Israel 2005
The trip to Israel was really wonderful, and the memories keep coming at me. It’s a place that just gives and gives and I felt very comfortable there. It’s very like the USA, partially because everyone you meet speaks English, and anything you want here you can get there. And the public has a very young face. At the end of high school, everyone must go into the army. So all over the country you see young men and woman dressed in drab green with automatic rifles slung over their backs. I confess, I’ve never felt so safe in my life. When I see a soldier in New York with a gun, I am unnerved. It’s the legacy of 9-11, but here, it’s just different.
The itinerary was hectic. In ten days we covered most of the major sights, but I could have used some down time just to catch up with myself and do some reflecting on what I saw. We started off by planting a tree. Now that may seem an odd thing to do when you’re on a vacation, but in Israel, planting a tree is a highly symbolic act. It reestablishes ones connection with the land and you are participating in the effort to make the land green. You have to remember that most of this little piece of property was desert in 1948 so most of what is green today was planted by people who contributed money for trees from Jewish communities all over the world. The next stop was a park called Mini Israel. This was a park where all the major attractions such as archaeological sits and religious sites from one end of the country to the other are recreated in exact miniature. You walk through the place and just marvel at the detail, but you walk through with an umbrella over your head because the sun is brutal. Following that, we went to Caesaria, the ruin of a major Herodian city built to honor Agustus Caesar. It’s right on the Mediterranean and you can only imagine what it was like in its hay day. After that we went to a Kibbutz that became a resort right on the Kineret or Sea of Galilee. Actually, it’s not a sea at all but a large fresh water lake into which the Jordan river empties itself and then continues to the Dead Sea which is not a sea either but a very large lake at the lowest point of the earth. More about that experience later.. The northern part of the country is called the Galilee and it is filled with history and beauty. Its in a valley, and surrounding the valley are barren mountains that turn pink when the sun sets. The blue water reflecting the pink mountains are just a wonder to behold. The mountains are both Syrian or Jordanian and the Syrian part is called the Golan Heights. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. At sunset, Toby and I went down to the water for a dip. I thought of trying to walk on it, but recalled that only Jesus and your father can do that. At least, that’s what your father believes. Across the water you can see the city of Tiberius and up on top of what I think may be the Judean Hills is Safed, a beautiful old stone town that was the home to the greatest Kabalistic Rabbis and is now a major artist’s colony. You should see the art they produce. The accommodations were quite nice. We each had a one bedroom apartment with a sitting area and a small kitchen and bathroom. It was air conditioned, and frankly, that was all I cared about. Dinner was in the dining hall and buffet. In fact, all meals in all the hotels in which we stayed were buffet style and I was happy that I had so many choices. And what food there was! They are very big on fresh vegetables and fruits, but in addition to these there are salads galore and all sorts of meats and poultry. Most of the meat we encountered was in the form of lamb kabobs and they were delicious. In fact, we never had a bad meal in the ten days we were there. Even eating in restaurants was a unique experience. The first course is a spread of unusual salads and pita bread for dipping. Then the main course which usually contain chicken or lamb with fresh vegetables and potatoes. Enough about food. The next day we went to Capurnum, a city well known to Jesus and Peter. In fact, there is a large round church built over the ruins of a house reputed to be Peter’s house. Right opposite to the church is the ruins of a 2nd century synagogue that is pretty well preserved. Lots of carvings and mosaics are displayed. After that, we went to Safed, that ancient town up on top of the hill. I wish I had more time to wander the streets, but I could not. We did go into the synagogue of Isaac Luria, one of the great Kabalists of the 16th century, and in a shop close by, I purchased an item that I’ve been looking for for years. It’s called a Seferot, and when I marveled at the idea that the exact thing I’ve wanted was actually for sale, the jeweler who made it congratulated me for being the first tourist in five years who was able to identify what it was. It’s difficult to describe, so I won’t attempt to do so. I will say that there are ten stones on it and each represents a quality of God. Two are female. All were used to create the world. These are symbolic of the ten emanations that radiated out of the En Sof, or Endlessness and were used in the creation of all things. It’s all very mystical and mythical. I’ve started reading some Kabalistic