Sunday, May 11th, 2003

Dear friends,

We have all made it back to Israel. I came first. Ursula, who stopped in Paris to attend the wedding reception of the son of friends, got stuck there because of the general strike in Israel and only arrived on May 2nd. Philippe, who stayed in New York on business, only arrived May 8th. But we are now all here, and glad to be together again.

The Passover holiday in New York was a good time to be with family. My mother-in-law is well and we had Passover seder at her house, as we always do, together with friends. My mother came for the second seder and she was thrilled to see how the tradition has passed on to another generation, though we have added our own music, etc. Being in New York also enabled us to visit relatives and friends though there are many we missed. And I was able to read the Song of Songs from a scroll on the Shabbat of Passover, which I love doing. It is such a beautiful book and it is a privilege to be able to chant it.

The first few days after my return, Israeli society was so relaxed that people did not even honk their horns. The usual practice here is to begin honking before the light turns green. Things are back to normal now. Meanwhile, we have had two break-ins to the apartment. One was in broad daylight. Someone opened the door, pulled Ursula's wallet out of her pocketbook, and left &endash; all in a few moments and in total silence. The other burglary was at night. Someone came in the porch doors (we are on the first floor), took only the cash out of my slacks (leaving the passport and credit cards), and then, on his way out, took three of Ursula's bracelets which were on the ironing board at the door to our room. He, then, had the audacity to calmly walk out the front door. So, we've been to the police twice and the criminal investigation division has been here once (see fotos). Of course, nothing can be done: no fingerprints; no chance of recovering anything. So, we've had to cancel Ursula's credit cards, which was easy, and now we have to hassle the State of Georgia for a license and the federal government for her social security number. The burglary took place on Yom HaZikaron, memorial day for Israeli soldiers, and that put our "trouble" very much in perspective.

I've returned to the Wall and those are the nicest hours of the day. It is cool; the rest of the day is very hot. There is a breeze. Dawn and then sunrise are easily felt since we pray outside. And the community of those of us who come every day feels its own presence. One day we observed the anniversary of the death of a good friend and I wanted to give some special charity. I asked myself, "Who, among my regulars, is the person likely to need it most?" I picked that person and got a blessing in return. They are all waiting for Philippe to return.

I've also returned to classes and been impressed yet again with the fact that so many people here look like people I know. I only need to ask myself, "Whom does that person remind me of?" Almost always, I can identify the association. In anthropology this is known as the "template" effect: people from the same genetic stock recognize characteristics in one another.

YOM HASHOAH, YOM HAZIKARON, AND YOM HA-ATSMA'UT

I returned just in time for Yom HaShoah, holocaust remembrance day. I taught Psalm 44, which is a response to serious national catastrophe, at the Conservative Yeshiva here. The students really participated. At 11:00 a.m., we stopped and stood as the siren was sounded all over the country. It is a very sombre day with the shadow of the destruction of our people hanging heavily over our heads. I did not get to Yad Vashem for the national memorial there because I was teaching.

The night before Yom HaZikaron, memorial day for Israeli soldiers, Ursula and I went to the Wall. There were thousands of people and an area set aside for the families of some of those who had died to establish and protect the State. The President of Israel came, a torch was lit, speeches given, and prayers said. All very restrained, very western. The crowd was composed of Israelis, many of whom had lost family, friends, or buddies; and, strangely, a large group of Americans, many of them young girls studying in religious institutions in Jerusalem in the year between high school and college. I asked one how they persuaded their parents to let them go, given the political situation, and she replied that most of the parents were also Zionists and just believed in the importance and vitality of Jewish life in the homeland. Only two out of about 60 went home during the Iraq war, and they have since returned.

