New Car, Caviar, Four Star Daydream

Quid, bucks, pesos...whatever you call it, it seems that everyone thinks they need just a little bit more. As for Israel, flocks of recently-released soldiers go to the U.S.A. every year to work in malls and make whatever money they can so that they can come back to Israel and spend it on items that are priced incorrectly. You see, in Israel the pricing doesn't match the currency. Israel's currency is the shekel, which is made up of 100 agorot, just as the dollar is made up of 100 cents. However, unlike in America, Israel has discontinued the usage of any agorot coins except for 10 and 50. This would seem to work fine, except for the fact that pricing has not reflected the change. Since you cannot possibly pay 9.95, and a store cannot possibly give you 5 agorot back if you give them 10 shekels, the store always steals form you. This evening, as my roommate and I were getting ready for melave malka (the meal after Shabbos), I opened the (newly re-installed) refrigerator to find that he had also purcahsed the same chumus as I had, only his was priced 4.95 and mine was priced 4.99. I wasn't sure if I should feel bad that his cost 4 agorot less, or happy that the store stole 4 agorot less from me in the end.

This Shabbos, as I ate lunch with my roommate by the amazing Novominsk couple down the street, the husband (a man who is as religious, but probably as hip, as one can get) turned the conversation from the usual topics of Dire Straights, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, jazz, and yarmulke-wearing-women, to a strong statement brought out from this week's parsha. In parshas Vayikra, the Torah portion read this Shabbos, outlines are given regarding the types of korbanos (offerings) that are to be brought, as was addressed in the previous post. When dealing with the korban olah, the "burnt offering" (which actually means "elevated offering" and not "burnt offering"), we are given three ways of giving the korban. First, if a person is of substantial wealth, they are to offer something from their flock of cattle or sheep. If they could not afford this, they could bring doves. For the poorest people in society, the offering was made from flour and oil. Because the latter offering, the korban mincha, is form the depths of the person, mefarshim (commentators) make it clear that this is an offering that is more dear to G-d.

According to the Chasam Sofer, the poor person is not easily able to offer the korban mincha. First of all, "poor" in their sense is not simply low income. These were people who completely depended upon the Torah obligations on society in order to survive. Therefore, the flour was made by the people who gave the korban mincha. This means that they had to harvest the wheat on the corners of the field (which the Torah requires be left on all fields for poor people), then worked in their home, and the same with the oil. For a poor person, their offering was extra work, and took out of their vital food storage. Because it required so much effort, eventhough it was not what others might consider "top notch", this is why it was so dear to Hashem.

My host continued by saying that Chazal offers a warning to those giving korbanos, that they should be sure to have kavanah (intention) when giving them. Many have understood this to mean that the poor person, while doing so much work to present the korban, should not be diverted by the work, but should remember to have proper intention. However, the heiliger Kotzker Rebbe zt"l says that this is a warning for the wealthy person. If you are poor, and you korban takes so much effort, how could anyone believe that you wouldn't give it with the proper understanding, and even deeper personal meaning? For the wealthy person, who walks down the main street with their fattest cow on the way to offer such a wonderful korban, the Kotzker Rebbe says that they are the ones who need to be reminded of the real meaning behind the mitzvah.

My host offered another interesting, amazingly powerful vort on this. Based on the Torah, for a wealthy person (who is able to give of the choicest animal in their flock) to give the korban mincha (like a poor person) is not only inappropriate, but mocks the entire system and is an aveirah (grievous misdeed). The Chofetz Chaim draws a parallel with what we commonly view as replacing korbanos: tzedakah (charity). For a poor person to give even the most basic, tiny amount of tzedakah, Hakadosh Baruch Hu takes great pleasure in this. However, when someone has the ability to give large amounts of charity, yet gives only a little, they are not only failing to do what they could, but they are doing an aveirah. This, as well as the related example with the animals, is because Hashem gives us everything for a purpose, and that purpose is to use it to elevate the world. As he finished giving over this last vort, he looked at me and said, "I mean, this wasn't even coming from a Chasidishe Rebbe! It was the Chofetz Chaim! What a vort!" What a vort indeed.

I've Been Smiling Lately...

