Tag Archives: Yad Vashem

Week 33: Family

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This is the time of year for family. Last week, when Shabbat directly followed the last day of Pesach, creating a rare 8-day Passover in Israel, Friday afternoon, I was kindly invited over the home of a local family. The Mr. and the Mrs. were born in America, but each have been here for well over 20 years. Also at the meal were two of their 4 children, the Mrs.’ father, and family friends with two small children. As often happens when I eat meals with strangers, while I didn’t know these people at all when I woke up that morning, by Kiddush, I already felt like family. When I first began hanging out in more observant circles in college, I couldn’t get over how inviting complete strangers over for holiday meals is considered no big deal; in fact, more often that not, the hosts act as though you are the one doing them a favor. But of course, that just isn’t true, it’s the opposite, and feeding me is the least of it—by letting me come into their meal, into their living room, knowing they know nothing about me other than that I am a hungry Jew and that I know nothing about them other than that they are extremely generous, I can drop my baggage and just let myself feel at home and become a grateful member of their extended family. Maybe the most special thing about being a Jew is knowing that you are a part of (nearly) every other Jew’s extended family.

That night, I experienced the opposite side of this phenomenon when, for Shabbat dinner, two friends of mine who are roommates had family over: one her father, the other her brother and sister-in-law, and invited friends over for a combined family meal. My friends soon became translators between the thee overlapping families present—after nearly seven-and-a-half months together, nearly everything we Pardes students say to each other is an inside-joke. Similarly, almost anything a family member wanted to say about our mutual family member required Continue reading →

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Week 4: The Learning Curve

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(X-posted to my home blog, Yinzer in Yerushalayim.)

Just after I posted last Friday, it all hit the fan. The entire day post-posting forced it to hit home in a big way for the first time that I really am in a foreign country now. It is also when I fell in love, twice over.

At noon last Friday I had to meet someone at the branch of the Aroma Espresso Bar, like the Israeli Panera Bread, nearest my apartment. The Aroma is right next to a supermarket, and in front of the supermarket was a table where a woman was giving out samples of wine. It sounds like a joke, but that’s when it really hit home that I’m not in Pennsylvania anymore. I would have stared at it in disbelief, but then I remembered that staring in Israel is most definitely not a good idea. I didn’t try any. At Aroma, I got the iced version of their signature drink, called an Aroma. It tasted like chocolate and vanilla and cinnamon and coffee and spices and might just have been one of the best things I’ve ever had. I almost can’t wait until it gets colder now so I can savor the hot version. One sip was all it took for me to fall in love.

 

Then I took the bus to the Shuk on a Friday afternoon. I feel lucky to have made it out alive, but like all things in life, it was a learning experience. Here are some of the valuable lessons I learned Erev Shabbat at the Shuk:

  • I am not in America anymore.
  • I am not on Birthright anymore.
  • Never go to the Shuk without someone who actually speaks Hebrew.
  • If you must go it all by your big spoiled American self, never attempt to buy clothes from someone who doesn’t speak English. Long story short, I wanted two pairs of jeans, didn’t have the cash, and somehow (the details are still scary and hazy in my mind) ended up with a pair of khakis I didn’t want, but at least I have new pants now, right?
  • Different kinds of fruits and vegetables go in different bags (“You’re buying a salad?”).
  • Marzipan is still the greatest bakery in the world. We went to the Shuk on Birthright, and it was completely different: a kitschy foreign marketplace where my friends and I bought shwarma and had a blast indulging in the sights, tastes, and smells, and taking pictures before getting back on our air-conditioned coach bus to tour the next fun attraction in our very own, cute little country. The only thing this time around that resembled that one was Marzipan. On Birthright, our madrikh, or group leader, Alex described it as “the crack cocaine of rugela” and he couldn’t have put it better. But it’s not just their rugela, everything they make, from potato borekas, to Danishes, to pastry puffs, to mini pizzas and everything in-between contains just the perfect amount of chewy and doughy, yet crispy and flaky and sweet and savory with just the right amount of grease to make it one of the more powerful religious experiences to be found in Jerusalem. After one bite I fell in love all over again. Rewarding myself with Marzipan fresh from the oven at the end of my Shuk experience, and getting some extra to bring to my Shabbat meals, made the whole hassle worth it.

 

Friday night, I experienced one of the most beautiful Kabbalat Shabbat services of my life at Shira Hadasha, down the street from me. I knew I was going to like this place before I even stepped through the door: There is a long covered sidewalk leading from the street to the shul, and as I walked down it with my roommate, he told me that every Friday there is a farmer’s market here. This farmer’s market plus the Marzipan branch on the way I never noticed before mean I will never have to go the Shuk again for a long time. That was the beginning of my good Shabbat mood, and the services themselves soon completed it—the singing at Shira Hadasha was so spirited and beautiful, going there felt more like being part of a professional choir than going to shul. The only thing that stopped it from being just the perfectly reinvigorating spiritual bubble bath at the end of a long day and busy week was my slight anxiety that they would kick me out for ruining their angelic chorus of praise once they noticed my nasal whining. But thankfully they let me stay.

