Following Orders

The Israeli government is due to take up a decision by the Israeli Cabinet to freeze settlement building in Judea and Samaria (the West Bank).  The news brief on the radio discussing this also played some audio of the protest by members of Regional Councils in Judea and Samaria.

’!אתה לא יכול לעצור אותנו’

“You can’t stop us!”

‘עברנו את פרעה. עברנו את אנטיאוכוס. עברנו את סלהדין.  אנחנו נעבור את אובמהמהמהמהמהמהמה’

“We overcome Pharoah.  We overcome Antiochus.  We overcame Salahadin.  We will overcome Obamamamamamamama…”

A bit dramatic, I think.  While I don’t agree with all of Obama’s policies regarding Israel and don’t think that the Administration fully understands the situation here, I’m not sure to what extent the influence of American foreign policy is akin to major socio-political events that have been turning points in Jewish and Israeli history.

To what extent are we writing history here today?

For Jews who consider themselves da’ati leumi, or National Religious, nationalism and support for Israel is intertwined with their religious observance.  Many view the return of Jews to the Land of Israel as kibbutz galuyot, the ingathering of the exiles that brings along with it the Messianic Era.

Unlike Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) observant Jews who largely do not serve in the army, da’ati leumi Jews make up a considerable portion of commanders, and when strong religious and political beliefs mix with military orders, clashes result.

Lately, the IDF has been facing insubordination from religious troops who have refused or protested the evacuation of Jews from parts of Judea and Samaria.  It hearkens back to the biggest clash between IDF and religious authority, during the Disengagement from Gaza and parts of northern Samaria in the summer of 2005.

If your army service is part of your religious belief, what do you do when the military tells you to do something that goes against that religious belief.  Who do you follow?  Your commander, or your rabbi?

As a Jew who believes in the religious authority of the rabbis, I believe that it is correct to follow their opinion.  But while I do believe that the Jewish State of Israel is a gift from Gd, at the end of the day, it is more human than divine.  The argument should then follow that it is more appropriate to follow Torah, the word of Gd more than the word of a military commander.  However, I believe that something larger is at stake here.

While on one hand, Israel represents the ingathering of Jews from all parts of the world, all backgrounds, and degrees of religious observance and affiliation, it is not a representation of a mixture of them.  Jew stays separate from Jew, and at worst, Jew fights Jew.  The punch line of a well-known Jewish joke makes the point that even on a private island, a Jew would want to have a synagogue to go to and a synagogue that he doesn’t go to.

Jews were expelled from the land because of their failure to get along.  I believe that promoting unity among the Jewish people is an even larger value that is worth the cost of personal sacrifice.  Even if you hold that not one scrap of biblical Israel should be wrested from Jewish hands, fighting the Israeli military for it seems like an attempt to win a battle at the expense of losing the war.

If each political and religious faction of Jew that composes the Israeli military follows his or her own belief, then the chain of command will fall apart.  So will security.  So will the State.

Update: This blog entry was picked up by washingtonpost.com/Newsweek’s OnFaith blog.

The Life of Sarah

Last week’s Torah portion, Chayye Sarah, begins with “the life of Sarah,” only to say how long it was – 127 years.  In other words, it says “life” but it means “death.”  Or does it?

A tool that some people use when setting priorities is thinking about what it will mean when it’s all over.  In other words, we can refocus our life by thinking about our death.  Very few people sit on their deathbed wishing that they put more hours in at the office and spent less time away from their family.  Few people will think about a grade on a test or the amount of hours they spent watching television (or on Facebook).  How would you like to be eulogized after 120 years?

Sarah died in Kiryat Arba, which is Hebron, in the land of Canaan.  Avraham came to eulogize and to ask the locals for a proper place to bury his late wife.  The sons of Heth, who inhabited the place call Avraham a נשיא אלקים , a prince of Gd, and he strikes a business deal to bury Sarah in Maharat HaMachpelah, which exists in Hebron to this very day, and next door, Kiryat Arba, has a thriving Jewish community of about 10,000 people.

This year I was invited to visit Kiryat Arba during Shabbat Chayyei Sarah, and I accepted, because it’s a big Havaya (which literally means “experience” but actually means some big mob scene built around a quasi-religious event).  Even though I hate mob scenes, I couldn’t resist.  I can’t tell you how cool it was to see my Shabbat host asking his daughter questions about the parshah, and one of the hints was “It’s where we live.”  Upon mentally preparing for it, I realized for the first time that I really should have more of a connection to the parshah.

