Concerts, movies, and grammar, oh my!

The concert on Saturday was unbelievably odd. It was at the World Union for Progressive Judaism, and was a group of women and men. They all had beautiful voices, but they picked the most random songs. They went from "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" to jazz to "Bohemian Rhapsody" to Beatles to gospel to Israeli blues to "Oh Happy Day" (about Jesus, which they switched to Elohim), to random Israeli songs I’d never heard. And at the end, the audience clapped in unison. In the USA people clap chaotically… cultural differences are fun.

We had a few people over for Halloween – good company, and lots of lots of food and candy. We watched Chamber of Secrets, the scary Harry Potter, but ended up talking through most of it. I think the cats were the biggest hit of the night… at one point they were playing and were being adorable and Mara told us, “You Lovings have the most beautiful babies!”

School-wise, I learned something fascinating while doing my Liturgy reading last night. The Torah is read on Mondays and Thursdays, and I had always thought it had some deep symbolic meaning, that maybe those days were sanctified somehow. Nope. Turns out that Mondays and Thursdays were the market days in the ancient world, and the days when most people would hear the Torah reading. Forget the symbolism, it’s all about practicality! Now I wonder, what are the other seemingly special traditions that are mundane in origin?

Grammar and dagesh-wise (I don’t know why, but I’m fascinated by the multiple uses of dots lately), whenever the letter Hay is at the end of a word and has a dot in it, it symbolizes possession. Ben=son, benah (with the h with a dot) is “her son.” The possessive dot it called a “mapeek.”

AND, the Dalet is now a “D” sound, but if the Dalet has a dot in it, it’s a “TH” sound. In the Talmud it says that when Rabbi Akiva (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rabbi_Akiva) died under Roman torture, he said the Sh’ma (Hear, O Israel, Adonai is our God, Adonai is One). The story says that he extended the last word of the Sh’ma until the moment he died. Now, the last word is “Echad,” one. I had always thought that he extended it by saying “Echaaaaaad” or some such. “Echaddddd” is impossible, since D is a stopping letter on the tongue. But according to today’s lesson, if he extended the very last sound in the word, what he said was “Echathhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” The story makes sense now! I love that grammar can illuminate history.

The HUC rabbinic students met with the Israeli rabbinic students tonight - fascinating experience. They're all much older, usually 2nd career, but at the very least in their late 20s after the army and college. It was quite insightful to talk with them about how they came to the Reform movement, the differences in attitudes toward Reform in Israel and the US, and how they feel as entering rabbinic students. All in all, I feel that they're taking a much bigger leap than we are - being a rabbi is a "good thing" in the States. Reform is well-known, no one blinks at a woman leading services, and almost all American students' families have been extremely supportive. Not so for the Israelis - the culture is against women on the pulpit, not to mention Reform in general.

Anyways... off to dinner.

Sheik Ibrahim's and a book rec

Yesterday I (and about 30 other HUC people) went to the Mt. of Olives in East Jerusalem, on the Palestinian side. We met with a friend of our classmate Ethan’s, Sheik Ibrahim. He’s very involved in his community and met Ethan’s parents at a Peace Conference. His walls are covered with Peace posters and pictures and logos in all languages, with Shalom and Salaam (in Hebrew and Arabic, respectively) on huge rainbow flags hanging from the ceiling. He fed everyone a lunch of fruits and vegetables, symbolic as we are all of the earth, and we talked about peace and his life’s work.

It was an amazing experience, and really did shatter a lot of my stereotypes about Palestinians, as my trip to Germany did about my preconceived notions of post-WW II Germany. He’s the first Palestinian I’ve ever shook hands with, and he and his family were wonderful people. A few interesting tidbits: He’s lived in the same house all his life, and his family has been living on the mountain for 1400 years. He’s traveled all over the world, but has never been issued a passport by any of the occupying countries who’ve owned the area, because technically he’s never been a citizen of any country. He thinks that Christians, Jews, and Muslims are all "children of Abraham," and he’s been given countless awards and written up in many newspapers for his work in promoting peace in the Middle East. He puts up anyone in his guesthouse, regardless of race of religion, and refers to Ethan as "my son Eitan." He has 8 children, two of which live in the US and aren’t allowed to reenter Israel, so now he won’t let any of his other kids study outside of Israel. He’s also old-school sexist, and thinks that women should be in the home, ready to fix their husbands dinner.

