And So It Goes...

This Shabbos I went to visit a friend in college in Ariel. Ariel is, for those who do not know, in the Shomron (Samaria), and fairly close to Nablus and Ramallah. Going there from Jerusalem, we had to exit the officially "Jewish" territory, and go through the controversial wall built to keep out terrorists looking to sneak across the border. From the time I stepped into the taxi leaving my apartment, I entered back into what is truly "Israel". I had to once again rely upon Hebrew, and not speak English. I also had to drive through scores of crowds campaigning for Likud and Meretz, two Israeli political parties. Modern Hebrew (as opposed to Loshon Kodesh, or Biblical Hebrew) and current events tend to be played down in yeshiva, so it was a refreshing introduction into Israeli society before traveling to Ariel.

On the way to Ariel, our bus passed countless Arab villages, obvious with the prominent towers on the village mosques. The way to the Shomron is hilly, and the bus had to venture through many winding roads, which overlook valleys scattered with shrubs and boulders. During many parts of the trip, the billboards and signs were written only in Arabic. When we would drop people off in their settlements, we would have to pass through check points with armored patrols waiting for us, showing clearly that places like Maalei Levonah and Shiloh are not in the most safe of areas. Even Ariel had a check point at the entrance.

Overall, Shabbos was very relaxing. The local university is situated on the top of a mountain overlooking a huge valley. Across the valley are Arab villages, which look like stars at night. It was a very nice and easy way to spend Shabbos. I enjoyed seeing my friend, as we hadn't seen each other in quite a while. The only distraction was that everyone was dati leumi, or "national religious" (most like American Modern Orthodox). Being chareidi, I stuck out plainly, and when I used clear Ashkenazi (eastern European) pronunciation when I was called to the Torah, a few people snickered at this overt non-Israeliness. When I asked about the location, and whether or not students feel worried there, my response was, "Oh, actually I've never wanted to look at Ariel's location on a map. The less I know, the better I feel." And so it goes...



On the way back, a large group of "settlers" got on the bus in Shiloh. These settlers stand out because of their unique look: men with long, unkempt pey'ot (sidelocks near their ears), large knitted yarmulkes, and women wearing flowy dresses with large turban-like tichels (scarves used to cover the hair of married women). For both men and women, two things are the same: sandals and rifles. One of the settlers sat next to me, dressed in his army uniform, rifle on his shoulder, and holding a baby in each arm. The difference was interesting: me, black suit and hat, on my way back to a yeshiva that goes out of its way to speak of "eretz Yisroel" (the land of Israel) instead of "medinat Yisrael" (the state of Israel), and a chardal (chareidi dati leumi, or ultra-orthodox national religious) soldier traveling with his wife, two babies, and gun to report back to defending the medina (state). All the while the two of us are sitting next to one another, our bus wove through the hills dotted with Arab villages sporting Palestinian and Jordanian flags at the entrances.

I've heard people say that the relationship between the "Torah world" (world of ultra-Orthodox Jewry) living in Israel and the assortment of Zionist groups is the same as the relationship between the shevet (tribe) of Zevulun and that of Yissachar. In that relationship, one group sustained the world by devoting their lives to learning Torah, with the other shevet supporting them by earning money to support them. In the modern case, though, it is interesting to see how the ones supposed receiving the help are so withdrawn, and in most cases opposed, to those offering protection. As we see it, if all Jews would simply live a life according to Torah and true Judaism, the world opinion could not help but be in favor of Israel, and security would come simpy through the light of true Torah. However, the Zionists and soldiers say that since this cannot be at the current time, hey must do the job until then....and so goes the circle. The unreligious and misguidedly religious army exists to offer safety needed because so many Jews are unreligious and misguided.

Finally, after 90 minutes on the road, we arrived back into Jerusalem. As we approached the central bus station, I once again felt at home, seeing men frocked in black scurry behind strollers (dodging HAIL!! A rare sight in Israel.) on streets and sidewalks packed with those who have found a way to live in the medina without being part of it. Ha'lavai.

