The Hidden Cost

OBSERVATIONS ON MISSING WHAT WAS LEFT BEHIND

Aliyah in the modern era amounts to reversing the direction of over two thousand years of exile. More than two millennia ago, the Jewish people were expelled from our homeland in Israel and subject to wandering the world until redemption. Since then, some have chosen to wait for that redemption, while others have chosen to go out and meet it actively. My convictions place me in the latter category, as I believe our salvation lies largely (though not completely) in our own hands.

Unfortunately that changing of direction does not come easy; not with so much momentum built up behind it. The change of course can take a generation or more to complete. The act itself is easy enough, but the cost – as an individual ship breaks off from the fleet of Diaspora to chart a new course towards warmer waters – for that first generation is high. Just how high the cost is revealing itself as time passes and the place I once called home fades off into the horizon.

This summer I missed the wedding of two close friends from my family’s synagogue in Montreal. They had to overcome some tremendous difficulties together, and are still fighting. Their wedding was a joyful respite and a momentous occasion in their lives, and I couldn’t share it with them.

Last month, I missed my cousin Shana’s bat mitzvah. Having grown up without any first cousins, I remember when Shana was born. I saw the pictures from the Bat Mitzvah and heard all about it, but I wasn’t there to celebrate with her and the whole family. Before long, I’ll probably miss my cousin Robbie’s bar mitzvah as well.

Last week I missed my best friend’s wedding. We were friends in high school, were active in the same youth group for several years, and have stayed close friends for nearly to a decade now. He and I have been through a lot together, but the single most important day of his life, I had to miss. He met his wife five years ago while I was in Israel. How ironic that I should miss their wedding in the same fashion. The irony, though, didn’t make it any easier.

Nor is it any easier knowing that I will only continue to miss major events in the lives of friends and family who I’ve left behind. The comfort comes in remembering the reason why I came here: my future generations. The simchas I will celebrate here will be all the sweeter, the reasons for which are enough to stop two thousand years of history in its path.

Foreign Lands, Comfortable Shoes

OBSERVATIONS FROM A VISIT ABROAD

I recently returned from a trip overseas, having left Israel for the first time since making Aliyah. With my newly-issued Teudat Ma’avar – the travel documents issued to new immigrants in lieu of a passport – in hand, I flew out of the new Terminal 3 at Ben-Gurion International Airport for two and a half weeks to visit family and friends in Montreal and New York, the twin epicenters of my family in North America.

I had flown out of Israel before. And I had, of course, lived in Canada my whole life, and spent a considerable amount of time in the US. But I did not expect just how different it would be this time. This time I was seeing North America through blue lenses…and I had no idea how that would change my perspective.

A few small things surprised me. Oddly, the weather was one. When I had left Canada it was mid-December and the city was cold and grey. Walking out the doors at Montreal’s Pierre Elliot Trudeau airport in mid-June, I was hit by a wall of hot, sticky humidity. I like to joke that Montreal summers are characterized by two months of bad skiing, but seriously, I had always thought of the Israeli summer heat as unbearable, and Montreal’s comfortable. When what was comfortable now seems alien, and what was uncomfortable turns easy, you slowly realize just how deeply you’ve adopted your new home.

In the least likely of places – Westport, New York, a picturesque real-life Norman Rockwell town with white picket fences and the whole nine yards – a man approached me and started speaking to me in Hebrew. He asked me where I was living, and told me about his sons who were still in Israel, and I couldn’t stop pondering the notion of inescapable realities.

Manhattan, meanwhile, is always an interesting experience for a tourist. I ate an obscene amount of pastrami at the 2nd Avenue Deli, browsed through enormous stores with varied merchandise at “low, low prices”, even took in a concert in Central Park. I had a great time, and couldn’t help but feel pulled in by it. My family is largely from New York, and many of them are still there. They say New Yorkers who live anywhere else must, in some way, be kidding themselves. But I knew I was a real Israeli when America never looked so attractive.