There was one thing in particular which Ibrahim said that stuck with me: when asked about he reacted to bus bombings and terrorism, he said, paraphrasing, "The young people bomb Israel because they have no houses and can’t find jobs." It made an impression - East Jerusalem is poor, dirty, and has small streets and cramped quarters, seeming like a world away from where I live, even though it's only about 15-minutes away by bus.

I’ve been thinking about it: is the Palestinian/Israeli conflict really about economic disenfranchisement, and not religion? If so, it explains why a religious peace process has never been successful. I was speaking with a few classmates about this on the bus, and one woman said that she took a college class on Frontiers and Borders, and think thinks that religion is the veneer for almost all conflicts about money. She said that even the Catholic/Protestant conflict in Ireland, the poster child for religious wars, is and was basically a war between the haves and the have-nots. It’s a good point – what is the true root of this conflict? Religion, territory, or money? Can it be just one, or is it all three? I realize it’s kind of a broad topic, but I'm interested in learning more - so if anyone has any readings they know of this, please email me and pass them along.

Aside from Ibrahim - I’ve been reading about anti-semitism in France in the news. I felt sympathetic, but it seemed so far away - then I realized that besides Hebrew and English, it's been French that I've been hearing on the streets here, even more so than Russian. That’s never happened before, in all the times I’ve visited. Talk about a real-life direct connection.

Thursday I went to my weekly community service reading to a blind woman. Sharon is amazing, I love visiting her house every Thursday – we started off reading about Ethiopian immigrants, and now we’re reading fiction. I highly recommend “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time.” It’s a murder mystery, and the narrator is a 15-year old boy with autism. I don’t know much about the author, but he must either be autistic, have a kid or friend who’s autistic, or at the very least have delved deep into psychology – the book is brilliant. It helps me better understand some of the children I’ve worked with before, and it’s a damn good read. Check it out: http://www.amazon.com/Curious-Incident-Dog-Night-Time/dp/1400032717


Right after I got home from Sharon’s, I headed to Stephanie’s apartment, where she was throwing an ice-cream b-day party for her roommate. Then afterwards we hung out with Courtney and Jeffrey on Emek Refaim, a long street full of restaurants, bars, and other trendy places. Yesterday morning was appointments and errands in the morning, then afternoon at the Mt. of Olives, which I’ve already told you about, then cat time with Jonathan, Mara and Helayne, and in the evening Shabbat services at HUC and a potluck dinner. Today has been cleaning, and then I go to a concert tonight with Mara and Leah. The only problem with being so social is that I never seem to end up doing my homework!

And ooh - Jonathan and I figured out how to sign my name to these blog entries, so now you can see they're by me. But if anyone still wants me to put my name in the header, just let me know.

Very chatty update - by Michal

First of all, apologies to those I owe emails to. It's embarassingly quite a few of you, but I'll get to them, I promise! This has been a really busy week. So let me catch you up.

After the service last week, I pretty much slept for two days. Amazing how the body recovers from stress! Then I caught up on all the work I'd been ignoring. Everyone give a collective sigh for midterms.

Odelia was back from her base last weekend, so I went down to Holon to hang out with her and Doron (my sister and brother, respectively - hopefully you all know that). It was nice! One of the best parts though, was when Jonathan called me Friday night after dinner, in order to light the candles together. He lit the candles, sipped the wine and ate the Shabbat challah in Jerusalem, and my dad and I chanted the blessings over the phone. It prompted a really great discussion between my father and me, and even though Jonathan and I were apart, it ended up being a wonderful Shabbat.

While I was in Holon, my father's great-aunt (I think?) was there to visit. She's in her 70s and moved here from Romania at the age of 16, and we spoke in Hebrew for two full hours about her experiences. In school we've been learning about the immigrant waves in Israel, especially the early Zionists, the Ashkenazim (European Jews) who flooded to Israel after WWII, and the discrimination that the religious Sephardim and Mizrachim (North Africa and Middle Eastern Jews) experienced when they came a little bit later.

