Wednesday, June 4th, 2003

Dear friends,

LAG BA-OMER

The 20th of May was Lag Ba-Omer. According to tradition, on this day in the mid 2nd century, a plague which had been killing the students of Rabbi Akiva stopped, and so this is a holiday. It is also the anniversary of the death of Rabbi Shim'on bar Yohai, the presumed author of the great mystical tract, the Zohar, which is the third most important book in Judaism after the Bible and the Talmud. Thus, another reason for celebration.

On the eve of Lag Ba-Omer, Jews gather from all over Israel to pray at the grave of Rabbi Shim'on bar Yohai and his son, Rabbi Elazar. After evening prayers, large bonfires are lit at the gravesite and all over Israel. Philippe has gone for several years and he really urged us to go, so we went.

We drove up to Mt. Meron on the afternoon of the 19th and parked in a large lot about 7 miles from the gravesite and went on by bus. Security was very high: the car was inspected several times and then more inspections getting on the bus. The unloading point was well below the gravesite, which actually has a medium-size structure around it. The atmosphere was very celebratory and everyone, over 100,00 people from all walks of life, was present. There were hasidim in their black garb and flying sidelocks. There were large numbers of sefardim with their knit kippot (headcoverings). There were secular Israelis with no head-covering and the girls with bellies showing. The very orthodox moved in groups of their own, with men and women separated; the others moved together.

As we walked through the fields toward the gravesite, vendors of every kind were there selling holy books, food, drink, trinkets, bumper stickers, glowing lights and earings (for use in the dark later), and flags with the presumed picture of Rabbi Shim'on bar Yohai (there is a book to be written about the "portraits" of the great men of the past &endash; who invented them, how, and where). Other people were giving out leaflets with prayers to be said. Every two or three steps another person was begging for alms (we even recognized a few of them who had come from the Wall in Jerusalem). There were also bands playing sefardic, eastern music and others playing western, hasidic music. And lots of children. This was not an orderly procession; rather, a mass meandering up the hill (see fotos).

When we got to the gravesite, the crowding became more palpable as people waited to get into the building, approach the graves, and pray. Philippe and I separated from Ursula as there are separate entrances for the women and the men. We went in and were immediately crushed in the crowd. It was worse that the New York subways at rush-hour, except that everyone was friendly. We just flowed with the push, occasionally following a particularly aggressive leader. Eventually we made it to the grave of Rabbi Shim'on and only had time to stretch out our hands and say a quick prayer. Then we "flowed" to the grave of Rabbi Elazar. Again, only time for a touch. Meanwhile, we said afternoon prayers as the sun was going down. When the flow expelled us from the gravesite, we had lost Ursula but, with cellphones, we quickly reestablished contact.

Then, we wandered, waiting for darkness. The ultraorthodox had a huge area to themselves with men and women separated. Above the gravesite, further up on the hill, were the Moroccans. Philippe took us up there. Right after Passover, the main families come and stake out their ground for their tents. These are huge &endash; enough room for tables, chairs, beds, etc. Some even had carpets. A man came and set up a generator; so everyone had electricity, and hence there was not only light but several television sets. Many Moroccans live in these tents for several weeks, at least on weekends. We saw one tent, on the uppermost of the three rows, that was something out of the Arabian nights: beautiful material fit for a movie brought from Morocco, full carpeting, beds around the sides covered with brocaded material, etc. Outside one set of tents, we found a goat attached to a stake. When asked, we were told that, every day they bring a goat and the following morning, they slaughter and eat it. And, indeed, in our wanderings, we came across an outdoor butcher shop with carcasses hanging.

In one of the Moroccan tents, we found a group of men about to say evening prayers; so Philippe and I joined them. (The women were out of sight, probably preparing meals.) They used their own liturgy and music and, at one point, a discussion erupted about the proper music to be used. After prayers, the bonfires were lit and each group broke out in its own music &endash; and sound system. The cacophony of different melodies from different cultures was entrancing. We wandered from one group to another, occasionally standing on various objects to see the bonfires.

Eventually we circled back down to the gravesite where the press of humanity was unbelievable. Ursula was sure she was going to get pushed down and trampled. But, everyone was in good spirits and, after a lot of shoving and pushing, the flow expelled us on the downside of the grave and we resumed our way back down the hill. The tradition is that, if one can persuade 18 people to drink your grapejuice, you will have a son. So, everywhere there were people extending grape juice to us. We stopped to buy some food and eat (most people brought small charcoal burners and food). By now, it was dark and the girls were sporting earings that blinked and necklaces that glowed. I bought three of the necklaces, one of which I gave to the young girl who sat opposite me on the bus back to the parking lot. I also picked up a bumper-sticker in Hebrew that reads, "It's good to be Jewish."