It really wasn’t until I was back in Israel, settled in again, walking down Ben Yehuda street – the pedestrian mall in the heart of Jerusalem – that it all really made sense to me. The only analogy I can think of is from skiing. If you’ve skied, ice-skated, roller-bladed or done anything that requires strapping on strange and constricting boots, you might understand. At the end of a long day of hitting the slopes hard, I remember taking off my boots and slipping into my most comfortable, well-worn pair of sneakers. Without the boots I wouldn’t have appreciated the sneakers, let alone have been able to ski properly. But putting on those sneakers was the most comfortable feeling, once again finding my equilibrium. That was what it was like being back in Israel. The boots, the gloves, the goggles, the hat…everything was off, and all that was left was me. Comfortable me, in my old sneakers. And I’d never felt more sure-footed in my life.

Who’s left on the Right?

OBSERVATIONS ON THE ISRAELI POLITICAL SCENE

With a background in politics, it was only natural that within the first few months after arriving in Israel, I’d have joined a political party. The issue of which party I would join after my Aliyah was one I had contemplated already for years, since first becoming engaged in political activism over Israel.

Whereas in the US and Canada the dividing lines are over social and economic issues, in Israel the principle issue is security and diplomacy, the two being inexorably intertwined in a country still struggling for its existence. With my convictions leaning towards the right, and given my status as an observant Jew and a new immigrant, my list included the ostensibly right-of-center “mainstream” Likud; Yisrael B’Aliyah (“Israel on the rise”, lead by Natan Sharansky); Tekumah, Yisrael Beiteinu and Moledet, (the three parties under the National Union banner), the fringe party Herut (“liberty”), composed principally of neo-Kahanists; and Mafdal (NRP: the National Religious Party).

By the time I finally got here, my choices had been narrowed down for me considerably. Herut, on top of being too far to the right for my taste, failed to garner seats in the last general election and has all but vanished. The National Religious Party has nearly collapsed, with two of its principle leaders leaving the party. Yisrael B’Aliyah, which principally advocated issues of concern to Russian immigrants, has since folded into the Likud. With three of the parties knocked off the list, I was left to choose between the Likud and the National Union, two parties which I contend are reflections of each other, at different stages.

For about twenty-five years since its founding, Israel was continuously ruled by the small governing elite at the top of the Labor party, principally David Ben-Gurion, Israel’s founding prime minister. The dissenting Right was fragmented at best, including such parties as the original Herut, the Progressives, the Liberals, and a host of other small parties. It was long assumed that these small factions would never get their act together enough to pose a serious threat to Labor. Menachem Begin, with the assistance of Ariel Sharon, united these parties into the Likud, and together rose to the majority. Thirty years later, Sharon has moved away from his erstwhile hawkish policies, past the center, adopting the very same left-wing security policies that he campaigned against, to the peril of the entire country. Couple that with his longstanding socialist economic convictions, conservative social policies, unilateralist nonchalance and pervasive corruption, and Ariel Sharon, once the champion of the Right, has come full circle to the Labor stalwarts he once helped overthrow.

With the Likud now split between the camp of its leader (pro-disengagement) and that of those loyal to the party platform (against disengagement), it’s anyone’s guess as to where the party is heading. As is often the case in the Middle East, the only thing that can be said for sure is that nothing can be said for sure.

So who is left on the Right in Israel? It has all come down to the National Union. Just like Likud once was, the National Union is itself a likud (Hebrew for “consolidation”) of dissenting right-leaning parties. The leading party under the National Union banner is Moledet (“homeland”), the party once headed by Rehavam Zevi, the secular former army general who, while serving as minister of tourism, was assassinated in an east Jerusalem hotel. Today the party is chaired by Rabbi Benny Elon. Moledet stands to act as a unifying force in Israeli politics, a “big tent”, a right-wing meeting place for the religious and the secular, immigrant and sabra, rich and poor, Ashkenazi and Sefardi.

Having made my choice, I was fortunate to have been introduced to the party by an old friend, Zev Orenstein, whose sponsorship and support has, after only five months in the country, brought me into the inner leadership circle, allowing me to meet others like-minded activists. Together we’re committed to a number of issues which our erstwhile hero Ariel Sharon has deserted. We’re opposed to the willful creation of a terrorist state within our borders, which Sharon is fostering by leaving Gaza. We believe in the vital importance of Aliyah to strengthen the country and the people of Israel, on which Sharon has failed to place importance. What’s more is that on both these vital issues, we’re the only ones left standing.

Labor fell after the country was nearly decimated under its watch in the Yom Kippur War. Under Sharon we could be facing the same, or worse. It’s time for another revolution.