My grandparents were straight out of a history text, I realized - they lived through WWII in Romania, then emigrated to Israel in 1950, lived in a tent in a settlement camp for six months, then were placed in Sfat. My grandmother still to this day only speaks Romanian and Yiddish - she lived in a small Yiddish community so never had to learn Hebrew. (As an aside, when I visited her Saturday at the old folk's home where she lives, I pointed to things and she told me their names in Yiddish. Yay, we're communicating!) My other side of the family, my mom's side, is also very typical - my great-grandfather escaped from Russia on a slow boat in 1904 to America, and lived in New York tenements for years, which is my grandmother's earliest memories. Amazing how the family stories and the waves of aliyah (immigration) go together!

Simcha almost became kitty kibble the other day, I was so mad. We went to bed around 1am, the average for us. But apparently Simcha hadn't played enough in the day, because at 4am we hear "meow, meow." I open the bedroom door and yell at Simcha. 5am, same thing, and I pick him up by his scruff and make it clear how unhappy I am. 6am he meows and Jonathan gets up, and I hear this huge *CRASH* and *scamper scamper.* Poor Osher had been minding his own business in the kitchen when he saw Jonathan and got scared, jumping off the counter and knocking down all of our silverware. Suffice it to say that I was awake. I had just fallen back asleep when the alarm rang at 7am. I was NOT in the best of moods that morning. (And whoever of you who's going to comment about it being practice for kids - like Mom - don't even think about it! :))

Let's see, what else... I read a six-page short story in Hebrew, and understood it! I'm excited, I'm actually getting the rest of the book. It's a translation of a book of Eli Amir's into easy Hebrew. He's a writer/politician, this book is about his experience of moving to Israel as boy from his home in Baghdad.

OH! How could I forget? I took a bellydancing class today! (And thought of you, Marilyn, the whole time.) I've always wanted to take one, so figured, why not? It was much harder than I thought, though. First, because I'm not coordinated and always have trouble in choreographed dances, and second, because it's all in Hebrew. It was only when I asked someone next to me what I was doing wrong that I realized I was missing key words like "back" (leg) and "twist." The people in the class were great, about 15 women ranging from a girl in high school to a woman who looks to be in her 60s. Two women were even religious, with their heads covered! They were wearing long skirts and changed into loose pants before class, then changed back.

For those of you interested in the language, I found out something fascinating this week. Hebrew has lots of letters with dots in the middle of the letter. The dot is called a "dagesh." Some dageshes change the sound of the letter, like the "V" letter becomes "B" with a dagesh, and a "CH" (like my name) becomes "K." But sometimes there are dageshes for no apparent reason. It turns out that there's a whole group of verbs that always have a dagesh in the second letter-place, no matter what the letter! So a Gimel, the G letter, or a Yud, Y, will have a dagesh even though it doesn't do anything to the sound of the letter. Apparently in ancient Hebrew the dagesh meant a duplication, but we don't use it now - e.g. the word for "to speak" is "L'daber." In ancient times, with the dagesh, it used to be "l'dab-ber." Now we say it the same. We only use the dagesh in modern Hebrew if we take out a letter, like in a form of "l'nagen" (to play an instrument). To say "we played" you would usually say "n-gan-noo," but instead of having two Nuns (Ns), you just put in one Nun with a dagesh in it! Isn't that cool?

And oy, it's past midnight and I should get in the shower... time really does fly when you blog. :)

Flowers from Jonathan

When I got home after school, look what Jonathan had waiting for me! He was there in the front row at the service, smiling. I love my husband - just had to brag.

Picture post

A sukkah on every balcony in Mea Shearim.

Jonathan, Savta, me, and Savta's friend Ina in Arad, at the kite-flying festival. Avraham took the picture.

The cuteness of Simcha at play. He wrapped himself in the tupperware wrapping as clothing, and then he and Osher knocked over their scratching post to play with the pink dangly ball.

Finally, a time for rest. Simcha's on the left, Osher's on the right. They look less alike in person - Simcha's coloring is lighter and he's much bigger.

It's done! - by Michal

The service went really well today! Our transitions could have been better, but overall it was good - we had choreographed it nicely and the congregation followed along with everything. I got some nice compliments afterwards, including one from a classmate who told me that she could see me as a rabbi, not just a classmate, and that I exemplified "leadership on the bima." Someone else also said that the service was majestic in its solemnity. We received some good constructive criticism at the debriefing with faculty afterwards, so I feel more confident about my next service now.. whenever that may be.