literature and it is tough going. Tradition teaches that to get involved in this aspect of Judaism, you need to be male, married, learned in Torah, and over forty. These are suggested because an unstable person can really get messed up with the ideas. They are rather antithetical to traditional beliefs. I just learned that there is something called Christian Kabalah that is based on Jewish Kabalistic thought that was developed in the Renaissance for the purpose of explaining creation. I think the Humanist, Pico de Mandola was involved in its creation. From Safed we traveled up to the Golan Heights, that piece of real estate that Israel captured in the Six Day War from Syria. The place is still loaded with mine fields and the bunkers are still there. Standing up there you fully appreciate the need for Israel to keep this area, because the valley, entire Sea of Galilee, and the people who live and farm there were daily bombarded by the Syrians prior to the war. The valley is completely vulnerable to missile attacks. There is a somber memorial up there to the soldiers who gave their lives for the people in the valley. We were told an amazing story about a man named Eli Cohen. Cohen worked for the Israeli secret police, and established himself in Argentina masquerading as a wealthy Arab business man. Once he established his credentials there, he moved to Damascus, the capital of Syria where he continued his role and made friends with people in high places. Once he asked if he might visit the Golan Heights to meet the soldiers up there and see the vulnerability of the valley. He was taken and saw that there were no trees up there for the soldiers to get any respite from the sun. He asked if he might plant trees up there for the soldiers to shade themselves, and the Syrian Government thought that this was a very nice gesture. The trees were planted, and now Israel knew exactly where the bunkers were. Tragically, Mr. Cohen was discovered and publicly hanged. A movie was made entitled, “Our Man in Damascus.” From the Golan, we traveled to Jerusalem, the city of David and the spiritual center of the Jewish universe. It’s a beautiful city, partially because a law was past in the early part of the last century by the British that only Jerusalem stone may be used in all construction. So there is a uniformity about the city, and this particular stone glows gold when the sun hits it just at the right angle at sun rise and sun set. The is a song entitled, “Jerusalem of Gold” that was written after it was recaptured from the Jordanians in 1967. The city, at that time, was divided into the modern city, the Jewish Quarter, the Christian Quarter, and the Arab Quarter. The Jordanians leveled most of the Jewish Quarter and used Hebrew grave markers as paving stones and in urinals. They also limited access to the Western Wall and built homes right up to the wall so Jews could not get to it. That all changed in a battle whose marks still remain on the gates of the city. When the Israelis took the city back, (It was given to them in 1948, but lost it when the Arabs attacked them after Israel declared it’s independence) they created a massive court yard in front of the wall and Jews as well as Christians have free access 24/7. The Wall is the only thing left of the Temple complex built by Herod. It was a sustaining wall for the Temple mount above it. The Arabs built two mosques on the site, and Jews are not given access to it. The Israelis began excavating this tunnel beneath the was and found the original stones on the bed rock thirty feel below the street level. The stones are massive and the wall is massive. Digging stopped because the Arabs complained so the digging stopped. The Israelis try very hard to keep the peace though few give them credit. The following are my reflections about my experience at the wall: Everyone who had ever been to the Western Wall assured me that the experience would be profound and life altering. For some reason, everyone just expected that I, too, would have such an experience and I expected just as much. But my fanciful imagination had a Mahler symphony and several choirs singing in full voice accompanying my personal epiphany. I wanted the Shechina to descend upon me and transfigure me into a truly spiritual being. Sadly, these things did not happen. The Wall seemed to have other experiences for me different from the ones I anticipated. Perhaps I was just too exited to see the Western Wall and to touch it, or perhaps I was just too tired. Or perhaps I was just too needy to feel the awe of the place and just too aware of the need to feel it. A person can lose the moment by focusing on the need and not on the experience itself. A focus on the need is a focus on the self. I think now that there were too many expectations, mine and others, not enough suspension of the self, and certainly not enough preparation for such a moment. I did hear something akin to music, but it was the soft murmuring cadences of other Jewish men who had also come there to pray and perhaps to also experience something of the holy. I was not absorbed by the sacredness of the spot, though I was fully aware of the awesomeness of the place. In the spiritual center of