Persian Doomsday

OBSERVATIONS ON IRAN’S AMBITIONS

Last week I was fortunate enough to have been invited to the Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs for a top-level briefing by Ambassador Uri Lubrani, a senior policy analyst for the Ministry of Defense. Having served for an extended period as Israel’s emissary to the court of the Shah, Ambassador Lubrani is considered to be one of the world’s foremost experts on Iran, and is probably one of the only people in the world (inside or outside of Persia) who really understands the intricacies of Iran, its leadership, culture, and most of all, it’s relentless pursuit of military dominance.

Let’s take a minute to recall what country we’re talking about here. The Islamic Republic of Iran is a republic in the same way as China is a republic. The ayatollahs who rule Iran today overthrew the Shah (Iran’s king) and established a despotic Shi’ite regime. They directly sponsor such terrorist factions as Hizbullah and Islamic Jihad, who are responsible for deaths of countless Israelis, Palestinians, Lebanese and Americans. Although they do have elections, the ayatollahs (the ruling Shi’ite clerics, who behind the scenes rule the country) approve each presidential candidate. The current president, Mohammed Khatammi, was seen as a moderate when he ran, but even that is a relative term, and in the end followed the ayatollahs’ agenda. Lately, Iran has been in the headlines for their nuclear program. European leaders, including the foreign ministers of Germany, France, England and the European Union, have been trying to negotiate with Iran to abandon that path.

Meanwhile Israel has been slowly and quietly upgrading their air force for one principal purpose. The new F-15i and F-16i fighter/attack jets, as retrofitted and upgraded by Israel Aviation Industries, are reported “coincidentally” to have just enough range to make it to Iran and back to Israel. The idea is to repeat the operation on Osiraq, whereby an Israeli fighter squadron (including Israel’s first astronaut, the late Captain Ilan Ramon) flew out to Iraq and bombed their nuclear facility which Saddam Hussein cherished so. After the US invasion of Iraq, it now appears as though Saddam never managed to recuperate from that loss, and as much as the world rebuked and condemned Israel and its leader Menachem Begin for the attack, they were secretly counting their lucky stars that Israel took care of the problem. The first President Bush was chief among them. His secretary of defense, current US Vice President Dick Cheney, made headlines just a couple of months ago saying that the world just might have to rely on Israel to revisit Osiraq on Persian soil, if and when the European diplomatic efforts fail.

Ambassador Lubrani predicts they will fail. The European foreign ministers will no doubt try their best, and offer Iran everything but the proverbial kitchen sink. (Even that might end up on the negotiating table.) But Lubrani doesn’t hold out much hope, insisting that what Iran wants is precisely what the rest of the world fears. The Osiraq approach doesn’t hold much hope, either, as having learned from Saddam’s mistakes, Iran’s numerous nuclear facilities are spread across the Persian countryside, many of them buried deep underground. Israel’s pilots may be the best in the world, capable of surmounting tremendous improbabilities, but in the end the impossible is still impossible.

Joshua Kurlantzick, foreign editor of the New Republic, claims the US is gearing up for war in Iran, just as they invaded Afghanistan and Iraq, in order to bring about a regime change and hopefully an end to perhaps the most menacing regime to desecrate G.od’s green earth. Ambassador Lubrani, during the briefing, insisted that the most viable option does involve the United States, but down a decidedly different road, one which the Bush administration has failed to adequately pursue. The Shi’ite regime in Iran will not stop until they get their nuclear arsenal, and taking into account both their rhetoric and their history, G.od help us all if they do. The mullahs and the ayatollahs have to go – no question. Lubrani characterizes Iran’s population as a silent majority, admiring of American culture and values, craving democracy, just waiting for the right opportunity to act.

It’s time for a show of hands. Raise your hand if you’re not a Shi’ite Muslim. If your hand is up, like mine is, and if Ambassador Lubrani knows what he’s talking about (I fear he does), then our hopes could very well be pinned on the government of the United States. Not to wait for Israel to take care of the problem yet again, not to force regime change through invasion, and certainly not to politely ask them to stop, but to support a few million other Shi’ite Muslims in Iran who, tired of two decades of oppression, extrajudicial executions and forced indoctrination, want to seize control of their own futures instead of depriving us of ours.