Just FYI, here is my iyyun, or my short original piece:


Jewish tradition relies on stories. Stories lift us up and tear us down. They helps us realize who we are, and who we want to be. They are fundamental to our folklore, our oral tradition, and our sacred texts. And there is perhaps no greater story in our heritage than that of creation, when God seeds the world with love and bequeaths it to humanity for safekeeping. Today, as we start our storytelling tradition anew following Simchat Torah, I would like to share with you my favorite story of creation. It was written by a man named Nota Schiller, and is called “The Wall of the World.”

In the beginning there was a ball of glass.
And that was the world.
By day the blood-red ray of the sun poured down
warming the wall of the world
spilling a rippling rainbow over all.
By night, the blue-white beam of the moon
cooled the wall of the world
in dulcet floods of light.

And God said
lest this man who is singular
Err in his aloneness,
lest he, my new-born creature,
construe his stance to the utter Oneness.

Let it be then, that
he shall know instead,
the delicate edge of divisibility.

Thus came the newer moment
of femininity,
That she with the
clock of her being
could time the beat of his heart and measure
the distance of his soul.

And there was man and there was woman.
By day they basked in the gentle rainbow that
rippled with flute-toned notes.
By night they sang with the blue-white hum
of the beam of the moon.
And the notes were scented like flowers.
For light was music and music was light
and all was one.

And God said to man and woman, know then, that the
music and the scent, the rainbow and the light are yours,
but the wall of the world,
it is sacred.


I now ask, how do you visualize creation, how do you seek your own beginnings? What is the wall of your world, and how do you keep it sacred?

We now turn to the biblical story of Creation. Please turn to page 104 for the Torah service.

Our new cat Osher! Plus a few ruminations - by Michal

Big news… we got a new cat. And no, we’re not starting a cattery - he’s our very last one, promise. We just couldn’t resist him!

On Thursday, when we took Simcha to the Humane Society to be neutered, we heard the vet talking about a 7-month old orange tabby who might be put to sleep because he couldn’t find a home. He’d been in a 1 ft x 1 ft. steel cage for two months, was neutered and had all his vaccinations, but no one had adopted him and they couldn’t keep him anymore. So we were torn… we took Simcha home and thought about it. In short, we decided this: we had always wanted more than one cat back in Cincinnati, since Jonathan will be going back to work full-time and can't keep Simcha company. So if we know we’re going to get a cat, why not now, when Simcha's young and can adapt?

All in all, it’s been going pretty well. The Humane Society had originally named the cat Garfield, but you know, I refuse to adopt an Israeli cat named Garfield, of all things! So we renamed him Osher, which means happiness. Poor Osher wasn’t used to being out a cage, and he was so scared in the beginning, he hid behind the TV for three hours. We think he may have been also abused by a man, because he was terrified of Jonathan. But it’s been only three days, and now he lets both Jonathan and I pet him, he lets himself be held for a minute or two, and he greets us at the door. At first we kept him and Simcha separated, but now they’re playing, wrestling, and chasing each other all over the house. It’s really obvious how much Simcha has grown, because Osher is a month older, but much skinnier… he looks like the stray to Simcha’s well-fed house-cat now. Our family is now complete… at least until kids!




Osher aside - how many of you are familiar with the term “agunah”? It's the name for an Orthodox woman whose husband won’t grant her a divorce, or a “get,” so she lives alone but is still legally married. She can never get remarried, which is HUGE in Orthodox communities, and so that, compiled with other things, makes her basically a persona non grata in the Orthodox world. We saw this sign on one of the main streets in Jerusalem, on the way to the grocery store. Kudos to whoever put up it up.

In other news, my service is tomorrow, and I had a three-hour rehearsal with Melanie and Matt today which set me off on some interesting internal discussions. For example, neither Matt nor I are going to wear tallitot on the bima – we never wear them in daily/weekly prayer, and I would feel hypocritical wearing one as a leader. But then, is it a leader’s responsibility to model Judaism, and perhaps tallitot, on the bima for others to emulate? If so, that opens up another whole can of worms, like if a rabbi must keep kosher, or wear a kippah at all times, or do all those other things which differentiate a “Jewish leader” from other Jews in the public eye. I say no: I am who I am, and a congregation must accept that. But then again, (to quote Tevye), on the other hand, if a leader expresses him or herself in a non-halachic way (not according to Jewish law), then who does the congregation look up to as an example for how to live a ritually Jewish life?

