A Religious (Reform) Jew in Israel

On a recent Friday morning, I dropped my daughter off at daycare first because I was going with my son to his pre-school for a special party. “Party for what?” my daughter’s teacher wanted to know. “The creation party!” we enthusiastically answered. “What,” she said, Is it a religious pre-school?” I paused, thinking about what she meant in her question. Then I said, “Yes, a…liberal religious pre-school.”

The day before, I had been asked to speak to a group of German tourists on a study trip led by Werner Schneider-Quindeau, the minister of the Katharinenkirche Church in Frankfurt a/M who led a tour of Germans who had come to see Israel in all its nuance and complexities (Not just the usual “Holy Land” tour, Werner explained to me). I was invited to speak about the different movements in Judaism and how it works in Israel (I was quite honored!). We started with history – how and why the Reform Movement was founded in Germany 200 years ago, how this created the term “Orthodoxy”, the move to America, how the Conservative Movement was created later as a response. And how things went quite differently in Palestine where most people left religion behind and became the New Jew, strong, connected to the land, and shedding all semblances of the old shtetl Jew who was perceived as weak and helpless. The deal that David Ben Gurion made with the religious Zionist parties so that they would support the declaration of Statehood and the absence of a substantial non-Orthodox Jewish presence in Israel until the 1980s.

But very quickly we moved into the realm of politics as we discuss the place of religion in Israeli society today. That marriage is controlled by the Orthodox rabbinate and that they even rescind other Orthodox rabbis’ right to officiate at weddings. A woman asked me about my position on the Arab village of Silwan and the right-wing settlers who are harassing them. One man commented, “Don’t people realize that right now could be the last chance to make peace between the Israelis and the Palestinians?” At the end of the discussion, it was understood that religion cannot be separated from politics in Israel because that is the essence of the Israel experiment – a Jewish and democratic state.

The following week, I taught a 5th grade class in a regular public school about “social involvement”. It was the first time I was meeting the class so of course I introduced myself and told them who I am and what I do. The kids in the class started asking all kinds of questions about Reform Judaism and about me as a rabbi. I asked them: What do you think a rabbi does? The answers ranged from praying all day, studying the Torah, putting on tefilin, teaching. I explained that I do these things, including officiating at bar/bat mitzvahs and weddings. Essentially, as a rabbi, I LOVE Judaism and I want to share it with everyone I meet, adults and kids, and to think together how we can make the world a better place. Their next question was: Why don’t you dress like a rabbi? I explained that an Orthodox rabbi who dresses in a black suit and a black hat doesn’t dress in this manner because he’s a rabbi. He dresses that way because everyone in his community dresses likewise – it’s how you show that you live in a particular community. I explained to the kids – I dress like my congregants. When I pray, I wear a talit, but in my everyday life, I dress like the people I aim to serve.

My message for the English-speaking audience I imagine mostly living in North America – we need to understand how Judaism is viewed differently in Israel. For better and for worse. On the one hand, Judaism is so present in the culture here that it is something that becomes so natural. On the other hand, anything that smacks of religiosity feels foreign or is given a particular label. In North America, decisions concerning religion are considered private, choices that people make for themselves. Oftentimes, religious practice is compartmentalized – it’s an identity that is taken out once in awhile.

In Israel, Judaism and tradition is a communal matter – Jewish values and halacha shape the laws and spirit of the State of Israel. When people meet me, for many it is the first time that they are meeting a non-Orthodox rabbi, if they have met a rabbi at all. Generally, in Israel either you are religious (dati) or secular (chiloni). Most consider themselves secular, they see the Orthodox in the black hats and coats occasionally on the street and in the news, and they consider religion the exclusive realm of the Orthodox.

But I am here to break down all of the stereotypes as I want to say to people of all backgrounds: I am a religious Jew and a proud Israeli. I am part of the people, as our name goes, that wrestles with G-d.

