Trip to the Negev, etc.

First of all, the big news of the week is that I have decided to attend Columbia's Yiddish Studies PhD program next year - and I am very excited about it! I don't want to write much about it because the purpose if this post is to write about the tiyyul but please feel free to ask me questions about it as I'd love to describe the program to you if you are interested.

OK, so we arrived home on Saturday night from a terrific tiyyul and it's been a very busy week as we're scrambling to finish homework between social engagements and preparation for our trip to Moscow. Today I was at the preschool, where we talked about Passover, made charoset, tasted some matzah, and danced to "avadim hayyinu". Yesterday in Hebrew class we had a long and heated discussion about Pat Oliphant's political cartoon about Gaza that appeared in the New York Times on Wednesday- we discussed whether it was anti-Semitic, anti-Israel, or both (and if it's possible to be anti-Israel without being anti-Semitic), what the symbols used in the cartoon could mean, whether American Jews should have denounced it, if it should have been published at all, and we eventually got into a debate over whether American Jews should feel connected to Israel's political decisions and how they should express that connection. The conversation was particularly interesting because I was the only American Jew who took part in it - it was Europeans, some Jewish and some non-Jewish, an Israeli, several American Christians, two Koreans, etc. Some people were very certain that the cartoon was not anti-Semitic and some felt even more strongly than I do that it presented dangerously anti-Semitic images. My feeling is that I have no problem with the message of discomfort with Israel's actions in Gaza nor do I believe that a newspaper should not be allowed to publish such a thing, as I believe in freedom of the press, but I do think that the images in the cartoon were inappropriate, dangerous, and, yes, anti-Semitic. I think by equating Israel with Nazis, the cartoonist ignores the historical specificity of both the Holocaust and Israel's actions in Gaza and does both a disservice, and that by turning the Star of David into a symbol of destruction he suggsts more than that the state misused its powerful military presence, but that Judaism itself is a violent force in the world. By drawing the soldier without a head, Oliphant reverses traditional anti-Semitic cartoons of the Jew who controls the world through the power of his intellect, but that the Janus-faced opposite view of Israel as pure unthinking brute force is equally scary. And I also think that representing Gaza as a little old lady and a baby exaggeratedly unfair, even for a political cartoon. But I'm interested in hearing what you have to say. A political cartoon, after all, is supposed to be an exxagerated version of reality... Yesterday I also went to my two Yiddish classes - in one class we read a story about Jews in Eastern Europe moving to America, and in the other we discussed Tevye the Dairyman. On Sunday I had an interesting anthropology class in which we discussed the Religious Zionist singles scene and the pressures and forces that create the scene, the impact of the scene on the people within it, etc. In my literature class we discussed a story by Brenner titled "Nerves" which was not my favorite that we've read thus far but had some interesting points.



That brings me to Saturday, and to the tiyyul. Rather than going backwards in time in a disorganized fashion, I'll take it from the top, from Thursday morning when we loaded ourselves into the bus and left from HUC. We drove for several hours until we arrived at Ben Gurion's tomb, where we discussed Ben Gurion's leadership and vision, and the centrality of the dessert to an understanding of Israel. The Negev desert is 66% of Israel's area - over 6,700 square miles, and has an arid and semi-arid climate, defined according to average rainfall (2 - 6 inches), type of soil and natural vegetation.

After our initial discussion, we hopped on the bus and went to the Ben Gurion National Solar Energy Center, a research center to explore methods of collecting solar energy efficiently. A small soft-spoken man dressed in a thick sweater led us in the desert sun as he proudly described his facility. The testing center was established in 1985 to compare various alternative solar teachnologies, including one that uses solar energy to heat oil, which then creates electricity, a system of large parabolic mirror troughs used to heat water into steam, photovoltaic sysetems. In 1991 the center became a research facility that investigates new materials, the impact of solar energy usages on the enviroment, etc. The research facility also docuuments solar radiation in the negev in order to identify promising locations for new solar power stations. The speaker provided us with a lot of statistics that I have since forgotten with regard to how much energy different devices produce in comparison to the average energy used per household, etc. The Ben Gurion research facility also has the world's largest solar tracking dish, which is 400 sq.m. in area and capable of concentrating the sun's rays up to 10,000 times.

After a lunch break, we drove to Makhtesh Ramon for a hike. Hundreds of millions of years ago, the Negev desert was covered by an ocean. At the bottom was sand, followed by a layer of limestone formed from the bones of sea creatures. Slowly, the sea started receding, leaving behind a hill which was slowly flattened by water and wind. Approximately five million years ago, during the earthquake known as the Syrian-African rift, rivers changed their courses and began carving out the inside of the crater known as mackhtesh ramon. Once the layer of limestone eroded, the sandstone, which was softer, fell away at a much faster rate than the surrounding limestone walls, which gradually grew taller. At the bottom of the crater, more ancient rock was exposed - the oldest exposed rock in the crater is 200 million years old. Our guide showed us fossils of ammonites, an extinct group of marine animals that once lived in the makhtesh. The hike we went on was short but quite challenging, and the view was terrific.

After the hike, we drove to the Bedouin tent where we spent the night. We listened as a performer played Bedouin instruments and told us stories, had a filling dinner of salads, rice, and potatoes, and sang songs and played games around a campfire. We slept in sleeping bags on the tent floor and rose early to go on another hike.

One group went to Har Shlomo for a more difficult hike, but we decided to go to the easier hike at Timna Valley Park. We watched a high-tech video chronicling the history of the national park, which is located about 30 km north of Eilat. The park includes what are believed to be the oldest copper mines in the world. Archaologists once belived that they were mined by King Solomon, but they are now knoen to have been worked by Egyptians and Mideans, as well as Romans, Nabateans, and Ummayids. The park is also noted for its natural sandstone formations, including "mushrooms" - protruding rocks in which the bottom area has been worn away by particles lifted by the wind, to create a mushroom-like appearance (hence the name). We were amused by large signs pointing to "mushroom and a half" and other silly names. The hike was relatively easy, the weather was mild, and we had a great time walking, chatting, and enjoying lunch by a man-made lake.


Our next stop was Kibbutz Yahel, a Reform Kibbutz in the Aravah Valley, where we stayed for the next several nights. The kibbutz was founded in 1976 by young people from the US, Israel and around the world who identified with progressive Judaism. They make decisions based on religious knowledge and communal ideals. In the harsh desert climate they have created profitable agricultural operations - they grow their own dates, pomelos, peppers, and other produce, and they also have a flourishing dairy farm. We drove to the pamelo fields where we heard stories about cooperation and friendships that the kibbutz has formed accross the Jordan-Israel border (which the pomelo field is directly next to) over the years. We picked our own pomelos and returned to the visitors area of the kibbutz (they have a desert tourism branch were we stayed in very pleasant suites separated by grassy fields).

The next day we took a tour of Kibbutz Lotan, a Reform Kibbutz that was founded in 1983 by 20 Israeli and 20 American youths. It espouses values of sustainable living and creative ecology, and sees itself as an educator and leader in areas such as permaculture, sustainable architecture, and recycling. We went on a tour of the facilities and made seed balls that we are meant to take with us and throw (Johnny-appleseed fashion) in places that we think could use a little more plant life. We also listened to a talk about Israel's need for progressive Jews to make aliyah - the talk provided heated discussion on the bus ride that followed.

At the Coral Reef in Eilat several people went snorkeling, though the water was a bit too cold for me and we sat on the beach, read, and chatted with friends. The Eilat coral reef is the northern part of the Red Sea's 4500 km of coral reefs, and the most northern one in the world.

We returned to Kibbutz Yahel in time for Shabbat, and after we heard a short talk about the role of the Israeli rabbinical student who serves Kibbutz Yahel, several HUC students led a beautiful, music-filled service. After dinner, one of the HUC teachers led a small group in singing zmirot (songs) with gusto. One song after the other, we went through most of our shared repetoire until the head of the dining hall told us that we had to leave the building and we milled around the picnic tables as we continued to sing. We ended the evening playing board games with friends.

On Shabbat morning we walked to a nachal (Hebrew)/wadi (Arabic) - a dry riverbed that contains rain once or twice a year during heavy rains. We held services under a tree in the middle of the desert, and during the time when there might usually be a sermon we were given time to wander off on our own and explore the surroundings. Following the service, some of us chose to go the long way home, climbing up into the hills before spotting the kibbutz and making our way back down.

In the afternoon, we took a tour of the kibbutz's dairy farm. Although Israel is known as the land of milk and honey, those terms originally referred to goat milk and date honey. Nevertheless, Israel is a leader in the modern dairy industry. They produce milk from a cow that is a cross between the German Holstein and a cow native to the Middle East, allowing the cow to withstand the high temperatures. Apparently the cows produce more milk because they are milked three times a day rather than twice, the food is brought to them so they don't waste energy finding it, they eat alfalfa (Arabic for the best food for cows) rather than grass, as well as because of the low altitude. Israeli companies have developed manufactured “high-tech” computer based management systems and dairy equipment, which are sold worldwide. These include pedometers that track the activity of the cows so that on the one day in the month when they are jittery the farmer knows that the cow is in heat, and on days when they are less active the farmer knows that they might be sick. We learned, actually, quite a lot about cows as one of the teachers in Daniel's program holds a masters in dairy farming (from Rutgers!) which he obtained for a previous career as a kibbutznik.

After a quick snack with some members of the kibbutz, we set off on the road for home. It was a terrific, relaxing, warm, and pleasant trip, and we can hardly believe that in a week from today we'll be flying away for another adventure - this time to Moscow!

PS: I posted pictures from the trip online, and you can see them here.

Prayer, leadership, and music.