Since making aliyah, I’ve received phone calls and been called into waiting rooms as “Sara” (my name drops the “h”.)  For some unknown reason, Israelis skip over my first name, and jump right to my middle name, which I suppose is more familiar.  If the Misrad HaPnim (Ministry of the Interior) had heeded my request to change “Ilene” to my Hebrew name, “Ilana” in the first place, we wouldn’t have such problems.  Anyways, I’ve been addressed as Sara, a name I’ve felt very little connection to.

A name is an extremely powerful thing.  Judaism emphasizes the importance of finding an appropriate name for children, as it believed to reflect their character.  How do I identify with Sara, the initial Jewish matriarch?  That’s a tough role to stack up to.

But I didn’t take the time to examine Sara’s characteristics she exhibited in the previous two parshiyot, Lech Lecha and VaYeira.  Instead, I took this new consideration into account and thought about my Hebrew name more broadly.  Name is such an essential part of identity, and in moving to a new country, I have the opportunity to rebuild it.  Do I want to go by my Hebrew name or my English name?  What are the repercussions of each?  Which do I identify with more?

Secular Israelis tend to specifically not pick biblical names for their children.  Their Israeliness is separate from their Jewishness, and they connect to the land.  This is expressed in nature-themed names.  On a hike up North over Hol HaMoed Sukkot, I heard a woman call to her daughter, Kinneret, the Hebrew name for the Sea of Galilee.  Another name I’ve heard a few times is Te’ena, Fig.  In the United States, I think you’d be hard pressed to even find a flower child naming their child Fig!

Of course, these name choices are stereotypes, but generally speaking, the closer to you get to the ultra-Orthodox or Haredi side of the Jewish spectrum, the more you’ll find Yiddish or traditional biblical names like Yitzhak David (probably pronounced Yitzhuk Dovid), and the closer you are to a car-trip-to-the-beach-on-Saturday type of Israeli, the more likely you are to find a Tal.

“Ilene,” or איילין then, celebrates my Americanness.  It’s as unnatural to say in Hebrew with the יי and as obviously foreign as אי מייל, e-mail.  ”Ilana” אילנה is an Israeli name meaning “tree,” that I believe my parents picked simply because it was the closest thing to “Ilene” in Hebrew.  Like a tree, I try to keep growing up, and up, and also in various directions, because you never know exactly where you’ll get the best sunlight, but always, always staying firmly rooted to the ground.  ”Sara.”  See, that’s so much trickier.  Throughout my integration process, I’ve been so preoccupied with choosing a first name, that I continued to neglect my middle name.  The “Sara” is the core Jewish connection that I carried around for so long but did not connect to in spreading my branches far and wide.

My full name, whether it’s with an “Ilene” or an “Ilana,” has elements of both the modern and secular and the traditionally Jewish.  I think that suits my character well.

Ways We Grow

Out of the Torah study world and into the real world.  Things have been picking up both with ulpan and with work, but as before, I find myself spending most of my waking hours hunched over a desk or in front of a computer.

I need to make time to do other things, to get out and to explore, and to grow in new ways.  It isn’t that my studies and my work aren’t enriching, because they are, but if I’m not careful now, pure Torah study will go by the wayside.  I recently picked up a book Living Each Day, by Dr. Rabbi Abraham Twerski.  Living, as I defined earlier, can be interpreted as growth, and specifically, growth through Torah.  In other words, we’re not really living unless we are growing.

A song by the band Cake called “Sheep Go to Heaven” says: “As soon as you’re born you start dying, so you might as well have a good time.”  So true.  But I’d like to suggest, that after we’re born, we start growing!  We keep growing physically until maturity sometime in our teens or twenties, and then if we’re not careful, we usually keep expanding physically into middle age.  After that, many people begin to shrivel.  We wrinkle, the cartilage between the vertebrae shortens the spine, so we shrink and hunch over.  We stop being able to see and hear as well.  Modern medicine and the rediscovery of natural therapies can slow down the aging process, but it’s true that physically, we start dying.

Spiritually, it’s another story.  How often do you hear “young” and “wise” in the same sentence?  We grow wiser over time, through life experiences, and we can continue to build up our spiritual selves (with setbacks, of course) as we physically age.  It doesn’t happen automatically, though.  It takes maintenance.

It’s been a balancing game, trying to figure out how to stay physically active and spiritually growing while taking on new responsibilities.  I’ve visited wheelchair basketball leagues in Chile and read Office Yoga books and bought at-home workout DVDs.  There really is no excuse for physical inactivity.  I’m trying to find an Israeli chevruta (learning partner), in order to work on my Hebrew and text skills on a regular schedule.  Failing that, Living Each Day has now become a part of my collection.  Staying growth-oriented is the key, no mater the physical limitations.  The spiritual ones, we know, are endless.