Power to the People of Israel

In the past few weeks, a new protest movement has been sweeping Israel – 300,000 marched in Tel Aiv yesterday and 30,000 in Jerusalem, and tent protest cities have been set up in tens of cities around Israel. People around the world tend to think of Israel in terms of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, the fight for peace in the Middle East. In my camp, we think about the struggle against the religious establishment that keeps a firm foot on pluralism.
However, in the end, it all comes down to economics.
Recently at a gathering of alumni at Hebrew Union College in Jerusalem, I heard Dr. Steven Cohen, one of the major researchers on the demography of the Jewish community in America, explain that affiliation in America is economic. When a family consists of two Jewish parents, there is more of a willingness to make the financial commitments to joining a congregation or other Jewish organization. When a family is interfaith, there is less involvement because there is less drive to make this kind of financial investment.
Here in Israel, it is also economics. I knew when I made aliyah to Israel that it has become more capitalistic in recent years despite its socialistic base. Having come from a capitalistic society, having lived on my own in big cities which tend to be more expensive (Washington, DC, New York), it is hard for me to judge how it is to live in Israel today as compared to the past. In Israel, we pay high taxes, sales tax is around 15%, gas is heavily taxed, electronics have big import taxes, we pay a health tax but, so far, I have had excellent health care. Restaurants are more expensive here than in America, gas is astronomical (now at around $7.60/gallon), my grocery bill is not small most weeks. However, I know that childcare is much cheaper here than in America, I am guaranteed a 16 week paid maternity leave here, and my apartment in the almost center of Jerusalem is much cheaper here than it would be in an American major city. Granted, the average family income in Israel is about $40,000/year.
In the circle of people that I know, there are many young professionals with young children. Some have managed to buy apartments, some crowd into small apartments. All work or combine work with study, men and women alike. Most are able to take at least one vacation a year, whether it is in Israel or travel abroad. In the community I serve near Tel Aviv, it is the same situation. Most are families in which both parents work. They are not rich but they manage to take a vacation and to make renovations on their apartments, pay for after-school activities for their kids.
What is the answer? I have been asking people that I meet on the street and in my community. There is a range of answers. On the one hand, there needs to continue to be the pioneering spirit – housing is much cheaper in the periphery (outside Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, and Haifa). There are universities and colleges in these areas. There are programs that give students cheap housing for moving out to these places and considering to settle there. People have to be entrepreneurs and the government has to help provide opportunities to create places of work on these places.
I also think there is a bit of the consumer culture creeping in to Israel – people see what creature comforts there are in America and in Europe. People want to live comfortably here and not to feel like they “sacrifice”. They threaten to leave Israel and thereby drain the country of its intellectual resources. I talk with teenagers who I’ve sent on youth delegations to America – “You can take a shower there as long as you want and you don’t worry about the water shortage!” As someone who comes from abundance, I understand how much waste there is in America because people take for granted certain resources. I am proud that we conserve water in our house in Israel, that we recycle many of our daily items and that our society supports this. Excess is not better. Let’s take a look at our values and see what is really important.
On the other hand, prices of daily items are not proportionate to salaries. Granted, I don’t need to go out to restaurants all the time, but I do need to buy food at the supermarket (and the prices at the Machane Yehudah shuk are not better). The “cottage cheese” protest proved that the prices are becoming intolerable. One young man I spoke to said that it’s all connected to the price of gas – the higher the gas, the more it costs for the truck to transport the bread and to work the machines that produce it, and thus up goes the price of bread. We need to develop an alternative resource.
A veteran Israeli and observer and participant in political life made the remark that made the most sense to me: It’s still about the distribution of resources. The average middle-class Israeli is “secular” (not Orthodox) and lives in Israel proper. There is a disproportionate amount of resources going to the ultra-Orthodox – religious institutions, education subsidies, welfare – and to the development of the Jewish settlements in the territories. (I have received a number of emails citing numbers and amounts) We don’t even need to bring the defense budget into the conversation. The middle class is crying out to the government: We are the majority here. We bear the brunt of the workforce. We serve willingly in the army, ready to give our lives for the existence of the State of Israel. You better start paying attention to us. You need us in your coalition just as much as you need your right-wing block. Enough. That is what this struggle is about and, in my opinion, it is a righteous struggle.
What is the answer? Well, no one is really sure at the moment. But we’re generally an intelligent people, we should be able to figure it out.
In the meantime, Power to the People!

The Bar Mitzvah — The Measuring Stick of a Society

I am a concerned Israeli. I believe Israel is here to exist for the ages, and I want to make sure that Israel represents the best of what Judaism has to offer the world and to not be a nation like any other nation. I am concerned for Israel’s future because I want it to be the best that it will be.

I find my measuring stick for this concern recently surrounding the Jewish life cycle event of the bar mitzvah. In Israel, generally boys mark their bar mitzvah by learning to read from the Torah and participating in a ceremony in a synagogue. And they have a party to celebrate. By and large, girls mark their bat mitzvah by having a party.

I teach children in preparation for their bar mitzvah – how to read from the Torah and the haftarah (the Prophets), learn some prayers, and write a drasha. I teach them a class where they learn about the history of bar mitzvah, what it means today in Israel, Jewish values, and how to lay tefilin. I have officiated at over 80 bar and bat mitzvah ceremonies in my short rabbinic tenure. I would venture to say that over 800 bar and bat mitzvah ceremonies take place in Reform congregations around Israel every year.

I want to start by saying that I have nothing against the Orthodox way of observing Judaism – for someone who derives spiritual fulfillment from that type of observance and worship, I wish him well. However, the fact is that the majority of the Jews in the world are, in practice, not Orthodox Jews.

I recently attended a bar mitzvah ceremony of an Israeli secular family at an Orthodox synagogue. The bar mitzvah boy’s mother and female relatives sat in a balcony on the side and were not involved in what was happening, except for throwing candy after he read from the Torah, and for preparing the food at the end of the service. He and his father had no idea what was happening in the service. They did not follow anything in the service and no one explained to them except to tell them what to do when it came time to have the aliyah to the Torah and read. The rabbi spoke in his (long) sermon about connecting to G-d through the commandments – but not really on a level that this boy or his father could connect with. Yes, the people at the synagogue were nice, wished him well, and blessed him on his way, but this boy had never met these people before and will probably never see them again.

What did this bar mitzvah mean to this boy? He could put a “check” in the box for bar mitzvah. He enjoyed the presents he got and the relatives he met after the ceremony. Maybe he will remember the stained glass windows or the giant and beautiful reading lectern.

This past weekend, I officiated at a bar mitzvah of a family that are sixth generation ideological secular Israelis (so declared the grandfather proudly after the bar mitzvah boy said in his speech that he doesn’t believe in G-d). We held it in a nice restaurant because the high school all-purpose room that my congregation meets in was not to their taste. I brought the Torah and the kipot. I had worked with the family to create their personal prayerbook for the occasion – an integration of traditional prayers with modern Israeli songs and poems. The mother explained to me many times: don’t forget to explain things. Our family is very secular, from the kibbutz, they don’t know any of this, and it is so important to make everyone feel as much a part of this ceremony as possible. And I did explain everything that happened in the prayer service and in the bar mitzvah ceremony. We invited family members to take part in readings. The bar mitzvah boy delivered a d’var torah, his interpretation and ideas about the Torah portion that he read after we had studied it together. Yes, I said it was OK for him to say that he doesn’t believe in G-d – as long as he could explain why. We invited his parents to bless him and they themselves made a beautiful connection from the Torah portion to their wishes for their son on his journey in life.