Oy. Headache. I don't know what I think on all these issues. At least I have five years to decide. But I just got a wonderful phone call from Mara wishing me luck tomorrow, and I feel better. Now the rest of you wish me luck too! :)

Sukkot break - by Michal

We're back! It was wonderful to be in Arad with my grandparents. We played Rummikub, watched movies, had long talks, and even transferred my grandmother to a Gmail account. Not to mention we ate enough food to satisfy a small horse. My grandmother makes suuuuch good meals. And snacks. And tea breaks. You know a good Jewish household: food=love. Jonathan and I are definitely very loved, no doubt about it. Pictures to come, as soon as we download them from the camera.

And thank you to all of you who asked, you're sweet - no, we didn't leave Simcha alone, he was taken care of by a woman named Hila, an Israeli friend of ours. She's the one who introduced us to him originally, so it worked out well. Today we took him to be neutered, and he was one groggy cat when he came home. We felt sorry for him, he kind of doddered all over the place and slept for hours.

Before we left for Arad we went to Mea Shearim one last time. There was a plywood sukkah on every balcony, decorated on the inside only. What struck me most this time though, even more than the sukkahs, was the poverty. It's like I had noticed it, but never quite absorbed it before. The area may be completely, utterly Orthodox Jewish, but it's desperately poor, with raggedy children, dirty streets, mangy cats, etc. It's reminiscent of shtetl life... and it makes me wonder, why is it necessary? I abhor the power that the Orthodox hold in Israeli politics, but I do have a certain amount of pride in them in that they are the ones who have maintained Judaism throughout the centuries. But is it a fair trade, this strict adherence to religion but for such a low quality of life? They would say yes, of course; I'm not so sure.

While we were there Jonathan bought a lulav and etrog http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four_Species ... which I then promptly forgot on the bus to Beersheva, on the way to Arad. (cringe) Mea culpa! We never did put up a sukkah, either. Forget "next year in Jerusalem" (the traditional phrase to end the Passover seder) - in this house, it's "next year, celebrate Sukkot!"

And lastly, shout out to Debra and Glenna, who now have this blog address. Girl, you're moving to Africa - how far we've come!

November bulletin article - by Michal

Dear Temple Israel members: I have a confession to make. I’m not as devout as you think I am. Every year at the High Holidays when I lived in Long Beach I went to services, first at the First Congregational Church, and then at the Carpenter Center… and I mostly went to see you. Services were long, fasting was difficult, and even if I wasn’t feeling particularly spiritual that year, I went to see old friends, show off my new dress, and reconnect with my community. Yes, I am a spiritual person, but I have always found the sacredness of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur through the holidays’ communal nature, as well as through the themes of individual repentance.

I’ll admit, I was worried this year, for my tightly-knit community was half a world away. Yet, being in Jerusalem during the High Holidays alleviated all my fears. It was an experience unlike any other. The day was introspective and social, religious and spiritual, and full of warmth, even in the midst of people I barely knew. Let me share with you a few things that make Yom Kippur in Jerusalem unique:

- The streets are silent. Cars, trucks, and every moving vehicle except for police cars and ambulances lie parked in driveways. The neighborhood is eerily calm, and when one walks to shul, one walks in stillness in the middle of a six-lane street. In Jerusalem, almost everyone is in services, but in Tel Aviv, a more secular city, Yom Kippur is the day in which children ride their bicycles in the street, and shriek with joy as they’re finally allowed to ride as fast as they want.

- Everyone wears white. Men, women, grandparents, little children, everyone is in almost completely white outfits, whether it be tunics, pants, suits, skirts, or dresses. If someone does wear clothing in another color, there is usually a white scarf or jacket thrown across the top in apology.

- The atmosphere is somber, but not stifling. This is the holiest time of the Jewish year, and people turn inward, reflecting on their lives and what they wish to change. Yet, this is also a time for family, for reconnection, when the entire city is united as one. When someone passes you on the street, you are not greeted with the hearty “Shana tovah!” of Rosh Hashanah or the “Chag Sameach!” of Sukkot, but with a quiet nod and a smile. Conversations in the street are in low tones, and no one is in a hurry.