.תפילה, מנהיגות, ומוזיקה

Yesterday morning, Jessica and I attended Reconstructionist services held in the student lounge of HUC. During the services, I had one of those periodic waves of anticipation and excitement about being a rabbi some day, and I was actively engaged in thinking about prayer and leadership. Add to that the several conversations I've had with Jessica and HUC colleagues about our Rosh Hashanah services here--and Jewish prayer services in general--and it turns out I've been thinking about this topic a lot. So, here are some of my thoughts (many of which are inspired and tempered by others).

Let's start with the Reconstructionist service. The leadership style of the service was fairly laissez-faire, with the leader announcing page numbers, starting a song, and then getting quiet. In some communities, that leadership style can be quite effective. I understand that a number of Reconstructionist congregations are comprised largely of Jews who want to take an active role in prayer and therefore, a strong central leader would detract from their prayer experience. This results in a more organic, ground-up form of prayer service.

Now, in the environment that we had yesterday, I didn't find this leadership style particularly conducive to my own prayer. We weren't in a "Reconstructionist community" as such but rather a somewhat hodgepodge collection of Jews, at least some of whom were quite new to Reconstructionism. This resulted in not only a quiet leader but also a quite congregation. The service was slow, perhaps contemplative, and though it may have been beautiful and meaningful for some or most of the participants, it wasn't for me.

Now, this presents a troubling question: Am I dependent on someone else to facilitate my prayer experience? That is, how much should I be able to pray in any circumstance? The goal of my liturgy teacher is to familiarize us enough with Jewish prayer that we will be able to pray in any Jewish environment, and I would love that. One of my goals for the year is to be able to better understand, and indeed be better at, prayer. The more Hebrew I learn, the more meaningful Jewish prayer becomes to me. Also helpful are learning more about the structure, history, and composition of Jewish prayer as well as the context within which a particular prayer service is conducted. I hope that sooner than later, I'll be able to find myself able to pray in any setting.

But I know that it's rare for a person to be able to pray anywhere (and I know it will require a lot of work on my part). For most people, the community and the service leader are integral parts of the prayer experience, and that will always be true for me as well. Being able to pray on my own, after all, is only a part of the picture: Jewish prayer is also communal, and without connecting to my prayer community, my prayer will be incomplete. (This, by the way, is why it will be difficult for me to pray fully in an orthodox congregation - the segregation of men and women will, I believe, pose a significant barrier to my being able to fully connect to that prayer community.)

So, what should I, as a future professional prayer leader (possibly), be aware of in prayer leadership? Personally, I like a leader who exhibits confidence and control. Even though I can't sing well, if I'm singing first and loudly, I hope to be able to inspire intentional and meaningful singing from the congregation as well. Although I might be speaking a Hebrew that some congregants don't understand, I hope to read with sufficient conviction to convey the heart of the prayer even if the specific words are lost.

Because to me, understanding a prayer is crucial to its beauty. Some Hebrew songs are just beautiful, period, regardless of their meaning. But, I've found that the more I know about what I'm saying, the more meaningful my prayer experience. (Duh.) So, I feel it will be important to convey meaning and not just words during prayer. If that requires English or explanations or whatever, I hope to be able to find it.

And then there's the question of music. For me, I don't have to say every word to feel prayerful. I can listen to a song like Avinu Malkeinu and not say a word and have it be meaningful. (I think I wrote about that here earlier.) Even more "everyday" songs can inspire me if I don't sing along. I am in the process of exploring the relationship between my self and my prayer community, and I believe that my own prayers can be uttered by others and vice versa. By saying amen, I am affirming my place in the Jewish community, and the tenet of Jewish prayer that at least ten people are required before a full service can take place further supports the idea that a community is necessary for an individual to pray.

Yet there are others who feel differently. I've heard from people who say that if they're not participating in the prayer, they're generally unable to have a prayerful experience. So for them, beautiful and intricate music is just that: music. Not prayer. And many people don't want to attend concerts in place of services.

Obviously, there's a compromise position of a cantor being able to switch between "cantorial" music and "congregational" music effectively. But the High Holy Days can be a problem because they're the Days of Awe. For many, perhaps the majority, "accessible" music is not what's expected or enjoyed during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. So, do we wash our hands of the Jews who don't like that kind of music?

I was hearing about a congregation back in the States that's actively engaged in this question of being able to provide meaningful prayer experiences to all of its congregants. The congregation offers different kinds of services, but the trade off is a further separation of the community. And that brings us back to the original question: How important is the individual in Jewish prayer, which is by nature communal?

Take, for example, our dilemma at UVA Hillel. For my last couple years at school, we had significant difficulty getting a minyan at both Reform and Conservative prayer services. The question before us was: Do we focus on the individual needs of the different groups, or do we sacrifice particular desires in order to bring the community together as a whole. I think I would have handled the situation differently now, especially as an outsider to the community, but we had so much difficulty understanding the question that I don't think we ever came up with a really satisfying solution.

It's one thing to say what I find most conducive to a positive prayer experience: A strong leader, beautiful music, and meaningful words in a language I understand. The challenge lies in finding what's most conducive to a positive prayer experience for a community.

Tomorrow, I will co-lead the first of the weekly student-led prayer services at HUC, and I'm fairly nervous about our ability to have accurately gauged the needs of our prayer community. I'm sure that we'll get some things wrong, and I'm really looking forward to seeing how other prayer leaders interpret the needs of our community. Hopefully by the end of the year, I'll have a better idea of how to assess those needs because I think that's going to be a vital skill to my future.

Ultimately, I'm just grateful and excited that I don't have to be a rabbi yet. Five years is a long time, and we're only just beginning. Hearing my colleagues discuss prayer in such a serious way for the past week has given me a lot of optimism about the degree to which we're going to be able to delve seriously into this business of Jewish professional life once we graduate from HUC. Let's hope we don't disappoint!

Welcoming the new year.

.הכנסת השנה החדשה

Another long week has passed since my last post - sorry for the lack of updates.

This weekend was, as I described it in Hebrew class, שופ''ש אוחים (a weekend of guests). On Friday night, Jessica baked challah with a friend of ours from HUC, and then the same friend joined us later in the day to watch a movie and cook dinner. A second friend arrived just as our movie finished, and the four of us shared a delicious meal and pleasant conversation.

On Saturday morning, Jessica and I went to Shabbat services at the Conservative synagogue affiliated with the Conservative Yeshiva, which I always find meaningful. During the kiddush, we met Rick, who's thinking about applying to rabbinical school HUC or Hebrew College next year. He was an interesting fellow, and we invited him to join us for lunch. He agreed, and we welcomed him and three other friends to a potluck lunch filled with delicious foods.

Saturday night, we had our final guest, who came over for S&S (Snacks & Scrabble). That, too, was delightful. All in all, a wonderful weekend!

Sunday, for me, began a time of finally entering into the period of High Holy Days (after the long buildup over the month of Elul). We had special programming at HUC about Rosh Hashanah, including a walk-through of the Rosh Hashanah liturgy that I found very helpful in my own ability to appreciate and find meaningful Rosh Hashanah services.

I'm finding that the more I learn about the liturgy, the more meaningful I find it. One of my goals for this year (I forget whether I've written about it yet) is to become more familiar with Jewish liturgy and to strengthen my "prayer muscles." For so many years, I sat through services, finding certain parts engaging and others less so - but I never had an appreciation for the service as an entire unit (let alone Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur being a unit, let alone their being a unit with Sukkot, let alone their being a unit with Elul), and I want that to change. I think it's important not only for me as a rabbi but for me as a praying Jew to know what the service is, what comprises it, and how it can be meaningfully experienced. In some ways, I feel like I could have figured a lot of this stuff out already if I had taken the time in previous years, but on the other hand, at least I've decided to begin now ... and so far, I find my own expressions of faith growing with my knowledge.

For example, as I know more Hebrew now than I ever have (and I expect to be saying that every year for many years to come), I find that I can understand the prayers much better ... which is very handy here because we don't read a single word of English here in Israel even though we use the same Gates of Repentance machzor here as in the States. Knowing what the prayers are actually saying helps me follow the flow, feel comfortable where I am, and focus on what's being said in an impactful way. I can really focus in on the כוונה (intention) of the service and in turn, relate to the words.

So, what have these relations yielded? Here are some thoughts I've been having recently, inspired by Rosh Hashanah:

First of all, I want to highlight the latest progress in the development of my appreciation for Reform Judaism as normative and authentic. While theoretically, I believe that Reform Judaism is for Reform Jews as authentic as "orthodox" Judaism is for "orthodox" Jews, it can nevertheless be difficult to feel that way all the time. For example, when discussing with Jessica what do on the second day of Rosh Hashanah, I mentioned that I wanted to continue our series of HUC services or go to the Conservative synagogue that we like. She said that if we're not going to have an Israeli "experience," we should stick with HUC as it will probably be similar to Moreshet Yisrael. I agreed.

But in subsequent conversations, we've been talking about how our HUC services are just as Israeli as any other service in Israel. They're entirely in Hebrew, the sermon was given by a non-American, and the music has an international, though certainly Ashkenazi, feel. The real differences aren't Israeli/non-Israeli but rather Reform/non-Reform.

So, should one go to a non-Reform service to have an "authentic" experience? Of course not. Modern Reform Judaism is just as much a part of the continuum of Jewish practice as any of the dozens of brands of "orthodoxy" out there, and to top it all off, I find the Reform Jewish experience meaningful. Our services are intentional, not minimalist; moving, not fleeing. My teachers at HUC are extremely learned--some might say pious--women and men who have made Judaism their life's work, and I'm proud to follow in their footsteps. It's tempting, especially here in Jerusalem, to think of ourselves as doing things the easy way or finding the most basic way of praying, but I do not believe that that's what Reform Judaism is, and when I'm a professional practitioner of Reform Judaism, I look forward to carrying myself with just as much pride and authority as any other self-respecting Jew.