the Universe, I could not find my spiritual center. I had not prepared myself. So I think that my experience at the Wall, by not fulfilling my expectations, was to make me more aware of the work I had to do to make my soul become more spiritually connected. I should have known that in such sacred places and at such sacred moments, one had to be able to free oneself from ego and earthly concerns and give oneself up to whatever was waiting. Such a spiritual connection takes work. I had not done the work, and it did not occur to me that I had withheld myself from the work that needed to be done. Releasing oneself into the moment, especially a sacred moment, is not an easy thing for me to do. Perhaps it is easy for truly pious people or people who do not endlessly struggle with theology, but I am neither. To enter sacred space, time needs to be suspended, and rational doubts need to be deferred. The mind needs to be cleared and open for elevated thoughts. Sacredness demands it. So needing to connect to this hallowed space, I placed my open palms against the golden stone and conjured a cognitive imagining that if the electrons in the extremities of my hands would form a bond with the electrons of the stone in the Wall, at least a connection could be made on an atomic level. Theoretically, the Wall and I would be one. Now that would be something. Certainly, if God is everything as Spinoza taught, it would happen So, with my palms and forehead pressed against the very same stones that countless numbers of my people touched and wept upon, my Zeydeh’s tallis covering my head and shoulders, I desperately tried to physically and emotionally connect with my God, the Temple Wall, my history, and my people. Like in most things, we expect God to do the work for us, and I have to once again remind myself that that is not how God works in this world. A midrash tells us that Nachshon ben Amidai walked into the sea up to his nose before the sea parted for the children of Israel. He did something to create his own miracle. He did his work and his work was one of faith. I had done no work, and as I had withheld myself from the work, the Wall withheld itself from me. That in itself was a major learning or relearning. And with that learning came a fuller understanding of the need for preliminary prayers, niguns, and focused imagery prior entering sacred time and sacred space. It takes time and a special mind set to realize before whom you stand when you face the Western Wall. Preparation is the key to the pardes gate. I had come with too many expectations for myself, for the Wall, and for God. I had not done what I had to do to make my miracle happen. Standing there, were other blurts of revelations. One image that came to me was that I was in a place where all around me Jewish men were praying openly with reverence and passion, totally comfortable in their Judaism, and that I had never been as comfortable with my Judaism as I was at that moment. Another flash made me aware that I was in my ancestral homeland, and that if I could, I could trace myself back thirty-five hundred years to some farmer or herder who had sent his genetic material through centuries to a descendant who had finally returned to where his family began. Lastly, it came to me that the mighty Roman Empire that burned the Holy Temple and carried away its great treasure and people to build the Coliseum and beautify Rome, was long dead, and that I and my people were still here, still vibrant, and still trying to inch the world to a better tomorrow. And like the Western Wall, my people had survived the calumnies, the humiliations, and the brutalities of the centuries, and I know we shall continue to survive and continue our God given mission to bare witness to His law and to mend the world. Perhaps that all that can be learned at the Wall when time is limited and schedules demand attention and one has not truly prepared himself before entering such a sacred space. I did not get from the Wall what I came for, but I certainly did not walk away empty. One day we went to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the church built over the last three stations of the cross and the traditional places where Jesus was crucified, and buried. It was Constantine’s mother, Helena, who come to Jerusalem in the fourth century and decided where these shrines were. The devotion on the faces of believers is astounding. The Greek Orthodox, the Armenian Orthodox, the Russian Orthodox, and the Catholic Church all are represented with shrines over holy sites. From what I understand, they are very protective of their respective turfs, and traditions. The style is very much Byzantine, and I suspect that is Helena’s influence. One series of columns though are in marble and marble is not native to Israel. The guide said there is a theory that they may have originally stood on the Temple Mount as part of the Holy Temple itself. The Christian Quarter opens into the Arab Quarter and we of course wandered through the Shuck, or Arab market. These are unique places, narrow and inside some cavernous place. You have to move through a very narrow path with vendors hawking their wares on either side of this cacophonous gauntlet. The