The More I See, The Less I Know

This Shavuos seemed to drag on longer than those in the past. While the staying up on the first night did feel like it flew by, I think the following day-and-a-half took three days to pass. Initially, everything seemed to be going well: I had a nice, small meal followed by learning with one of my roommates. With the learning, I felt like I accomplished more than I have my whole time here, which was very inspiring. However, when it came time for shacharis (morning prayers), things took a turn…


Instead of staying in the yeshiva like most other people, I decided against the warnings of those around me, and my own reason, and opted to walk to the kosel. Once there, I realized just how much of a mistake I had made: I was confronted with not a sea, but a wall of people, thousands upon thousands, smashed into the area around the kosel. Not wanting to turn back, and completely exhausted, I fought the crowds to make it inside the kosel where there are bookcases normally holding siddurim (prayer books). Clearly, I knew that this wouldn’t be the case this morning, but I felt that something had to go well after such a night of learning. Finally, after digging and searching behind books that were behind books that were behind books, I found a small siddur. Having been awake for more than 20 hours, and being amongst a wall of people in the same state, the prayers were a mixture of exhaustion, frustration, and tiny glimpses of solace. After finishing, I walked back to my apartment totally alone with the sun rising around me, trying to beat the masses and get into bed.

Once back home, I got into bed only to have my roommate’s alarm go off three hours later, reminding us that we had a meal to attend. The meal was at the home of my favorite neighbor, and the lighthearted, relaxed nature of the meal (with the addition of lasagna, quiche, and cheesecake) was enough to alleviate my fatigue momentarily. After the meal, I committed myself to walking with my roommate to the kosel again. After the trek there and back, I finally got into bed at 4:30, and slept a whole three hours again. At night I went to a meal with people I didn’t know, only to find myself talking to the 30-something year old cousin of the hosts about annoying Israelis. After this meal, I went to Belz, which was packed beyond belief. Eventually, I made my way home and crawled into bed at 2:15. Through the rest of Shavuos (the second day of which was also Shabbos), I basically slept, only to wake up to feed myself and daven (pray).


While I was at the kosel, watching the interaction of the people and experiencing the way in which things were handled, I started thinking about something that I previously began to write about, but never finished. I could try to explain it on the basis that people were tired, but that wouldn’t explain other times in which the same holds true, and regardless, excuses only go so far. The issue is this: while religious people always seem ready, even proud, to take on stringencies in their religious practice, they never seem to want to take on any stringencies on the mitzvos dealing with interpersonal relations. This seems ridiculous to me, as human beings are the creations and extensions of G-d. Why would you miss a chance to engage with, be kind to, or express general love and compassion to such a creation? Indeed, the great sage Rabbi Hillel said that the whole point of the Torah can be summed up in the mitzvah to love another person as you love yourself, with the rest of the oceans of knowledge and practice meant to drive this point home. Many, however, sadly feel too proud that they keep more restrictions on themselves, bringing their religion to be about objects and stringencies instead of love and expressions of Divinity. This is something that I continue to struggle with, as I see it all around me, with people pushing, struggling to be first and right, and acting as if everything is going well in their learning and life. Can’t they feel that something is missing, or are they too far gone?

A story was told of the Satmar Rebbe, dealing with stringencies and the ways in which people view them. In the early 1930’s, a student from a more modern yeshiva came to visit the rebbe. This student, being from a more modern city and background, had his beard completely trimmed off, a leniency that no one in the yeshiva of the Satmar Rebbe would dream of taking. After the young man left, one of the rebbe’s students approached him, asking him how he could welcome and meet with a Jew who didn’t take his religious life seriously enough to be stringent in this area. Sensing the complete lack of understanding and truth in his student, the rebbe responded, “It is possible that when this young man reaches the World to Come, HaKadosh Baruch Hu will ask him, ‘Holy Jew, where is your beard?’, but it is also possible that when you come into the World to Come, you will be asked, ‘Holy beard, where is your Jew?’” The simple story speaks volumes.

Az Hinei Shuv Magiah...

Today, in addition to the normal, I found the most amazing place to have lunch. I had great eggplant lasagna, salad with spicy chumus, and butternut squash soup. The whole atmosphere was so un-Israeli, it wasn't even fake American Israeli...it was quite nice. I thought that today I would re-visit the notion of things that differ between Israel and the United States...