While in the area of organized religion, I had a thought this morning at services about one of the greatest values of religion. I was listening to Avinu Malkeinu, perhaps my favorite piece of Jewish music, and it was having its customary significant impact on me. After the petition ended, I mused about the ability of that music and the choir and the Hebrew words to have a transcendent effect on me, to remind me that the corporeal world is an illusion and that reality is much more complex than our human senses can know. Something about the music helped me realize that.

And I realized in turn that religion can have this effect on all of its participants if they're open to it. There are certainly people in this world who can have truly transcendent, spiritual experiences on their own or in smaller communities, but generally, people need help. Sometimes help comes through a parent, friend, or mentor or a group comprised of those people. Sometimes, help comes through a non-human intermediary. And sometimes, help can come through communities. In my case, my Jewish community is the beneficiary of thousands of years of trial-and-error, of intense debate, and of serious study. Hebrew has become a holy language because of the infinitely deep contexts it has collected, and my prayer in Hebrew in a community of Jews has the ability to transport me beyond myself and, through relation to other Jews, beyond this physical world.

So, religion--at least my religion--is extremely powerful. But it's also entirely dependent on community. My theology, though certainly influenced by countless external factors, is my own ... but my ability to relate to theos is almost entirely in the communal setting. I think that if I'm like a lot of people, this is probably the primary raison d'être of religion worldwide.

Thus, religion is for us. It helps us connect through one another to the spiritual realities that compose and transcend this world - and therefore, I believe, all of religion is really about us. As much as we describe God and thank God and petition God and ask God for forgiveness ... it's really all about us. We say אבינו מלכנו שמע קולנו (Avinu Malkeinu, sh'ma koleinu) - our Father, our King, hear our voice ... and yet I believe it's much more about koleinu than it is about Avinu Malkeinu. When I ask forgiveness from God, it's because I recognize that I've done something that needs forgiving. We're taught that one doesn't receive forgiveness unless one has resolved not to repeat the transgression - so, we come to God with a contrite heart and readiness to change. Therefore, the value in "being forgiven" is not simply to receive God's forgiveness but rather to have changed in response to recognizing our own wrongdoing. I confess to confess, not to be forgiven by God.

Now, does that mean that I shouldn't think about God during prayer? I don't think so. I believe that there is a God but that God isn't able to be comprehended on this level. Nevertheless, there can be no greater achievement than to relate to God, so we shouldn't just give up. On the contrary, we should try even harder to transcend "this level." If thinking about God as a King helps us to do that, that's fine. For me, I don't believe that God rules over our daily actions, but I don't mind calling God King in order to further a theology that supports and enables people's connections to God. And, by participating in that communal prayer, I also build bonds between myself and my fellow community members, and those bonds can be of infinite value to my person and my super-person.

Because active t'filah (prayer) always comes to an end, and what we have left are the pray-ers who are ready to go about their daily lives, now in a stronger relation to one another than before the prayer service. It reminds me of Avinu Malkeinu - the music soars and transforms and concludes with a congregational melody that lacks the awesomeness of the previous lines. Similarly, we can be transformed and transported during prayer, but we always have to alight back on earth and continue living our lives. And those lives are made richer -- and re-transformation is made easier --- through the lives of others.

This can also be reflected in Rosh Hashanah's placement in the calendar: ²⁵In the seventh month, on the first day of the month, you shall observe a day of complete rest, a holy convocation commemorated with trumpet blasts (Leviticus 23:24). According to (a) tradition, God created the world on Rosh Hashanah, on the first day of Tishrei (the seventh month). On the first day of creation, before which the world didn't exist, it was the seventh month. Thus, six months would, theoretically, have been in the history of this first day of existence. Why wouldn't the world be created on the first month?

One response I've been thinking about is that the world begins in the middle. Our acts of transcendence during prayer are timeless, and yet they are couched in history. Similarly, when we emerge from these moments, we will once again resume relating to the world in a timebound fashion, waiting for the next new beginning. Just as we can understand God to be "day by day renewing the works of Creation," so can we understand the very "first" creation to have taken place within a context of קודמות ("previousness" - both Hebrew and English made up by me).

So, those are a few of my raw thoughts that this period of holiness has inspired in me. I hope to continue to generate thoughts along these lines during the upcoming weeks, and hopefully I'll be able to share them here. And, of course, I look forward to elaborating on these ideas in a more significant fashion as I continue my path toward the rabbinate.

In the meantime, I wish all readers a sweet and good new year, despite and because of all its contexts and aspirations.

A week in the life...

...שבוע בחיים

So, it's been such a long time since I've posted, but in a way that's a really good thing because it means that I've been pleasantly busy.

Last Monday, Jessica and I went on a self-guided tour of a nearby part of Jerusalem. She owns a book called Jerusalem Walks, which details several walks one can take around the city and provides ample historical context for the areas. We walked around Rachov Rav Kook, saw the Ticho house, and almost got locked into the Ethiopian Church. Unfortunately, it became too dark to read our tour book, so to spend the time that remained to us before a birthday party we were to attend, we decided to wander around for a bit. We ended up in the shuk, where merchants were trying to close down by selling their goods at reduced prices -- especially breads. We got some ruggelach for our friend and picked up some cheap pita and a mango. The party was pleasant - it was at one of the very few Irish pubs in Jerusalem. Definite character!

The next morning I went with HUC on a three-day trip to the northern part of Israel, the Galilee and Golan regions. I listed most of the places we visited under the "Things We've Seen in Israel" list, so I won't go into them here. One thing I will expand upon is our exposure to the debate about whether the Golan Heights should be returned to Syria.

The history behind Israel's acquisition of the Golan from Syria is long and complex, and I won't go into it here. The issue we explored was a contemporary one: Given that the border along the Golan is the quietest in Israel, does it make sense to consider returning the plateau to Syria in exchange for peace accords?

We met with a political activist who campaigns for the retention of the Golan in Israel. Currently, she and her organization are working to try to get a law passed that mandates a referendum before relinquishing the Golan. She says that most Israelis are against giving up the Golan in exchange for peace and that the Golan doesn't just belong to the 21,000 Druze and 20,000 Israelis (including her) but rather to all Israelis. She argues that we're not really at war with Syria, so giving them land for "peace" doesn't make any sense.

On the other hand, Syria is known/suspected of conducting activities against Israel through third parties, and a potential cessation of that support would be beneficial to Israel. Although many Israelis say they don't to give up the Golan, there's also a large measure of uncertainty with regard to the question. That is, many Israelis, logically, want to know the terms of the deal before determining whether they support it or not. Before learning what, exactly, Syria wants in exchange for the Golan, they can't come down in support or against a hypothetical agreement.

For the most part, that's how I feel as well. I can't take a stand without a platform, especially considering how very basic my knowledge is. That having been said, however, in principle, peace is my highest priority, and if exchanging the Golan Heights would, in fact achieve some measures of peace, I believe I would be in favor.

On the bus ride back to Jerusalem on Thursday, I had the privilege of having a 1.5-hour conversation with one of our professors. I very much appreciated the opportunity to get to know him better and to learn from him in a more intimate setting. Overall, I've found the faculty here very approachable and knowledgeable.

This was reflected also the day after I returned from the trip. Jessica and I (and the rest of HUC) went to one of the Reform congregations in Jerusalem, Kol Haneshama, for Shabbat services. Afterward, those who wished were invited back to homes of congregants to enjoy a Shabbat dinner there. Jessica and I, along with three other students, were hosted by two delightful congregants who have been living in Israel for three years, one of whom teaches liturgy at HUC. The food was excellent, and so was the conversation. We were there for several hours, and we had a great time. I'm really pleased that HUC encourages such informal opportunities to learn from and get to know HUC faculty and community members.

Our Shabbat was delightful. We went to services at Har El, welcomed two of Jessica's friends from ulpan for lunch, and watched a movie. At the end of this Shabbat is the (Ashkenazic) traditional time when late-night S'lichot services are held. For a reason that eluded me and other students, HUC wanted us to travel as a class to the Great Synagogue, where Jessica and I attended Shabbat services a couple weeks ago. The Great Synagogue is an enormous Orthodox synagogue that inspires one to compare it to the Temple. It hosts a choir on major events, and S'lichot definitely qualifies.

We started the evening by meeting at HUC. There, two of our teachers prepared us for what we would see at the synagogue. We went through the liturgy and some music of classical Ashkenazic S'lichot services, and then we headed to the synagogue. We separated men from women and had a seat around 10:15.

S'lichot in the prayerbook we were using is 21 pages long.

We left at 12:30 am.

The service was interminable, the music (to me) was boring (I almost fell asleep a number of times), it was difficult to follow, and I didn't find anything meaningful about the service. On the one hand, I appreciate having had the opportunity to have this experience, but on the other, I'm really really not Orthodox, and that setting is definitely not for me. I'm sure I'll continue to explore different synagogues (most of them in some form of orthodoxy) in Jerusalem, but I know it will be hard for me to pray (rather than watch) there.

On the other hand, our hour-long preparatory session was very helpful. Without it, I would have been entirely lost, and I surely would have left early. What does this mean? It means that through effective training, I can learn to be more comfortable with Jewish prayer. Already, I've found prayer experiences and liturgy classes helpful in getting a handle of the rhythm of Jewish prayer, and I feel that it's important to be able to dance to that rhythm - if not all the time then at least when appropriate. Early in the year, Michael Marmur challenged us to consider whether we could be truly effective rabbis if we didn't appreciate and understand Jewish prayer. I took what he said seriously, and I've been trying to become more familiar and welcoming of structured prayer in my personal life. I'm making progress, and one of my goals for the year is to have significantly improved my comfort with prayer.