dried foods and the rich scented spices fill the air. Musical instruments, and clothing hang above the doors to the shops and above your head. It’s quite an experience. There was once a Jewish Market like this, but it had been destroyed and had to be rebuilt after the war. It’s called the Cardo. Here, too, there are stores on either side of the walkway, but the walkway is wide and the stores are air conditioned for your comfort and you are not accosted at every turn. It’s not as visually exciting, but it is cool and the merchandise quality is guaranteed. Wherever we are, we air condition. The entire Jewish part of the city closes down on the Sabbath. On Friday evening we walked over to the school where our Rabbi studied and held services and had Shabbat dinner. After dinner, a group of young men and woman from another trip who were there to study were invited in and we all sang and danced. It was very uplifting. The following morning, we celebrated a Bar and a Bat Mitzvah. The young lady was twelve and the Bar Mitzvah was 83. In our tradition, you can have a second Bar Mitzvah at this age because you have lived one life time and are now on your second. I intend having one in 18 years and you are invited. I like to have long term goal. The setting was on a mountain top over looking the city. When we pray, we face east to Jerusalem and the Temple. But there we were, actually praying and looking at where the Temple once stood. It was quite a moment. I would be remiss if I did not tell you of Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Memorial to the six million martyrs. Everyone goes there to confront history and to resolve that we must never let this happen again. I was a reluctant visitor because each time I think of the Holocaust, I think of the stories that were told by the only members of my family that escaped and came here after the war. I was sent out of the room, but I listened at the door, and I am still haunted by what I heard. Our first stop was the Garden of the Righteous Gentiles. This garden of trees was planted for each person or family that saved Jewish people at the risk of having their own lives and properties forfeited. I think you and your dad would have been such people. Our next stop was the Hall of Children. One and one-half million children were murdered and his building commemorates them in a solemn and moving way. At the entrance are white stone columns, perhaps about a dozen of them, all different sizes and all cut off at irregular places. They symbolize the lives of children at different ages cut off. Above the building, sticking out of the stone, are metal rods that are used to strengthen buildings. These are usually covered, but here they are exposed. These are symbolic of lives that were not finished. The memorial itself is circular and mirrors cover the walls and ceilings. In the center of the room, behind glass, are candles flickering. I cannot tell how many, because they are reflected in the mirror over and over again. Everywhere you look, you see flickering lights, each one represents a murdered child. There are reflections in reflections on into infinity, and the only sound you hear are the names of children being repeated over and over again. Later, in the actual museum, I learned that thousands of these children could have been saved, but no nation was willing to take them, including the United States. I also recall learning that Hilter was willing to sell Jews, but no country would buy them. And now I approached the museum/memorial itself. There are all sorts of sacred spaces, and a place can be sacred by its very nature or by what an individual ascribes to it. The Western Wall is sacred by its nature, and my garden is sacred because I ascribe sanctity to it. Yad Vashem is made sacred by what it commemorates and by those who visit it and are willing to remember.. So I approached this place with great trepidation, not because it was hallowed, but because of the story it would tell and the hatred, rage, and remorse I might feel because of that story. I did not want to feel hatred and rage. I did not want to feel the helplessness, the debilitation, or the powerlessness my European relatives felt before the were murdered. I don’t like such feelings, but what else can one feel when confronted with the murder of my family and of my people. So I armed myself with my camera and I used it as a means for keeping the grim images at a distance, a buffer if you will between me and what has to be the most unjust and horrendous event in the history of Western Civilization. My camera established a distance between me, the reality before me, and the insanity of the past, and in doing so, it also allowed me to keep some semblance of balance. Still, I could not help thinking about Jew-hatred and those who have espoused it over the centuries. Click here for a short history of Jew-hatred. Somewhere I recall reading that the Rabbis of the Talmud made virtually no reference to Jew-hatred except to say, “the hatred came from Sinai.” They knew that the cause of the hatred was the moral imperative that came into the world with the Torah commandments. What more was there to say? It is a simple idea and a simple truth, and the tragedy