecting decadent forms, by refusing old names and labels. With his own primordial spirit he will synthesize the chaos of the world about him into forms newly created, newly valid. And if he be a Jew, and if the term Jew still has any meaning, his synthesis, unlabeled, will be the actually Jewish. If you want an instance, take the Ethics of Spinoza. It was written in Latin and by a man discarded by the Jewish church. It is, nonetheless, so far as I know, the chief aesthetic work of that age worthy to have been assimilated by a self-conscious Jewish community as Jewish art. And yet the Ethics of Spinoza with its deeply Jewish spirit could never have been written if the man had not been intellectually detached from the limitations of a Jewish past and of a “Jewish” subject.

A large portion of the creative work, inspired and supported by this ideal community of ours, will of course be nominally Jewish: it will deal perhaps with Jewish history and tradition, with the psychology of the Jews. But the deepest of that work, insofar as it is truly creative, not merely traditional, may not have the traditional Jewish mark upon it. It will be made Jewish, as was the creative work of the Prophets, when the Jewish community digests it.

This ideal community of ours will find itself creative. It will nourish the creator and be nourished by him. It will objectively observe itself in the creator’s work: the creator will objectively experience himself in the responses of his audience. And so, each of them, through their objectivity, will subjectively grow greater. The community will let the creator be himself: but not through proneness or indifference. Say rather, through an immense and passionate concern with the results: since it will know that only by keeping its hands off, by reserving judgment, by refraining from traditional defense or attack, will it eventually achieve, once more, an idea worth defending, worth living."¹

So why do I connect so much to Israeli music? Fundamental to it is my expression of who I am as a person, as a Jew. Israeli music, whether it intends to do so or not, is a primal expression of Jewish identity.

Over the past several months I have been looking for my place here. In some ways, I am in the midst of two worlds, not quite an outsider, definitely not an Israeli. At times I have found myself thinking back on a night and relishing that I was the only American in the room, which in some ways is superficial. In others it manifests my continual quest to redefine my relationship with Israel, a place I find myself year after year, yet also have a commitment to live elsewhere.

I don’t want the answers right now. Nor do they exist as such. But listening to a diminutive, fifty-year-old, Ehud Banai somehow break out with a guitar solo and sing along with Mosh Ben Ari was something else. It is a key part of this journey.

I continue to explore this land, its people, listening to others’ Jewish identities and refining my own.

By 1:30, the concert still was not over. I left early, still needing to get back to Jerusalem. But Mosh Ben Ari will come to Jerusalem, too. I won’t leave that one early.

And when an Israeli singer with dreadlocks comes to a city where I live, I haven’t missed a concert yet.


--
1. Waldo Frank, The Jew in our Day, 1944, originally published as an essay “Toward an Analysis of the Problem of the Jew” in The Menorah Journal, 1926

Good times with Israeli music

In case you are curious just how awesome (on a scale of one to awesome, of course) the concert/s were on Wed. night/Thursday morning, here are a few videos that our friends from Youtube decided to share with the world.

If videos had been invented when the phrase "a picture is worth a thousand words" was coined, how many words would a video be worth?


Perhaps you are familiar with Eretz Tropit Yafah?





A much better video job with HaIsh HaHu.

Well done Steve Jobs...

Along Rahel Imeinu Street, there is huge graffiti of the following:





"Israel also deserves an Apple Store!!!"

Having an entire generation named after the iPod is one way to gauge success. This is another.

Apple, Inc. — Jerusalem requests your presence.

I love chocolate and cheesecake...

...and Israeli rock concerts.

Across Jerusalem there are postings with concert announcements. Ari recently said, "There's going to be one time when you don't stop at one of those signs."

Not sure it has happened yet.

A trip to Yam HaMelach (Dead Sea) was number on my list for the Sukkot break. So we made it happen.

Yesterday Guy, Kupps (Guy calls her Poochy), Hannah and I headed down Kevish (Route) 1 to the Dead Sea. Directions were a little fuzzy from the get-go, but there's only one road along said Dead Sea. So we headed that way.

We were pretty sure we were on the right path, but just to make sure, we pulled to the side of the highway alongside another car which had also pulled over. Turns out this van had pulled over to let a sephardi family of three males pee off the side of the highway.

So we waited for a bit.

And then asked:

Do you know if Yam HaMelach is this way?