 

Later in the week, I put some of the stuff I bought at the Shuk to good use by cooking my first ever real meal for myself. I fried some eggplant in olive oil, then put it, parmesan cheese, tomato, and fresh basil on whole wheat bread then stuck it on our sandwich grill to create a grilled eggplant parmesan sandwich. It was good, and I’m convinced that after some tweaking it will be even better.

 

The other highlight of the week was yesterday’s tour of the archaeology exhibit at the Israel Museum lead by Pardes teacher Rabbi Michael Hattin. That it cost us only 10 shekels felt like stealing. We saw, through the eyes of an expert tour guide, not only the history of Israel but the history of all humanity unfolding with each footstep. There before our eyes were actual artifacts attesting to invention of tools, the creation of written language, the evolution of religion and culture, and the emergence of the Israelite people. In my last semester at Pitt, I took Israel in the Biblical Age, which made seeing certain artifacts, including the actual Tel Dan Stele, the first known extra-Biblical reference to the Davidic Dynasty, and the Priestly Benediction amulets from 600 BCE especially powerful for me almost like seeing a celebrity except that these actually deserve their fame.

 

The museum is right across from the Knesset, and before we went in, Rabbi Hattin told us to keep this location in mind as we toured the museum. All the earliest references to Israel outside the Bible tell of its destruction, and seeing the Knesset, capped by its mammoth Israeli flag, outside the museum tells the whole world reports of our death have been greatly exaggerated. But I think there’s something even deeper here: If I remember correctly from Birthright, the Knesset is also near the Har Herzl Military Cemetery and Yad Vashem. If this is so, then the whole layout to explain the Knesset and the State it governs to the world—The Israel Museum tells why we’re in this land, Yad Vashem tells why we can’t be anywhere else, and Har Herzl tells the price we are willing to pay to stay here (though that’s easy for me, the big spoiled American Jew to say).

 

On this note I’ll mention that I haven’t “forgotten” to mention anything happening in Israel recently. I have too many benefactors for this trip on both sides of the political fence to risk offending anyone with my true views on the subject. Besides, I’m in such a bubble here, I really haven’t been following it as closely as I should be anyway.

 

Now I have to start getting ready for tonight.

 

Hebrew word of the week: שנה טובה (“Shana Tova”) – Good Year, as in “May you have a”

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Intersection

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Last week I had the opportunity to visit Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust Museum with fellow Pardes students. I had never been to Yad Vashem at night before, but I was surprised to find that the lack of natural light emphasized the murder of the Shoah. As I worked my way through the permanent exhibit, I encountered two instances where my current learning intersected with stories of the Holocaust.

The first, a man was recounting a story of another gentlemen who went to a rabbi with a question about his son. The questioner wanted to know if it was possible to save his son from an impossible situation that would surely result in the son’s death, knowing that saving one child would inevitably cause the death of another. The rabbi was unable to give psak (a Halakhic ruling), because in Jewish law capital cases require a court of 23. At Pardes we are leaning sections of Tractate Sanhedrin which deals with the court system and the different requirements for the courts that hear capital cases.

The second, inside one of the many display cases was a get (Jewish bill of divorce). Upon closer examination, I realized that it was a get al t’nai (conditional get). Conditional gets are used to protect the woman in event of the disappearance of a husband. In this case, the gets was being used so that the woman could remarry if the husband could not be located. As part of my night seder learning this year, in Tractate Kiddushin, the gemara introduces texts that address get al t’nai.

These two intersections brought me to the brink of tears. More interestingly, however, is the fact that the realization that I, holocaust victims, and holocaust survivors were learning and living by the same texts. If that’s not an intersection with both the horrors of the Shoah and the beauty of the tradition, I’m not sure what is.

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Cold

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Several weeks ago, I decided that it was high time for me to visit the Tayelet in J’lem, and I woke myself up at an early hour to daven (pray) the shacharit (morning) service with my tefilin (phylacteries) at sunrise, facing the Old City of J’lem.

It was a chilly morning, and I felt it. According to my tradition, I wrapped my tefilin around my left bicep, down my forearm, and around my middle finger. The morning davening is the longest of the three daily services, and I prefer to daven at a comfortable pace, pronouncing every syllable carefully… so I stood, davening with my tefilin on in the chilly morning air for some time (perhaps 45 minutes – I’m not quite sure).