The last update I want to include is Jessica's and my experience at the Interfaith Encounter Association potluck last night. Jessica has written here about her contact with Yehuda Stolov, and I'd emailed with someone about possibly joining a group. Despite those contacts, though, neither of us had any idea what to expect.

We found the Swedish Theological Institute after a little searching and rang a bell. A few moments later, Yehuda let us in through the iron door and welcomed us into what looked like a large, well-kept house. We dropped our food off in the dining area, met someone who has recently started working at the institute and made our way to a living room area. Others were talking amongst themselves, and we didn't want to just sit in the corner and wait to see what happened, so we moved close to people and tried to engage in conversation.

What followed was a wonderful night of meeting Jews, Muslims, and a Christian who had come together on a poorly publicized official Day of Peace in Israel to celebrate IEA's task of building peaceful relations between people. Over the night we met Diane, a Sister of Zion living in the Old City of Jerusalem; Miri, a grad student at Bar Ilan University; Natan-el, an American who made aliyah 35 years ago and who makes practical Judaica in Jerusalem; an Israeli woman who works for an Arabic radio station; and several participants in different encounter groups.

We started the evening with a meal to break the Ramadan fast. Food included different kinds of bread, some delicious hummuses, rice, vegetables, cous cous, etc. It was delicious. There were some incredible dates, and several desserts, including a new food that I'm in love with: qatayef. During dinner, Natan-el gave a presentation about Rosh Hashannah as well as the history of the shofar (complete with demonstration!). A Muslim woman talked about Ramadan, and another translated her Arabic into Hebrew. (Because not everyone speaks Hebrew or Arabic, the lingua franca of the evening was English, though Jessica and I had plenty of opportunities to speak Hebrew.) Finally, a young Jewish man named Baruch talked about Yom Kippur.

In thinking about our wonderful evening, it's sadly ironic that only a few hours later, there was an attack near the Old City; a man drove a car into a group of Israeli soldiers. He didn't kill anyone, but within seconds of the attack, he had been shot dead. Ehud Barak, Israel's defense minister, is pushing for a release of the current legal restraints on bulldozing the houses of terrorists' families. In my opinion, such action only furthers to cycle of violence, and given that the Israeli Supreme Court ruled that such retribution doesn't deter terrorism, I sincerely hope that Barak does not get his wish.

The participants in the IEA, of which I hope to be one, are trying to build bridges that will make such violence only a piece of history. While I pray that more "influential" individuals will gain similar perspectives soon, I will continue to work to do what I can to build a more peaceful world. Hopefully by working together, we'll be able to make some progress.

The value of being Jewish.

.ערך קיום יהודי

Jessica briefly mentioned in her previous post that she was instructed to get a letter from an American rabbi attesting to her Jewishness in order to receive a student visa. The whole notion is absurd because one doesn't need to be Jewish to be a student in Israel, and the fact that it would even come up is troubling and frustrating to Jessica and me. That the officer at the Ministry of the Interior would even think to ask for such confirmation (even in error) belies the gross neglect of religious freedom in this country. Sure, if Reform Judaism is treated as a separate faith (as suggested by Rabbi Yisrael Rozen), we could have equal rights, but so long as we claim Judaism as our own, progressive Jews in Israel will continue to face religious and legal barriers that fly in the face of Deuteronomy 16:20's invective, "צדק צדק תרדף" (Justice, justice shall you pursue).

This is because, if the Ministry really wanted to push the matter (which I don't expect), the authority of the American rabbi that Jessica finds would have to be examined. Perhaps Jessica's pedigree would be up for discussion. Of course, Jessica is unquestionably Jewish even by the most orthodox standards, but someone who (A) didn't have a rabbi, (B) didn't have a Jewish mother, or (C) wasn't Jewish would certainly have a hard time receiving this visa! I can't believe that even here this letter is required, but that it's asked for is indicative of a pro-Jewish bias that exists in Israel to such a large degree that it can't even be seen.

And what's it based on? Israel was founded as a Jewish country and has been struggling with that title for the past sixty years. People have been asking, "What does it mean to be Jewish?" for a very long time, but I doubt the question is often raised of, "What's the value of us being Jewish?" If a magic genie gave me the option of making Israel a true model of civil liberty, a bastion of peace in the region, an anti-war advocate, and a democracy that values the voices of the few and seeks to bring peace and security to the whole but lose its Jewish identity, I don't know what I would do. Is being Jewish so important that I would choose it over an automatic guarantee of ethics?

On the one hand, I believe that Judaism is a gateway to ethical living and that the Torah is a medium through which we can gain wisdom and Truth. On the other hand, I don't believe that Judaism and the Torah are unique in these roles but rather are specifically efficacious and beneficial to those who identify with them. Why are there Jews? I don't know. But I believe that it's good for the Jewish people for us to be Jewish, and insofar as the Jewish people has a strong track record of "getting it right" in terms of ethics and spirituality, I'm proud to espouse the values of my religion. Yet being Jewish is neither necessary nor sufficient to being ethical, and if ethics are my ultimate priority (and my support of Judaism is a support of unification and ethical living among and outside of our people), should not ethics (or, religiously speaking, perhaps even "pure" spirituality?) outweigh Jewish identity?

I don't know.

Take the example I laid out during Wexner Post 3 about giving money to the questionably Jewish organization that I believed in. Why does Judaism have to enter into the equation at all? We might cede that Jews have a tendency to be more likely to be involved in social action/progress than a non-Jew (though I'm far from claiming that as an existential truth), but nevertheless, I would never feel comfortable making such a decision based on religion alone.

And yet, I also struggle with the notion that not only Israel's orthodox Judaism has an obvious, occasionally unjust bias towards Jewish identity. Also our very own movement has struggled and continues to struggle with this concept, as do I. Take marriage between Jews and non-Jews as an example of assumptive priority of Jewish identity. As of right now, the "official" position of the Reform Movement is as follows:

"The Central Conference of American Rabbis, recalling its stand adopted in 1909 that mixed marriage is contrary to the Jewish tradition and should be discouraged, now declares its opposition to participation by its members in any ceremony which solemnizes a mixed marriage. The Central Conference of American Rabbis recognized that historically its members have held and continue to hold divergent interpretations of Jewish tradition.

In order to keep open every channel in Judaism and Kelal Yisra-el [the Jewish People] for those who have already entered into mixed marriage, the CCAR calls upon its members:

1. To assist fully in educating children of such mixed marriage as Jews;

2. To provide the opportunity for conversion of the non-Jewish spouse; and

3. To encourage a creative and consistent cultivation of involvement in the Jewish community and the synagogue."

However, a statement given by CCAR president Harry Danziger in 2006 at the CCAR convention complicates the Reform movement's stance:

"I look back thirty-three years to the Atlanta convention of 1973, called by some the Battle of Peachtree. There after years of debate and too often acrimony, a ten line resolution was passed opposing officiation at intermarriages. Pamphlets and articles attacking one side or the other abounded. There were even threats of a split in the Conference as there had been before over Zionism.

Five years later, in 1978, Alex Schindler, zichrono livracha, proposed a comprehensive outreach program through which we turned our attention, not only to weddings – the beginning of a new household – but to outcomes – the nature of the family thus created.

In 1983, there were passionate divisions in this Conference over the proposed resolution on children of intermarriage, what has been termed “the patrilineal” resolution. The debate was intense. At the end, we broke new ground in response to new realities, and we proclaimed that, for us, the gender of the Jewish parents would not be the determinant of who is a Jew. Most of us came to live by it. Some still question it. That is part of who we are.

Move forward yet another eleven years. In 1994, in Philadelphia, I was invited to be part of a major program at the convention. Two rabbis and two lay leaders spoke. I was invited to speak on why and how I do in fact officiate at intermarriages. And the president of the Conference at that time, Shim Maslin, who deserves great credit for that program, was a leading proponent of the 1973 resolution. Beit Hillel – They studied and listened to the views of the other side.

This week we have workshops and programs that deal with how we respond to intermarriage, how we engage and involve, yes, and honor, the non-Jewish partner who lives as a Jew albeit without conversion – what some of us call a ger toshav – what I sometimes call a “common law Jew”. The official position may continue to be a ten line resolution in Atlanta, but the practice has become a consensus that there is more than one respectable way to deal with those issues."

So, in combining these two sources, we find that the Reform movement "officially" discourages interfaith marriages and, in the case of an interfaith marriage, encourages the raising of Jewish children, participation in the Jewish community, and the conversion of the non-Jewish spouse. Individual rabbis (including the president of the CCAR) may (and many do) disagree with any of these points and act according to their conscience. So there's an internal struggle in the movement about whether it's of existential value to marry a Jew.

What seems to be agreed upon is that a rabbi should encourage participation in a Jewish community and, ideally, the raising of Jewish children. A point of contention is whether a non-Jewish spouse should be encouraged to convert. Rabbi Richard Address, who was at the Wexner institute last month, told me that sometimes he's had non-Jewish members of his community angry because--in their perception--Rabbi Address was pushing them to convert; and he's also had members of his community angry because--in their perception--Rabbi Address wasn't pushing them enough to convert. Even on a personal level, this is a tricky situation.

But my question is: If a couple is raising their children Jewish and participating in the Jewish community, what value is there to the community for the non-Jewish partner to convert to Judaism? Obviously, if a person discovers a personal meaning in converting to Judaism, she should follow her convictions on whether to convert. But communally, what statement are we making by saying that, all other factors being equal, Jew A is more valuable to us than non-Jew B?