First guy: No (shaking head)

(second guy comes to the window) Us: Do you know if Yam HaMelach is this way?

Second: Em... (No).

(third comes to the window) Us: Do you know if Yam HaMelach is this way?

Third (I'm guessing the father): (shaking head) Lo Makir (not familiar with it)

Us: B'emet. Lo makir et Yam HaMelach? (Really, you don't know of the Dead Sea?)

Third: Lo

Good times. Lo makir...

We were on our way to Nahal Zohar, the Zohar Wadi — next to the Sea, in a valley with walls stretching toward the sky.

The concert was by Yehudit Ravitz and Gidi Gov, two of the premier and classic Israeli rock stars. Chances are if you know some of the classic Israeli songs, one of them sings it.

They sang most of them. שוקולד, ארבע לפנת בוקר, הילדה הכי יפה בגן, באה מאהבה, ארץ טרופית יפה to name a select few of the 3 hour concert.

But when Gidi Gov broke out in Inyan Shel Zman, the 2003 Nivo Zimriyah song, among other things, let's just say that Hannah and Kuppy went nuts. I mean, it's a good song in its own right.

Add some emotional attachment to it and — booyakasha.

Both artists captured the audience. Talk about stage presence. Everyone around us knew the words and you better believe I sung along. I'm quite certain we were the only Americans in the audience.

None of us stood still for the whole concert.

And as we were waiting for the encore to come back on (Yehudit singing בא מאהבה, for those keeping track at home), Guy said, "So nu, we going to see if there are tickets to the other one, too?"

We had been shut out of buying tickets online to the sunrise show on Massada that night. But Kuppy and Hannah had just purchased tickets for this one at the box office.

So we headed over there, too. And what do you know — TICKETS.

We headed up on the cable car and sat on the makeshift sets of cushions set up on the southeast side of the fortress. A short nap for each of us.

And then Meir Banai and Arakadai Duchin. It was a more subdued concert for the most part.

No hopping up and down, for example.

But again, beautiful music, a clear sky, with the sun rising to our left over the Dead Sea.

I try to avoid hyperbole. But on a scale of "1 to best night of concert/s ever," this was a 102.

For pictures...

Sephardis have more fun

My alarm was supposed to go off at 3:45 in the morning on Friday morning.

It didn't.

So at 4:00 Baldachin called and I bustled down the street to meet him and Chaim Cutler and we headed to a Kurdish Shul in Nachlaot (a neighborhood right next to the Shuk) for night Slichot services.

I've come to love Sefaradi/Eidot Hamizrach (Spanish descendants/Middle East communities) slichot. They're catchy tunes, beautiful poetry and after more than a month of saying them, the communities take ownership of them.

At the end of the service, there were blasts of the shofar. According to Rabbinic tradition, the sounds of the Shofar are supposed to sound like human cries, like wails.

This shofar did. And at that moment I decided I was going to head back for Neilah. I wanted to hear this man rock out with a tekiah gedolah at the end of Yom Kippur.

Following a relaxing and enjoyable Shabbat in Tel Aviv with my favorite spokesperson for the IDF (Hackit), I headed back to Jerusalem and a group of us headed to the Kotel for midnight Slichot. Turns out a few other people had the same idea.

The line down to the Kotel plaza went all the way down through the Shuk in the Muslim quarter, backing up to Sha'ar Yafo (for those that aren't familiar with that geography, let's just say that's a long way). Once we finally got down to the plaza, the entire country was standing in every cardinal direction. (See the pictures to see just how many were there).

The slichot were blasting over a series of loud speakers and the entire plaza joined in. People from all over Israel joined in. Thus far there have been a couple of "only in Israel" moments. This was one of them.

Perhaps none more, though, than when we were leaving Aliza's apartment before the fast, and an elderly woman opened the door precisely as we were walking down the stairs and wished us "gmar chatima tovah." It was pretty cute.

The entire country shuts down for Yom Kippur. People in white empty into the streets, kids take to their bikes and declare that the roads belong to them. After Kol Nidre, 92 percent of Americans in Israel stood at the crossroads between Rahel Imeinu and Emek Refaim. Standing, laughing, having a good time.

For Neilah, I headed back to what I will now dub "my" Nachlaot shul. And, man, do they love their slichot. A full month of Elul, plus 8 days of Tishrei, and they kept going. During Mincha and Neilah, they again said slichot. One more chance, I suppose.