Say What?

My arrival and first days in Yerushalayim (Jerusalem) have been nice. My location is incredible, as I am in the center of the city, and really not far from anything of interest. The first day here, I took a trip to the Yam HaMelach (Dead Sea) with a few other people, and it was a nice, relaxing way to start my time here. The yeshiva is relaxing, even though the learning is fairly constant. The people are diverse, and everyone is very nice and talkative. It will take me a little while to get used to the rosh yeshiva (dean of the institution) though. He’s fairly charismatic, and with a proper British accent, is very intimidating. He has an aura about him, and coupled with the rosh yeshiva-niks who follow him around, has a real command in the yeshiva. As the rosh yeshiva is British, so are many of the students. In my apartment, there are two Americans, two people from England, one person from Switzerland, and one from Australia. The yeshiva itself is equally as diverse, with Americans maybe making up half of the students, and the rest being largely from England or Australia.

Because the yeshiva is so diverse, a lot of attention is given to what we say, how we speak, and how we understand each other. The Americans often have to pause to think about what the British students mean, and the British students often have the same issue with the Americans. With the international slang flying around at every turn, some of us wait with great anticipation for the day when a someone British asks for fifty quid (a term for money), and instead receives fifty squid. The same is true in regard to interacting with most of the Israelis here. While many people in Israel are at least marginally fluent in English, they often do not understand what Americans are saying. This can lead to all sorts of disasters in taxi rides, shopping, and eating. I often wonder if butchering my English and faking a strong Israeli accent would bring me any closer to getting what I need.

The caution with which we need to choose our words in the yeshiva and Israel brings up an integral value in Judaism. Watching our speech, or “Shmiras HaLoshon”, is an important concept in Judaism. We are taught that when we do something negative, we create a malach (“angel”, or spiritual force) that has the ability to testify to our misdeeds. Because each quality can only create the same quality in the malach created, those created by actions cannot testify and say why they were created. However, when one speaks loshon hora (gossip), since the misdeed itself is verbal, the malach created has the ability to be verbal. Therefore, not only can it say why it was created, but it can also point out why each of the other malochim were created as well. This means we need to be extra careful about what we say, how we say it, and what extra lasting impact our words have on the world.

Bye Bye Miss American Pie, Shalom Tel Aviv

I arrived in Israel with only an hour of sleep during my 10 hour flight. Instead of heading to Jerusalem, I had previously decided to stay in Tel Aviv for a few days, both seeing friends and sleeping off my jet lag before I had to start working on the schedule of the yeshiva. For my first Shabbos in Israel, it was very relaxing…save for one minor detail: unable to use the elevators in the hotel, I had to walk up and down eleven flights of stairs.

While not as obvious as in Yerushalayim, Tel Aviv does slow down on Shabbos. As the population is largely unreligious, most shops and cafes are open, but the streets are not as packed as during the week. During Shabbos, I took walks around the neighborhoods of Bauhaus apartments and buildings, down the narrow winding streets lined with small trees. Even with the moderate flow of traffic, the Shabbos was still very relaxing. It came to an end with a very impromptu havdala made with whatever I could find at the AM:PM around the corner (beer, birthday candles, and cinnamon sticks).

Today, I woke up early and found a nice spot to sit near the corner of Dizengoff and Ben Gurion, a major intersection. There, I sat nestled among the trees and cafes, reading “Cat’s Cradle” by Kurt Vonnegut. As I watched the people, not hearing the noise around me because of my playing ipod, it was easy to imagine myself in any Mediterranean city, the breeze just enough to chill the pace of the city. I started thinking about how much more there is to Israel than what people see. For those outside, Israel is either the Land of the Bible, or a war zone. Truly, neither is felt in Tel Aviv. It has a feel unique unto itself.