I can't ignore the fact that a Jewish identity is neither sufficient nor necessary for active participation in Jewish family or communal life. Nor can I ignore the fact that Jewish identity makes that participation significantly more accessible (or that an active non-Jewish identity can disrupt a family's Jewish participation). So, is emphasis on conversion a numbers game? "Sure, we agree that a non-Jew can raise Jewish children, but since a Jew is more likely to do so, we want as many Jews raising children as we can."

But that brings us right back to the original question (and please forgive me for traveling in circles; if it's not clear, this forum is largely an opportunity for me to work through complex issues) - Why be Jewish in the first place? Israel, the Jewish state, has done some terrible things. Jews all over the world act immorally and non-Jews act morally. What's the big deal?

Let's cut to the chase: I think that there is a big deal, but I can't back that up. I don't know where the feeling comes from, but I recognize that Jewish history is full of innovation and ethical progress that is worthy of praise. I also recognize that the Jewish community is like a family, and there's no necessary reason to be born into a family; one is simply a part of a family and inherently loves it. So, I suppose I have a blind love for the Jewish people and want to see us live morally and progressively in as many ways as possible.

Does that justify the following caveat in the HUC rabbinical school application?

"In addition to the above requirements, please note that applicants and their spouses, partners, fiancés or fiancées must be Jewish by birth or conversion."

In other words, if I admit to having a non-Jewish girlfriend, I won't be admitted into HUC.

Now, this statement doesn't define Judaism, nor was it ever mentioned during my entire application process. I have heard of students omitting the fact that they have non-Jewish partners and getting into HUC regardless (though as I understand, it generally doesn't happen that someone graduates from HUC with a non-Jewish partner). Nevertheless, the statement is there: Rabbis should have Jewish partners.

This is a topic I discussed with some Wexner Fellows in Stowe. Does a rabbi need to have a non-Jewish partner?

On the one hand, a congregational rabbi is meant to be a leader and example in the Jewish community. There are many Jews, one of my Wexner colleagues included, who would expect a rabbi's partner to participate fully in all congregational activities and have a strong Jewish identity that can be shared with the community. The rabbi's should be a model of a strong Jewish family, and the rabbi should be able to have an uncompromisingly Jewish household to raise children and welcome guests.

On the other hand, if I were talking about anyone else, I would continue to repeat that all those things can happen in an interfaith marriage. A non-Jewish partner can contribute to the Jewish community, participate in a Jewish household, and raise Jewish children. We often stress that rabbis are just like everyone else ... only with more specific knowledge about Jewish topics ... so why should the household of a rabbi be any different? If anything, a rabbi would be virtually guaranteed to have a Jewish household regardless of the religion (or non-religion) of the rabbi's partner, so a rabbi, in a way, could be given even more leniency to cohabitate with whomever she desires.

Furthermore, not all rabbis are communal leaders. Some rabbis become professors, work in Hillel, serve with non-profit organizations, teach at day schools, etc. Are we saying that a Jewish professor has to be married to a Jew if the word "rabbi" comes before (or after) the word "doctor" in his title?

Moreover, as I've mentioned, being Jewish doesn't necessitate that someone is going to be involved in a Jewish community. A rabbi could have a Jewish partner who is entirely disengaged from the Jewish community. If we are looking for Jewish engagement, perhaps there should be a "participation test" for the rabbinical school applicant's partner rather than a "religion test."

Ultimately, the question is: Are we comfortable with playing a numbers game with people's family lives? Are we comfortable saying that, because it is more likely that a Jew will raise a Jewish family, we should encourage Jew-Jew partnerships? I might be able to make that statement if I believed that being Jewish was an existentially superior state than being a non-Jew. I believe that being Jewish is special and unique and wonderful and should be promoted and supported. I believe that being Christian/Muslim/Buddhist/Sikh/Agnostic/Humanist/Unitarian/Alternative/Druid/Tribal/Hindu/Etc. is special and unique and wonderful and should be promoted and supported. I believe, ultimately, that being moral and promoting peace is the greatest value to be promoted and supported and that our focus should be on creating welcoming communities that foster positive interpersonal relations on all levels - familial, communal, and inter-communal.

It's a tough call, whether Jews should have a mission to promote Judaism. As a future rabbi (and according to my own beliefs), I say that Judaism should be supported and that it's generally a good thing for people (especially Jews) to involve themselves in a Jewish community. But, if someone is fulfilled by participating in another community and is going to work to bring peace to the world, I can only offer my blessings and wish them peace.

A birthday party!

!מסיבת יום הולדת

Yesterday at HUC, we had a series of interesting "tradition workshops," the most engaging of which was a discussion about service choreography. We also received our academic schedules, which is very exciting. But the best part of the day by far was Jessica's birthday potluck!

Unfortunately, our potluck coincided with a concert that the HUC cantors were attending and a seminar for the education students - so the only HUC students who were able to join us were rabbinical students. Nevertheless, we had about a dozen people from HUC join us over the course of the night in addition to two of Jessica's friends from outside our "HUC bubble." Alex is a Russian-born Israeli who has been studying at Hebrew University since he finished the army one year after Jessica met him on birthright israel. Paola is a friend of hers from ulpan about whom she's written before. These two friends in addition to my friends from HUC made for a wonderful time, and I'm very glad to see that Jessica and the people I go to school with get along well!

Alex showed up first and brought a lovely pair set of candlesticks that we have added to our mantelpiece. Shortly thereafter, the HUC crowd started to arrive. Folks chatted, looked around the apartment (which we were proud to share), and eventually enjoyed some food. Jessica prepared a delicious combination of baked beans and roasted potatoes, and some other dishes (including a fancy chocolate cake) made the night a tasty one.

We also played a game of Charades and a game called Adjective and Noun, which is similar to the beloved game that Jessica and I call Paper Pass. It seemed that everyone had a good time, and our last guests left over four hours after the first arrived.

Overall, it was delightful to entertain guests in our apartment. Though we were sad that not everyone from HUC was able to decide to come to our place if they wanted, it turned out that this situation may have been for the best: although we have ample space in the apartment, it's spread into several rooms, so fitting everyone into our living room would have been a significant challenge. Hopefully we'll continue to have the privilege and joy of welcoming friends and neighbors into our home as the year progresses!

In a sad turn of events, this delightful party is being shortly proceeded by my departure. In just a few hours, a sheirut (shared taxi) will take me to Ben Gurion airport for my flight to Stowe, Vermont, where I'll be spending the week learning at the twice-annual Wexner Institute. I'm excited to be able to see once again the scholars I met during our orientation in May, and I'm also looking forward to being able to take a brief break from Hebrew ... but of course I'm also sad to be leaving home after spending such a short time here with Jessica. The Institute is only a week long, so I'll be returning soon enough. And hopefully I'll be able to post (albeit probably briefly) from the States!

If I don't have a chance to write here, I'll post an update upon my return. Otherwise, look for news shortly!

Hebrew.

.עברית

I love the Hebrew language. I love the root system, the puns, the grammatical forms, the history of the letters ... not to mention the extraordinary depths of Hebrew texts. I've loved Hebrew for a long time, and I started exploring it beyond the Hebrew School curriculum in high school. I can't imagine studying Torah in anything but Hebrew, and I'm very excited to be in Israel to improve my grasp of the language.

So that's how I feel. For me, Hebrew is an indispensable part of my ability to learn and understand the vast majority of the traditional teachings of Judaism. But a question that came up today in a side conversation (though this was by no means the first time it's been raised) is how important is Hebrew to a modern American Reform rabbi? Specifically, the question was framed in the following way:

The first two principles of the Year in Israel Program are:

1. Knowledge of modern Hebrew, at a level of competence, is necessary if professional leaders of the North American Jewish Community are to establish and maintain significant ties between the institutions and communities they lead and the land and people of Israel. Just as we expect leaders of the State of Israel to be able to dialogue with North American Jewry in English, we should expect the professional leaders of the North American communities to be able to dialogue with Israelis in Hebrew.

2. Competence in the Hebrew language of the classical texts of Judaism is the prerequisite to serious study of those texts and the ability to make those texts accessible to the communities that the students will eventually serve.

If that's so, then why do we have Hebrew only four days a week instead of the usual five? The most obvious answer is that this year, HUC has started a new initiative to familiarize students with biblical history in the place where much of that history was rooted. The biblical history course, then, requires that time be taken out of Hebrew studies.

Okay then, the questioner continues, then why accept students whose Hebrew is not proficient enough? This person I was talking to notices that the Hebrew of many of our classmates is not excellent and it's unlikely that even the strongest of us will be fluent before we head back home. Perhaps it would be better to defer those students who don't have very strong Hebrew until they can improve their fluency.

There are two good arguments against this policy. The first is that it's difficult for some students to learn Hebrew well during the course of their everyday (even University) lives, and there are certainly individuals who would make great rabbis who haven't had the opportunity to study Hebrew in depth. Additionally, changing the Hebrew requirement might not only discourage students from applying, but it would certainly decrease the number of students in our class (and, theoretically, future classes as well). Would the numbers game actually work out this way?

Of course, there's something to be said for sticking to principle. If the URJ actively believes that fluency in Hebrew is required of American Reform rabbis, then by all means, they should require it. But I believe that even that statement requires scrutiny.

Yes, of course, I think it's important to know Hebrew. I think it's necessary for rabbis to be comfortable looking at Torah texts in Hebrew and to have a familiarity with the Hebrew writings of our ancestors. And of course, I think it's necessary that rabbis know what the prayers mean. But what of Talmud? Of modern Hebrew/Israeli literature? I don't think that knowledge of those two areas are essential to being a Reform rabbi in America. Yes, of course they're wonderful and should be cultivated, but they're not necessary. When does Rabbi Cohen in Roanoke use Hebrew? Only at Shabbat services and Torah study as far as I know.