As the previous yeshiva period ended yesterday, I had all the time in the world to do whatever I wanted today. Luckily, today was one of the nicest days since I've been in Israel. Everywhere there was sunshine, people out on the streets, and a cool breeze blowing across the city. Times like these, where I can just wander around with my thoughts and Yerushalayim, make me realize how special this city is. Everything has as many sides are there are eyes to see them. Being here, I've seen Israel with both of mine: an irreligious occupier on the one hand, and a strangely happy place, full of life and energy on the other. However, I can never quite place what it is about Israel that brings people back. One might say the history, or the religious significance, but those are really just for tourists and extremists in the West Bank. All I can say about Israel is that it is full of life. It is full of life in a way that America isn't. Perhaps that is the result of living a life where people on all (not both, there is never simple duality) sides of the conflict face death, but it infuses Israel with something that is palpable. Author Jack Kerouac once said, "The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars...and everybody goes 'Awww!'" If he wanted to find a place like the person he was seeking, Israel would certainly be that place. Holiness can be felt in the air.

In this week's parsha, we begin to read about the korbanos (offerings) that are to be brought in the beis hamikdash (temple). Today, as I sat in the Old City, looking out on the sight where the temple once stood and korbanos were offered, it was easy to get lost in the whole situation, thinking about that which used to be carried out on the very spot where I sat. The Torah says that a person is to bring an offering "from animals, from cattle, or from the flock". Why does the Torah state animals, and then name two things that are obviously covered under the category of "animals"? Rashi (the greatest commentator on the basic meaning of the Torah) says that this was to show that not all animals are acceptable, but only those that are domesticated among the flocks of Klal Yisroel. What is the significance of this, why not all animals, such as those captured in hunting or through effort? The Medrash Tanchuma says that this is to show that all G-d wants is that which is easily available. To initially draw close to HaKadosh Baruch Hu, we need only give that which we already have in our possession. Afterall, it was G-d who gave it to us in the first place, and it was meant to be used for something greater.

Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis tells a related story about using whatever we have in our immediate possession to form a bond with G-d. Once, while waiting in the car for a friend on 13th Avenue in Boro Park, she saw an older Jewish woman begging for money on the street. After receiving money from several people, the lady moved to the side, began eating something small for lunch, and came to blend in with the crowd. Soon, an elderly man walked down the street, asking for money as the woman had just done. When he approached the lady, not knowing that she was in the same situation as he was, he asked her for money. Immediately, the woman reached into her pockets and gave the elderly man charity. This, remarked Rebbetzin Jungreis, is the mark of a real, deep-down religious Jew. This is a person who knows that what we have is only from G-d, and we must use it as G-d tells us.


This week's Torah portion goes further to say that with each one of the offerings, we should bring salt. The Midrash explains that when the world was created, and the "lower waters" were split from the "upper waters", the lower waters were upset that they were left in the physical world, seemingly further away from the revealed Divine. G-d evened this out by noting that each korban (offering) would have to be brought with salt, which is taken from the waters of the earth. If this is a way of rectifying the split between the two waters, why not have sea water given with every offering instead of salt, something that only comes out of the water? Rabbi Yaakov Kamenetsky zt"l says that this is exactly the point! The water itself is elevated simply through evaporation, an easy process. That which is left behind is the salt, which does not naturally climb on its own. In this requirement, G-d is telling us that we should offer up those parts of us not naturally drawn to spirituality and elevation. When we work to bring that which we have difficulty carrying out of gashmius (physicality), this is the greatest offering.

Now we can see a glimpse of the importance and relevance of a korban (offering). In an attempt to get ourselves back on the right path, we must first offer up that which is easily attained, and has already been put in our midst by G-d to create the initial connection. This might be our quickness to feel spirituality in song, or meditation, or religious study, or giving charity. In fact, Rebbe Nachman of Breslov said that giving charity makes up for multitudes of misdeeds, and the reason can be understood in light of this. As it is using something granted to us by G-d to open a channel of holiness in this world, and tugging our heart to move further in the right direction. Once we begin to engage in these things, and we feel ourselves open up to HaKadosh Baruch Hu once more, then we work to elevate whatever brought us to sin, that which is not naturally inclined to align itself with G-d, and in this "salt" is found our individualized task in this world. The whole system of korbanos (offerings) exists to change us internally and bring us even closer to G-d. This is why an offering is called a "korban", which has the same root as the word "karov", meaning "close" as they are meant to bring us nearer to G-d. Now it becomes more clear why, in the Nevi'im (Prophets) it says that more than sacrifices, G-d prefers humble people, contrite hearts, and repentent souls, because this is the intended result of the offerings.

