January 19

It’s my dad’s birthday and he would have been 94 had he not passed away 45 years ago.  Passed away seems too euphemistically passive.  His death was difficult, painful, harsh and cruel for both him and his family. His cancer met his anxiety and created a reality he could not face and could not ignore.  The neurotic solution to the convergence of illness and claustrophobia was to be treated as an outpatient.  In the end, this solution served neither master. He spent the final weeks of his life confined to a hospital room fighting the cancer that had gone too far to overcome.

On many levels we ceased being a family at his death. Ruth was married within a year.  Susan months later.  I returned to SUNY Albany and then moved to Israel.  My mother married Jerry, who had no time or patience for us.  Eve, my beautiful younger sister was left holding the bag, as it were.  At age 14 she was, in many ways, the “last man standing”.

Somewhere back in my memory I recall hearing a song with the lyrics “you’re not a man until your father calls you a man”.  Which, of course, he never did.  That he died before I became a man is both developmental and causal.  At 19 I was a child man with little sense of responsibility and no sense of direction.  I had no sense that I needed to figure out the world or more my role within it and, perhaps, no capacity to do so.  His death thrust me into a vacuum and my life meandered until I meandered into the BBYO office in Southfield, Michigan and thus began my career as a Jewish communal professional.  This, in turn, led me to Columbia University School of Social Work.  I could have meandered anywhere.  But God had a plan.

I think of my life in the context of my father’s life and death and, I am both so saddened and so grateful.  If social work school was only God’s set up for me to meet Jo at a party for recently graduated social workers – then it was a good plan.  Well played God.  That it led me to a life with three remarkable children, all of whom, in their own ways, have become remarkable adults is a majestic feat of divine strategic planning.  That, all of this, including the death of my father, made me who I am is equally clear.  I take a great measure of pride, perhaps not at who I am, but who I am trying to become – and that I will keep on trying. 

Reflections of Jerusalem - 2016

The Road

In the midst of my recent studies at the Hartman Institute in Jerusalem, a dear friend emailed me to enquire about the reaction of Israeli citizens to the UN Security Council resolution condemning Israel’s continued building of settlements in the occupied territories and East Jerusalem, and the United States’ delegate’s failure to veto the measure.  The truth was that I did not have a clue.

For much of my ten days in Israel I was cloistered within the secure walls of the Harman Institute and isolated from all external distractions.  There, using ancient and modern Jewish text sources as our road maps and guided by remarkable educators, we delved into the complexities of Israel, politics, society and culture.

On those days when my wife Jo and I did have opportunities to venture out to the streets of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv we found ourselves being audibly assaulted by the noise of taxi cabs and cars blaring horns at those with the audacity and the incompetence to dawdle at the changing traffic light a millisecond too long.  Israeli drivers all seem to be possessed by the immediacy of getting somewhere fast, and thus, seem to have little sense of the need to coexist peacefully with others on the road. Further, both drivers and pedestrians seemed to be fully engrossed in animated conversations with their smart phones or consumed by some essential message on the screen.  Walking the crowded sidewalks became an exercise akin to slalom skiing as we navigated individuals or groups of Israelis seemingly encapsulated within their individual worlds.   Whether their immersion in digital communications is the cause or the effect, ambulators in Israel seem to have little awareness that there are others with whom they share the sidewalks.

Perhaps this is the best way to describe Israelis’ reaction to the UN Security Council resolution.  Israel has places to go; it is consumed by getting to where it needs to be and encapsulated within its own reality. The machinations of this far-off international body have little valence in their daily lives.  The UN has long lost its relevance in the eyes of Israelis and another anti-Israeli resolution is no surprise. Get out of our way, we are on the move, we have places to go.

Sufganiot

Hanukkah, the victory of Maccabee freedom fighters over the tyrannical rule of the Syrians, is, in many ways, the adopted victory narrative of the people of Israel. Glowing menorahs encased in transparent frames line the alleyways of the Jewish Quarter of Jerusalem, creating a warm mystical glow as it reflects off the Jerusalem stones. In the streets and in the cafes and restaurants of West Jerusalem where hip young Israelis linger to drink expressos and café afuch (lattes), sufganiot, jelly donuts, appear to be the currency of Hanukkah. The appellation “Jelly donuts” is a misnomer or misinterpretation as there seems to be no limit to what Israelis will inject into fried dough on Hanukkah; jelly for sure, but also chocolate, marzipan, mocha and hazelnut cream.  The list goes on.  On Hanukkah, a panoply of beautifully decorated sufganiot lines the stalls of Machane Yehuda and the shelves of the bakeries and cafes of West Jerusalem.

If there is a metaphor to associate with sufganiot in Israel it is this: We will take our past, our narrative, and embrace it, embellish it, make it our own. And with great joy and delight, we will consume it; rather than be consumed by it.

Cranes

Everywhere you look in Jerusalem there are cranes, construction sites and detours caused by roads being dug up and widened.  The new light rail on Jaffa Road in Jerusalem is a marvel and a delight.  A comparable system is being built in Tel Aviv and the Jerusalem light rail is scheduled to be expanded.  The high-speed train from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem is under construction.  Scheduled to be completed in 2018, it will traverse the distance between ancient and modern cities in 28 minutes.  It seems as if almost every block in Jerusalem hosts construction of a new, multi-story residence; coming soon, luxury flats beginning at 3,500,000 NIS.