As usual, people came up to me after the ceremony to say how nice it was (Of course, if there are those who don’t think it’s nice, they don’t usually come and tell me). What struck me was the comment of some of those who approached me: This is the real Judaism, not the Orthodox version. This is what Israel needs. We Israelis made a big mistake in giving the Ultra-Orthodox control of religion in the government.

And it wasn’t just that people said it there. The next morning, I officiated at another bar mitzvah in my congregation (This time in the family’s house – again, didn’t want that school all-purpose room!), and people came up to me to tell me the same things. One man said to me: Rabbi Ovadiah Yosef may be a great Torah scholar but what he says in the public arena frightens me. Who can trust someone’s Torah if he says that people who are victims of a hurricane because they must have sinned? He said to me, I want the Torah that tells me how to make the world a better place, that helps my grandson learn how to be a moral and just leader, as he spoke about it in his d’var torah.

And I think to myself: How many more people we can reach if we can also offer Israeli families the beautiful synagogue for their lifecycle events? We can give them a beautiful sacred space and, in doing so, we will have the opportunity to help them build that sacred space in their souls. And when they come, they will surely come back – for the next child’s bar mitzvah, for a drama class, for Torah study, for everything that will fill our synagogue building, just as in other communities where we have succeeded to build a Reform synagogue.

When Jews from Israel and around the world who understand this vision will help Congregation Darchei Noam finish its synagogue building, the Israelis will come and they will lift up their voices and then we will all tell our government – This is Judaism. This is what Israel needs. Not just for freedom of religion, but also because Israel and Israelis need to connect with our higher moral values to be the best human beings we can be, to guide how we govern ourselves, how we relate to the other, and how we conduct our commerce.

And when we have the centers to attract Israelis, our numbers will be so large that the government will listen.

Americans and Israelis: We need to talk the talk

I have seen over the past month some older and some younger North American rabbis and rabbinical students mulling over the American-Israeli relationship. It seems that certain people are really quite frantic over the issue. I suppose that the rest are frankly not interested – if it doesn’t have a direct impact on your life, then it’s not of much concern. I can understand that. I have a harder time understanding the threats to leave your synagogue if a representative of J Street speaks there (for those who don’t know – in a nutshell – a lobby organization that is considered left wing in its views and supports pressuring Israel to make peace with the Palestinians), or those who want to boycott Israel altogether because they don’t agree with the policies of the current government.

I agree that politics is not a matter to take lightly. In fact, in Israel people really care more about politics because political decisions actually do affect our lives (For example, we are all very happy about the recent law passed in the Kenesset outlawing leaf blowers to combat noise pollution). Seriously, sometimes it is a matter of life and death – billions of dollars going to create an anti-missile system to deflect missiles coming from Gaza to the Negev. Which is money that’s not going to education or welfare.

But, my friends (in Israel and in North America), we have to dialogue. All the time. For those who passionately care about Israel and the future of the Jewish future, we have to make sure we are always trying to understand each other. For those who don’t care, we want to convince you to care. But it is relevant to all of us – Kol Yisrael arevim zeh l’zeh – All of Israel is responsible for one another.

As an example – tonight, I was speaking to my mom as I drove home from a shivah minyan (a service at a house of mourning). I was telling her how many of the people there were secular Israelis who I had never met before. She said, “Wasn’t that strange for you? Wasn’t that hard?” I explained that most Israelis don’t belong to a synagogue and don’t have a person who they think of as “their rabbi” to whom they would turn. They are used to rabbis they don’t know showing up to perform a service and then leaving. She said, “That’s so unfortunate that they don’t have the experience of Jewish community. It’s so important to have that support.” I agreed with her, as that is my mission as a rabbi. On the other hand, the mourner told me how he has been thanking people all week – the hospital workers, the neighbors, the chevra kadisha (burial society), friends…In Israel, people come together to help, even total strangers. That is something really inspirational about Israelis. My point is: Israelis and Americans have what to learn from each other.

Jewish community leaders should not hide their political leanings. However, at the same time, they need to help present all of the opinions to their constituents and their congregants. Congregations need to welcome both J Street and AIPAC to forums. Sometimes, also, we need to get beyond politics to understand and appreciate Israel. Politics can also be depressing and de-humanizing. We need sister congregation relationships to share information about our lives (and political opinions). We need schools to be in touch to create lifelong friendships. More Israeli teens to come to American camps, and more Americans to come visit Israel.

As one who straddles the bridge, I try to see both sides. I can be critical of Israel – For example, I went to a major Israeli chain to return a furniture item that just didn’t look quite right in my living room. There is a new law that you can return for cash (You could only get credit previously). However, not so simple. If I return for cash, I have to pay a 5% of the item cost fee, fill out a form, wait 10 minutes in the store for phone approval, and then get hassled by the employee that perhaps I damaged the item and don’t have the right to return it at all (here, I displayed my Israeli elbows and that did not fly). I said to them, “This is a developed country?” and sighed, pining away for Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

Seriously (not that the returning issue doesn’t seriously bother me) — I am critical of my government on many issues. I write about these issues from time to time. I write to the newspaper and the government about these issues from time to time. And, by the way, I love living in Israel and I am proud to be an Israeli.

The main point is: Engage in dialogue. Learn from each other. Use humor! (That’s what we Jews have always done, no?) Speak up. But please do not silence the opposition. Please do not shut your ears to criticism of your own ideas. Please do not use threats or shout abusive, irrational slogans against those whom you oppose.

I hear that something like that is happening in many countries surrounding us here in the Middle East.

Who needs rabbis?

“You shall be a nation of priests”

This quote is from the Torah portion in a few weeks, Yitro. That’s what G-d says to the Israelites right before they receive the Torah at Mount Sinai. Back then, “cohen” was the top job in the religious hierarchy. Today, however, I think the quote would have been said: “You shall be a nation of rabbis.” Or a “nation of philanthropists” or a “nation of Jewish mothers.” Pick your word for your idea of the Jewish leader today.