- The services themselves differ wildly depending on the synagogue one attends, but the feeling of serenity pervades all. I went to an Israeli Reform temple for Kol Nidrei, for example, where everything was spoken in Hebrew. The prayerbook had no English, but I was able to follow along through the melodies. Praying the Avinu Malkeinu with hundreds of Israelis, all dressed in white, was incredible: as our voices rose in song, I felt that each and every single person was there with me in my heart. It was an individual moment that was at the same time communal, each of us striving towards the qualities of purity and righteousness, and asking for forgiveness alone, and yet together.

Yet, above all, what was most amazing about the High Holidays was the lack of self-consciousness. Yom Kippur was not a time for reunions, or an occasion to enthrall one another with what we were wearing, but was honestly a space for self-reflection, and a time for holiness. Though I am unsure when I will next be able to spend the holiday season here, I hope to take that message of sacredness with me wherever I go – and one day, to pass it along to my future congregation.

Colbert Report - by Michal

It's a week late, but it's hilarious. Stephen Colbert on the High Holidays:

http://jspot.org/?p=581

In other news, my brother came over to stay with us for a few days. It was great, we talked quite a lot. Then the day after tomorrow we go to visit my grandmother in Arad, down south. We'll write when we get back - have a wonderful Sukkot, everyone!

The Quietest Day of the Year - By Jonathan

Streets lay abandoned; vacant. The signals at every intersection sit as sleeping sentinels, void of all light. The morning light comes, but there is no construction, no honking of cars hurriedly trying to move, no sounds of cooking pans clanking or children screaming, all the sounds of life and activity in this densely populated city are muted. Even the birds seem to go silent in observance. In my entire life I have never experienced a peace like this in a city. It is 10 times more solemn than Christmas Day in the US. It is Yom Kippur in Jerusalem.

It begins at dusk, 15 minutes after the siren screams its warning from the walls of the ancient city. A 3000 year old tradition that originally was heralded by a shofar, a hollowed-out ram or gazelle horn that was blown to echo the coming of the holiday. In the intervening 15 minutes people begin to emerge from their homes in droves, dressed in a variety of religious observance, even as the last cars on the road hurry to quickly park in their homes for the next 24 hours. It is the twilight between chaos and peace.

Already the traffic lights have been turned off and all businesses have closed and locked up for the holiday, or “chag” in Hebrew. Kippot and Tallitot parade in droves. Mothers, fathers, children, babies, grandmothers, grandfathers, family friends, and strangers all flood the streets and begin their migration to the synagogues. The reform synagogues, the poorest of Israel as the government refuses to fund them like the more prestigious and officially recognized Orthodox synagogues, are often converted homes or stores. Walking in them you see the sloppy volunteer paint job, the inconsistent interior design made up of whatever donations of furniture or money the temple was lucky enough to attain.

In these meek buildings people gather to transition from their daily lives to their spiritual ones. Some come to pray to be entered in the Book of Life that closes in the next day. Others use it to atone for their sins with God. Yet others use it to reflect on how they can be a better person and a better Jew. There are many reasons for why people are standing here in this synagogue with me, but for all of them there is another reason. It is the day we all affirm ourselves in our Jewish identity and connect to our Jewish community. If there is only one day that you do this, it is today. It is a day to be conscious of who you are and what you want to be.

The most beautiful prayers of the Jewish people are sung this day. When the last song of the evening service has been sung, the city has transitioned and Jerusalem has closed its eyes in its own reflection of the day. People walk home in the middle of empty streets that just a few hours ago had been filled with cars rushing home. Quiet conversation filled with solemn tones drift on the breeze that knows not to hurry.

The day itself is surreal. According to Jewish tradition, Yom Kippur, like all Jewish holidays, begins at sunset and continues to the following sunset. The morning sun breaks open at midpoint during this holiday and is greeted with vacant streets. To see the busiest intersections vacant on a Sunday night is strange enough, but to see them vacant on a Monday afternoon appears apocalyptic. The feeling of approaching judgment is undeniable as you walk around a world that has stopped. It is a surreal world that in places seems to be completely still, like a frozen moment in time. Perhaps it is this moment that we have created to stop….. and think; to learn from our mistakes of the past year and to acknowledge a better way.