Tel Aviv is famously known as HaBua, The Bubble. “There’s Israel, and then there’s Tel Aviv”, they say. That can certainly be felt when going around the city. In Tel Aviv, religion and war take a backseat to cafes and fashion. The only way to know that Israel recently fought in Gaza is by seeing people welcome back reservists, recently returned after a month away. Even the reservists in Tel Aviv try to get back to the Bubble mentality as soon as possible. When I asked one reservist what he did in Gaza, he responded, “Watch the T.V. if you want to know.” People in Tel Aviv cannot be bothered by current events, whether globally or in Israel. This lifestyle was summed up best by a friend in response to Hamas rockets getting progressively closer to Tel Aviv during the recent conflict: “They keep shooting at us and the rockets get closer, but all I want to do is sit on the street and sip my coffee.”


In “Cat’s Cradle”, Kurt Vonnegut uses the (fake) religion Bokononism to express his own philosophical outlook. Today, while reading, I happened upon a quote that fit my wanderings around Tel Aviv: “Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from G-d”. Every corner in Tel Aviv offers something new to see. From the signs claiming that the Zionist dream of Hertzel has become an unneeded reality, to innovative boutiques offering styles that will not be seen in America for years, to a restaurant icon that reminds one of Barak Obama, Tel Aviv is an ever eye-opening city. If these wanderings really are lessons, Tel Aviv has a great beat for dancing.

Ain't That America...

John (Johnny Cougar, John Cougar, John Cougar Mellencamp... whatever he's going by these days) Mellencamp was right when he sang that America is something to see. We've got something for everyone: karaoke songs for the Japanese, disaster recovery for Mexican "migrant workers", democracy for the assorted villainous dictatorships, and factory jobs for people in whichever country can lower their standards fast enough. Apparently, what we've got for Israel is chocolate chip cookies.


While having a quick lunch at the local kosher deli before hopping my flight to Brooklyn "Ir HaKodesh" (the Holy City), I looked around to see if there were any snacks I might like to take on the plane. My favorite airline (or should I say "jetline"?) recently stopped giving the snack that lured me to using them, so I thought I might supplement the emptiness with something. As I am a very picky eater, I have to be careful when buying things that I've never eaten before. After grabbing a few things, my eyes made their way to a bag of chocolate chip cookies with only Hebrew writing. The writing said "kmo b'amerika" (like in America), so I thought, "Sounds safe enough to me". While waiting in the terminal to board my flight, I opened the bag of cookies. As I put the first cookie into my mouth, the initial shock of extreme hardness subsided as the cookie turned to sawdust with the first bite. "Is this what Israelis think American cookies taste like?!?!" I wondered, as I quickly tossed the bag into the trash. Like someone with memory loss, I failed to remember a vital lesson: the remake is rarely as good as the original, if the original is even any good in the first place.

This tiny experience made me think about how representative it is of all American exports. We are quick to give work to "migrant workers" that flood communities after disasters, but how many Americans do we have sitting at home without jobs? As far as exporting democracy, do I even have to write about the outcomes? Not only have we failed to understand what it takes to create a stable democracy (Hello, middle class anyone?), but we have become so self-righteous that we ignore our own past and criticize others. The late, great Kurt Vonnegut said it best when he explained the lesson he wanted to give Iraq about democracy. "... after a hundred years, you have to let your slaves go. And, after a hundred and fifty years, you have to let your women vote. And, at the beginning, quite a bit of genocide and ethnic cleansing is quite okay, and that's what's going on now." Said mockingly, Vonnegut's words are sadly true. From the period of our country's stance of isolationism, we have become the exporters of everything hip and trendy, but people on both sides rarely see the underlying results of what we give them. Southeast Asian countries would rather have American factories destroy their entire domestic wildlife and landscape than see a factory built in another country. Well, I suppose local people will need that 10¢ an hour to buy food once the pollution kills off local vegetation (let's forget "cause and effect", because it seems most people have). I will, however, offer a warning to these consumers who are new to the global market: when you start seeing the "Vietnamese noodles with fresh vegetables" packages in your (recently) local grocer's freezer, and you take them home to heat them up in your (newly needed) microwave, remember that the remake is never as good as the original.