Among the many newsbreaking items over the past few weeks in Israel, one was the publication of a letter signed by 39 rabbis employed by the government to be the appointed rabbi of a city that declares a “halacha” (Jewish law) against being able to sell or rent to non-Jews in Israel (aimed mainly at Arabs and foreign workers/refugees). In case you don’t know, there is an official rabbinate in Israel and a Ministry of Religion. These bodies appoint neighborhood, city, and regional rabbis to attend to the ritual needs of their communities. Of course, these are all Orthodox rabbis.

Most of the responses to the letter have furiously decried the letter including my liberal Reform Movement and the National Religious Movement (moderate Orthodox), on the basis of ethical and moral values based in the Torah, to the ultra-Orthodox Lithuathian Rabbi Eliyashiv, on the basis of not encouraging anti-Semitism in the world.
My favorite response was the first response which came out the day after the letter was published – Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu immediately condemned the letter by quoting the Torah “And you shall love the stranger and you shall have one book of law for the stranger and the citizen in the land.” He was quoting loosely verses from Deuteronomy and from Exodus. (The “ger” (stranger) is mentioned 33 times in the Torah total.)

What is so striking about this? The prime minister of Israel was fighting Torah with Torah. He has not studied in a yeshiva. He does not have rabbinical ordination. But he was putting himself on the same level as the local rabbis and holding a public Torah debate with them.

Who needs rabbis?

Who needs rabbis when there are other people who are highly educated and understand Judaism and can engage in Jewish intellectual debate?

In many places in Israel, there are new batei midrash (houses of study) not taught by rabbis but rather but educators and tour guides. Some of the most popular lecturers on Jewish topics like the Torah portion of the week are journalists, and the writer of a modern commentary on the Ethics of our Fathers is a professor. Congregations are popping up whose prayer services are led by people who attended workshops or visited in other synagogues and learned their melodies.
What is the role of a rabbi in 21st century Israel today?

I am struggling with the answer. Here is what I think it is right now.

A rabbi is someone who is there for people when they have Jewish questions of a personal nature, questions that are about themselves as a Jew, not just general knowledge about Jewish history, culture, or texts. When a person wants to know: how does this text relate to me? And they go to the rabbi because they know him/her, respect him/her and trust him/her.

Therefore, a rabbi has to be a pillar in the community (community with the loosest definition). Someone who is there, who demonstrates his/her presence, acceptance, and love.

A rabbi is someone who makes people think – about their lives, about their role in the world, about the existential questions in life. Whenever someone tells me, “I think about what you said, and that is how I try to live my life,” whether they heard it in a sermon during a service, a teaching at an event, or in personal conversation. When I hear a bar/bat mitzvah deliver their d’var Torah and the wonderful ideas that they share, I know that it came because I forced them to sit with me and then afterwards on their own and think about the Torah and what it means, and also what it means for them.

A rabbi gets people together – for prayer, for study, for doing social justice. And when they get together for these activities, the participants feel Jewish. They feel good about being Jewish. They feel proud of being Jewish.

This most recent matter of the letter issued by the local rabbis made it even more blatantly clear that at least in today’s world, we cannot structure our lives based on halachic rulings. A day after this “halachic ruling” was issued forbidding the sale of property to non-Jews, a different “halachic ruling” by another group was issued permitting the sale of property to non-Jews. Which one was “right”? If this is the rabbi’s sole role – to deliver halachic rulings – than the institution of the rabbinate will not survive long in the world. In this case, the halachic rulings only divide rather than unify, and they do not provide the everyday person with a definitive answer (if such a thing is possible).

In Israel, where authority is generally bucked – in a place where people have fulfilled the prophecy of the Torah where we are truly a “nation of priests” where everyone sees himself as just as much an authority as the next guy whether he is a rabbi, the prime minister, or the landlord…. In Israel, where there are so many smart people who can quote facts, explain texts, and put together entertaining lectures…. In Israel, where there are so many people who have received training to lead spiritual journeys – yoga masters, medidation, artistic song….

What is a rabbi supposed to do?
These are my blogger thoughts at this moment – I’d love to hear yours.

My Kol Nidre Sermon – What is an Israeli?

A Jew who made aliyah to Israel poured out his heart to G-d: “Master of the Universe, for two thousand years we prayed that you would return us to the Land of Israel. So why suddenly did you make it possible?!”

That is a joke, but now a true story: A number of years ago, when I was traveling here as a student, I visited a middle-aged woman in Hadera who described herself as an ardent Zionist. This was at the height of the second intifada. She looked at me wryly and said, “Why did you come here? If you like it so much here, why don’t we trade places for awhile? I put in my time, so now maybe you want a turn.”

What does it mean to be Israeli today?

I think about this question a lot. I’m an immigrant. By definition, I’m the one who’s trying to assimilate to a society to which I was not born nor do I have any familial roots. I like to believe that I am following in the footsteps of Israel’s first prime minister David Ben Gurion, Israel’s current president Shimon Peres, and the poet Yehuda Amichai, all immigrants to this land. However, today when approximate 72% of Israelis are native-born, there is more of a cultural norm to fit into: I’m trying all the time to be “Israeli” – I work on pronouncing my “rrrrresh”. I listen to the radio to learn all of the Israeli songs. I have a Naomi Shemer song book (she wrote every famous Israeli ballade). I clean my floor with a squeegie.

Does this make me Israeli?

My husband also works hard to help me become Israeli. The first CD he bought me was “HaKivsah HaShisha Asar (The Sixteenth Sheep)” On Israel’s Independence Day once he made me watch “burekas” (silly) movies all day. He tried to get me to like soccer and watch with him every night.

