Sunday, April 26, 2009

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...

Friday, April 17, 2009

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."

Monday, April 13, 2009

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...

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

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.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

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.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

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.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

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.