1. Prices do not appear on a large number of items. This generally isn't a big deal in the United States, because the pricing in different stores tend to reflect some sort of standard. However, in Israel, something may cost 16 shekels in one place, but 8 in another.

2. Toilets. I'm not sure why I haven't written about this before, but Israel has two basic types of toilet. The first type has a large separation between the bowl and tank, and the two flushing handles are sticking out. The other version has the "bowl and tank" set-up more like in America, and the flushing handles are actually buttons. The reason for the two types of handles, one for light flushes and one for heavy flushes.


3. Jerusalemites and Israelis in general are more public about their events. During the past month, including today, there have been so many outdoor celebrations for Israel, Jerusalem, and who-knows-what that stages have hardly been taken down.

4. Except for the meat, which is killed in Uruguay and Argentina, food in Israel tends to be very, very fresh.

5. Unlike America, where it seems that people tend to, and are even encouraged to shluff off their unique backgrounds, Israelis of varying heritage have a way of being fully Yemenite/Moroccan/Galicianer, and fully Israeli at the same time. The social structure, in this way, tends to mimick the "salad bowl" idea of multiculturalism rather than the "melting pot".

6. In America, it isn't too common to hear someone yelling uncontrollably at the top of their voice about how So-and-So said he would be here in 5 minutes, and after 5 minutes and 10 seconds he hasn't arrived. In Israel, however, it happens every day.

7. My personal favorite of the moment: You can see a check-point for the West Bank from the rhino exhibit at the zoo.

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.

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?

Shabbos in Mezhbuzh...Not Quite

Shabbos might be great in Mezhbuzh (the Ukrainian resting place of the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Chasidism), but I must say that Shabbos in Yerushalayim is pretty great, too. I got tons of sleep, and had nice alone time at the kosel. To finish it off, havdallah at the kosel was very nice.

Friday night, I ate with two friends and a random odd man at the home of one of my rabbis in yeshiva. His kids are very cute and upbeat, and with Shimon, myself, and the rabbi singing, we had a very nice time with the meal, stories of real Torah tzadikim (righteous people), such as Reb Shlomo of Bobov and the Alter Klausenburger Rebbe. The random odd man was dressed in a way to make himself overtly out of place, and he was introduced to us by the rabbi as "someone who has taken a taanis dibur for Shabbos". Now, the point of a taanis dibur (a fast from speech) is to (1) make us concentrate on what we say, so that we can work on our speech, and (2) to take something that was used for gossip (our mouths) and use it only for prayer and to speak words of Torah, thereby making a reparation with the item that did sins in the first place. However, this man decided, for whatever reason, that he wouldn't even speak words of Torah. Basically he just listened through the meal and flapped his arms and hands when he wanted something...give me a break. This, as another rabbi said when the story was relayed to him, is just absurd. "Fundamentalism of any stripe is very suspect," he said.

The next day, I went with the same friends (minus odd "taanis dibur" guy) to another rabbi's apartment. After a rather short, but very nice, meal, I walked by myself to the kosel. Upon arriving, I davened mincha, and then watched people. On Shabbos, the kosel is so full of diverse people, that it is a perfect people to just find a spot and watch. As new groups of tourists arrive, it always makes me giggle to see the people (who completely ignore the 50-odd signs around making restrictions clear) get offended when people make them stop using phones, cameras, and other things forbidden on Shabbos. One thing that was especially laughable was when a large group of people from New York arrived. The group, by mere virtue of touring on Shabbos, was obviously not religious, and one of the women was sporting a bright pink yarmulke at the top of her head. As an American, I have seen this sort of thing many times, with non-religious Jews expressing their non-religiousness by misinterpreting religious ideas. However, Israelis are not at all used to such things. In Israel, if someone isn't religious, they tend to not associate themselves with religious symbols, and even on the rare even that they attend religious services, it is 999 times out of 1000, an Orthodox service. As this woman stood on the edge of the group, the religious Israelis were all drawn to her. Eventually, a well-meaning woman approached her to let her know that only men had to wear yarmulkes at the kosel. This apparently offended the wearer, and she soon launched into mocking the religious people at the kosel, and saying that our control of Israel is insane.