I made aliyah in 2005. Every time I met someone, they said, “Why are you still here?” I told them: “I made aliyah.” They said, “But we didn’t really think that you would stay.” Because a lot of Americans do make aliyah and leave because it’s too hard. In 2006, three weeks after my wedding, the Second Lebanon War broke out. My husband was suddenly called up and was up North for the next three weeks. I was alone in Jerusalem and he was dodging katyushas. After the war, native Israeli friends told me: “Now you’re an Israeli!”

Is that truly when I became an Israeli? Or did I become an Israeli when I knew “HaYaldah Hachi Yafah baGan (The prettiest girl in the pre-school)” by heart? Or did I become an Israeli when I got all the jokes on Eretz Nehederet (like Saturday Night Live in the US) (even the ones that aren’t funny)? Sometimes, I am reminded that I am not an Israeli. People, of course, draw attention to my accent. Sometimes, I’m not Israeli because Israelis feel like to have to explain to me what Israelis are like.

I bring up the topic because while it is one that is close to my heart and part of my everyday struggle, I actually think that it is a question that all of us face, whether born in Israel or having immigrated here at whatever age. Yom Kippur is a time to ask the big questions (there isn’t anything else to do – no TV or radio and nothing open!). Who am I? Where have I been? Where am I going? What do I stand for? I love the rabbinic metaphor of a giant Book of Life being opened during this time. I envision a giant tome, guilded in gold and jewels like the High Priest’s breast plate, with gilded pages. I see a figure sitting before this book holding a quill, dipping in the ink, and seeming to weigh thoughts very carefully before beginning to write. There are pages written upon, full of the experiences of my life. But the page now open is empty, tabula rosa, waiting to be written on, full of potential and possibility. Each of us has his/her own book. Each of us has the opportunity to ask him/herself: Who am I?

And I believe that a large part of the identity of most every person sitting here is “I am an Israeli.” So, I ask all of us the question: What does it mean to be an Israeli today? I also was drawn to the question in the publishing of two articles about Israel from abroad:
Perhaps you heard about the cover of Time Magazine last week – a Jewish star covered in daisies that read, “Why Israel Doesn’t Care About Peace”. The article says, “The truth is Israelis are no more preoccupied with the matter [peace],” adding that Israelis were “otherwise engaged, they’re making money, they are enjoying rays of the late summer…A watching world may still see their country being defined by the blood feud with the Arabs……, but Israelis say they have moved on. Now observing two and a half years without a single suicide bombing on their territory, with the economy robust and with the souls a trifle weary of having to handle big elemental thoughts, the Israeli public prefers to explore such satisfactions as might be available from the private sphere.” (September 10, 2010)

What do we think? Is this true? To be Israeli today is it to be indifferent to the pursuit of peace? To be Israeli, is it to be more concerned about economic advancement and personal achievement?

A recent poll by Forbes Magazine ranked Israel as the world’s 8th happiest country, ahead of the United States (14) and tied with Canada. The four-year survey asked thousands of respondents in 155 countries to give a “life evaluation” score between one and ten, and cataloged their daily feelings to decide what percentage of people in each country were “thriving, struggling, or suffering.” The survey was taken between 2005 and 2009. (www.jpost.com)

To be Israeli, is it to be happy?

The answer, I’m sure you’ll all thinking, is a bit more complicated than that. I am positive that there are many answers to this question of who is an Israeli. And honestly, my goal tonight is to encourage you think of your own answer. But I have some thoughts that I would like to share from our traditional and Israeli sources and from my experiences.

Of course, in the most basic sense of the word, an Israeli is someone who has citizenship in Israel. A citizen is someone who was either born here or who immigrated. This definition, by the way, includes non-Jewish Israelis, mainly Israeli Arabs. I’m sure it would be a very interesting exercise to ask an Israeli Arab to define his Israeli identity.

But I am standing here speaking to a community of Jewish Israelis who are gathered tonight to observe Yom Kippur, so I really want to focus on the unique aspect of being an Israeli who is also part of the people of Israel. I want to tie our tradition to our modern lives today.

First of all, I want to look at our name: Yisrael. The people who struggles with G-d. An Israeli is someone who strives over and over to define himself. He is eternally between history and tradition and innovating for the future.
Beginning with our most ancient text, the Torah, G-d tells us in Exodus, “You shall be a holy nation, a nation of priests.” This ancient vision set pretty high expectations for us ordinary people. Higher standards help us rise to the occasion. An Israeli doesn’t settle – an Israeli is always trying to do better, to learn more, to make things special. Not to worry, soon after we learn from the Torah that we are also “a stiff-necked people.” And the midrash tells us that there were three cheeky types: The dog, the chicken, and the Israel(i). To be an Israeli is also not to be without flaws. Doesn’t anyone know anyone stubborn and difficult around town?

Secondly, the voices of our tradition informs our values. The Talmud instructs us: All Israel is responsible for one another. And Israelis do feel a sense of responsibility toward the other. They care about each other. I always hear stories about the guy who asked for directions and the woman ended up driving him to where he needed to go or the young mother who had a colicky baby on the bus and three grandmothers reached over and helped her with the baby. This is a special attribute not to be taken for granted – when we lived in Los Angeles, once we passed on a deserted street a young woman who was sobbing into a pay phone. Tamir, my Israeli, said, “We need to go back and see if she needs help.” He approached her to help her, and the young woman was in shock, unable to fathom that a stranger would offer or could be trusted to help.