The sky may not be falling, but there is hope that the Islamic Republic of Iran yet will.

Planting for the Future

I took this picture on a trip to the Northern Samarian settlement of Mevo Dotan, slated to be evacuated of all Jews this summer. Apparently - as these children in a field of sapplings show - even amidst the threat of expulsion, Israel's pioneers are not prepared to stop planting for the future.

The Job Hunt

OBSERVATIONS ON FINDING WORK IN ISRAEL

For the last few months since arriving in Jerusalem, a major chunk of my free time has been spent pursuing the right opportunity to further my career, earn a living, and make a worthwhile contribution to Am Yisrael.

I’ve met with the directors of a number of government agencies, political think-tanks and Jewish organizations with offices here in Israel. A partial list includes the Jewish People Policy Planning Institute, World Jewish Congress, the B’nai Brith World Center – Jerusalem, the Menachem Begin Heritage Center, Hillel in Israel & FSU, the Government Press Office, the Jewish Agency for Israel, United Israel Appeal Canada, the Shalem Center, Kidron Strategies and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, among others. The list grew increasingly long and distinguished, but more or less yielded the same results: “I’d like to help you, but we don’t have any openings at the moment.”

That’s not to say that people were unsympathetic or in any way uncooperative. Quite the opposite. Calling on ties I made as an Israel activist abroad prior to my Aliyah, I was surprised at how many well-connected individuals returned my calls, took meetings with me and even pointed me in the right direction. The bottom line for everyone is, however, that there just isn’t much available.

The job shortage in Israel can be attributed principally to the prolonged campaign of terror waged against Israeli society which has weakened the national economy significantly. Terrorists seek to paralyze their enemies in any and every way possible. That includes physically killing and maiming men, women and children in the streets. It means bringing tourism to all but a standstill. It means making foreign investors reconsider whether their assets would be safe here. It means making average citizens think twice before going to a nightclub, café or restaurant, or even take a bus lest their very lives be endangered. All of this means, as well, that there are less jobs available.

Nevertheless, I was determined to find work in my field, coming to the conclusion that there is no better place for an Israel advocate than in Israel, no better place for a Jewish activist than in the Jewish state. To a certain degree, everyone here is an Israel activist, but I was not discouraged. In the meantime I took a temporary, part-time job assisting with overseas publicity for Nefesh B’Nefesh, the Aliyah foundation that brought me here, which, while not quite furthering my career as an aspiring political operative, did fulfill my other requirements for making a living and most definitely making a worthwhile contribution to Israel and the Jewish people.

In the end, after only four months of searching, I found the opportunity to put my activist experience to good work and make my mark here in Israel. I am pleased to announce that I have started my new job as Managing Editor of NGO Monitor (http://www.ngo-monitor.org/). An initiative of the Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs, NGO Monitor promotes critical debate and accountability of human rights NGOs in the Arab-Israeli conflict. Such organizations have an enormous impact on the international scene, ranging from the campus all the way up to the highest world government offices, and aside from the efforts of NGO Monitor, such groups (and their funders) go largely unchecked and unscrutinized. NGO Monitor is the watchdog of the watchdogs, the only line of defense against some of Israel's most vicious and unrelenting opponents with permeating influence. Therein lies my chance to make my contribution to Am Yisrael, here in Eretz Yisrael.

Holiday Relativism

OBSERVATIONS ON MY FIRST PESACH IN ISRAEL

For those familiar with the SAT form of testing, I’ll ask a simple question about primary holidays in comparative religions: Christmas is to Christianity as ______ is to Judaism. Fill in the blank.

Most people, that is, those who know anything about Judaism at all, would probably answer “Chanukah”. It’s the Jewish festival of lights that falls in the same “holiday season” as Christmas, the most important and celebrated of Christian holidays.

In Canada – where I was born and raised – as in the United States, ostensibly secular but realistically Christian countries, come December the streets are decorated with wreaths and pictures of Santa Claus, a jolly fellow who could easily be a Chassidic Jew if his garb were black instead of red. Christmas trees are put up and decorated in places public and private, Christmas songs are played on the radio and in shopping malls, and people wish one another a Merry Christmas.

