Ehhhh...Excuse Me?

On my recent trip to Eilat, in the south of Israel on the shores of the Red Sea, I noticed something interesting. Eilat, being a resort city, has many tourists from Russia and other countries in Eastern Europe, and because Hebrew is obscure to many, they cannot communicate with workers and store owners in any language other than English. In many instances, the interactions were of people on both sides using broken English, hand gestures, and grunts to get their points across. I thought it was very interesting that here in the Middle East, far away from America, two people who have never set foot inside the United States find themselves depending upon English to communicate. 'Tis nice to see the pervading power of the good ole' US of A...

Be All that You Can Be

Every once in a while, we are lucky enough to hear a vort that is able to touch us on many levels. With the infinite reach of Torah, one might think that this would happen more often. Sadly, though, since we are human, we aren't always able to internalize things the way we should. I happened have this luck on my side last week, on my first full day back in yeshiva, when Harav Shlomo Brevda shlit"a came to speak.


In Shir Hashirim (Song of Songs), a relationship is recorded between a man and a woman, but the true essence of the book is that it is a mystical allegory about the relationship between the Ribbono Shel Olam and Klal Yisroel. According to the Gaon of Vilna, zt"l, each statement of the man in Shir Hashirim is a statement of praise directed toward Klal Yisroel. As some of the verses seem quite strange, it might be hard to understand how such obscure statements could be so full of awe and inspiration. One such verse is, "Sarech k'eider ha'izim shegal'shu min haGilad," or "Your hair is like a flock of goats that trail down from Gilad". What a compliment! Really? Clearly, such a verse needs a little explaining. To do this, Harav Brevda used the sefer Tomer Devorah by the holy kabalist Harav Moshe Cordovero, zt"l.

In his sefer Tomer Devorah, Rav Cordovero points out that Gilad is the area of land taken by Reuven and Gad, and was coveted for the lsuh areas to graze sheep. Here enters the first part of the explanation of the words in Shir Hashirim: just as the massive flocks of sheep looked like a single unit, no spaces or breaks between, as they grazed and wandered, so too the Jewish people are one unit, completely and utterly inseparable. In expounding upon this, Rav Cordovero brings a new level of understanding to the adage from the gemara, "Kol Yisrael arevim zeh b'zeh", "All of Israel is responsible for one another." This classic definition is clearly not sufficient to explain what the Hebrew means, as Rav Cordovero points out that the souls of all Jews, originating from the same place, and being part of one another, all connect. Thus, when one Jew suffers within his soul, the soul of each Jew suffers. The same is true of success, and when one Jew has real, meaningful success spiritually, all Jews do, too, since we are "zeh b'zeh".


Now comes the second part: why specifically the goats in Gilad? When Yaakov Avinu (Jacob) fled from his father-in-law Laban, he fled to what is called Gilad (Gilead), a name that comes from the events which transpired on the location. When Yaakov and Laban come to an arrangement, Yaakov tells his sons to gather stones and create a mound as a testimony to the agreement between Yaakov and Laban. According to the Tomer Devorah, this is the first time that the Jewish people (represented by Yaakov's sons) came together to show their unity in completing a task. Thus, the mound, and the whole area were called Gal Eid, or "Mound of Witness", testifying to the ability and unity of the Jewish people.


Seen in this light, this is a wonderful compliment to the Jewish people. This is not a "butterfly effect" chaos theory type of responsibility and connection, but much deeper: the soul of each Jew is completely bound with the soul of every other Jew, inseparable in this life or the next. Not only does this speak volumes of mussar (moral discipline), but has deep Chasidus involved as well. The way we treat others is the way we treat ourselves mamash. Not only does "v'ahavta l'rei'acha kamocha" ("Love your neighbor as yourself") have importance due to communal relations, but to treat another person differently from how we treat ourselves is a complete contradiction! To harm or scoff at or ignore another person is to do the same to ourselves, since the impact it has on their soul will be the same impact that it will have on ours. When you feed someone who is hungry, part of you is also satiated...When you compliment another, you are also uplifted...When you cause strife with another person, you bring internal strife upon yourself. When such a lesson is really understood and internalized, I can't believe that it won't have Earth-shaking results. This, the "crowning glory" (hair on the head, that which is on the tip-top) of the Jewish people is that we are all completely wrapped up with one another, a reality that is sure to move all to work to be the best that each of us can be.