The Talmud also states, “Even when an Israel(i) sins, he’s still an Israel(i).” Our collective responsibility extends even when we are disappointed or alienated from one another. Israelis are family – we don’t stop caring just because we disagree. The opposite – we shout even louder. The easiest thing to do is to disconnect – to check out and say “it’s not my problem” or just leave. It is harder to stay and to shout. But that’s what Israelis do — they stay and shout.
The writer David Frishman, after whom is named a street and a great beach in Tel Aviv, said “the Jewish people is both like an old man and like a child.” Israelis have a deep memory of our heritage — Our heritage of 3000 years ago on this land as well as our moreshet of tradition in Poland or in Morocco or Iraq or Yemen or Serbia. At the same time, we are a young, vibrant society creating new things, creating a new identity, and challenging all of the older ways of thinking. We are always cutting edge – making new ideas, new technologies, creating new vessels to our ancient values.

Finally, an Israeli is someone who cares about the future of Israel. The prophet Joel said “Your sons and your daughters will prophesy – your old will dream dreams and your youth will see vision.” And perhaps the author of the Time magazine article should have listened to the popular rock back HaDag Nachash who sing in their song “I believe” to understand who is an Israeli:

We can pick ourselves up and begin to act
To establish organizations, participate in demonstrations
Raise funds and oversea the activities
To be interviewed and photographed and explain and clarify
What we need and what is worthwhile so we can do it differently
That the solution is just around the corner.
And how easy it is, if we would only be ready to change the picture.

Perhaps – once an immigrant, always an immigrant. But I didn’t come here just for the view and just for the history, as I think many immigrants will tell you. I came here because of the people, because of the Israelis. When I was 20 and visited Tiberius for the first time, I’ll never forget the guy who rented me the bike: You’re visiting for a few months? You like it here? So, why don’t you move here? Just as I’ll remember the experience a few weeks ago right before Rosh HaShanah at the shuk when I stood in an enormous line to buy fish. The poor woman next to me with a Russian accent, “But I’ve been waiting here for half an hour!” as people pushed ahead. And I could shout and get the fish seller’s attention and help her to take her order.

We have a vision. We have 3000 years of wisdom and experience and also poking fun at ourselves to back us up. We have the energy and the drive to do fantastic things in this world. We make mistakes and we investigate ourselves to no end. We shout and we debate and immortalize ourselves in this eternal conversation on the meaning of life. And we never give up hope – no, we never give up hope. We pray for health, we pray for happiness, and we pray for peace.

We are Israel.

August at Home

During the month of August, whenever I get on the phone and am speaking with another parent – whether of small children or bigger children, the first question after the greeting is most likely, “So, how are you surviving?” No, it’s not another kassam rocket attack nor is it an existential reference. It is the period known as the Three Weeks (not to be confused with the three weeks of mourning leading up to Tisha B’Av) when all the kids are on vacation. If you have little kids, your pre-school ended August 8 and will only start again September 1 (which for us is really September 2, because they only go for two hours on the first day “to get acclimated”). If you have older kids, most of the summer camps have finished. Not to mention that it is HOT HOT HOT here (the hottest summer on record for 65 years)

Ideally, I should have gotten on the plane and taken the kids to more temperate Cleveland, Ohio, to take refuge with the grandparents. But that didn’t work out this summer.

To be honest, I actually don’t mind this time. I call it forced time with your kids. I hear from the pre-school teachers about my son’s day – and now I really experience for myself. We make playdates with other kids, and we spend entire days together. I get to know him all over again – figure out what he’ll actually eat (during the year, I’m not stressed about dinner because I know he gets a heavy lunch at pre-school). We have friends over or go to the park and I see how he shares (or doesn’t), plays nicely (usually), and how he generally tries to make friends (or push the boundaries) with the other kid. And, most of all, we just get to enjoy being at home. Life is so busy and so running around, and this is a society where people are always trying to occupy their children — sometimes it is just so wonderful to discover your home, enjoy all of the things that you have, and also realize what you don’t really play with – we’ve made a few trips to the donation box this summer. We’ve baked together. We put on puppet shows together. We read books.

So, I want to thank the Israeli school system for forcing me to be creative and plan these few weeks for my son. For forcing me to spend way more time than we spend together during the year. For helping me to get re-acquainted with my child and the core of who he is.

I do realize that not every parent can do this. There are a lot of kids who do spend their time at an August camp or with their grandparents or the nanny. And I am working during this time, so there has been babysitter time. It’s not easy to find the perfect balance (Is it ever?)

I don’t know if this is an “Israel” thing or a general human thing. But, in any case, it’s important, and it’s my life now, and this is my blog. And I imagine there are lots of people out there in the same situation. We have to cherish every moment with our kids because we all know this time goes so fast.

We all need to care about Gilad Shalit

I would like to draw attention to an issue in Israel which I feel very strongly about – and this time it is not religious pluralism, actually.

My husband and I got married a little over four years ago in June 2006. We returned back to Israel – this was less than a year after I had made aliyah (immigrated to Israel). The entire year, I told people that I had made aliyah but still, at the end of the school year, when my Israeli counterparts would meet me, they always asked, “What are you still doing here? Didn’t you go back with the rest of the American students?” And I would answer them with a bit of consternation in my voice, “No. I told you, I made aliyah.” And they would answer, “Well, we didn’t really think it was true.” Because no native-born Israeli expects Americans to be able to stick it out here. Two weeks after our wedding, the Second Lebanon War broke out, and my husband was called up for army duty. He was away from home for a month up in the North where the rockets were flying. Back in Jerusalem, I was invited to people’s homes for dinner – as I was alone most of the time – and I was told by my Israeli friends, “Now you’re really an Israeli!”

During this war, the young soldier Gilad Shalit was kidnapped by a Palestinian terrorist group on the border between Israel and Gaza. At the same time, two soldiers disappeared on the border with Lebanon. We all began to pray for the return of these soldiers. Ehud Goldwasser and Eldad Regev returned in body bags after they were traded for terrorists with Hizbolah. Gilad Shalit, who seems to be a gentle, unassuming young man, was seen in a video a few years after his kidnapping, so it is probably safe to assume that he is still alive today, four years sitting in captivity in the Gaza Strip.