is that the vast majority of the people were murdered not knowing why they were being murdered; not knowing that they were being murdered because they created and carried the idea that gave Western Civilization its morality and the right of its members to call themselves civilized. That may be too abstract for some, preferring to believe in the scapegoat theory. But you keep scapegoats alive so you can continue to beat up on them. And the economic theory was equally flawed. They murdered very rich Jews and Jews who were destitute. The underlying cause for the Holocaust is far more insidious. You can only get rid of an idea by murdering the people who taught the idea and carry the idea. But morality truly works only when it is extended to all people and not only to the people who belong to a particular group that espouses it unless of course, this another group is trying to destroy you. Otherwise, if it applies to only one group, it will lead to evil. This is what happened in the Holocaust. Christianity has a morality, but it was not applied to Jews in most cases . The same thing happened during the Crusades and the Inquisition. God is a universal God and gave a universal morality. The Christians of Europe did not hear that message. Again, any religion that has a morality that is applicable only to its own adherents and to no one else, will allow evil to thrive. Most Christians, for the past two thousand plus years, have consistently missed the point of Jesus’ message. This is my truth as I moved through Yad Vashem. It is important to know history and it is important to remember history. It is important to know your own truth while allowing others to have theirs. All religions are pathways to a relationship with something infinite. The fact that yours is different from mine is of no consequence and should make absolutely no difference in how we treat one another. Yad Vashem is a conjurer of memory, of history, and of truths that must be told. So now I am once again reminded of my anger, but it is an anger directed at any religious system that taught or teaches Jew-hatred. These systems should have had more of the love their God embraced and taught. Evil wrapped in religion gives God a bad name. Click here for a brief history lesson on Jew hatred There were a few other memorable moments in Jerusalem. After the Sabbath, we walked down to Ben Yehudah Street, an open air street mall without traffic. It was pretty empty, but as soon as the Sabbath was over, the place erupted with lights, open shops, hundreds of young men and woman standing, talking, milling eating, laughing, and generally enjoying life. Everyone there looks attractive and healthy. It must be from the diet. The cell phone is attached to everyone’s ear, and too many people smoke. We dined in a very nice restaurant that was divided between a dairy side and a meat side. Our waitress was a lovely Yemenite girl who had lived in Brooklyn for two years. I’m telling you, Israel is like a little America. On the trip south, we stopped at a Bedouin camp for a “Bedouin Experience.” This was really more fun than I had anticipated. We had the option of either sleeping in the tent on the ground or in cabins. I don’t do well sleeping on the ground so we opted for the cabins. They were Spartan, but comfortable with a small kitchen, a futon, a table and chairs, bathroom and two bedrooms. And it was air conditioned. The desert really cools off at night and the most amazing stars are visible. I just stood there looking up until my neck started to hurt. We dined sitting on carpets and huge platters of chicken, lamb, potatoes, and vegetables were served after the first course of those amazing salads. And because it was the Fourth of July, I began leading the group at our table in some patriotic songs. There were a large number of Americans there on a Birthright trip, and they joined in. We had a wonderful time. The next morning, prior to getting on the bus, we took a camel ride. That was really fun. Continuing south, we came to Massada, the mountain fortress that Herod built. It has a remarkable history. At the time of the last Jewish revolt against the Romans, a group of Jews and their families fled to this mountain top fortress and held off the Roman army for two years. Ultimately, the Romans built a sand ramp up to the walls and set fire to the door. The story goes that the families all agreed that rather than die at the hands of the Romans, or be sexually exploited or enslaved by them, each man would kill his wife and children. Then the men drew lots as to who would be the last and he would take his life. The story is revealed by three woman who were found hiding. The Romans were victorious, but they were not victorious. The fortress is in the desert and it got up to about 114 degrees. Don’t let anyone tell you that a dry heat is not bad. It’s bad. Water bottles were a constant companion. Continuing the trip, we came to the Dead Sea, the lowest point on earth. You see amazing salt formations all along the coast and these salts are marketed for all sorts of products. The water is very heavily saline, and if there is any cut on your body, you will know it immediately. The remarkable thing is that you cannot