Indeed, in the absence of people God does seem to fill the void. As I walk down empty streets I find God peeking from between the cracks of time and space. On streets that I have walked a thousand times I find things I have never seen before. Vines decorated in brilliant purple bloom reach one hundred feet toward the sky along a building I’ve looked at a million times; were they always there? A pair of butterflies dance a ballet at a vacant street corner; where did they come from? A stray cat speaks to me as I walk by; why does he not run?

On this day when God is said to listen to us most closely, I ask of the Eternal, what are these things that I can only see now that there is no one to distract me? A ray of light shimmers across my path home, and I look up to God answering me.

Mea Shearim and Yom Kippur - by Michal

Last week Jonathan and I foraged out to Mea Shearim, the ultra-Orthodox neighborhood in Jerusalem. What an experience! It’s a whole different world. First, there are signs at the entrances to the neighborhoods, asking women not to dress immodestly, and not to have groups pass through. All the women are wearing wigs or scarves on their heads, with not a scrap of skin showing. All the clothes are dark colored. The men are in all black with hats and peyos (sidelocks). And the kids – there are children, and children’s toy and clothing stores, everywhere. This is the neighborhood where the average age is 13, and it’s one of the poorest areas in the country, as the men don’t work but study Talmud and Torah all day. The women work, and the families are mostly supported by taxpayer’s money. Their children study in yeshivas, and don’t go into the army, either. (Don’t get my Israeli secular father started on what he thinks of all this.)

The street and shops were fascinating – never in my life have I seen so many stores with Jewish ritual objects. You want a shofar, an etrog, a lulav, tefillin, a tallit, kippot? They’ve got it all. I didn’t see one bookstore with regular books, only religious books and myriad publications of the holy texts. The majority of the signs were in Yiddish, not Hebrew – in their view, Hebrew is the holy tongue, the language of the Torah, and shouldn’t be profaned by being spoken regularly. Whenever I heard someone speak, it was in Yiddish – only the kids spoke Hebrew. This surprised me, until I remembered that this is also the population that opposed the War of Independence in 1948, since only the Messiah could bring about the land of Israel, not regular people. They think that change is bad, and that the past will always be better than the present. What’s most shocking is that this neighborhood is smack dab in the middle of Jerusalem. It’s about a 20 minute walk to the shuk, the vegetable market – but it’s completely isolated. I wore a long straight skirt that brushed the top of my shoes, and a long-sleeved turtleneck shirt, and Jonathan jeans and a long-sleeved shirt – and we still stuck out like sore thumbs.

Here’s a teaser picture.

The rest are located here:

http://community.webshots.com/slideshow?ID=554516613&key=MCWzPc

Jonathan and I are going to go back over Sukkot, when every apartment will have a sukkah on the balcony. In a way the neighborhood scared me to death because I so obviously didn’t belong – but in another way, it gave me a feeling of pride, that these Jews managed to survive pogroms, the Holocaust, and all other anti-Semitism, and still keep "tradition." To me this way of practice is dead Judaism, completely irrelevant to life. But to them, it’s the only way they know to hold onto the Judaism of old. So a question for you all: how much should a religion be relevant to the present, and how much should it maintain the past? Reform Judaism changed its liturgy to be gender-neutral, Vatican II gave up pure Latin. But how much can be changed before the religion becomes filtered, and unrecognizable to its roots? To an ultra-Orthodox person I’m not Jewish, because I don’t follow halacha, Jewish law. I don’t believe that it matters, because I think Judaism consists of ethical precepts and moral truths. But am I still Jewish? What makes a religion a religion – morality, ritual, dress codes, language, a land? Living in Jerusalem makes me wonder.

Speaking of religion, I have to admit, I don’t feel like HUC is doing a very good job of helping me be contemplative during the High Holidays. I had one test and two essays due last week! I understand we’re both a seminary and a grad school, but I’d still like to learn more about the meaning of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, rather than just sticking to our regular curriculum. I did learn one very interesting thing though – the Torah portion at Rosh Hashanah is always the Akedah, the part in Genesis where Abraham almost sacrifices Isaac. Apparently it’s because this section of the Bible is supposedly God at God’s most merciful. This doesn’t make much sense to me, seeing as it was God who set Abraham up with this predicament in the first place… but no matter. There’s been quite a lot of writing done on this subject, so my Bible teacher says, and I look forward to looking it up when I have more time.