Don't Know What You've Got 'Til It's Gone

Selective memory…I don’t think I have it, but when I look back on my time here in Anytown, USA, I can’t remember anything negative. Even the times that had the potential to leave me with a bad taste in my mouth seem to make me laugh. Perhaps this is because I know that each step I took here was part of the universal narrative, and all of the experiences I had were needed to nourish my soul so that it might complete its unique task. It’s in looking back that we are most able to see the goodness of what we experienced. While going through things, we tend to fail to see the “big picture”, concentrating on our fears and discomfort. The end, though, is where we usually discover the hidden meaning.

Maybe it’s just the nature of humans not to be able to see what’s really going on until it passes. Even the great Moshe Rabbeinu (Moses) seems to have been a victim of his physicality in this sense. When Moshe asks G-d to see His “way, that I may know You,” G-d said that He would cause His “goodness” to pass before Moshe, but alas, G-d states that man cannot see His face and live. By allowing Moshe to see the “goodness” of G-d, the Rambam writes that G-d showed Moshe the entirety of creation: the interactions of all creatures and environments, and the purpose of each organism in the whole scheme of the universe. This, according to the Rambam, is gathered from the creation story, where G-d sees all that was created, and calls it “good”. This is the way to perceive G-d, by seeing the fullness and awesomeness of creation. By looking back at what G-d has done, we are given a greater glimpse at the Creator.

To see this goodness, one need not look far. Rabbi Eliezer the Great once commented that G-d created the universe by stretching the cloth of His garment across the expansive emptiness. While clearly not literal in a way that we can understand, the imagery of this statement brings a greater appreciation of the “goodness” of creation, as being part of the garment that clothes the Ein Sof (endless presence of G-d).

Undoubtedly, we have all commented at the end of a party or some other event, “Wow, I had such a great time,” but how often do we stop in the middle to remind ourselves and those around us, “What we’re doing right now is really great”? Perhaps it is something beyond our control; gashmius (physicality) blocks us, and we cannot see past the moment. In fact, the kabbalist Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan z”l said that this is the pain and confusion associated with the soul leaving the body. When we are removed from our physicality, we are more clearly able to see the big picture as knowledge is flowing all around our souls. For those souls of people who did actions (sins) which drew their souls further from this knowledge, they have more difficulty and “pain” doing this, and the hardship of this transition purges their soul until it is able to handle a greater union with its Essence.

Reb Menachem Mendl, the great Kotzker rebbe zt”l, held the belief that our physicality hampers our ability to sense and understand the Divine, and this is why we can only begin to understand things once we move past them. As I come to the last few days of my time in Anytown, I can look back and see how my life has brought me to this point. My hindsight gives me an immense appreciation and sense of yiras shamayim (awe of Heaven). Everything has imparted invaluable wisdom and understanding, and the benefit has been huge. Now I get to continue to go where the current takes me, floating on to the next stage where a new task awaits, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll be a little more aware of the holiness as it happens.

Hey, Don't I Know You From Somewhere?

Preparation is a big thing in Judaism. Before we do anything, we prepare. Before Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur, we begin long daily services to prepare our souls for judgment through the meditative repentance of slichos. Before Pesach, we clean our belongings…everything from the family car to the pages of any books that might have been open while eating, lest we miss a speck of chometz (leven). In the case of Shabbos, we immediately begin to prepare for the next one as soon as the current Shabbos ends. Not only does this pertain to holidays, but also to every-day commandments.



Before morning prayers, we chant Tehillim (Psalms) and other Nach-based liturgy called “Pesukei d’Zimra”, or “Verses of Praise”. The Noam Elimelech (early Chasidic commentator) relates the word for “praiseful song” (zimra) to the word for “pruning” (zamar). How can we make sense of the connection between these words? The Noam Elimelech finds that the connection is that the two hold the same quality: the ability to remove that which is bad. For the Noam Elimelech, the purpose of preparation was to rid oneself of the negative thoughts that get in the way of deeply connecting to the moment. The same is true with “Pesukei d’Zimra”. The verses are put in place to be a meditative and forceful way of ridding the mind of clutter before really getting down to business (i.e. praying with deep intent).