I find that this happens often in Judaism. For those of us who are religious, it seems odd that someone would embrace religious ideas and symbols as sumply cultural, use these ideas and symbols at will in any way they choose, and then deny the legitimacy of the people who instituted these ideas and symbols. Interestingly enough, this is what Chanukkah is essentially about: the Greeks wanted to do away with any "religious undertones" in Judaism, expell strange faith-based behavior, and leave the Jewish people with a "Judaism" based only on cultural connections and various historical practices. The branches of non-Orthodox Judaism seem to really be into this, too, so why do they light the menorah? To (only culturally and historically) remember that with the help of "G-d", the Jewish people triumphed over those who wished to make Judaism only culturally and historically relevant? Interesting....

I stayed at the kosel the rest of the day, eating seuda shlishis (the third meal of Shabbos) there, and making havdallah with a huge crowd gathered around the entrance to the men's side of the wall. All in all, it was a very nice Shabbos.

Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign

More than any city I've visited, Yerushalayim has its landscape dotted with countless signs. The signs themselves are posted by people offering classes, advertising their clothes washing, seeking help, and warning people before entering religious neighborhoods. Today, while walking back from lunch, I saw that my neighborhood has the same famous as Meah Shearim. These signs are often photographed, and warn people passing through to not wear immodest clothing. Women are clearly asked to not wear short sleeve shirts, pants, or short skirts in the area, as the population is largely (if not completely) made up of ultra-Orthodox Jews. It shocked me when I saw the same thing in my own neighborhood, as I had obviously passed it many times and not noticed that it was there.

The most common signs found posted to the walls of buildings at intersections are black and white posters announcing the ptira (death) of someone. If the person is relatively unknown, the posters are only found in the immediate area. If they are announcing the ptira of a well-known figure, the signs might be found all over the city. The reason for this, as well as the occasional cars driving around with loudspeakers announcing levaya (funeral) times and locations is because of the care taken for the dead. As we do not wish to prolong the suffering of a soul by being torn out of a body, and continuously witnessing the dead body laying here and there, we try to bury the person as soon as possible, preferably on the day of death. These signs were seen recently here in Yerushalayim upon the ptira of Rav Avraham Ravitz, a notable MK (member of the Knesset, or Israeli parliament) and one of the political leaders of the ultra-Orthodox political party.

The same came again this morning, with the loss of a great member of the Jewish people. Sometime between last night and this morning, Harav Noach Weinberg, zt"l, was niftar (passed away). Harav Weinberg was the Rosh Yeshiva and founder of the famous Aish HaTorah yeshiva, which has yeshiva and outreach branches across the world. While controversial, Harav Weinberg is responsible for countless Jews returning to devoted, religious lives. For the past 50 years, this holy leader of the Jewish people led the kiruv (outreach) organization of Aish HaTorah, helping to bring Torah to all of the Jewish world.

While addressing this weeks parsha (Torah portion), the holy Noam Elimelech notes that because Yosef (Joseph) followed on the path of his father Yaakov (Jacob), the holiness and capability of Yaakov was transfered to his son. This, says the Noam Elimelech, is the reason that while Yaakov's body was returned to eretz Yisroel (the land of Israel) for burial, Yosef continued to live in Mitzrayim (Egypt) and was initially "buried" there. When the Torah notes that Moshe (Moses) brought the bones of Yosef with him out of Mitzrayim, it says that Yosef told the Jewish people that through this, G-d would remember them. The Noam Elimelech takes this to mean that in the rememberance and merit of Yosef, the Jewish people would also be zoche (merited) to receive tremendous acts on their trek.

Jewish tradition relates that when G-d was preparing for kriyas yam suf (the splitting of the Sea of Reeds), the angels told G-d not to help the Jewish people, as they were idol worshippers. (This is understood to mean that they did not believe in the fullness of Divine Providence, or hashgacha pratis.) However, we know that "the sea saw, and it split", meaning that it saw the coffin of Yosef, and Moshe, the leader of the Jewish people, who had also reached the level of Yosef and Yaakov. Because of the great devotion, spirituality, and level of Yosef and the new leader Moshe, the sea automatically split, because Creation knew that with the leadership of such a tzadik (righteous person), the Jewish people themselves would also be transformed.

In the memory of such a great pilar of the Jewish world (Harav Noach Weinberg, zt"l), may we be moved to also dedicate ourselves to bringing the light of Torah to darkened lives, that we may all be zoche to see the ultimate and final redemption now, in our days.

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.

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.