Some, more sensitive to ethnic diversity, will instead wish people “Happy Holidays”. Public facilities might feature a Menorah alongside the Christmas tree. But such sentiments notwithstanding, it’s unmistakably the “Christmas season”.

Chanukah, conveniently falling during the same time of year, subsequently becomes the de-facto “Jewish Christmas”. Not that it’s the birthday of Moses (also commonly mistaken as the Jewish equivalent of Jesus), and it’s not the end of our calendar year, or anything like that. And so, being raised in such an environment, unless you want to get sucked in by the “Christmas magic” that possesses the people around you, even Jews begin the think in those terms. It’s the influence of the environment.

All of this quickly and very simply changed when I got an envelope last week from my boss at work. Opening it, I found a letter wishing me a Chag Pesach Kasher V’Sameach – a happy passover greeting – accompanied by a generous sum of cash. I had received my first Pesach Bonus. It wasn’t a Christmas bonus, or a “holiday bonus”, or a Christmas bonus disguised as a “Chanukah bonus” (as nice as it is of employers to make the effort). This was a Pesach Bonus.

And so I began noticing the Pesach season being celebrated all around me. People shopping especially for Pesach. The radio playing modern renditions of classic Pesach songs. People on the street, complete strangers, wishing each other a Chag Sameach. Billboards wishing people a happy Passover. A special Passover edition of the Jerusalem Post.

It was really quite a simple thing, this Pesach Bonus I received. But it was a taste of something more special. This was the practical application of genuine Jewish independence. Here in the Jewish state, our holidays don’t have to be “the Jewish version of” anything. Pesach is our celebration of national redemption, the forming of our own people, and our freedom from slavery. This year I felt it in a simple yet personally profound way. This year, I am a free man.

the little things

OBSERVATIONS ON BEING A ZIONIST, IN ISRAEL

For the last several years, I was involved in a number of pro-Israel and Zionist organizations in Montreal, across Canada and throughout North America. In addition to being something to believe in and even study, Zionism for me, as an activist, was something you did.

Going to a rally was “doing” Zionist. Attending a board meeting or conference for a pro-Israel organization in the Diaspora was “doing” Zionist. So was marching with the community on Yom Ha’atzmaut – Israel’s independence day – or arguing with anti-Israel agitators on and off campus. My Zionism, like that of so many, was action based.

Then came Aliyah, a life-altering move which I believed would be the ultimate Zionist action. Instead of merely supporting Israel though the aforementioned actions, I would now be living in Israel, tying my fate into that of the people and state which I so enthusiastically supported.

As it turns out, Aliyah was more than an ultimate act of Zionism: it was an enablement. Moving to Israel gave me the avenue through which to turn everything I did into an act of Zionism, an act in support of Israel. But such acts no longer require me to specifically and intentionally “do Zionist”. Living in Israel, the otherwise mundane and normal acts of day-to-day life take on a different meaning.

Something as simple as going to the makolet (convenience store) and buying a pack of Elite mastik (chewing gum), for example, is now an act in support of Israel. The gum was developed, produced, packaged, marketed, distributed, paid for and sold – even chewed – by Israelis. And after it has lost its flavor and thrown away, an Israeli will take away the garbage, while I take out another piece and enjoy yet another Zionist act in support of Israel. Without thinking about it. Without going out of my way.

No one in Israel needs to make a point of noting their Zionism. Such conviction is supported by everyday life, morning to night, day after day. This is the difference between being a Zionist in the Diaspora and being a Zionist in Israel. It’s “the little things”.

What would I have done?

OBSERVATIONS FROM A VISIT TO YAD VASHEM, ISRAEL’S HOLOCAUST MEMORIAL

Just a few weeks ago, the new wing of Yad Vashem opened on the hills of Jerusalem. The museum and institution is the foremost Holocaust memorial center in the world, and for the opening, more world leaders ascended to Jerusalem than had come since the funeral of the late Yitzhak Rabin.

Yesterday I had my chance to visit the new museum, which I found to be remarkably thought-provoking. I won’t go into details of how the museum is set up, and I won’t endeavor to compare it to the old wing or to any other Holocaust memorials I’ve been to, though I’d encourage you to visit them yourself. What I will do is share some of my thoughts which the museum provoked.