Haman, the villain of the story of Esther, tried to have the Jews of Persia killed by saying that they went against the king. He claimed that every day the Jews refused to work, saying “Today is Pesach”, and “Today is Shabbos”. In regard to Haman’s accusation, the Noam Elimelech admits that the reality of this claim is impossible. The Jews of the exile would certainly not lie, claiming that it is a Holy Day when it wasn’t true. Instead, Reb Elimelech states that immense preparation was the source of the Jews’ claims. Because they had such intent when preparing for a mitzvah, it was as if they were already fulfilling it. Many of that day’s Jews prepared so carefully and deeply for Shabbos, that not a day went by without moving them into the awe and relaxation of Shabbos. Similarly, their deep reflection and repentance over even the minor “crumbs” of sins made everyday like Pesach.



Because we are human beings, and we allow our imperfection to cloud our merit, we cannot all assume that our preparation is perfect, and we might still find ourselves lacking. What can be done to lessen our inability to fully “prune” the negative klippos (vessels) reminding us of our doubts? The comments of the Gemara on this weeks parsha (Torah portion) answer this. We see in the parsha that, as Yaakov (Jacob) calls his sons around him to tell them the secrets of the “End of Days”, the shechina (“Divine Presence”) leaves Yaakov. Shocked that the shechina would leave him, Yaakov begins to worry that perhaps one of his sons was unworthy to hear such secrets, a son akin to Eisav and Yishmoel (Esau and Ishmael). Sensing their father’s fears, Yaakov’s twelve sons recite, “Shema Yisroel, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad” (“Hear, oh Israel, the Lord our G-d, the Lord is one”). In response to this, Yaakov responds “Baruch Shem K’vod Malchuso L’olam V’oed” (“Blessed is the name of his glorious kingdom for all eternity”).

With such an integral exchange originating in this form, it seems strange that it is not found in the Written Torah (as opposed to the Oral Tradition). The reason rests in the purpose of uttering the phrase. When Yaakov said the words, he was, in a sense, admitting his momentary fade through his worries about the quality of his children. In fact, Reb Moshe Feinstein z”l says that this is the deeper meaning of the order and inclusion of the exchange at the central position of daily prayer. When they said, “Shema, Yisroel”, Yaakov’s sons broke decorum and addressed their father by his name. However, this name was not just any name; it was the name he received from the angel, indicating that he is one who “wrestles with G-d”. When addressing this quality in their father, they reminded him that just as he has faith and a direct relationship with the Ultimate Truth, so did they. In his reply, Yaakov uses the image and reminder of the eternality and fullness of G-d’s promise to revive him. This is true of the verses inclusion in our own prayer, we, in the first verse, speak to ourselves (we are each part of Yisroel, those who wrestle with G-d), and remind ourselves that our essence still keeps faith with the truth. As a means of remediation for our perceived lack of faith and dulling from the world, we recite Yaakov’s revitalizing claim, that we are part of an eternal system, thus reawakening our sense of reverence for G-d.

The same is true of when we do mitzvos improperly or make mistakes as a result of lack of preparation and intent. When one makes an accidental bracha (blessing) in vain, and thereby vocalizes the full name of G-d aloud without cause, the person is supposed to say “Baruch shem k’vod…”, the words uttered by Yaakov to revitalize himself. Therefore, though we have the potential to engulf ourselves so much in the preparation of mitzvos that we make no mistake, there is still a way to alleviate physical human shame that the opposite might cause, and that is by refocusing on the essential truth. However, even when doing this, we must whisper the words. Reb Moshe Feinstein, z”l, says that this is because we should, essentially, “be ashamed” of our need to have this internal dialogue. How could a person, something created in the image of G-d (b’tzelem Elokim), have such doubts? Therefore, we are not permitted to speak the words out lout, with the fear that we might internalize too much of the shame by dwelling on this admittance.