Now, Jessica had a good point to add on this topic. She says that any rabbi should know enough about "Judaism" to be able to give an answer or at least a resource to any person who has a Judaic question. Even if they don't know Yiddish, they should know enough about Yiddish to give an appropriate recommendation. I think that since so much of Jewish intellectual activity has been recorded in Hebrew, a fair facility with the language would be required for this level of comfort in making educated recommendations - but the rabbi wouldn't have to make the recommendation in Hebrew. :-)

So, while I'm going to try to learn as much Hebrew as I possibly can and while I hope that my class mates will thrive and explore Hebrew with enthusiasm, I think I'll also understand when one of them says that Hebrew just isn't that important to them or is very difficult or they don't get as far as they'd like. Living for a year in Israel, with Hebrew class almost every day (including a double-portion on biblical grammar days) will, I believe, give sufficient background to me and my fellow classmates. And we have four years (and a lifetime of study) to make up for any deficiency in education that we discover.

Beginnings

This morning I took the bus from the stop around the corner from our apartment (which of course I nevertheless had trouble finding and had to ask for directions) to Hebrew University, and made my way to the international building. Groups of young people swarmed around the building, speaking in French, Arabic, Spanish, German, Italian, and English - and probably some other languages as well. After some mulling about, we were led to the building where our summer language classes will be held, and assigned to our classrooms.
There ar 15 students (roughly - I may have missed someone) in my class. Two are from Italy, one from Canada, one from England, five from France, two are Arabic speakers from Jerusalem, two are from Russia, and two (including myself) are from the US. This means that we can't cheat at all and translate words into English because not everyone speaks English.
We have two teachers - one in the morning and one in the early afternoon (class went until 3:30 today but will ordinarily go until only 1:30). Both of them speak pretty fast and class was pretty intimidating - but I do feel that it is basically at the right level for me, which is good. The bookstore is currently on strike so we couldn't buy the books for the class, but otherwise there seemed to be no kinks at all - and we covered a lot of ground! We reviewed verb groups, masculine and feminine nouns, we read a passage about choosing a name for the state of Israel, and we learned a song.
During one of the breaks, I made friends with a girl from Germany who is studying here for a year. At home she studies Christianity, but she is here to study Judaism. She is in the same level of Hebrew as me, but she never has taken a class in it - she's learned it all from books and tapes. We had a whole conversation in Hebrew - she speaks English but would prefer to practice her Hebrew. Most people seem to be living in dorms, but this girl (whose name I already forget) is living near me and taking the same bus as I am to school. We were about to exchange cell phone numbers but then had to go back to class - I hope I find her again tomorrow so I can invite her over for dinner or something and get to know her better!
Otherwise, I've been meeting other folks left and right. Daniel brought me to HUC yesterday where they had a variety show and silent auction/live auction to benefit the Israel Movement for Progressive Judaism. It was great to get a chance to meet all of the people Daniel is going to school with - they really welcomed me with open arms and I look forward to getting to know all of them better. Daniel performed The Raven and it was, of course, astonishingly good. Daniel is impressing me left and right with his ability to speak Hebrew, navigate Jerusalem, etc. He is practically a native already.
It's hard to believe this is only my third day here - I feel like it's just been a whirlwind of activity and new experiences. It's been fun but I'm also looking forward to a time when all of this has settled down and feels a little less new and a little more comfortable and sort of ordinary.

The second sabbath.

.השבת השנית

Now, where were we? As yes, Shabbat.

On Friday, after a Q&A session with current HUC students out of their year in Israel and a quiet afternoon, we returned to HUC for a pre-Shabbat program. There, Rabbi Naamah Kelman, the former director of our program, led a workshop on the meaning of Shabbat. We broke into pairs and examined (or at least aspired to examine) six places where Shabbat is mentioned in the Torah. My partner and I focused on several aspects of the texts we were studying:

1. Genesis 2:2, we read that God rested מכל-מלאכתו אשר עשה (from all the work that God did), while in Genesis 2:3, after God blesses the seventh day, we read that God sanctified it because God rested מכל-מלאכתו אשר-ברא אלוהים לעשות (from all the work that God created to do). One explanation my partner and I generated is that not only did God cease from laboring but God also ceased from designing more labor to complete. In other words, to fully embrace the sanctity of Shabbat means not only to cease from work but also to stem the flood of work-related thoughts and impulses that distract us from appreciating creation, which is by its nature
good.

2. We also compared the commandment to remember the Sabbath in the Ten Commandments and the reminder to observe the Sabbath in Deuteronomy's retelling of the Ten Commandments. The second iteration of the commandment includes a requirement that all of one's servants are also to rest, for we are to remember that we were slaves in Egypt. My partner and I discussed (though not exhaustively) the process of specification that has taken place over the course of the Torah. First, Shabbat was an undiluted fact, then it became something that we were commanded to recognize, and then it became something whose recognition required a certain set of dos and don'ts. Although I use the language "Shabbat became..." what's more likely is that we changed and required more instruction in how to live in harmony with the sanctity of Shabbat. Today, it's harder than ever as we are constantly bombarded with distractions, so our study of the meaning of Shabbat takes on a more urgent tone than in generations past.

Therefore, we expanded our groups and shared what we'd like Shabbat to be for us this year. My answer was that I wanted (A) to find a way to recognize Shabbat by not doing schoolwork, (B) to explore meaningful opportunities of becoming better acquainted with people and places, and finally (C) to take advantage of the panoply of Jewish observances in Jerusalem and them time I have to sample them. Most future Shabbats are going to require me to work, probably at Shabbat services, so I want to take advantage of the chance to be led through Shabbat rather than the other way around. Additionally, to many rabbis, Shabbat services are extremely important moments of interaction with a Jewish community; I think it's important for me to find out what services mean to me. I didn't go to services last year while working at City Year, and though I missed what had become a weekly ritual for me, I nevertheless didn't feel a slackening of my Jewish identity. So the question remains: How important are Shabbat services, and in what way? I hope to find some answers (as there are, no doubt, many) to that question and to be prepared to help others find answers for themselves as well.

Naturally, this discussion led into a kabbalat Shabbat service, which was populated mostly by members of our class and guests. I've been to a small number of services this year (and I've written about them here before), but I continue to love and appreciate the beauty and strength of our HUC student congregation. Not since the "good ole days" of Hillel have I looked forward to services so much, and I'm endlessly grateful that I am part of a community again in which I feel I can pray.

After services, we were provided dinner (though sadly, we shouldn't come to expect such royal treatment!). The food was fantastic, but the song session that proceeded it eclipsed the meal entirely. Most of the class made it to their feet and found themselves dancing in place at one time or another. We had several song leaders who were all inspirational with their ruach and their guitars. When I returned home that night, the notes were still humming in my mind.

And the beat goes on...! Saturday morning services were also at HUC, this time with the entire community of HUC regulars and guests. Cantor Tamar Havilio (head of the School of Sacred Music here) and Rabbi Michael Marmur (director of HUC Jerusalem) led services beautifully and inspirationally. Rabbi Marmur's d'var focused on the relationships between קרב (battle) and קורבן (offering) and מלחמה (war) and לחם (bread) and the ability and necessity to "convert" one to the other.

After kiddush, I came home to eat lunch and take care of some paperwork and laundry (all the while wondering if I was exhibiting the true meaning of Shabbat!), and at 6:30, I went to a potluck dinner at the apartment of some of my classmates. They're on the bottom floor of the building and have access to a patio area which was big enough for all 40 guests that attended the event! There was excellent food (including delicious vegetarian chili), and I had several enjoyable conversations. After it got dark, we got into a circle and had a havdalah service (again with the beautiful singing!). It was an excellent evening, and I definitely look forward to the next one!

That havdalah, as Jaclyn pointed out, separated not only Shabbat from the rest of the week but also our pre-HUC lives from our in- and post-HUC lives, for as of today (Sunday), we are officially in school. (As such, we had an introductory biblical archeology lecture today as well as our first Hebrew lesson, about which I will likely write tomorrow or Tuesday.) Orientation is over, and it's time to get cracking on all that "learning" they have in store for us. But I'm really quite excited. I'm excited to be learning Hebrew again, and I'm excited to be in a community of people who are also excited to be here. Let's roll!

The first Jerusalem Sabbath.

.השבת הירושלמי הראשון

The past 28 hours have been really terrific, especially after overseeing the NFTY event has put me on the first step to feeling "at home" here (at least temporarily). What's really been significant is that I feel that I have taken up the student mantle once again, and I'm really getting a sense that this is going to be a magnificent year.

Now seems to be a time when a lot of Union of Reform Judaism officials converge on Jerusalem; I don't know whether it has anything at all to do with the beginning of our academic year. (I suspect that, if anything, it has to do with NFTY in Israel, though probably it's a combination of a lot of factors.) Regardless of the reason, there have been a number of influential people that I've met in the past day, and I'm sorry to say that I don't remember most of them.

The major area of intersection between my life and all of theirs (as well as some of the local HUC-related community) was a day of study housed at HUC yesterday. There were several classes offered, and my fellow students and I were encouraged to attend and to study alongside older members of the community and visitors. I was present for the entire day (partially thanks to my conveniently located apartment!) and was very fortunate to have kick started my academic studies here without even having to take notes!