One could argue that Jerusalem has not seen a comparable building boom since the days of Herod’s rule 2,000 years ago. The stones of the Herod’s magnificent temple lie in ruined heaps till today.  What must Israel learn from its history?

Tribes

On a beautiful Thursday morning, Keith, my new son-in-law, and I took a lovely stroll through the remarkably quiet and peaceful alley ways of Yemin Moshe, the artist colony that links the old and new cities of Jerusalem.  As we discussed the diverse tribes of modern day Israel (Hartman speak) Haredim, Religious Zionist, secular Jews, Israeli Arabs, Palestinians, Druse, Greek Orthodox, Armenian, Roman Catholic, Russian Orthodox and then some, Keith, who was visiting Israel for the first time, enquired as to how the different groups related to one-another.  My response was that, by and large, they do not, rather they seem to live in parallel universes.  Walking through the Jaffa Gate and down the stone steps of the Shuk one spies Haredim rushing to daven at the Kotel, Arabs hawking wares to tourists, Christian priests from an array of countries and denominations, all swimming in a sea of tourists.   From my perspective, there seems to be little sense that they are co-inhabitants of the same nation.  Perhaps they are not. 

East Jerusalem

The week of the Hartman Seminar was particularly chilly by Jerusalem standards and the day we took our long Tiyul (excursion) was blustery and cold.  Wrapped in layers we boarded the bus to travel with Yossi Klein-Halevy to trace the steps of the IDF paratroopers, portrayed in his book Like Dreamers, in the battle to liberate the Old City of Jerusalem in 1967.  As I write, I recognize that, in this context, the term “liberate” has significant political implications.  It is certainly not the term the Arab and Palestinian occupants of East Jerusalem and the Old City would choose.  It is not a term acceptable at the United Nations or by the majority of the world’s nations.  However, as a Jewish teenager who followed the Six Day War from a television screen in Bayside, New York, liberation was a deficient appellation for the profound miracle that had taken place.  Fifty years later, the term seems far less unambiguous.  The full title of Klein Halevy’s book reflects an element of this ambiguity: “Like Dreamers: The Story of the Israeli Paratroopers Who Reunited Jerusalem and Divided a Nation”.  One could also add, “caused Israel to become a pariah among many of the world’s nations”, and “challenged Israel’s capacity to be both a Jewish and a democratic state.”

Alighting from the bus, we began our tour directly across from what was, until, 1967, the barrier between Israel and Jordan and now reflects the unseen barrier between West and East Jerusalem.  We followed the footsteps of the paratroopers. We learned that, challenged by the lack of adequate maps, Israeli forces took a wrong turn onto the heavily defended Nablus Road where they faced fierce resistance and suffered significant casualties. 

We boarded the bus and headed up to the Mount of Olives from where Motta Gur, commander of the 55^th Paratroopers Brigade, led his troops through the Lions Gate.  There he spoke words that have become immortalized in Israeli lore “The Temple Mount is in our hands!" (Hebrew: !הר הבית בידינו‎‎, Har HaBayit BeYadeinu!). We ended our tiyul by walking through the Lions Gate, down the Via Delarosa, then a left to the Kotel, the Western Wall, where a small group of Haredi rabbis were lighting a huge Hanukkah menorah.

For most of the participants in the tiyul this was their first foray into East Jerusalem. Terrorism has made East Jerusalem dangerous territory for Jews. For the Hillel veterans on the bus the tour was a return to places we visited freely in our younger days. I still recall walking with my cousin Jeremy (now Rabbi Fenster) to “The Golden Chicken” a Palestinian restaurant on Sal-a-din Street, exploring the streets around the Damascus Gate and visiting the Rockefeller Museum on Sultan Suleiman Street.  We would not consider similar excursions today.

In Jerusalem, there are places one no longer visits. Perhaps this can be said of any major city, anywhere in the world. I lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan for 4 years in the 1970’s.  At that time, the safety of the neighborhood was measured block by block.

The difference is the underlying nature of the danger. On the Upper West Side of the 70’s it was thievery and greed. In East Jerusalem, it is fierce anger and raw malice. It is hopelessness and despair.

Today in Jerusalem

Today in Jerusalem a Palestinian man rammed a truck into a group of Israeli soldiers, killing four and wounding fifteen.  The attack took place in the Armon Hanatziv neighborhood, near a beautiful promenade that offers a magnificent overlook of the ancient city of Jerusalem. I have walked along this promenade and the lovely garden pathways nearby.  I have marveled with delight at the beautiful and ancient city before me. Generations of my ancestors have gazed at the city from this very spot. “On the third day Abraham lifted up his eyes, and saw the place afar off.” (Genesis 22:4).

A place of such great spirituality and the locus of such pain.  How many have died; how many have suffered for this “City of Peace”? “Most of the slain were peaceful citizens, weak and unarmed, and they were butchered where they were caught.” (Josephus Flavius).

This love, this devotion, this yearning.  This malice, this fury, this vitriol.  Where does it come from?  In the whisper of a prayer; in the call of the muezzin; in the peal of a church bell; in the slash of a sword; in the flash of bomb; in the rumble of a truck.  When did it begin.  When will it end for Jerusalem, the city of peace.

© David Raphael 2017