Just as we should prepare for overtly spiritual acts, we must also prepare for that which we face in life. Before making a change, we should meditate upon that which is approaching, and on our current level and role (or “where we’re holding”, for those of the frummer velt). This preparation allows us to have sort of "Hello there, don't I know you? Oh yes, that's the real me" moments over and over again. It seems strange to be at a point where I need to do this. All of my life things have been, more or less, pretty secure. Now, however, I am making a choice to take myself across the globe to sit in a dusty classroom in a war-torn country, where I will spend all day learning more intently to raise the fallen sparks of Creation, to “prune back" the klipos of negative forces with “(preparative) songs of praise“. I will take one step closer to finding the ability to prepare with perfect intention; to live a more connected life, bringing me to a greater knowledge of the world, myself, and G-d in general. The more this is done, and truly integrated into our lives, the more we come to see and know G-d in the preparation as well as the mitzvah, the pain as well as the pleasure…the journey as well as the answer.

As the Rambam said in his Moreh Nevuchim, “…man’s love of G-d is identical with his knowledge of Him”…



(Perhaps I've been reading too much of the Baal HaSulam.)

Look At Me!! Look At Me!!

Look at me! I started a blog!


I hope to use this as a way to keep those in America in touch with my time in Israel. However rare or often I get the chance, I will update with thoughts and pictures in relation to what's going on in my life, Israel, yeshiva, or just whatever happens to be floating around in my head.



It is such a fascinating time to be going to Israel! The political scientist inside of me is excited to be a direct witness to a war and an election. Watching the election process in America is interesting enough, but my heart can barely contain the joy of observing the process in a country with such a volatile political landscape! The war, while perhaps frightening, is far enough away to not be felt directly, but still present enough to be acknowledged. As the year goes on, I'm (sadly) sure that violence and politics will play a role in what I write. I will also have the chance to watch America from the outside. While I never miss a chance to divert from popular opinion and criticize America, I don't necessarily think that an outsider's view will make me more critical; perhaps the opposite will be true. Seeing the export of ideas, feeling the importance of the American government for stability in Israel, and recognizing that no country is like America may give me a previously unknown sense of pride. However, my removal from a bombardment of (understandable) media outlets may cause many of the events to go unnoticed.

Living in Israel is likely to transform my views on Israel. While I recognize the legitimacy of Israel as a state, and understand that the country was born out of an international tragedy, I have a hard time feeling comfortable with the notion of a "modern" Jewish state. From the foundation of the the current state, huge mistakes were made with regard to refugees, and Israel continues to suffer from these mistakes. Even today, Israel continues to (in my opinion) compromise where they should stand firm, while being strong where they have room to compromise. I also have religious pause in relation to the State of Israel, as the Talmud in Kesubos makes a strong statement with regard to the appropriate time for the creation of a "Jewish state". However, whether religiously sanctioned or not, the State of Israel is important to Jews, and any true threat to her security is a sakana for klal Yisroel. The balancing of these ideas, and the standpoint of a person who depends upon Israel for safety may change as my time and experiences grow.

My religious knowledge, though certainly not limited or immature, will certainly be expanded while in Israel. Attending a chareidi (ultra-Orthodox) yeshiva is sure to help in this expansion. However, since the yeshiva is so integrated into the local neighborhood, with classrooms, synagogues, and residential apartments (all belonging to the yeshiva) being spread all over the area, I will surely perceive my interesting location. The neighborhood of the yeshiva is one of the oldest neighborhoods outside of the Old City, having been built two centuries ago by followers of the Gra (Gaon of Vilna) who left Lithuania. Over the years, the area has undergone growth, making it a crossroads for religious and secular Jerusalem. To the west and northwest of the neighborhood, the city is largely religious, with complete modesty and religious observance. However, to the south and east are located areas with mostly secular (traditional at best) residents, and the bustling center of Jerusalem is mere blocks away.

All of these things and more will be written about during the course of my stay. I hope to use this medium to share my trip with you more fully, so that you get a more "inside" sense of whats happening.