The first class I took was a lesson about how Hebrew words are formed in Modern Hebrew and part of the controversy surrounding the initial decision to make words this way taught by Dr. Yossi Leshem. Aside from being linguistically interesting, the class was also given entirely in Hebrew. In many ways, the class reminded me of my regular Hebrew classes, though after 45 minutes of trying to pay attention to every word, I realized that it's going to take me a bit of time before I can comfortably sit through an hour plus of instruction in Hebrew. Nevertheless, my ability to follow along gives me optimism that, if my classes are, in fact, taught in Hebrew this year, I will probably be able to keep up.

Then, I attended a lesson entitled "The Death of Memory and the Memory of Death: Constructions of the Past in Contemporary Israeli Society," offered by Rothberg International School of the Hebrew University professor Dr. David Mendelsson. Dr. Mendelsson engaged us in a discussion about the evolution of Israeli identity, mostly focusing on the 1960s and earlier. He noted that many Israelis would have delineated their history something like this:

ANTIQUITY
.
.
.
Masada
.
Bar Kochba Revolt
.
EXILE
.
.
.
Tel Hai
.
REBIRTH OF ISRAELI NATION

Basically, this outline skips over 1800 years of development and growth and focuses on the notion that modern Israelis (or Hebrews as they referred to themselves prior to the creation of the State of Israel) are a direct continuation of those who held this land in Antiquity. This outlook associates with the "exile" period only sadness and pain and looks to the Holocaust as validation that nothing good could ever come from living among the other nations of the world. Naturally, this perspective has changed over time, but it was prevalent in many sectors of Israeli society for a number of years prior to the late 1960s.

There was one more class before lunch, but I'll save that for last. Over lunch, Rabbi Naamah Kelman (a good friend of one of my professors at UVA, Vanessa Ochs) shared her findings about modern secular Israeli weddings and how more and more modern secular Israelis are seeking to insert personal touches and liturgical updates into their ceremonies. This was definitely an interesting conversation, especially in light of the fact that I'm going to an Israeli wedding on Thursday!

Now, the most poignant class for me was offered by Rabbi Dr. David Levine, and it was called "Authority and Innovation in Talmudic Thought." The concept of "new tradition" being validated by the rabbinic legacy is very important to me, and I've been thinking for some years about the inherently Jewish nature of innovation. Dr. Levine helped me find further validation of my hypothesis and enriched my understanding of rabbinic methodology.

He began the lecture by reviewing the traditional rabbinic thought pattern. Today, we often generalize into abstractions, and the more universal we are, the more sophisticated we are regarded to be. The rabbis, on the other hand, taught though specific examples and anecdotes. That is, theirs was a vocabulary of specifics, and great ideas were represented through single foci.

My own contribution to this concept would be one of symbology. It seems to me that each of the characters in an anecdote is a symbol for his or her Character, which is established through other stories involving the similar or identical person. Likewise, a conclusion drawn about one law is symbolic for a general truth that can be extrapolated. This understanding is based on previous study I've done, mostly on Paul Tillich's Dynamics of Faith.

Having established that a single source can stand for an enormous idea, Dr. Levine moved to a Talmudic passage that I want to record here for anyone who is interested (and for my personal review later).

Yerushalmi Demai 2:1 22c (similar text in Bavli Hullin 6b-7a)

ר' זעירא ר' חייא בשם ר' יוחנן. ר' התיר בית-שאן מפי יהושוע בן חמיו שלר' מאיר שאמ'. אני ראיתי את ר' מאיר לוקח ירק מן הגינה בשביעיתץ והתיר את כולה. אמ' ר' זעירא. הדא אמרה. אסור לבר נש מיעבד מילה בציבורא. אני או'. אותה הגינה היתה מיוחדת את כולה. ר' התיר בית-שאן. ר' התיר קסריין. ר' התיר בית-גוברין. ר' התיר כפר-צמח. ר' התיר ליקח ירק במוצאי שביעית. והיו הכל מליזין עליו. אמ' להן. בורא ונדיין. כת' "וכתת נחש הנחושת." וכי לא עמד צדיק ממשה ועד חזקיהו להעבירו. אלא אותה עטרה הניח לו הקב'ה להתעטר בה. [ואנן העטרה הזאת הניח הקבה'ו לנו להתעטר בה.] ס

R. Zeira [and] R. Hiyya in the name of R. Yohanan [said], "Rabbi [Judah the Patriarch] permitted [produce purchased in] Bet Shean [to be eaten without first separating tithes], on the testimony of Joshua b. Zeruz, the son of R. Meir's father-in-law, who said, 'I saw R. Meir take vegetables from the garden during the seventh year,' and he [Rabbi] permitted all of it, [that is, produce grown in the entire territory of Bet Shean, on the strength of this precedent].'"

Said R. Zeira, "this teaches [us] that it is forbidden for a person to do anything in public [from which others might draw a mistaken inference as to the general permissibility of the action]. For I might have said, 'That garden was set aside by him [R. Meir], and [on that basis Rabbi] permitted all of it [the territory of Bet Shean]?!'"

[It has been taught (in a baraita):] Rabbi permitted [produce sold in] Bet Shean [to be eaten without separating tithes], Rabbi permitted Caesaria, Rabbi permitted Bet Guvrin, Rabbi permitted Kfar Tzemach, Rabbi permitted the purchase of vegetables immediately in the year following the seventh year [unconcerned that they might have taken root before the end of the seventh year], and everyone jeered at him [because of these innovations].

He said to them, "Come, let us reason [about this matter]. It is written, He [Hezekiah] broke into pieces the bronze serpent [that Moses had made, for until that time the Israelites had been offering sacrifices to it; it was called Nehushtan] (2 Kings 18:4). Now did no righteous man airse from [the time of] Moses to [the time of] Hezekiah to remove it? Rather, the Holy One, praised be He, reserved for him [Hezekiah] that crown with which to adorn himself. So, too, with respect to us--the Holy One, praised be He, reserved for us this particular crown with which to adorn ourselves."

So, what does all this mean? Some things to consider: First, "Rabbi" [Judah the Patriarch] is believed to be the chief editor of the Mishnah, which is a rabbinic text offering interpretations and adjudications of Jewish law and which is part of the Talmud. So, he's definitely highly regarded. Second, Judah was trying to liberalize the tradition in order to alleviate stress on the Jewish people. As taught by Dr. Levine, certain laws only need to be observed within the borders of the "Land of Israel," which is not legally bound by geography but rather by mentality of the Jewish people. Thus, Rabbi Judah was trying to alter the boundary by altering the mentality of the people in order to act righteously, as he saw it, by allowing certain farmers the ability to live where they were without fear of losing their livelihood once every seven years to the sabbatical requirements.

Judah bases his authority to change the tradition on the biblical account of Hezekiah's destruction of Moses' copper serpent, which had long been treated as an idol. Judah asks, "Why didn't any of the other righteous kings before Hezekiah destroy the idol?* Because God reserved that honor for Hezekiah." In other words, an unholy practice was allowed by God to continue until the right person came along to change it. And in Rabbi Judah's perspective, the same conditions applied to these sabbatical laws. They are unholy and need to be changed, and Rabbi Judah has both the authority and the imperative to change them.

* - In the similar text in the Babylonian Talmud, Judah adds, "Now, is it not at all likely that Asa did not destroy it? Or that Jehoshaphat did not destroy it? Surely Asa and Jehoshophat destroyed every form of idolatry in the world!"

In the Babylonian version, God is removed from the equation, and Judah concludes that Hezekiah's ancestors "left something undone," and so too did Judah's ancestors (the rabbis/lawmakers who came before him) leave "room for [him] to distinguish [him]self."

This whole passage, then, is a discussion about rabbinic authority and imperative to analyze the current state of affairs and react to them, to wisely and justly interpret God's Torah so that humanity can be affirmed and the sacred rights of humankind can be upheld. As soon as religion stops changing, so does conscience, and we cannot afford to allow our consciences to slumber when genocide, famine, and disease challenge us every day to meet them with determination and compassion.

Occasionally over the past week, I've felt the weight of Israel's orthodoxy hovering over me. As I walk to HUC past people dressed as traditionally observant Jews, I've felt that, in their eyes, I could never be as authoritative as their own rabbi. I've felt that, in some way, my ordination as a rabbi will be significantly different than theirs. And, of course, it will be significantly different, but I am reaffirming now that it will be parallel and not behind the ordination of more observant rabbis. I am just as much an inheritor of Jewish tradition as any "orthodox" Jew, and even though I haven't spent the last fifteen years in yeshiva, that doesn't mean I haven't been studying Judaism for the last fifteen years. The "worldly" (translated "secular") experiences I've had in Roanoke, at UVA, and in Washington, DC have in no way diminished my capacity to understand or teach Judaism. And just because I can't quote Talmud and don't (yet) know Aramaic doesn't make me less of a participant in the rabbinic authority and imperative affirmed by Judah the Patriarch. I love my tradition, and I take part in it every day, with or without a kippah on my head.

And it's this message that was impressed into me at the Jerusalem home of Rabbi David Ellenson, president of HUC. In his opening address to our class, he remarked about our leadership, our education, and our commitment. He said that we are going to be leaders of the Jewish community for one reason and one reason only: Our knowledge. There are going to be scientists, technicians, linguists, farmers, etc. in our congregations and our lives that are going to be smarter than us and more knowledgeable than us in a lot of ways. But what gives us credence, what makes us rabbis (and cantors and Jewish professional educators) is the knowledge we have of the Jewish tradition. The knowledge we will gain at HUC isn't watered down Judaism, it is a living affirmation of a long and ever-changing history, and those who would detract from our learning, according to Rabbi Ellenson, have little to contribute to the dialogue of modern religious society. This society must be focused on social improvement, on interfaith and intrafaith cooperation, and positive construction of the world we envision for ourselves and our tradition.