sink. You don’t swim in it either unless you are doing the back stroke, because you don’t dare get any of the water in your eyes or you mouth. You can’t even stand up easily, so I paddled to shore and then stood. There, the temperature reached about 120 degrees. We didn’t stay in very long. The sea is really a very big lake and it is drying up because of the hydroelectric needs of both Israel and Jordan. So Israel and Jordan are embarking on a project to build a pipeline from the Red Sea so as to bring back the water level of the dead sea. It’s amazing what peace between two nations can accomplish. If the other Arab nations would allow Israel to live in peace, the world would be amazed at what could be accomplished. As we continued to Elat, the Miami Beach of Israel on the Red Sea, we stopped at a working Kibbutz that was the place where our Rabbi worked and met his wife. They raise a citrus fruit called a palmello. It’s like a grapefruit, with a thick rind but very sweet inside. We went on a tour and were told a very interesting story. It seems that one morning the Kibbutznicks found foot prints in the orchard. They were concerned that they might be terrorists, but the head of the Kibbutz pointed out that the foot prints came in and went out again. They were stealing the fruit. So the Kibbutznicks got together and decided that since the Torah requires that the corner of the fields and what falls naturally off a tree must be left for the poor to pick, they decided that a certain percentage of the crop should go to the people on the other side of the boarder. So they put a portion of the fruit into a bin and left it on the order. The next night it was empty. They continued to do this. One day, the head of the Kibbutz was jogging along the border and a large limousine pulled up and men in suites got out and started filling the trunk of the car. He asked who they were, and out of the car steps the governor of the province. The two become good friends and begin meeting on the border for lunch and bringing their families. Ultimately, when peace between Jordan and Israel is made, Jordan agrees to let the Kubbutz keep the orchard. So the border at this point dips into Jordan and further on down dips into Israel the same distance. It’s a nice story. As I said, Elat is very much like any resort town, with big hotels, lots of restaurants and stalls selling all the kinds of stuff vacationer buy. But here the boardwalk has live music and dancing. Again, everybody seems to be young. Didn’t see any soldiers. They were all on leave and having a wonderful time. They have a fabulous aquarium that is set right into the reef. The fish are remarkable and the variety is astounding. One of the highlights of the trip was the side trip to Petra, a Nablatean city in Jordan carved into the sandstone. If you recall “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade” with Sean Connery, you’ll remember Petra. It’s where they find the Holy Grail. It’s a five mile journey in and then five miles out. I did it all on foot, but it can be partially done on donkey and by chariot. The first part before you get to the mountain pass that leads to the city is open and hot, and as you walk you start seeing large stone sarcophagi free standing or carved into the rocks along the road. Suddenly you encounter massive rocks rising up on either side, and you enter these happily because they afford the only shade available. Because it is a mountain pass, you are shielded from the sun and very often refreshed by a breeze. After about a mile of this, you see through a crevice the Treasury, a large mausoleum cut right into the red stone. It’s amazing. In front of it on this huge plaza are dozens of camels and little cart, and the drivers are all offering you trips on the next leg of the journey which takes you into the part of the city were the people lived. There is a large amphitheater on the way and other large structured cut into the mountains. It was a truly impressive place. The Nablateans were taken over by the Romans and their fate is unknown. They were merchants on the road to the east. We left Elat for our last stop in Tel Aviv and the trip home. Tel Aviv is a relatively new city that looks as if mush of it was designed and built in the sixties. We traveled through several run down neighborhoods which clearly indicates that not everything is bright in this country. In fact, one lecture we had was from a man who runs a series of soup kitchens and he told us that he feeds over 10,000 people a day with more expected. For a country it’s size, it absorbs more refugees a year than any other country on earth. Our only stop was a Rabin Square. This is an important place because it is where Yitzchak Rabin, the Prime Minister was assassinated by an Israeli extremist several years ago. But attempts at peace go on. I really don’t understand why people who kill national leaders actually think they are effecting anything other than causing pain for a very brief time. These nuts really ought to look at history. The country moved on after Lincoln, and the country moved on after Kennedy. Israel moved on after Rabin. Assassins just don’t get it. |
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