The morning of Yom HaZikaron, I prayed with the sefaradim. They are much more nationalistic than the usual group of ashkenazim with whom I pray. The latter don't recite prayers for the State of Israel or observe Yom HaZikaron or Independence Day ritually. When they asked me why I had moved, I told them they didn't have enough faith in God's providence &endash; a little fresh on my part, considering they are all ultraorthodox, but still it is true. They live in and love Jerusalem but do not acknowledge liturgically the lives risked and sacrificed for their safety. That is not my way. The sefaradim welcomed me, as they always do when one of the "elite" ashkenazim joins them.

After services, we joined our friend, Nancy Sigal, at the cemetery for the services marking the first anniversary of the death of her husband, Bob. The cemetery overlooks the Judean hills and being there gave me the opportunity to reflect that Bob, who was very nationalistic, would have loved the Iraq war &endash; our enemies quashed without a single Jewish hair being shed &endash; though, of course, matters are not quite that simple.

For Israeli Independence Day, we went to the City of David community. Ir David, as it is known in Hebrew, is located south of the Wall. As you go out the Dung Gate, you turn left and then right and you are there. It is most likely the place where King David had his palace and it is certainly the place where Herod's courtiers lived. Up until recently it had been inhabited solely by Palestinians but, slowly, a Jewish group has been legitimately buying apartments and buildings and creating a Jewish presence there. There is a quiet understanding between the Arabs and the Jews and, except in moments of extreme tension, the area is quite safe. The Jewish community there has a definite messianic feeling about its work. They feel they are redeeming the ancient seat of the Jewish monarchy, the geographical heart of the Jewish people. However, Independence Day was not centered around that. It centered around children. Children is the name of the game. There were about 35 adults but more like 80 children. As is customary in those circles, the older ones take care of the younger ones. The older girls set up the presentations made by the younger ones. When a child cried, an older girl got to it before the mother. The whole evening centered around the children with plays, skits, songs, dances, etc. Afterward, when we went home, I went out to see the fireworks.

The morning of Yom Ha-Atsma'ut I went back to Ir David for prayers. There are special additions to the liturgy and I wanted to be with them for that. Praying for the rebuilding of the temple has a special feel when you do it from King David's royal city. It all fits together, and history becomes present in a very poignant way. After prayers, we did what most Israelis do, we went to visit friends, one of whom had a small family party. Everyone has cookouts on grills. I've never seen so many grills, everywhere &endash; in the parks, on the beaches, on porches. There is even a strange new word drawn from Arabic for a charcoal grill: mangal; it also has a verb form. No one seems to know what it means. On the way to the party, Ursula and I stopped at the beach in Caesaria. Beautiful sand and the water was wonderful. I must admit that I have been on beaches whose raison d'etre was sun-tanning, and on others whose purpose was showing off bathing suits, or flirtation, or sports. The purpose of the one in Caesaria, however, was food. Everyone brought, not one but several, coolers plus charcoal burners. Some brought tables and chairs. And some even brought tents to cover the spread. Very Jewish.

Still, there is the background noise. There had been terrorist alerts and so the whole country was on alert level 4 &endash; the highest level of preparedness. Police and soldiers everywhere looking for suicide bombers, car bombers, or worse. At the end of Yom HaZikaron, I thought, "Well, we made it through today." And at the end of Yom Ha-Atsma'ut, I said, "Thank you, God. We made it through this holiday with no terrorist attack." In the US or Europe, I've never had these thoughts. I guess the Secret Service has them; but ordinary Americans just do not think that way. Here, it is part of the way of life. Unfortunately, the alert will probably remain high. There are some high-level Americans in the area and Powell himself is arriving this weekend. History shows that, whenever high-level peace negotiations begin, there is a terrorist attack. Let's hope the Israelis can forestall it though, of course, that should be the proper responsibility of the Palestinian Authority.

Next week, we will go the Galilee for several days. Meanwhile, both of us have begun suffering from "Abschiedschmerz," the pain of separation. Are we really going to leave this magical place? Are we really going to part with all of its troubles and dangers to live in suburban America? The answer is "yes" but not without "Abschiedschmerz."

Shalom, U&D