Jonah (the book) was chanted to a unique nusach (tune), though anything would have been new for me, quite frankly. Beautiful.

And finally we got to the Tekiah Gedola blast at the end.

Except we didn't.

Because instead of a tekiah gedolah, it was a teruah gedolah. A series of short blasts which were somehow woven together in a fluttering call.

And after that, cars began to empty out back on the streets.

Next up, the festival of booths. Want more pictures? That's what I thought.

Milot HaYom Madhimim (Awesome words of the day)

Tonight I wrote down good words that appeared in the midst of laughs and a conversation with Aliza, Guy, Iris and Avishai. As part of said conversation, periodically I would ask them to think of a fun word that I should know, and subsequently use it in context. That worked better at some points than others. What words would be a good feature for the blog/my life, or as they say in Hebrew, bishvil hablog בשביל הבלוג?

I asked the waitress for a word, as well — she was less helpful in this regard, but quite amusing throughout the entire meal. In that regard, I would highly recommend the restaurant "Diez" on Shlomzion HaMalka, next to Misrad HaPnim.

So here are the words from the evening. Props to Mishlachat 2000 for this help.

ברוגז, brogez: a fight between two people, usually kids, where they stubbornly refuse to talk to one another. No real English equivalent that can be summed up in one word.

שולם, sholem (pronounced in a Yiddish accent): after two people make up from having a ברוגז/brogez, they make שולם/sholem

שיווק, shivuk: marketing. A marketing specialist came to the Yeshiva today to see why people go there, what the institution can do better, etc. Pizza lunch was an unexpected treat, as well. לדעתי, זה דווקא שיווק טוב להביא אוכל לסטודנתים. In my opinion, it is good marketing/shivuk to bring Pizza to students.

קרציה, qirziah: tick (the animal). Refers colloquially to someone who is being annoying and a nuisance. Used in a joking matter. "Stop being such a tick." נו עליזה, תפסיקי להיות קרציה.

מתיש, matish: exhausting

לגהץ, legahetz: Literally to iron. It is also the verb used for "to swipe a credit card." It should be noted that if you are ever at Jen and JAR's and need to iron your shirt, they keep the maghetz/מגהץ in the kitchen.

פרוטקציה, protekziah: another false cognate. Rougly translates as nepotism. Shady dealings which give you connections, particularly for jobs. ''?מי צריך קשרים כשיש לך פרוטקציה'' is a common phrase. ("Who needs connections when you have protekziah?")

ויטמין פי, Vitamin P: פרוטקציה, Vitamin P is an amusing way to say protekziah.

פצצות לגבות, petzatzot l'gavot: Literally "explosions to the eyebrows." Means that something is awesome. The equivalent to "the bomb," you could say. "The bomb diggity," even. I wouldn't say, but you might.

World are colliding...

Yesterday was the annual Emek Refaim Street Fair BONANZA (I believe that's the technical name they gave it).
The restaurants all had stations in the street and street stands sold a healthy combination of trinkets and expensive art. Essentially, every American living in Jerusalem showed up, and 75% of Israelis, as well.

People at the fair represented a veritable pu-pu platter of people in my life, if you will. And I think you will.

Toward the end of the night I sat down at a restaurant called Baba with Sarah, Gabi, Kupps, Hannah, Hackit and Ari Berkowicz. I should note that I look quite like the owner. Many of the מלצרים (waiters) had a good time with the comparison, particularly when Sarah suggested that we were cousins. ("WOOO, WALLAH. B'emet?" was a particularly amusing response).

Here is a picture I took last year with said owner (Yoni). Thoughts?

Running into various people from my present and past (and future, for that matter) was joyous to the max. Lots of giant hugs, "how have been"s?, "You must come for Shabbat"s, and a chorus of "Shannah Tovah"s echoing throughout the night.

As I write this, Rosh HaShana is approaching and enveloping Jerusalem. This is clearly manifested in the food selection at shuk, the cards everywhere and even in the fact that you get an extra .25 liter free in honor of the hagim when you buy a six-pack of 1.5 liter soda/pop (I will note that I am weening myself off said products, however).