With the arrival of the new Hebrew month of Nissan, may we all strive harder to elevate that which does not easily move upward, so that we can look beyond ourselves, see the life swirling all around us, and uplift the universe to see the final redemption soon, in our days. Omayn.

Cow Juice in a Sack

As I previously wrote that I would try to update on the things that I find different about Israel, I have been meaning to make a new post for it for the last week or so. I was standing at a street corner waiting for the light to change (okay, so I was really waiting for a long enough break in traffic to dart across, light change or not) and an American girl next to me was talking to her friend about her blog about Israel. She said that each post she tries to give an interesting or random fact about Israel at the end. Maybe I will do that, but until then....

1. In Israel, NO ONE wants to give change. If something costs 5 shekels, you better have 5 shekels on you. One day, while it was raining, I decided that I absolutely MUST go out an purchase an adapter for the outlet. I went first to a small shop near my apartment. As they were closed, I decided to walk just a little further to another similiar place. Again, closed. I decided to try one more shop, and it happened to be open. Already annoyed because I was wet, I tried my best to describe what I was needing without knowing the actual word for it in Hebrew. Seeing that this wasn't going well, I happened to see the adapter under the counter and pointed. He took them out and handed me one, marked 4 shekels. I handed him a 20, and he asked if I hd anything smaller. Honestly not having anything else, I told him that I didn't. He began searching high and low looking for change, he took out his own wallet, asked other customers...finally, I got so tired of waiting, watching the rain outside get worse, that I took a second adapter just so he could make change. Knowing Israelis, I doubt that it was such a big deal for him to make change, but so it goes.

2. Israelis express themselves much differently. My roommate went to the shuk (Middle Eastern, open-air market that sells everything from lettuce to underwear) to buy Crocs. Clearly not REAL Crocs, but he needed something to wear around the apartment. When he walked into the "store", he asked the man if the had Crocs. Saying that they did, the store attendant asked, "Which?" to which my roommate replied, "Black". The Israeli got a strange look on his face, and barked back, "Which SIZE?" Israelis simply aren't soft people. A famous joke goes, "An American, a Russian, a Chinese persion, and an Israeli were asked for their opinions on the meat shortage. The American replied, 'What is a shortage?', the Russian replied, 'What is meat?', the Chinese person replied, 'What is an opinion?', and the Israeli replied, 'What is 'excuse me'?'" Too true...

3. In Israel, milk comes in a bag. Yes, a bag. When you buy it, you put it in some plastic container and slice a corner off so that you can pour it. This still makes me cringe when I see it.

Nahag Chadash!

This morning, while everyone was in the middle of hurrying back to yeshiva after breakfast, the air raid sirens went off in Jerusalem. Luckily, I had read the newspaper and noticed a small write-up stating that a test would be conducted this morning. However, it was clear that many had absolutely no idea about the test. In the yeshiva, people asked each other if they had heard the sirens, and what the cause had been. I spoke to several people who hadn't even heard the sirens go off. It sure is a good thing that these sirens didn't need to be heard. What if they had been real? Too bad, I guess.

After the sirens stopped, I realized that they weren't as exciting as I had expected them to be. It was simply a constant, loud whining noise that made it sound like the end of the world was approaching, but no one really stirred. I guess in Israel people don't need a reminder that it can all be over at any minute. Actually, it is something that all Jews are supposed to remember. According to Jewish law, we are supposed to repent on the day before our death, so that we confess and open ourselves up to real truth. Since we clearly do not know on which day we will die, the kaballah tells us to do this each day. This is why Sephardic Jews, as well as Chasidim, say vidui (a confession pray) everyday toward the end of Shacharis and Mincha (the morning and afternoon prayer services). This allows us to remind ourselves of our mortality in this world, and gives us a renewed perspective.