The Shalit family, an ordinary, mild-mannered middle-class family, organized to try and save their son – wouldn’t you do the same if it was your son? They met with world leaders and especially the leaders of Israel several times. An organization was formed, logos have been branded, ads have been taken out in newspapers. A protest tent was set up on Aza Street (how appropriate – Aza is the Hebrew word for ‘Gaza’) right outside of the prime minister’s compound. I walked by that tent often on my way into town. I would always sign the petition. One day, I noticed a card that asked for people to volunteer. I said to myself, I can do my small part by sitting here once a month to keep Gilad Shalit in the national consciousness and perhaps help bring him home.

I sat in the early morning hours that no one wanted (with a two-year-old at home, I was up anyway). People of all backgrounds (secular, ultra-Orthodox) signed the petition. Some took a volunteer card like I had. The boys at the school next door would flood the tent at 1:30 when school let out and try to take as many bumper stickers as possible. A group of tourists from Thailand made their guide explain to them the whole story and wanted to photograph the tent. A regular passer-by would always stop and ask over and over, “Do you think sitting here will really bring him back home? No one in the government cares!” We would always strike up a camaraderie between the volunteers, and we would always part with the phrase, “May we not come back and meet here next month – may Gilad be free by then!” Sometimes, I would bring my 2-year-old son to sit with me – he would draw pictures or smile at the people going by. For me, this was my most powerful statement – because this could be him or anyone else’s son, and then what would we want our government to do?

A few weeks ago, the Shalit family staged a weeklong march from their home in Northern Israel down the coast, through Tel Aviv, and arriving in Jerusalem to the protest tent outside of the prime minister’s house. Noam Shalit, Gilad’s father, declared that they would stay in the tent until Gilad was freed (he has said this one previous time and did end up going home without a freed Gilad). I passed by the tent on the day that the number outside of the tent read “1500”, meaning 1500 days of captivity. I have put the yellow ribbon which has now become the symbol of the Free Gilad Shalit campaign on my car and on my bag. I see Noam and Aviva Shalit in the tent, speaking with people who have to sit with them and passers-by who are wishing them well. I see also the protesters across the street who are calling on the government not to trade Gilad Shalit for Palestinians who have ‘blood on their hands.’

The Jewish tradition teaches that captives should not be redeemed at any price. The reason is that if we are willing to pay any price, our enemies will be even more encouraged to kidnap Jews in order to take higher extortions. The Jewish tradition also teaches us that pikuach nefesh, the saving of a life, is the highest value we know.

I believe that Gilad’s life is worth a significant price. The price of a living person – a son, grandson, and a brother – is worth more than preserving the honor of the dead. Our tradition also teaches that when you save one live, it is as in if you have saved the world. I do have my reservations about the intentions of Hamas – I am afraid that they don’t really want to make a deal and will eventually just kill Gilad, and they are just using the issue as a PR stunt to suit their needs. But it is our job as Jews and as human beings to keep the issue of Gilad Shalit in the spotlight, to keep up the pressure on our own government, on Hamas, on the Red Cross to insist on a visit, and on governments of the world to bring this young man home, to live in peace.

Visit the web site for more information and tie a yellow ribbon to your car/computer/backpack.

Motherhood in Israel – Take Two

Why has this blog lain dormant for around two and half months? Because on Israel’s Independence Day, we welcomed our second child into the world! A week later, my computer crashed and it took around a month to get back on-line. (a blessing in disguise, to be honest)

To be a parent in the Jewish homeland….

Finally, we get some payback for our high taxes! In Israel, you don’t have any expenses for giving birth – this is covered by the state. I chose to give birth for the second time at the Shaarei Tzedek hospital in Jerusalem. People often ask me why I chose there as it is known to be a “religious” hospital (most Jerusalemite women will go to Hadassah Ein Karem). First of all, it is the closest to our house (which was good during this birth as I almost didn’t make it!), it has a newer, more attractive wing, they will never put you in the hallway after giving birth (women sleep in the hallway in other hospitals because there isn’t enough room in the ward), and I like the rule of quiet hours (which unfortunately this time were not totally upheld – my first night in the hospital, my roommate’s husband came at 10 p.m. and when the Arab attendant on duty came to tell him to leave, they ended up having an entire conversation on how Arab and Jews can truly get along. Touching, but I had just given birth and really just wanted to sleep.)

From the moment I gave birth, I was officially on maternity leave. In Israel, every family receives 14 weeks of paid maternity leave. This is paid for by the government so that your place of work can hire someone to replace you in your absence. The National Insurance Institute pays you what you earned the 14 weeks leading up to the maternity leave. The father can take the leave or you can split it between you – the rule is that one parent gets the paid leave. You can stay on leave for up to six months and your position must be held for you, but the rest is unpaid.

We held a simchat bat (welcome ceremony) for our daughter 10 days after she was born. We picked this date simply because that’s when my parents were visiting from the US and on a Friday so people weren’t working. I wanted to emphasize the equality between our children – our first child was a boy so it was understand that we held his brit 8 days after his birth and that it would be an entire event to itself. So, that’s exactly what our daughter got too (minus the cut, of course!). In Israel, everyone comes no matter how far away they live. It is a small country, so it feels like everything is drivable – some relatives drove four hours roundtrip for our two-hour event. That’s just what you do here.

A few days after your baby is born, you’re already forced to leave the house. You have to make the requisite visit to Tipat Chalav – literally means “a drop of milk”, which is the government “stations” for basic childcare. This where your children are officially weighed and measured (they won’t measure baby’s length until she is one month old) and where they receive all of their vaccinations. I always get a complex because the chart always shows our babies in the lowest 10th percentile of size (we are small people!) and there is great pressure for the baby to gain weight early on. But then all the mothers at pre-school reassure me telling me how small their kids were when they were babies too.