More than these physical products, though, I take most to heart that every time I leave a conversation, whether with a friend or at a store, there is an exchange of "Shannah tovah" as we part ways. While the chaos of the Israeli infrastructure makes buying stamps and installing internet are multi-step processes, and are quite frankly absurd, the particularism embedded in the notion of "כל ישראל ערבים זה בזה'' (all Jews are responsible for one another) tangibly illustrates itself during this time of year, giving me cause to smile.

Shannah tovah.

You know that God exists because...

...Israel is alive and well. I'm not saying that in a Religious Zionist fashion. This is not a theological argument about the place of God in the world.

I'm saying that it is a daily occurance that you shake your head and wonder how the country operates.

Case from today:

Today I went to the post office to buy stamps. No stamps. They directed me across the street to the newspaper stand. You see, the post office doesn't sell stamps.

On the other hand, I bought 2 kilos of plums for 2 dollars. That's gotta count for something.

I will be making Rosh HaShanah lunch. Quite excited about that. Highlights to include Bol-gol-gie (that's Korean steak for the uninitiated) and what I am calling Rosh HaShanah chicken. RH chicken will be a marinade of Israeli fruits cooked with the chicken.

Get in my belly. Yum.

The quirks of the Jewish State

It’s been a very Israeli first few days here. Notably, I’ve accidentally run into three people I know over the first 24 hours in the country. That’s Jerusalem. (Fogey, Aliza Grabin and Ariel Keren, if you’re keeping track at home).

To begin, a story. I went to my favorite barber this afternoon and he immediately recognized me. I told him I wanted about half off, all the way around, and he said, “Yes, of course. The regular.” I last went to him four years ago.

He gives good haircuts, and by his comment at the end of the haircut, he thinks highly of his work.

After finishing he said to me, “"You have no idea how much better you look now."

Welcome to Israel, where the compliments always make you scratch your head and wonder, “Thanks, I think?”

As they say, Israelis are like Sabra (cactus) fruits, prickly on the outside and sweet inside.

I hit a bit of jetlag during day 1, rising to it being pitch black outside, and thinking, “this is not how I planned it.” So I did some work the paper I started over the summer, what some have called my “for fun super-senior thesis” (more on that in a later post).

I received an e-mail from Adam Baldachin saying that he was going to make a minyan at the Robinson Arch for a bar-mitzvah boy visiting Israel. I’m for adventure and we headed out, first for a breakfast at the David Intercontinental Hotel (did I mention they have a nice spread?). Fun family, with lots of laughs over the course of the day.

Bar-mitzvah boy did a good job, as did Rabbi Schlessinger in conducting a service. Noted was the poignancy of a bar mitzvah which culminates continuity in Jewish tradition and memory, directly in front of the rocks of destruction from the Second Temple.

At the conclusion of the bar mitzvah, they had hired 2 klezmer “stars” to dance in front of the Davidson Center. As it was, another bar-mitzvah walked by, complete with drums and singing, and the two sets of musicians joined together, with a few families of Israelis singing along. I’m not saying that this could only happen in Jerusalem, but let’s just say it didn’t happen in Dubrovnik.

Highlights of the shuk right now are most definitely the nectarines and plums. I should also note that I am still figuring out how much different items weigh, and that 200 grams of zaatar should last me until May. And I love zaatar. I should also note I appreciate all that the chickpea has given the Jewish people over the past 100+ years; buying hummus by the kilo is a luxury I will relish.

Shabbat highlight was most definitely dinner at Aliza and Ela’s, friends from when I worked on Ramah Seminar/my previous year in Israel. Of all the goals I have this year, coming home with a Hebrew accent and fluency is most definitely toward the top of that top-5 list. Therefore, a dinner with friends, featuring conversation all but exclusively in Hebrew combined everything I could have looked for in a Shabbat dinner. And that’s without even mentioning the hummus with beef and the fried sweet and sour chicken that Aliza made. As I mentioned in my e-mail for my going away party, Israel features gustatory delight at every corner. No disappointments there yet.

Future posts will have more musings, less biography. I’ll explain the name of the blog and my thoughts about being here. Throughout it all, perhaps I’ll entertain you a bit along the way.

I had not realized that the apartment would come with a tv and dvd player, but here it is. A note of closing on a West Wing episode that had been running in the background on Friday: Josh suggests in the third season that Leo should be Bartlet’s running mate. Somehow that had escaped me. Turn it over, turn it over, everything is in it.