Now, just for my own curiosity and in light of the understanding of this verse, extra meaning and purpose is there to a married woman covering her hair?

Kimsois Chuson Al Kalu

Arriving back in Israel immediately threw me back into the whole system. As soon as I walked out of the airport, I found myself having to go through the motions and stress of getting a sherut to the proper place in Jerusalem. For the unacquainted, anyone who wants to save money takes a sherut from the airport. A sherut is like a small bus, fitting around 12 people, that goes between the airport and one of the larger cities in Israel. In Jerusalem, because of the large area and the number of people going, the system is broken up by area, and to "save time" the drivers spend hours making sure they place people in a sherut by street. On my sherut, I had several secular Israelis and a group of Mormons from Salt Lake City. Lovely. As soon as we entered Yerushalayim, the Mormons were shocked to see people walking around openly with rifles. This was after they survived the trauma of our sherut driver attempting to run over all cars in his way. I wonder how the rest of their trip turned out...

My first two days back in Israel happened to be national holidays, Yom HaZikaron (remembering fallen soldiers) and Yom Ha'Atzma'ut ("independence" day). Most religious people are too keen on these days. I asked a friend why it was that Zionists and daati leumi ("National Religious", or modern orthodox) wanted to remember the bodies of the soldiers killed defending an anti-Torah agenda, but not all of the souls that the state of Israel has destroyed by putting nationalism above spirituality. He didn't have an answer.


On thing about secular holidays in Israel, unlike in America, is that EVERYTHING closes. I wish that Israelis could be as makpid (strict) about closing on Shabbos as they are to close on stupid holidays like Yom Ha'Atzma'ut. On Yom Ha'Atzma'ut, I found myself standing in line at the only falafel shop open on Geulah. As I stood in line with 50,000 other hungry people, the lone man-behind-the-counter acted in typical Israeli fashion, barking out requests and shoving food to people. A man from France two ahead of me in line, someone who seemingly had never been to Israel before, told the worker that his customers are not animals, and his disrespect and tone are sickening, and that he wouldn't pay. Not really caring, the Israeli shoved the food to him, and he went back to the seating area. Two seconds later, as I still stodd with unknown children latched onto my legs and someone's elbow in my back, the Frenchman returned, took his falafels in both hands, and threw them at the Israeli behind the counter. At this point, even the most aggravated people in line turned on the Frenchman, and people on the street watching through the window verbally assaulted the poor guy as he left. In Israel, you have to have a sense of humor about everything, or you won't even last a day.


Friday was the type of day that makes Israel magical. The sun was bright and warm, the white clouds floated by soothingly, and the whole day seemed to embrace you. As I walked to the kosel for shacharis, I found myself really engrossed in enjoying the day. The Old City seemed more packed with tourists than normal, and the whole city hummed with noise. After davening and an early lunch of chips im charif, I walked back to my apartment. Hotter now than in the morning, Israelis were huddled under treesand below walls, looking for a place cool enough to allow them to drink handmade espresso without completely melting. The city is really wonderful. "Yusis ulayich Eloikoyich, kimsois chuson al kalu..."

How Way Leads On to Way

While speaking with someone over Shabbos, I was asked how I felt going back to the place where I used to live. My immediate response was that I felt awkward and somewhat out of place, eventhough it was nice to see places and people that I hadn't seen in several months. At first, I wasn't able to explain why I felt this way, as I didn't think anything had changed between when I left to go to Israel and now, when I came back to visit for Pesach. As he and I walked after lunch, I talked more with him and was able to understand and explain why I felt slightly uncomfortable.

Whenever I began to change years and years ago, I always had some view of the world I left behind. As far as I moved away internally, I was always connected to a different way of life by virtue of proximity; whether I liked it or not, I couldn't completely break free of a particular viewpoint. No matter how I changed, and how much I advanced in my own life, eventhough I felt and looked different I wasn't that far away from what used to be.