This renewed perspective should ideally be reinforced by the teaching and encouragement of a manhig. A manhig is a tzadik who imparts minhagim and insight to their followers. What exactly manhig and minhag mean in English is difficult to relate. Generally, one translates the word "minhag" into a tradition, or a uniquely Sephardic, German, Satmar, Russian (and the list goes on and on and on) way of doing something required in Judaism. Many times, it may not even be something required, but simply an act or word or pause used to impart a specific idea or emotion into doing something else that is required. While this translation of minhag as tradition might be common, a more expanded understanding of the word can be seen when looking at a common sign on Israeli cars: Nahag Chadash. Nahag Chadash means "new driver", with the root of the word minhag also forming the word for "drive". So, in essence, a manhig is clearly more than someone who imparts tradition, but actually leads those who find power and conviction in such a person, and the minhagim are more than ways of doing things, but actually help to form ones Jewish experience and understanding.

Lately, as I have thought more about what it really means, it has become evident that someone like this is really hard to find. There are certainly thousand upon thousands of people who find themselves attached to this rebbe or that rabbi because they were simply born to parents who were, or perhaps their parents followed so-and-so's father. However, what does this mean for people who think and yearn for something more? I know plenty of people who, after having been born into such a situation where a particularly holy rabbi died and was replaced by a successor, found themselves without a manhig. Had they been more dedicated to the minhag than the manhig, they might have been able to stay and accept that status quoa. This brings me to a question that I wonder over and over again: what is the connection between a minhag and a manhig? Can one follow a manhig who has different minhagim? If you aren't "driven" by these minhagim, then what in the manhig really drives a person?


For someone who follows the derech of Rebbe Nachman (and when I say follows, I mean really; none of this "dancing on cars" business), the answer is more simple. The tzadik Rebbe Nachman of Breslov did not encourage his followers to take on any of his minhagim. The way each person found meaning in a particular practice was expected to be unique, as each student of the Rebbe's was unique. This continues to today, where Breslover Chasidus has several groups, each with their own manhig, and each with members who may or may not share minhagim. The common bond among real Breslov is the same as Rebbe Nachman zt"l expected of his original students: simcha (joy). For Rebbe Nachman, following Jewish law correctly was more important than with what peculiarity one followed it, but the one point he always stressed was "ivdu es HaShem b'simcha", to serve G-d in joy. This way of living, taught Rebbe Nachman, can save a person from countless misdeeds.

Another tzadik, and a manhig for many, many Chasidim around the world, also shows his preference for reality and belief over following minhagim that are simply status quoa. This rebbe, who rebuilt the Chasidus of his ancestors in Israel, found himself in a unique position. Younger than all other rebbes, he came to view problems of secularization and modernity with new eyes. While affiliated with a notoriously anti-Zionist group known as the Eidah HaChareidis, he accepted money for his schools from the Israel government in the face of claims that doing so was against Judaism. When the Eidah put more pressure on him to fall back in line with the status quoa, he refused, and announced that his Chasidus would no longer follow the rulings and leadership of the Eidah. This led him to create his own system of religious courts and kosher supervision. In addition, he encouraged his Chasidim to not sit and complain about the direction in which secular, anti-Torah parties were leading the Israeli government, but to vote against these parties and replace the parliament members with religious people who would stand against the secular and crushingly Zionist attitudes. This distanced him further from other Chasidic groups, some of which even attempted to slander his reputation, but he didn't budge.


Today, his Chasidus runs a successful outreach program for secular Jews looking to become religious. Instead of focusing on how to make new "Chasidim of the rebbe", the yeshivos look at creating Torah observant Jews who happen to look to the rebbe (or any rebbe) for guidance and inspiration, with or without taking on the manhig's particular minhagim. Even in the wake of a recent terror attack on an overtly Zionist yeshiva, with an ideology seemingly worlds apart from his own, the rebbe was the only Chasidic leader to visit victims in the hospital, knowing that achdus (unity) and real ahavas Yisroel (love of a fellow Jew) were more important than age-old stances that might separate someone like him from a someone truly in need. He has also recently encouraged his Chasidim to work in jobs that require secular education, and allowed an "internet gemach" (organization that helps those who do not have access to this service privately) to exist. Talk about a nahag chadash!