After spending a Shabbat (Friday night and now Saturday morning) surrounded by participants in and supporters of the Hebrew Union College, I now feel part of something real. My rabbinate isn't real (yet), and the actions that I hope to take someday have not yet been conceived. And, again from the perspective of Rabbi Ellenson, those actions cannot be born unless we receive the education we are about to engage in. A URJ representative jokingly told us that our grades don't matter as no congregation will care about our grades. An HUC representative jokingly told us that our congregants don't matter as no professor will care about how receptive we will one day be to them. Rabbi Ellenson seriously told us that there is no difference between what we learn here and the work we will someday accomplish. He encouraged us to be involved and in love with our study, to embrace the Jewish heritage that we have been blessed to inherit and to learn about it so that we can teach it to others after completing our program.

And I intend to do just that. I've been thinking a lot recently (over the past year or so) about what kind of rabbi I want to be. I think I need to lay those concerns aside and focus instead on what kind of rabbinical student I want to be, for without a successful career as a student, I cannot have a successful career as a teacher.

Jerusalem: City of Hills.

.ירושליים: עיר הרים

I have now been in Israel for 48 hours and have been spending the past two days meeting and starting to get to know my classmates and the place where we'll all be living for the next eleven months.

Things started out slowly as I got four hours of sleep on Monday night, thus precipitating a two-hour morning nap and delaying the start of my day. So the first thing I did in Jerusalem was make my way to HUC (with walking directions provided by my apartment's previous tenant) for registration and campus tour. I finally had a chance to meet some of the administrators who have been emailing me for the past several months, and they were both extremely helpful. Helen gave me an orientation packet, which I read in the library until the 11:00 campus tour. After the tour, I went to a nearby bank to secure some cash and then went to meet Nancy, HUC's closest staffperson to a "dean of students." She and I had a lovely conversation, and I was off!

On the way to HUC, I had been fairly focused on walking directions and therefore didn't pay too much attention to my surroundings. Once I was free of commitments until 6:00, I decided to do some exploring. First, I went to get my passport photos made for HUC. (I got 6 for 20 shekels (~$6.15) whereas my one US passport picture cost me $15.00.) Upon checking my map, I found that I was near Ben Yehuda St., so I decided to go there to see if I could find an adapter for my laptop (so I could have enough power to make these precious posts!). And then, for the fourth time in my life, I was on Ben Yehuda Street.

I suppose that, since I've been to this place more times than any other in Israel, it should have been a familiar feeling - and in a way, it was. However, the majority of my emotion was of concern for finding an electronics store and surprise to find out how long Ben Yehuda actually is! There was so much delicious food that I had to remind myself several times that I was no longer on vacation and unhealthy eating habits were checked at the cruise-ship door. I did, in fact, find an electronics store and purchased my adapter for a cool 30 shekels. Upon checking my map (twice, for I started out walking the wrong direction), I found that my apartment is virtually around the corner from Ben Yehuda Street! That will make for a convenient fact at some point soon, I'm sure.

After unwinding a bit in the apartment, I went to a dinner organized to celebrate the birthday of one of my classmates-to-be. When I arrived exactly on time at 6:00, there were three other people there. By the time we left for the restaurant at 6:35, there were over thirty people! Apparently, a vast majority of HUC students that were in the area came to this dinner, and the excitement from our class to get to know one another demonstrated by this behavior gives me a strong positive feeling about the rest of the year.

We went to a restaurant called Colony, and I ordered some penne. It was pretty expensive (55 shekels ($17) after tip), but it was fairly good. More important was the atmosphere of friendliness around the table. Several people have mentioned the "honeymoon period" that we're all in, and of course there's a certain degree of truth to that. However, I've had some solid conversations (all beginning with name, place of origin, track of study, and destination after Israel) with some people, and overall I'm very excited to be about to learn alongside these fellow students!

After dinner, we had a short up-and-down tour of Emek Refaim, which is a hip street with a lot of restaurants in a fairly chic neighborhood. As I understand it, most people then went to get drinks, but I was still pretty tired from my lack of sleep, and there was plenty for me to do at home, so I bid everyone good night.

As I walked home, I began to realize that even if I don't get to the gym as often as I hope to this year, I should still be getting a fair amount of exercise. Jerusalem is very hilly! I was definitely feeling the burn walking uphill all the way home, though I took a detour when I saw that the grocery store was still open. "The time has come," I told myself, "to do some real Israeli shopping."

I basically picked up the essentials, not ready to commit to a lot of food before I know how much I'll be eating at home and what Israeli foods I find most attractive. Mostly, I picked up fresh produce, bread, and the like. Then I waited in line.

Now, I certainly can't say if this is characteristic of an Israeli shopping experience, but this is what happened: I changed aisles because I found a shorter line, and I saw that the person in front of me was loading groceries already onto the belt as the person in front of him was checking out. I was really trying to pay attention so that I wouldn't make a fool of myself when I was checking out. I noticed that, when the time came for the person in front of me to check his groceries out, he went to the bags to prepare to bag them himself. (Mark that, Daniel.)

Then, he sent his teenage son to get some milk. And the woman at the check-out waited for him! They just stood there, silently, not moving until the son got back. Once the son arrived, the check-out lady left. Just walked away without saying a word. I could tell that the Israeli man was confused (so it wasn't just me!), and she finally came back with some trash bag-sized grocery bags which he didn't want. Just an unnecessary waste of time, that's all.

Then, the check-out woman asked if they wanted to buy some nuts (which, I believe, were a featured special). They decided to get some and finally began to check out. They had left their cart in front of the belt, empty, while the man was bagging groceries, so I thought they were going to abandon it like all the rest. Once I thought the son had gone back for his last piece of candy (he stepped out of line to get forgotten items three times), I moved my cart forward to start unloading groceries. Then, they decided to get their cart, and urged me out of the way to do so.

So, I start loading my groceries, and the check-out woman starts running them through! I thought you were supposed to load ahead of time... Guess not. So, I held my groceries in my hand until she had rung the last one, and then I started loading. "Is this yours?" she asked the man of my salad dressing. "לא שלי (No, mine)," I told her. Yeesh!

I, too, was pressured about the nuts but politely refused. She asked (I think) if I had a membership card, and I told her I didn't. "Should I buy one?" I asked in Hebrew. "No, are you a tourist?" I told her in English that I just moved here "for a year" (in Hebrew), and she told me (I think) that the card is only for people קבוע, that is, steady or consistent. Maybe it's a credit card (like J.C. Penny's) or maybe it's like a Kroger card. Perhaps once I dust off my Hebrew and get back into ulpan, I'll be able to find out.

So that brings us to today. This morning, I slept in until 9:00, enjoyed a fine breakfast of cereal and orange juice, completed some work around the house, ate an early lunch, and headed to HUC at 12:30 for a tour of the Old City. The first part of the tour was slow as we stopped in one place and then most everyone got hummus while I and three other people who weren't hungry haggled for merchandise. (Or, more accurately, while two of my classmates tried to secure a tapestry for a reasonable price while I and another classmate looked on. In the end, after an hour of back and forth, coming and going, the classmate who really wanted the tapestry got it for less than her original asking price.)

Then, however, we went to the Western Wall, the only remaining architecture of any part of the Second Temple. We decided only to stay for twenty minutes, and the men and the women had to separate. The men and I headed to the enormous men's "half" and went straight to the naturally covered section that I didn't even know existed. It was sort of like a cave full of orthodox Jews, most of whom were praying, studying, or just hanging out. There were books like a library and in an alcove, a teacher was reading from the Talmud to a group of attentive students (some who looked like "black-hatters" and some who looked like "secular Israelis"). His preaching was impassioned, and I only caught a few words. We walked around, some of us took pictures, and we tried to drink in the experience. I definitely didn't feel compelled to pray. We leafed through some of the prayerbooks that were there and felt significantly different from those who would read those books regularly.

This experience at the Wall was both positive and negative for me. On the one hand, I was feeling the familiar discomfort with separation of genders that traditional observance demands, and I was slightly uncomfortable at being in a sea of Jews with whom I didn't feel a strong connection. On the other hand, I felt much closer to the other HUC men who were with me. We continued to make jokes about our privileged manhood in order to ease the tension of the practice. We talked of an alleged incident where HUC had a prayer service with men and women in the plaza outside the Western Wall that incited considerable distress and press. We commented on the differences between our learning styles and the rabbi-preacher who was imparting knowledge to his students. And so on. Before we left, we said a shehechianu (a blessing said after a new occasion), and I felt enormously positive about this Jewish affirmation. We were students preparing to be rabbis, and we had as much right as anyone else to explore our Jewish identity at the Wall. Although the experience was strange, it was very powerful and affirming.

I expect that this won't be the last time I feel this way in Jerusalem. Already I've experienced both excitement and disappointment in Israelis when I've told them I'm studying to be a Reform rabbi - and I've only been here two days! Perhaps we can conclude as my day (outside of the apartment) did: at the mall.

Just outside the Old City is a brand new outdoor mall called Mamilla. Most of the storefronts are in English, yet (according to our HUC summer Israel intern) Israeli's don't see anything non-Israeli about the setup. Perfume, shoes, clothes, and food are all being sold outside the Old City, a fact that can't be ignored when one sees the numbers on the walls. Apparently, one cannot destroy parts of Jerusalem above a certain age, so to build a mall where Mamilla stands, the walls had to be catalogued, taken down, and re-erected in exactly the same way. So, as one is shopping for new cologne, one is also walking through painstakingly preserved centuries-old architecture.

So it remains possible, yea, probable that the ancient and the modern can meet constructively. One of my missions for the year is to learn how to play a role in that combination positively and effectively. Any suggestions?