As more and more choices are made based on a particular viewpoint, the further separated from the past you can move. This seemed to become really obvious when I visited America. I found everything as I left it, but I suddenly realized I didn't feel the same. After going down this path, and allowing it to take me somewhere new geographically, I unknowingly broke with the past. I wasn't expecting this to be so obvious to me, or to come with such a rush of emotion. While I didn't realize it in Israel, where I seemed to just be continuing naturally and identified with most of the people around me, I saw how much I had changed when I came to visit. Topics of conversation, ways of looking at things, news, interest...nothing seemed to be the same anymore. The visit showed me just how real the differences are, and how I am completely in a new place, physically and mentally.

Now that I'm going back, I wonder how different things will be the nex time I visit...

Nothing But Teeth

As I walked into shul (synagogue, whatever) for the start of the last two days of Pesach (Passover), I found myself immediately confronted with the need to give a running report on my time in Israel. With each, "How is Israel?" I got a sense that everyone was expecting only the rosiest of pictures. "Well, you know, it has certain problems..." wasn't a response that was going to be well-received by the masses. No one wants to hear that their fantasy land is just a fantasy, but that's the reality of the Not-So-Promised Land.


I think that just being in America, with busses and planes that run on time, people who don't purposely step on you, and requests that are both coherent and practical, has made me a disgruntled expatriate. I was talking with someone in Israel who owns a restaurant that often employs young Americans who have recently moved to Israel. He said that the success rate of people staying in Israel after moving there isn't so high. I can believe it. Luckily, it isn't my experience, as I am neither an immigrant nor a secular soldier, but it is the reality. Countless teenagers move to Israel; immediately enter the army after intense, but meager classes teaching Hebrew; spend the next several years of their life living in standards that are even low for "Israeli standards"; and are then thrown into a working environment of 14-16 hour days to pay for their 1/8 of the share for a two bedroom apartment. I'm sure that people who move to America don't always find it much better, but at least the promise (or lie) of America is better. Of course, this doesn't mean I'm all for America, and dislike Israel, my previous few blogs show the reality of that. However, I am all to aware that Israel has troubles itself. The huge sign at Ben Gurion Airport saying "Welcome to Israel", would be wise to follow-up with, "Watch Your Step".

As the conversations rolled on at shul and by meals, invariably it would turn to, "Do you want to live in Israel?" or "Would you marry an Israeli?", and I would try to phrase my answer so as not to be so harsh. However, in the company of several Israelis and other people who know me well, I was more honest. "I doubt it. I like carpet, air conditioners, things set for arrival at 5:15 not arriving at 5:45 as a rule" and so on. For others, I understood that they didn't want to hear this sort of thing. So, for their sake, I was nice and sociable, but as a wise man once said, "Sociability is just a big smile, and a big smile is nothing but teeth."

Home, Home On the Range

It feels very strange waiting for my flight back "home". While it has never really felt like home, the feeling is even more intense now. After being in Israel and New York, and finding a nitche into which I fit, I feel awkward going back. I wonder how it will feel the longer I am there...

Whither Goest Thou, America...?

For the past week I have been on the road, somewhere between Israel and America, future and past. When I left Israel, I left in the middle of the night. My sherut (small bus or van rented by multiple people) took me and two Russian families from Jerusalem to the airport. From Tel Aviv, I flew to Belgium, where I met a friend of mine from yeshiva. Because I hardly slept the night before, and my flight had hardly been long enough to make a nap possible, I arrived in a daze. My friend and I took the train from Brussels to his parents' home in Antwerp.

The contrast between Israel and Antwerp could not be greater. I left a country where order and stability are hardly even recognized to exist, and found myself suddently thrust into a place where trains arrive at exact times and everyone says "please" and "thank you". My friend showed me around his city, the historic buildings and large plazas scattered with modern-looking people speaking one of any number of languages. Antwerp was very nice, and the easy pace and calm atmosphere felt odd after being in Israel for such a long time.