Jewish Terrorists

My ulpan (Hebrew language class center) held a memorial service for slain former Israeli Prime Minster Yitzhak Rabin on his yarzheit (anniversary of death). I was asked to read a small speech in front of all the students and teachers. His yarzheit always brings up mixed feelings, and choosing to accept the invitation to participate forced me to take a stand, albeit a small one.
And I read:

באנו היום מירושלים, בירת הנצח של עם ישראל.  באנו מארץ, באנו מעם, באנו מבית וממשפחות שלא ידעו שלום.  באנו לנסות לשים סוף לשנאה כדי שילדינו לא ירגישו כאב של מלחמות, טרור ואלימות.  באנו כדי להתפלל ולקוות לשלום.  אנחנו רוצים לפתוח פרק חדש  בספר העצוב שלנו – פרק שבו אנחנו שכנים טובים. א

We came here today to Jerusalem, the eternal capital of the Jewish people.  We came from a land, from a nation, from homes and from families that don’t know peace.  We came to try to put an end to the hate, so that our children will not feel the pain of war, terror, and violence.  We came in order to pray and to hope for peace.   We want to open a new chapter in the sad story of ours – a chapter in which we are good neighbors.

That was an excerpt from the speech delivered at the signing of the Oslo Peace Accords in Washington, D.C. in 1993, and my own translation.

I was shaken, literally.  Public speaking often makes me terribly nervous.  Emotionally, though, I shuddered thinking about how hopes of peace were dashed.  I was in third grade when the Oslo Accords were signed and in fourth when Rabin was assassinated.  In elementary school, the word “Israel” always conveyed a sense of hope and peace.  We would sing HaTikva, “The Hope,” the Israeli national anthem, at school events.

A classic Jewish song I learned so early on that I don’t remember a time that I didn’t know it goes like this:  עושה שלום במרומיו, הוא יעשה שלום עלינו ועל כל ישראל וימרו אמן     He makes peace on high, he will make peace for us, and all Israel, and let us say Amen

I was touched that at the last ulpan event, for Rosh Hashanah, I heard new Jewish immigrants from all backgrounds, from all over the world, singing that song, together.

It took me back to a time of hope for peace.  Perhaps things just seemed more hopeful because I was so young, and naive.  But as far as I can tell, a general consensus held that there was the potential for agreement, at least.

Last week, as I read that excerpt, I could hold very little hope that Israel will have peace with its neighbors.  Rockets are fired daily into Israel, and extremists from all sides, though few in number, have tremendous impact.  While this is not a political blog, it’s hard to take the politics out of Israel.  It’s everywhere.

The saddest thing, looking back, is not only the inability to move forward with peace negotiations because of a refusal on the part of Palestinians to recognize Israel and terrorist attacks, but also Jewish terrorism.  I know that conspiracy theories abound, but it’s well-known that it was a right-wing Jewish extremist who fatally shot Rabin at a peace rally, of all things.  Regardless of whether or not Rabin was taking the right course of action, his assassination was a hillul Hashem, a desecration of Gd’s name that shamed all Jews and Israel.

Just a few days ago, Israeli authorities nabbed Yaakov Teitel, who is suspected of murder and several attempted murders of Palestinians and left-wing Israelis.

It’s hard to recapture the hope of 1993-94.  Perhaps 15 years from now the collective will realize a certain childishness, too, and we can end these elementary school games.  It’s too simple to think that peace is a sure thing, or that it’s unachievable.  Probably the most that we can hope for is a stable in between.

Everyone’s Talking, But Who’s Speaking?

There’s a lot of noise out here in the blogosphere.

When President Obama sneezes, the blogosphere goes wild, not only about the sneeze itself, but also in analysis of the sneeze, and a blog roundup of what others are saying about the sneeze.  You might see a list of the Top 10 Sneezes of 2009.  There is little room to take the time to realize that the sneeze was a symptom of the flu.  Obama has the flu.  Now that’s a story!  (This is just a silly, exaggerated example.  Please don’t link to me in your Obama blog)

One of the most pinching moments of my experience learning Torah in Israel was amussar lesson on the significance of speech.  What we say and how we say them really matters! This drive for self-improvement that is a focal point of Torah Judaism is something that many people seem to miss and may be a large reason why many Jews turn to Buddhism, and other Eastern practices.

The “pinch” came when I was learning אגרת הרמב’ן Nachmanides’ letter to his son.  It touched upon something that I was keenly aware of as an online journalist but never knew how to deal with.  When something “newsworthy” happens, the inclination, in this 24-hour  news cycle era of journalism that we live in, is to react.  Pains are taken to be the first to get the story and to post it on the web.

There’s a tension behind it, of course.  You don’t want to just be first.  You want to be the first to accurately report the news.  Being first and being accurate sometimes get in each other’s way.