Perhaps the mark of a real manhig is not in how they teach you to hold the kiddush cup in your hand, but in how they teach you to hold another human being in your heart. Afterall, times change, and it is important to have someone who is as equally dedicated to truth as he is pragmatic. A story goes that when a Chosid close to the Belzer Rebbe saw him doing things differently from the previous Belzer rebbe, he became concerned. Each day he watched closely to see if he was right, and each day he found more and more minhagim and practices that the new rebbe did differently. Finally, after watching for a while, the Chosid gained enough courage to ask the rebbe about this. "Rebbe," inquired the Chosid, "I see that you do things different from the previous rebbe. Can I ask why this is?" The rebbe smiled, understanding what the Chosid meant, but gave him an elightening answer. "I do nothing different from the previous rebbe," he replied. "Just as the previous rebbe did things differently than the rebbe before him, so too I do things differently than the rebbe before me." Indeed, there really is no difference. May we all be zoche to find a manhig who drives us where it counts, and may we all, day after day, each come to approach the world with new eyes and a renewed spirit, a true nahag chadash.

Ad D'lo Yada

"Chayav inish l'besume ad d'lo yada" ("A person is required to drink until they cannot differentiate"). This is what the Gemara says with respect to Purim, that we should drink until we cannot tell the difference between "cursed is Haman" and "blessed is Mordechai", the evil and saintly characters in the story of Purim. It is well known that many people, especially those who are "less than religious", take this aspect of Purim to heart, but forget the rest of the inyanim of the holiday. Even for those who are religious, it may be hard to internalize the reality that Purim is such a holy day, even holier than Yom Kippur. In fact, the sages pointed out that even the name of Yom Kippur points to the fact that Purim is holier, as Yom Kippur can be taken to mean "yom ki'pur(im)", or "A Day that is Like Purim". This explains why many people fail to internalize the importance of the day, as the yetzer hara (bad inclination) is working especially hard on this day to keep people from spiritual elevation. However, the story of Purim holds endless meaning for us on both personal and communal levels.

The nature of Megillas Esther, the scroll that contains the story of Purim, is to shroud the holiness of the day in mystery. It is commonly pointed out that G-d is not mentioned directly in the story even once, and even what we call the "miracles" or Purim seem to be nothing more than natural happenings. Even the name of the megillah, and the name of the heroine chosen to serve as the center point of the story, is directly connected to this notion of being hidden: Esther. The name Esther shares the shoresh (root) with hester, which means hidden. It is exactly in this concealment that the holiness of the day is found.


This Purim, I spent alot of time walking around, seeing Purim from different locations and perspectives. I saw secular people in Mamilla, who turned Purim into a children's carnival during the day, while at night the area had served as a night club for secular Israeli youth. I also saw religious people laying on street corners in puddles of vomit. The dichotomy of Yerushalayim is an interesting thing, and I never get tired of walking between Ben Yehudah and Meah Shearim, as it brings me from one time and world to another. After leaving my meal in Ramat Eshkol, I had a long walk ahead of me, and I used my walk as an excuse to see what was going on in Meah Shearim. The first place I visited was Toldos Ahron, where the drinking seemed to be taking a real toll on the men, a few of whom were passed out along the walkway into the synagogue. Once inside, one could feel the excitement of the crowd, eventhough the rebbe had retired for the evening. After Toldos Ahron, I visited Toldos Avraham Yitzchok, where people were vomiting and crying all over the place. Most of them were teenagers, as the adults were in the beis medrash by the rebbe. However, before I could get all the way in, the crowd began to exit, and as firmly as I tried to stand and move against the crowd, the spilled alcohol and vomit on the floor made my attempts to move against the crowd worthless, and I slid along out the door. When I returned to my neighborhood, the main street was filled with people from my yeshiva. After watching their debauchery for a bit, I went back to my apartment and went to sleep.


It was once I was back in my apartment that I began to think more about the significance of the concealment surrounding the holiday of Purim. In the dvar Torah that I delivered at my meal, I spoke about the interesting way that Purim is handled during a leap year. On a leap year, there are two Adars (the month in which Purim falls), and while all other observances of Adar take place in the second Adar, Purim has a relationship to both months. While the fully observed Purim is in Adar II, there is a day called Purim Katan (small Purim) in the first Adar. According to the sages, when Haman was looking for a time to destroy the Jewish people, he picked Adar I of a leap year, assuming that religious observances (such as a date of Moshe Rabbeinu's death) would take place in Adar II, leaving there to be no redeeming quality about the month of Adar I. However, because Mordechai had ruach hakodesh, he was able to see this, and led the great rabbis of the day to change the leap year to the next, putting Haman's plan in the regular Adar, where the merit of Moshe Rabbeinu (Moses) would help the Jewish people. Because of this, each leap year we remember that Purim was originally "supposed" to be in Adar I.