A friend of mine once explained to me that she tends to have poor circulation in her fingers so her hands are often cold. She prefers mittens to gloves because she finds that her fingers warm one another when they’re clasped together. I remembered her explanation that morning because my tefilin prevented the fingers of my left hand from clasping together, and the chilly air nipped at them, stinging. The stinging felt grounding, human, as did the comforting warmth once I completed my davening and removed my tefilin.

View from Tayelet

 

The Old City of Jerusalem glowed in the rising sun before me, and I stood with my hands in my pockets, taking in the ancient view.

—–

Later that Friday, I visited Yad Vashem with a friend for the first time since I was on a Birthright trip more than three years ago. It was particularly liberating to walk through the museum without a large group or tour guide, navigating ourselves through the displays and taking the time to discuss our impressions and ideas.

I recall once visiting The Har Herzl National Cemetery with my mother as a youth, watching her cry for the deaths of the many young soldiers that had given their lives in defense of Israel, wondering why I felt… nothing.

The older I get, the more emotional I become. As a seventh grader, learning about the Shoah (the Holocaust) in Hebrew school, I was barely emotionally affected by lessons and stories of hatred, tragedy and death… and then I taught the very same class (I took over for my Hebrew school teacher) for two years as an adult, and I cried over and over again at the videos and lesson plans. For me, adulthood brought with it heightened sensitivity.

It now feels as though I’ve integrated much of the tragedy of the Shoah. Some of the exhibits at Yad Vashem brought tears to my eyes and caused my heart to beat more heavily, but I generally felt a constant, soft ache for the great loss… I’ve had, after all, a lot of exposure to Shoah material. Still, I learned some new information about the specifics of the Holocaust in particular countries across Europe, and one exhibit in particular happened to give me pause.

Towards the end of WWII, the Nazis forced the emaciated, sick Jewish prisoners out of concentration camps in ‘Death Marches’, on foot, across hundreds of kilometers of frozen terrain, bringing many to their deaths through forced, inhuman overexertion and starvation. Yad Vashem’s description of these frigid, torturous journeys struck me, and it took me a moment to realize why. It was only that morning that I’d wanted to protect my fingers from the slight chill of the Jerusalem morning, conscious of my 45 minute discomfort, appreciating life and sensation, wincing slightly from the air’s sharp, chilly sting…

It struck me at the ‘Death Marches’ exhibit at Yad Vashem that day that I will never be able to comprehend the Shoah. Would that nobody ever experience such terrible Evil again.

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The one where the family comes to visit

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My family’s visiting Israel this week for the very first time.  Not only is it their first time in Israel – it’s also their first time traveling abroad, if you don’t count Caribbean cruises.

I’ve been excited about this week since I first arrived in September, especially the opportunity to show them my “turf” and introduce them to my friends.  I’ve become very comfortable in my lifestyle here in Jerusalem, and I wanted to be able to share that with them beyond just pictures and phone calls.  I especially wanted them to be able to sit in on some of my classes and come to minyan with me, so when planning the itinerary, I made sure to fit those experiences into the schedule.

I also wanted to give my family the full Israel tour experience – that is to say, a lot of the first time experiences that many people experience on a Birthright trip, like going to Masada, visiting the Kotel, Independence Hall, and experiencing Shabbat in Jerusalem.  For me, that has meant switching mentalities from being a full-time student to being a tourist for the week.  It hasn’t always been easy.  Being at Pardes definitely means that I’ve gotten into a regular weekday routine, and having to change that up for constant traveling is exhausting.  I’ve missed my classes and my teachers, seeing my friends throughout the day, and having a simple meal when I get home at night.

BUT – I wouldn’t trade this week for anything.

I’ve gotten to see my brothers float in the Dead Sea and cover themselves with mud… my dad learn more about the depth of Jewish history than he’s ever experienced before… my mom engaging with the same struggles that I encounter on a daily basis, being a progressive egalitarian-minded Jew in Jerusalem.  I was able to study Jewish text (Shmot 4:24-26) together with my dad and my brother Drew for the very first time, hearing their insights on the Tanakh and the commentaries and their voices joining a conversation thousands of years old.  My entire family came to minyan with me one morning, and there wouldn’t have been a minyan if they hadn’t been present.  How beautiful is that?

And Shabbat in Jerusalem, with my family, was an incredible and powerful experience.  We spent Friday rushing around, shopping at the shuk, cleaning and cooking.  That night, we davened at Shira Hadasha, experiencing the beauty of their melodies and the sense of community.  We hosted a Shabbat dinner for family and friends, reveling in the memories of the week gone by, resting up for the week again.  When my brother Drew told me that it was one of the highlights of his week, I beamed.

And now, for your viewing pleasure, more highlights from the week:

Sunrise at the Tayelet

Tel Aviv and the Mediterranean

Jake at Yad Vashem

Dead Sea

Dead Sea Newspaper

B’shalom,

Lauren

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