Also, did you know (I didn’t) that the reason there are so many dots and dashes as Hebrew vowels is that at one time, our ancestors could hear and distinguish way more sounds than we do now? So the kamatz and patach (little dash and little t-shape) that are now both pronounced as “ah” used to be different. We just don’t know what they were. We also talked all about the dageshes, the dots in the letters and why they were there, how they mattered, if and when they changed the sound of the letter, etc. It’s all very interesting – but then again, the one class I regret not taking at Whittier is Linguistics, so it may just be interesting to me and no one else. So instead of boring you all here with it, just call or email me if you want to know more! :)

The service that I’m leading is coming up right after Sukkot, and I’m getting excited for it. I had a meeting with my co-service leader and cantor today, and we got lots of kinks ironed out. I still have to learn so much Hebrew, though! I realize I have all the Shabbat chants and prayers down backwards and forwards, but all the stuff you only do on weekday mornings? Yeah. No clue. Urg.

Let’s see, what else? Our cat is insane, but Jonathan’s already written about that. Basically, we’re wondering if his personality is changing due to hormones – he’s six months old and not fixed yet. We have his last round of vaccinations on Tuesday, and then we’ll get him snipped. Hopefully his aggressiveness will disappear... hopefully. Most vets here don’t spay or neuter at all, and the one we go to only likes to do it at one year old – we’ll have to convince her to do it early. The Israeli mindset in this is completely different than the American – it’s these little things that remind me I’m in a foreign country.

Some things are the same wherever I go though – like Yom Kippur services starting around 5pm. I have to go get ready for Kol Nidrei, the evening YK service. We’re going to Har El, a reform temple here without a mechitza (aka no screen separating the men and the women). Anything but going to HUC again!

So, I wish an easy fast to everyone who’s Jewish and/or fasting – and either way, G’mar Chatima Tovah - May you be inscribed in the Book of Life.

Simcha 1, Feather Duster 0 - by Jonathan

I returned home with some cleaning items, among which was a feather duster. I had placed the newly purchased items in their appropriate places and then went to use the bathroom. I usually leave the bathroom door open when I use it alone in the house because, like just about everything else in Israel, it is really just too small for me to use comfortably. I was sitting there, skimming over an issue of Newsweek when I heard a tussle, then a clank, then a flop. I rolled my eyes and tried *not* to think what my apparently crack-induced cat was up to. Focusing really really hard, I began to read the Newsweek perspective of what the future face of the Hezbollah will be.

This turned out to be futile as I began to hear the sound of a wooden object being dragged along the floor, drawing nearer as I gazed perplexed at the empty hallway and entry hall. Scrape, scrape, scrape… it came nearer with each scrape. Not unlike some horror film I felt paralyzed in my spot, unable to do anything except let the sound emerge from around the corner. Scrape-scrape, scraaaaaaaaaaape… then the image appeared. There was my mighty hunter Simcha, with a freshly killed wood-handled feather duster; it was in fact larger than him. The pride in his eyes was quite apparent. His tail stood high in the air in triumph. He had conquered the feather duster and was parading it around the house so that all could see his hunting prowess.

I was completely unprepared for this image. Instead of being angry at this defiling of my sparkling new feather duster, I became overwhelmed with the urge to let loose a large belly laugh. Here was my mighty hunter, thinking he was doing our family a great service by bringing down this odd specimen of flightless fowl.

I tried in vain to hide the duster from my miniature lion for the next several days. Each time my efforts were thwarted and a toll of dismembered feathers was to be found next to the duster carcass. It got to the point to where I no longer wanted the sadly abused thing, and conceded that I had bought Simcha a very pricy cat toy.

I had hoped that the conquest would sate his appetite, but I was foolishly optimistic. So far he has captured and eaten 3 moths and 7 flies, gnawed on 3 shoes, mutilated 4 “balls with feathers,” and unraveled 1 ball of twine. Oh, and today he shattered on Ikea brand glass cup. I don’t know who the crack supplier for my cat is, but I’m calling the DEA after the Holidays.

(another sacrifice to the little beasty)