Walking through the sequenced sections of the museum, I asked myself many questions, many of them the very same questions most any visitor and observer would ask. How did an unprecedented menace like Hitler manage to rise to power, and how did that power go unchecked? How did Europe, the purported center of world culture and the supposedly most advanced continent of civilizations allow itself to descend to such atrocities? How did the Jews of Europe not feel the water coming to a boil around them? How did allegedly heroic leaders like Roosevelt and Churchill, knowing full well what the Nazis were doing, not take simple action to stop the killing machine from remaining in gear to the peril of millions? However perplexing and even infuriating as these questions turned, it was quite a different question that stayed with me throughout my tour of the museum: What would I have done?

In addition to describing the circumstances leading up to the Holocaust, to the unspeakable atrocities committed therein, and the aftermath that followed, a considerable section of the museum was dedicated to showing what individual Jews did amidst – and in response to – such horror. Being the grandchild of survivors, and seeing right in front of me the fate that befell my great aunts, uncles and grandparents, I was not looking at horrors endured (or worse, not endured) by others, but by members of my own people and even my own family. The question, therefore, didn’t seem quite so hypothetical.

Would I have endeavored to preserve Jewish culture by operating a stage theater? Would I have sought to record what was happening around me by keeping a journal, in the hopes that it would surface in the hands of survivors years later? Being an “observant Jew”, would I have devoted myself to intense prayer for redemption, or perhaps the study and preservation of Torah as the eternal backbone of Jewish survival? Maybe I would have cleaved to the Jewish value of knowledge and published a newspaper inside the ghetto to keep my kinsmen informed of what was going on around us?

My grandfather, he should live and be well, managed to escape from Poland to behind Russian lines, where he met my grandmother, eventually re-united with his only surviving sister, and fathered three children, who now each have two children of their own. His considerable contribution was what we would otherwise take for granted: survival. That contribution will multiplied by the individual accomplishments of each descendant (and hopefully ascendant) generation which, thanks to his survival, is now alive and proudly Jewish. Would I have had the strength to carry on as he did, with the knowledge that everything and nearly everyone I once cherished is now gone, endure the aftermath, and restart life in a foreign land?

The museum is laid out in a sequential manner, taking you through history chronologically from Hitler’s rise to power, through the war and the Holocaust, to the establishment of the State of Israel. Yet I continuously found myself returning to the section on the Partisans, the Jewish as well as non-Jewish guerilla fighters who made for the woods, organizing makeshift militias and striking back against the Nazis. They derailed trains transporting tanks from factories to the German front lines. They liberated concentration camps. They provided refuge for escapees from camps and ghettos. They killed Nazi soldiers. But perhaps most importantly, they preserved their own dignity, protected the survival of their own families, and preserved the fighting Jewish tradition of the Maccabees by fighting back against the Nazis that were slaughtering their kinsmen by million. Would I have managed to escape concentration or murder for the forest and joined their ranks? Would I have fought back, or would I have despaired?

I wish that by the end of this entry, I would have an answer to these questions, but I fear that by the end of my (hopefully long and worthwhile) life, I will still not be able to determine what my roll would have been with much degree of certainty. The likelihood is, however sadly, that like over six million other individual Jewish souls, I would have simply perished.

All I can do at this point is to continue asking these questions, to live my life in the memory of so many victims, honoring the spirit of those who persevered, and make the survival of my own grandfather worthwhile by contributing to the posterity of the Jewish people, whose quest for survival is still far from finished.

The Melting Pot

SHARANSKY’S OBSERVATIONS ON HERZL'S VISION

During my upbringing in Canada, I was educated on the values of Canadian multiculturalism, specifically in contrast to the American “melting pot” approach to the combining of its varied ethnic communities.

The American approach was predicated on a notion of America as a nation. “On the boats and on the planes, they’re coming to American”, sang Neil Diamond. Once arriving, immigrants of different ethnic backgrounds were to shed their former identities, by and large rejecting their cultural heritage and embrace their new nationality as Americans. The Canadian approach, meanwhile, refused to define what being Canadian truly meant, imposing no artificial image, and permitting the Canadian identity to be shaped by the colors of different ethnic groups of which it has become comprised. The question of which of these approaches works better in North America is one I will not endeavor to answer here, because beyond their utility for comparison, the factors affecting Canadian and American nationalisms are of little consequence to that of my new/old homeland (what Herzl called “der altneuland”). The question is, Which is the Zionist approach?