The day after I arrived, my friend and I rented a car and went to Germany. Crossing borders between members of the European Union is like going from one state to another in America. The border simply showed a sign indicating that you were entering a new country, and no policeman or customs officer could be seen. The language also shifts at a whim, especially in Belgium, which officially speaks French, German, and Dutch. Once I crossed into Germany from the Netherlands, I found myself on the famous highway system without speed limits. This isn't quite true, as the areas within larger cities do have speed restrictions, but outside of the cities 90 mph is barely enough to stop other cars from running over you.


Our first stop in Germany was Frankfurt. Frankfurt is a huge city, and home to the famous Rothschild banking family, and a historically important Jewish community. When we found the beis hachaim (cemetery, literally "house of life"), we couldn't find out how to get past the gate, but thanks to some crafty ideas by my friend, we found a way. Inside, we found the graves of some of the most important figures in Judaism: the Pnei Yehoshua and the father of the Chasam Sofer, both from the 1700's. Frankfurt had an awkward feeling, especially since so much of the Jewish history was now only represented in plaques showing where this synagogue or that religious school stood before being destroyed by the Nazis.


From Frankfurt, we traveled southwest to the city of Worms. Worms is the home of the oldest known Jewish cemetery in Europe, and the home of Rashi (1040-1105), perhaps the greatest Jewish commentator of all time. The city had a very calm feeling, and was full of culture. The Jewish cemetery was already closed when we reached Worms, so we jumped over the wall and made our way through the countless graves to a place where we could learn some gemara and daven mincha. After walking around Worms, finding the old synagogue and the house where Rashi lived and did much of his writing, we left for Michelstadt.

Michelstadt was the real goal of our trip. Located in the mountains, the drive from Worms to Michelstadt took us through tiny towns with typical German architecture as we went up winding roads. When we reached the beis hachaim in Michelstadt, everything was locked, but a sign stated that the code was the current Jewish year. Being able to easily crack this, we had complete use of the area. As we entered the beis hachaim, I could tell this was a different place. The elevation made the air a bit chilly, and a breeze blew constantly. My friend led me down a small, dark path. At the end of the path, I could see a tall grave, covered in stones and white pieces of paper. This was the grave of the Baal Shem of Michelstadt, HaGaon HaRav Yitzchok Aryeh zt"l. We davened maariv by the kever (grave), and there was a noticable feeling of uniqueness. After davening, we read the plaque near the kever, which explained that the Baal Shem had been a gilui (exposure) of Eliyahu HaNavi (Elijah the Prophet). After spending more time by the kever of such a tzadik, we left feeling that we had truly exprienced something special and moving. The ride back to Antwerp was long, but the feeling of being moved by the Baal Shem stayed with us.

After two more days in Belgium (between Antwerp and Brussels), I flew to New York. Arriving back in America was very odd. While I have lived so long in America, and it represents all of the comforts that anyone could want, it just doesn't feel like it did before. Eventhough I haven't been away for terribly long, Israel has changed me. I think I'm lucky to have had this happen. I see people who travel and travel, but never see anything new. William Blake wrote, "If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern." It seems that one doesn't have to be in their physical cavern to have this be true, but the mental cavern is just as strong. For some people, going to Israel is just about freedom, or just about increasing their religious knowledge. I can't understand how some people can think so limitedly. For me, each experience is a chance to see the world anew, with new eyes and revolutionary ideas. I need the constant growth and "POP" of life to survive. Commenting on his life experiences, and writing closely in connection with the previous Blake quote, Aldous Huxley said, "The man who comes back through the Door in the Wall will never be quite the same as the man who went out. He will be wiser but less sure, happier but less self-satisfied, humbler in acknowledging his ignorance yet better equipped to understand the relationship of words to things, of systematic reasoning to the unfathomable mystery which it tries, forever vainly, to comprehend." Indeed, Judaism confirms that we are born anew each day, and that each day is a constant growth and renewal within G-d. As we reach this holiday of Pesach (Passover), let us all not be the same. As we remember the exodus from Mitzrayim (Egypt), we should internalize the reality of the lessons of the story; we should no longer be satisfied with the status quo in ourselves or society, we should feel the plight of the world as we are all without geulah, and we should be inspired to move beyond our "selves" to our souls, so that we can bring the final redemption now.