Interestingly enough, the same Mordechai who did so many things to save the Jewish people, was originally looked down upon and viewed with suspicion. According to the Chasam Sofer, this was how the Jewish people viewed Gedolim from the time they received the Torah until Purim. As we know, it was only during Purim, centuries after the giving of the Torah, that the Jewish people came to fully accept the Oral Torah. The Chasam Sofer notes that this initial skepticism toward the Oral Torah is found in the Torah itself. When the Jewish people received the Torah from Sinai, they accepted, saying, "we will do, and we will understand", showing that whatever G-d wanted, the Jewish people were prepared to do. However, when the Jewish people complain about their inability to safely listen to G-d's voice, they tell Moshe do listen and then relate this portion of the Torah to them. With regard to this part of the Torah (the Oral Torah), the Jews switched their acceptance, and said, "we will hear, and then we will do". The Chasam Sofer points out that this means that would first decide if they liked what the Gadol HaDor said, and then they would act. This was the same until the generation of Purim, when they saw the Gadol's ability to use his knowledge and spiritual connection to lead the Jewish people to overturn a decree of death. At this point, they came to accept the Oral Torah fully, just as the Written Torah had been accepted at Har Sinai.

The Chasam Sofer says that the reason why the Jewish people were wary of the Sages is because they were people thought to be set apart from the rest of society, and didn't know about everyday life. The sages would be consulted regarding kashrus, Shabbos, taharas mishpacha, and other things that were "innately religious", but "chayei b'shouk", or "life in the marketplace" was not their realm of holy knowledge. The same applies to us today. People are very ready to admit that kashrus and Shabbos are places where religion has control, and that miracles such as the splitting of the Sea of Reeds are places where G-d is involved, but they seem to place less emphasis on the birth of a child, the changing of the seasons, or a simple breath. However, there is a principle in Judaism that the more "natural" (or hidden within the natural process) a miracle is, the more holy and elevated that miracle is. Because the Jews in the time of Purim were able to put their faith in the Tzadik Mordechai, they came to see the truth of "Ein Od Milvado" ("There is nothing except for G-d"), internalizing the reality that G-d extends into every area of existence. This led them to place their trust in Gedolim and fully accept the Oral Torah.


That is the greater meaning of Purim, and why the day soars higher than even Yom Kippur. Purim is the day that is meant to illuminate the deeper reality of life, to show the fullness of the truth that there is nothing except for G-d. The impact of internalizing this would have the same, if not a more enlightened, impact as teshuvah (repentance) on Yom Kippur. However, because we sadly cannot all elevate ourselves to such a revelation, Yom Kippur continues to exist. I once heard someone speak on the greatness of that which is hidden, and she said, "I think the more we get in touch with that state of not knowing the more humbled we are, the more we can listen, and the more we can surrender that there is more to all of this than we can ever possibly understand. The more hidden something is, the more holy it is." This is the message of Megillas Esther. It exists to be "maglei" the "hester panim" (to reveal the concealment of G-d in the world), where we do not know the difference between "cursed is Haman" and "blessed is Mordechai" because we exist in the reality that Hashem is all there is, and what could be holier than that?

And Moving Forward...

It seems that the comments in my previous blog were made prematurely. With what has gone on over this past week, now I can really say, "Its always something".

First of all, the toilet in our apartment had been leaking a little, and finally workmen were sent to deal with it. Instead of fixing the small crack, the workmen gave us a new toilet. Apparently, toilets in Israel do not come with seats, as we do not have one. Not only this, but when they gave us the new toilet, they didn't hook up the back correctly, and each time you flushed, a HUGE geyser shot out of the back toward the wall. Well, they came back to fix this today, and in the course of giving us a new tank, flooded the old tank out onto the floor, and under my roommate's bed.