For us, the next order of business is getting our baby her passports. First, we go to the Israeli Ministry of Interior. My body tenses just at the thought of this place which was the bane of my aliyah experience – (Learning how to push through crowded lines and waiting hours just to get my documents. Going to change my temporary document to a permanent passport and having the clerk tell me that since I left Israel for family visits during my first year, I didn’t really live in Israel and didn’t deserve an Israeli passport. Etc.) – but this time, it is not so bad. We only have to change clerks once because the computer can’t find the record of our daughter’s birth. But miraculously the second computer found it. We give the pictures and information – in a minute, we have a birth certificate in Hebrew and in English. The next day we receive our daughter’s passport by courier. We also had to schlep to the American Consulate in East Jerusalem – since I am an American citizen, my children are automatically American citizens and they can’t enter the US without an American passport. I made an appointment and still waited 4 hours in line. I didn’t have all the proper documentation so I had to come back to bring it. Then we had to wait a week for them to check it. Then I had to come back to pay for the passport. Then we got it a few weeks later. For once, Israeli bureaucracy is more efficient!

This is a society that not only loves children and babies (because I know that people everywhere love babies), but it is a place where they welcome babies in every place. Though I am officially on maternity leave, after having passed the insane first six weeks and am in a place where our baby is now on a regular schedule which allows me to plan a day accordingly, there are responsibilities and meetings and the such which still come up. Here, a baby is like a mother’s additional appendage – I just take her everywhere with me. She comes to meetings and other various events. For the first few minutes, everyone googoo-gaga’s over her. But then, it’s like she just blends in, even if I sit and breastfeed (covered up, of course!). And it is totally acceptable to do this until the baby really starts to talk and move around (or perhaps I could keep bringing her, but I am sensitive about disturbing meetings with my baby).

As all parents know, parenting is not easy. And as most people will attest, life in Israel is not always easy. But I really believe that Israel is one of the best places to be a parent – it’s a society that really loves babies. And there is something truly special about being born a Jerusalemite – being a native of our holy city and ancient capital of the Jewish people. I was reminded of this last week when we received a special certificate from the Jerusalem municipality recognizing our daughter and reminding us of the special place and time in which she was born – Only in Israel!

The Pesach Seder – I Did It My Way

The Pesach seder is the most observed Jewish tradition in the world. More than Shabbat, more than lighting Chanukah candles, more than crowding into the synagogue on Yom Kippur – the most Jews actually observe the custom of sitting down to a Pesach seder more than any other custom. Incredible.

I love hosting the seder. Why? The main reason is that the seder is one of the best opportunities for creativity. It is a ceremony that begs to be renewed and re-examined year after year. The hagadah is ultimately a guide for how to hold a discussion on the different aspects of Pesach and the various ideas about slavery, liberation, salvation, and collective responsibility. I have a hard time sitting at a seder where the ceremony is only to read straight from the text. In our seder, everyone was asked to bring a plant or flowers to help us celebrate “Chag HaAviv” (another name for Pesach – the springtime holiday); after reading about the ancient seder in B’nai B’rak, everyone at our table recalled the most outlandish seder he ever attended; the kids were given costumes and acted out the Four Children (the smallest and shyest just had to shake a rattle – “the one who doesn’t know how to ask”); the kids were given a 10 plagues kit and had to rain down all the plagues on the adults; and when we left Egypt, everyone shared what he can’t leave home without. Israelis have lots of Pesach songs from the hagadah, so we sang a lot! And people shared stories and other tidbits that they had learned or heard in other places. We kept going until the kids collapsed (For the first time in his 2 years and 8 month life, our son asked us if he could please go to sleep!)

On a cultural note — I love hosting the seder because this way, we don’t have to travel in any traffic jams. You heard me – In Israel, the biggest traffic jam is not rush hour on Monday morning, it is the night of the seder. Everyone is on the road going to their family. On the one hand, it is a sign of national bonding. On the other hand, there is something to be said for living in Jerusalem which is more religious than the rest of the country – by the time the sun goes down and the holiday has started, everyone had already arrived.

On a cynical note – I love hosting the seder because this ensures that our apartment will not get broken into. This is also a popular night for thieves in Israel who know that once someone goes out, they will not be back until late in the night. (I know people it’s happened to!)

And on my most important and favorite note about the Pesach seder – I love hosting the seder because I love the memories that we are creating for our children that are going to stay with them for their entire lives and warm their hearts when they have their own seders. My husband laughed at me the night before and called me “grandma” as I sat in my apron wearing slippers and knitting as I waited for him to finish cleaning the kitchen so I could finish making the matzah balls – using a recipe that I received from my grandmother and remembering how she taught me how to make them on my last visit to her before she died. And for the seder, I decided to wear a necklace that was hers. And as I chopped the Ashkenazi charoset, I remember helping my mom in the kitchen as a little girl chopping the walnuts and apples in the bowl. I remember the book of Pesach jokes that the adults would tell at the table throughout the seder. I put parsley for the “karpas” because that’s what I grew up with, and mashed the hardboiled egg in my bowl of salt water, just like when I was a kid. I was the only one at our table who ate the gefilte fish, but I couldn’t imagine a seder without it.

My heart leapt with joy as our kids enthusiastically joined in our seder, throwing cardboard frogs and Styrofoam balls on the table, the smallest ones kind of sang the Four Questions with everyone’s help, they all gorged on Charoset, got their present from savta (grandma) for finding the afikomen, and sang with gusto all 13 verses of “Echad Mi Yodea” (Who Knows One?). They heard the stories that their parents told. We laughed, we did a few things out of order, there were a few heated (but friendly) discussions –

And everyone left with a feeling that we had done the seder “just right.”