This was among the issues addressed by renowned human rights activist and Jewish leader Natan Sharansky in a lecture which he gave and I enjoyed this past Sunday. Entitled “The Political Thought of Theodor Herzl”, the lecture was presented by the Shalem Center, a Jerusalem-based Jewish think-tank, and provided the rare opportunity to revisit the ideas of the founder of modern Zionism by someone who was jailed for his belief in them.

Sharansky recounted a story about a group of Russian Jews who were involved in Russian theater and wanted to make Aliyah. As an integral part of their ascension to Israel, they wanted to take their passion with them and establish a Russian-language theater in Israel. Believing this to be a wonderful idea, Sharansky took up their cause and approached the ministry of culture among several cultural institutions in Israel, and was surprised by their vehement opposition to the idea. He was told that in Israel, theater productions are performed in Hebrew, as part of the Zionist renewal of the language and its subsequent fortification of the people in their homeland.

In a similar fashion, for better or for worse, as an Oleh Chadash (new immigrant) in Israel, I am constantly encouraged to speak in Hebrew, and not in my mother tongue, English. An essential part of the Aliyah process, the part I am currently at, is the immersion in Israeli culture through learning Hebrew in Ulpan, an intensive Hebrew language academy. Here, Jewish immigrants of different tongues gather, including English, French, Russian, German, Spanish and Portugese, to forget the language they know and in place take on Hebrew, the eternal language of the Jewish people.

At various stages of the return of Israel’s people to the land, Jews who came from Eastern European backgrounds were encouraged to abandon their “shtettle mentality” and change their names. Jews coming from Arab lands were pushed to modernize and forget their erstwhile culture, which was seen as backwards and undeveloped. And so it went for Jewish immigrants from around the globe, from Morocco to Montreal and from Persia to Paris. From these and countless other examples, we can clearly see that the Zionist endeavor -- in its application -- has opted for the melting pot approach to immigrant absorption.

Shransky asserted that, contrary to its application, the founder of modern Zionism, Theodor Herzl, had quite a different vision. Herzl envisioned that with them, exiled Jews from the four corners of the earth would come to Israel, bringing with them their adopted cultures and languages. German, English, French and Arabic, among countless others, would be spoken freely in the State of Israel, contributing to what he called a “Mosaic mosaic” – that is to say a rich multicultural landscape of the disciples of Moses.

Would this concept of the “Mosaic mosaic” have been better for the State of Israel and its people, or would Herzl have been proven wrong? The answer to this perplexing question is entirely up to individual interpretation, the eternal backbone of Jewish scholarity.

As for me, I’ll very much enjoy both speaking Hebrew on the street and English with my friends, French with the elderly Moroccan man on the street and Yiddish with the Chassid in Me'ah Shearim...and be all the (culturally) richer for it.

He is listening.

OBSERVATIONS FROM SIMPLE PRAYER

Even the most devout and pious religious devotees in the world sometimes wonder if G.od is actually listening to our prayers. My experience from a few weeks ago, which I will relate to you below, confirmed for me that He is, without a doubt.

I’m currently living in the dormitories at Ulpan Etzion -- an intensive Hebrew language institute for new immigrants -- in the Bak’a neighborhood of Jerusalem. One of the other guys in the dorms here is engaged to a girl who lives in Mitzpei Netufah, a yishuv (small community) in the Lower Galilee region in northern Israel, near Tiberias. He goes up to spend Shabbat there every week, and one week invited a few of us from the ulpan to join them for the weekend.

Shabbat, of course, is the Jewish day of rest, reminiscent of the seventh day of creation when G.od rested, and so we rest from creating or destroying, and don't operate anything electric or mechanic.

A few of us were staying with her neighbors down the road. Two guys in one room, two in another, and I was by myself in a third room. On Friday night, one of the other guys, walking down the hallway, accidentally bumped into a light switch, which turned on the ceiling lamp above my bed. Of course he was extremely apologetic, but it being Shabbat, there was nothing to be done. Though I rarely sleep with an eye mask, I reached into my bag and realized I had brought one which I had evidently received on a plane, which was surprising enough on its own. Putting on the mask, I assured my friend that it would be alright, and lay down to sleep. The light still crept through the corners of the mask, though.