Right now, I am sitting watch in my apartment because of the second thing that happened. At 2:15 am on the morning of my birthday, my apartment was woken up by someone banging and kicking our door, which eventually warped and came off of the hinges. Now, since the door doesn't lock when you want it to, and only locks when you close it (with no way to unlock it), I am sitting here to make sure that no one wanders in here and steals things. Both this event, and the previous toilet escapade, took place under a blanket of darkness, as our breaker box seems to enjoy tripping.


Today, seemingly unknown by many, another terrorist on a bulldozer attempted to crush a police car and a bus on a street which forms the edge of the park across from me. Because the park is large, it didn't happen near enough to impact things by me, but it happened none the less.

At times like this, when it seems like you can't make a turn without something going wrong, taking time to pull yourself out of everything and just relax and reflect is nice. This is something amazing about Judaism. Three times a day, once a week, and any time we strike a tune in our heads, we can escape the "physicality", remind ourselves that there's more to the story than we all see, and bring ourselves back to our center.

Each day, we are commanded to pray three times at specific times, and the sages gave us specific formats and words to use for these prayers. The times (early morning, afternoon, and night) operate to reinforce our strength and remind us of the greatness of Hakadosh Baruch Hu (the morning prayer serving to energize us and instruct us before we start our day, the afternoon prayer giving us a stopping point to reflect smack in the middle of the day, and the prayer at night allowing us to cleanse ourselves of the regular grabage we collect through living in Olam HaSheker).

The notion of tefillah (often translated as "prayer") in Judaism is completely devoted to "centering" the person who participates in the prayer. The verb form of the word generally used for prayer is reflexive, meaning that it has to do with the pray-er, not so much the pray-ee. The word itself does not connote the non-Jewish ideas of asking for things, pleading on behalf of this or that, and generally expressing personal desires. There is room for that in Judaism, but it is not the main purpose of the fixed "prayer". The word, instead, has to do with turning into ourselves, seeing what's going on, seeing where we are lacking, and reminding ourselves what the world is truly all about. We can see this time and again in the siddur (prayer book), which is made up of ordered verses from the Torah and teachings from the Mishna, as well as the Amidah, which is a central personal prayer composed by sages.

Each day, or more correctly, each time we pray, when we reach read these verses, we can see where we are holding in our own spirituality, and where we need work. "What did that just say? Do I really agree with that? What does it really mean? If I don't agree, what's lacking in me today that this statement doesn't click? If I do agree, what strides have I made to get to this point?" Reflecting before, during, and after praying, which was done extensively by the tzadikim in previous generations, really can increase our sense of self, and add to the meditation of tefillah so that we can better reach our goal.

Aside from tefillah, Shabbos offers a huge, 25-hour opportunity to step back from the stress and shallowness of everyday life and devote everything to reflection. When Shabbos begins, we immediately abandon the average in favor of the holy. Shabbos allows us to get back in touch with the Source and re-energize our souls. Forbidden from participating in countless weekday activities, we are free to truly get in touch with ourselves. With the wealth of Jewish songs, meditations, Tehillim (Psalms), and intensity in performing mitzvos, it is easy to carry this over into any moment where one needs to be centered. Simply humming a tune can move us from Brooklyn 2008 to Galicia 1850, and remind us that everything we do is connected forward and backward, showing us our place in whole of creation.


Many of us may not be at this point right now, but Judaism is all about growth. If we simply open a tiny part of ourselves to growth, it will spread across every area of our lives. Moving forward is what all of this is about; never believing the world when it screams how amazing you are, as the Gemara says. In an interesting quote which has shychus to a previous post, I read a great explanation as to what a Chusid is, and it is closely related to "moving forward". In a book by Rabbi Avraham Twersky, he records a small discussion between two Chasidim:

One Chusid turns to the other, "Who is a Chusid?"
"A Chusid," the other replied, "is someone who wants to be a Chusid."
"But who wouldn't want to be a Chusid?" asked the first.
The second Chusid replied, "Someone who already thinks he is a Chusid."

Oooh Oooh Oooh Oooh, Ayi Yiyi

Once upon a time, on a hot summer day, a fox and a lion were sitting bored in the forest. Looking for something to do, they decided to terrorize their favorite target: the rabbit. Not wanting to attack him unprovoked, the two came up with an idea. “When he answers the door,” said the lion, “if he isn’t wearing a hat, we’ll ask ‘Why aren’t you wearing a hat?’ and punch him. If he is wearing one, then we’ll ask the opposite and punch him.” The lion and the fox decided that this was a good plan, and they headed to the rabbit’s house. When they knocked on the door, the unsuspecting rabbit answered, not wearing a hat. “Why aren’t you wearing a hat!?!” the two asked, and they punched him.