Learning a foreign language, as I am doing right now, teaches you to pay attention to the nuances of what specific words mean.  I think most English speakers understand that “hearing” is not the same thing as “listening.”  I’m not sure if a parallel can be drawn between “talking” and “speaking,” but I’d like for there to be a way to convey that.  You can talk at someone, or you can speak to them, with intention.

As I’ve spent more time around people who have developed themselves through Torah learning, I’ve found that it can be those who talk the least, really have the most to say when they speak.

This week’s Torah portion, Lech-Lecha, is a very significant one for me in my journey into Torah.  It’s a portion that I studied intensely in a skill-building Chumash class.  It taught me, among many other things, to pay attention to tiny detail.

In last week’s portion, Noach, we see the first time that Gd speaks to a human, using וידבר.  Before that, when Gd speaks, it’s always in the form of ויאמר.

Noach is famous of course, for herding all the animals into an ark in order to save them as Gd wipes out the rest of the earth by flood. There is something significant about the fact that Gd chose a flood as the means to destroy all creatures. What Gd was primarily upset about was the misconduct of his human creations and their lack of boundaries, and sexual licentiousness in particular. People were mating with every animate object at their disposal, unbounded, just as water flows freely.

After forty nights and forty days, and Gd tells Noach that he and all of his family can leave the ark, along with the animals. The way that they exit the ark is described in a slightly different order than when they enter. We learn from Rashi that this new order teaches that sexual relations, which were prohibited on the ark, have now been permitted. The state of relationships has equilibrilized.

The thing that strikes me about this particular scenario, is that Gd is saving life on Earth through a partnership with Noach.

In Bereshit/Genesis, the world was created through acts of speech, using the verb ויאמר.

ויאמר אלקים יהי–איר ויהי אור (Beresiht/Genesis 1:3)

The oral tradition also teaches about Gd’s ability to create through speech.

בעשרה מאמרות נברא העולם

In ten utterances, the world was created. (Chapter 5:1)

Gd did not need anyone’s help to create the world, but for some reason, he used human help to prevent it from being entirely destroyed, and then he speaks to Noach, and their relationship morphs from that of master – servant, to something a little bit closer.

From there, Gd blesses Noach and his sons. and the rest of the portion generally focuses on the lineage of Noach and his sons, which leads us finally back to this week’s portion, Lech Lecha, which begins:

ויאמר ה אל אברהם לך לך מארצך מלדתך אל הארץ אשר אראך

And the Lord said to Abram, “Go forth from your land and from your birthplace and from your father’s house, to the land that I will show you. (Bereshit/Genesis 12:1)

I’ve been able to follow in the foosteps of my forefather to come to the land that Gd has chosen.  My hope is that the collaboration of divine guidance and personal effort that made Noach’s salvation of the world and Avraham Avinu’s journey successful, sets an example for all who seek that partnership in all matters, both large and small.  The power to create and to destroy worlds lies in what comes out of your mouth.

On Sickness

I’ve been having trouble lately getting a lot out of my prayers.  I’m not fully desensitized though.  Ambulances have been passing by more frequently these days, and, like the call of the shofar, the alarm blast shocks me into realizing that life can change at any moment and that I should be thankful for all that I can do and all that is before me right now.  Thank Gd, I am well.

Then, sometimes things penetrate a bit deeper.  Suddenly this afternoon, my stomach began hurting.  Okay, I ate few too many dates.  It was an intensely syrupy sugary snack (the mejool dates in Israel are בלתי רגיל, abnormally good), but this felt unusual.  Soon the stomach pain turned to nausea, and then I threw up more times that I ever have in a single day.  I was paralyzed by discomfort.

After that experience, I think that I will pray for a רפואה שלמה “refuah shelemah” or “complete recovery” for other with improved intention tomorrow morning.

I am grateful that I was able to get the writing work that I intended to do out of the way just before falling ill.  The only thing I’ve been able to do until now is to watch a movie.  Forced to chill out and reassess.  Suddenly, all the important things in life come to the forefront.  Basic human functions, physical self-preservation, spiritual questioning of what I am supposed to learn from the experience, recognizing who my friends and family really are.

The gateway to prayer, the beginning set of morning blessings, include a list of things to thank Gd for.  One is ’שעשה לי כל צרכי’ “who provided for my every need.”  Some interpretations say this is a reference to shoes, or leather shoes in particular.  Today the connotation may be different.  Even when I’m wearing Crocs or padding around in my socks on the Jerusalem tile floor, I feel provided for (Jewish law requires praying with shoes on).

Each time that I am sick or visit the sick is an opportunity to recognize the attributes Gd gives to each individual.  I am grateful to be living a healthy, independent life, with great friends and family just a GChat away.