So I quietly said a little prayer: “G.od,” I said, “I didn’t get much sleep last night, and now it’s Shabbat and I’m stuck in this situation. I didn’t yell at my friend, as upset as I was at his mistake. I didn’t make him switch beds with me, though that would have been perfectly justified. I even resisted the urge to go into the hallway, switch the light back off, and pretend like nothing had happened. But now I need my rest on Shabbat. So being almighty and omnipotent and such, please do something to see to it that I get my sleep. Amen.” And so I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep.

Not long after, still trying to fall asleep, I noticed the light was off. Puzzled, I determined I had better make use of the situation and so I went to sleep. I woke up at around half past ten the next morning, well rested. Having missed the prayer services, I got dressed and went to meet my friends outside the synagogue. I was shocked and awestruck to hear that the entire yishuv had suffered a power failure, a complete blackout that night!

Since that Shabbat in the Galilee, I have regarded my prayers with more significance. G.od is listening to our prayers, without a doubt. And so may He answer all our prayers, granting strength to His people and blessing us with peace.

On the Road Again…

OBSEVATIONS FROM ISRAELI HIGHWAYS

In Canada I had always driven cars with automatic transmissions, which are the norm. Manual transmissions there like in the United States, are the exception. In Israel, of course, as with many things, the opposite is true, most cars operating with manual transmissions.

Meanwhile, those who know me know that I love cars. Ferraris, above all else. And I’ve had to pass up too many the opportunities to drive Ferraris.

For these two reasons I was determined to learn how to drive stick-shift. I took one lesson with my original driving instructor back in Montreal, but without a car to practice on, I hadn’t really gotten the hang of it. When I was a little kid I was always the first to jump into the water, while others stuck a toe in to see how cold it was. Adopting the same philosophy, I embarked to rent a stick-shift car for the day and drive around Jerusalem until it became second-nature.

Despite the pervasiveness of manual cars in Israel, I had to go to four rental locations before I finally found one stick-shift car at Avis, who charged significantly more than Hertz would have. But since Hertz (and Budget and Eldan) didn’t have what I needed, I rented the small white Chevy Aveo from Avis and off I went. I taped a sign to the inside of the back window with the symbol for a student driver and that said in Hebrew: “Patience, New Driver”.

I drove around Jerusalem for an hour or so, and then hit the highway. I drove through the (relatively) new community of Modi’in, to the bustling modern metropolis of Tel Aviv, then to see old friends in the suburban town of Givat Shmuel, near the campus of Bar-Ilan University. I spent the evening there with Noam and Galit Rakovsky and their children, who were in Montreal with us for a few years when Noam was the cantor at my family’s synagogue before recently returning to Israel. At the end of the evening, I got back on the highway and drove back to Jerusalem, returning the car the next morning.

Driving along Israel’s roads, besides becoming accustomed to both driving with a manual transmission and to navigating the streets here, I confirmed two things to be true.
First, native-born Israelis are often called Sabras, in reference to the fruit that grows atop certain types of cactus in Israel. The sabra fruit is prickly and tough on the outside, but sweet and soft on the inside.
Second, Israeli culture puts a high premium on learning, even the hard way.

On the streets of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, and at various points in between, I stalled the car a dozen times or so. I caused a few temporary traffic jams, and probably exacerbated a few more. But unlike in North America, not so many people honked. Seeing the “student driver” sign, most simply drove around. Some smiled and chuckled as I dried to get the car in motion. Only one driver, in Tel Aviv, pulled up next to me and began yelling. And he looked rather ashamed of himself when I answered that I was trying my best, and that all I was asking of him was a little patience.

Tough and prickly on the outside, soft and sweet on the inside.

Welcome to my Web Log

Shalom and welcome. I've just set up this blog, on which I will be sharing with you my "insights and observations" on my life and experiences in Israel.

The term "observant Jew" is typically applied to a Jewish person who observes (or follows) the laws and traditions of the Jewish religion.

Since I was a child, friends and family have remarked that I seem to notice things that others don't and draw different conclusions from things I see and experience. In response, I answer "of course, I'm an Observant Jew."

Feel free and encouraged to stop by at your leisure, bookmark my page, link me on your own blog, and comment on my rants, ramblings, insights and, of course, observations.