Weeks later, the lion and fox were once again bored, looking for a way to entertain themselves. They decided that the rabbit was an easy target, but wanted a new reason to have their fun. “This time,” said the fox, “we can ask for cigarettes. If he gives us with a filter, we’ll say, ‘Why not without a filter?’ and punch him. If he gives us cigarettes without a filter, we’ll say, ‘Why not with a filter?’ and punch him.” So, the fox and the lion once again found themselves at the door of the rabbit’s house. They rang the door bell, and the rabbit soon answered. “Hello, do you have any cigarettes?” asked the lion. “Yes,” replied the rabbit, “but do you want them with a filter, or without?” In shock, the lion exclaimed, “Why aren’t you wearing a hat?!?!” and punched the rabbit. Moral of the story: it's always something.

There certainly was something tonight as I waited for the bus to Ashdod. Two Israelis who spent the better part of their recent lives in Anytown, USA got married tonight, and several people from home came for the wedding. Over Shabbos, about 15 of us stayed in a nice, American-like (THANK G-D!) apartment in the Old City, which overlooked the Kosel (Western Wall). Tonight, since I left later than everyone else, I took the bus from the Central Bus Station in Jerusalem. As I went through security and began going up the stairs, waves of people made their way down, and I soon turned around to join the crowd. The reason for the exodus? A bag was left unattended on the third floor of the building, where tickets are sold and busses are boarded. In Israel, any unattended bag is treated as a possible bomb, and the appropriate measures are taken. After standing amongst throngs of angry Israelis for 45 minutes, they decided that the bag was not a bomb, and we were allowed to scramble in order to buy tickets and catch our rides.

When I arrived in Ashdod at 9:15, the wedding ceremony that was called for 7:00 was just ending. In case this seems like a long ceremony, let me assure you that it is quite short. The reason for the time difference is that, in Israel, nothing starts on time. The wedding invitations said 7:00 pm, the rabbi told me to be there at 8:15, but it seems that the whole thing didn't start until 8:45 or so. This time frame was pushed by the fact that both the groom's and bride's families are Moroccan. Besides the timetable, there were other distinct features of the wedding:

1. Immediately after the ceremony, while still under the chuppah, the groom lit up a cigarette and began smoking. This went on while he was greeting all of the guests, many of whom were also smoking (and presumably had been throughout the ceremony), and took place indoors. Bottom line: Israel is like an ashtray, and anywhere that isn't innately flammable has hoards of smoking people.

2. The mechitza, usually used to separate men and women at religious weddings, was used to separate those people eating glatt kosher meals (more strictly supervised), and the rest of the people. This, in reality, meant separating the religious guests from the non-religious guests. Because the bride and groom are marginally religious, and the groom's family is somewhat more religious, there were general religious courtesies. However, while Jews of Middle Eastern origin are very traditional, there is often a serious breakdown when it comes to translating that tradition into the meaningful religious observance that it generally follows. This meant that after the initial dancing to welcome the groom into the room (performed by men), the lights went out, strobe lights came on, and men and women in jeans and tube tops replaced black-frocked men, and Cher and other American music replaced traditional Jewish wedding music. Because of the mechitza and the location, the mixed dancing could not be seen by the religious tables. However, the venue was "kind enough" to place large movie screens around the room, each giving a live video feed of the dancing. Lovely.

3. Because the families are Moroccan, the wedding had an overt Arabic feel. Sephardic weddings generally have a henna ceremony in the days preceding, and the women in the wedding party come to the ceremony with red smoosh in the palms of their hands. Also, during the initial dancing, and constantly throughout the night, the distinctly Arabic "LILILILILILILILILI" tongue-vibration-joyous-frightening noise could be heard from the old women.


All in all, this weekend was very nice. It was nice seeing people from home, including many who live in and around Jerusalem. It was also nice to be together by such a simcha (joyous event). Israel continues to be inviting, with a new experience around every corner. Okay, 3:35 am, time for bed.