One of the most active displays was that of the Lubavitch hasidim. Before their rabbi died, a rumor spread that, since he had been very very active all his life in bringing his fellow Jews back to Torah living and, since he was the 7th rabbi and had no children, that he was the messiah. As he got older and had a stroke, he could no longer talk but, at 3:00 p.m. every day, his hasidim would wheel him out onto the balustrade above the great hall at headquarters in Brooklyn and the assembled hasidim would sing: "Long live our master, our teacher and our rabbi, the messiah king, forever and ever." I remember the messianic excitement of those days. The rabbi died and, strange as it may seem for Jews, many of his hasidim believed he would be resurrected very soon and appear as the messiah. Even now, years after his death, the movement has not chosen a successor and many members still believe he is the messiah who is waiting to come back and redeem the Jewish people. At Meron, the Lubavitch had a huge poster, perhaps two stories high, with a picture of the rebbe and the words to the song. And, of course, they were singing messianic songs the whole time (see fotos).

Toward the bottom of the path leading away from the gravesite, there was bloodmobile run by the Magen David Adom (the Israeli equivalent of the Red Cross). Philippe and I stopped to give blood. (I was surprised they took mine because, in the States, they do not take blood from people over 55 &endash; a point I passed a little while back). All types of people gave &endash; hasidim, soldiers, tourists, sefardim &endash; though the turnout was not as heavy as the technicians were expecting. Ursula did not give blood and waited outside while the Lubavitch sang messianic songs. She really got an overdose. It is customary not to cut the hair of young boys until the Lag Ba-Omer after their third birthday. We missed that because we did not stay for the next day.

Eventually, we made it back to the car and drove with Philippe to a bed and breakfast near his place of work, though the celebration went on all night. I had read about these types of popular pilgrimage but this was my first experience. It was quite astounding and, in retrospect, the relaxed, tolerant atmosphere, together with the country fair feeling, stick in my mind.

The following day Ursula and I stopped in Caesaria to visit the ancient ruins, the archaeological museum on the nearby kibbutz, and to swim in the Mediterranean.

As Lag Ba-Omer drew to a close, we returned to Jerusalem and I went to my graduate Zohar class. When our teacher arrived, he looked around the room, banged his hand on the desk, and began singing the song of Rabbi Shim'on bar Yohai. I was astounded. I occasionally sing religious songs in my classes but the Hebrew University is the cathedral of proper, secular, "objective" study -- and here we were tapping on our desks and singing a song to the presumed author of the Zohar. Professor Liebes knew all the verses by heart, and I could tell from the way he moved his head and sang that this was more than just a song for him. After it, though, we turned to our usual, more sober, study of the Zohar. Singing the Bar Yohai song in that setting was more than a little ironic since modern scholars do not believe that the Zohar was written by Rabbi Shim'on in 2nd century Roman Palestine but by a group of scholars in 13th century Spain. And, here we were, academics, singing a song to the non-author of the text we were studying. Such are the beautiful contradictions of spiritual scholarship.

OTHER MATTERS

Jerusalem remains a beautiful city. There are trees with purple flowers, and our pomegranate tree is filled with bright orange flowers. The custom is also to decorate one's car and porch with flags of the State of Israel from Independence Day until Jerusalem Day (see fotos).

The Wall remains a wonder. Every day, I say to myself, "Am I really here?" -- The small black birds (swallows?) sweep towards the Wall at breakneck speed but never hit it. The plants hanging from it are in bloom with pink and white flowers. There is one sefardi man, one of the beggars who only gets very small amounts, who provides hot sweet tea and cookies at the end of prayers. I really like him and always give him something, and he always invites me to his small table after services. Usually, I don't take anything but he is so glad when I do. And then there are the hawks: the professional beggars who watch alertly for any tourists. I hate to say it but we tourists stick out like sore thumbs, no matter what we are wearing. I can spot us too. The hawks swoop down on these men, talk to them to "explain" their problems, and usually get bills, not coins, in exchange. The hawks then consult with one another, and a second swoops in. And so it goes until all the hawks have been fed. The real professional beggars stay at the Wall all day, or most of it, and keep this up. Because the weather is warming, we are getting more tourists, especially on Fridays and Sundays when they come in for Shabbat family celebrations. One of the women (she has a speech defect, which works in her favor) asked us to change $300 in small bills into larger ones that she can negotiate. That was last week. This week, she has another packet labeled $200. That is 1500 shekels and 800 shekels respectively, which is a LOT of money. As one of the policewomen once remarked, "These women make more per week than I do."

Two Ursula-isms: "I get a cramp in my foot when I stand still." The Hebrew phrase "Barukh ha-nimtsa" means "blessed is the one who is already here" and it is the proper response to Barukh ha-ba "blessed is the one who comes" &endash; the greeting to a guest. Ursula, not recognizing the phrase, rendered it "Thank God I found it." / I include a foto of Hodaya Gozlan, the daughter of our Israeli soldier.

As an act of gratitude to the Institute for Advanced Studies and as an expression of our thankfulness to the many people who have made us feel at home here, Ursula decided to organize a chamber music concert at the University given by the Jerusalem Trio whom we have known for several years. The Institute provided invitations, a hall, and a reception while we provided a list of names. After some telephoning, about 120 people from all walks of life in Jerusalem showed up, and we knew almost all of them. It is amazing that, after only nine months here, Ursula could muster that many people (and there were others who could not come) for such an evening. The Jerusalem Trio played two late romantic pieces &endash; Anton Arenski's Piano Trio in B minor and Arnold Schoenberg's Verklärte Nacht -- and even took a moment to explain the background to one of them. The food was good, the music was excellent, and people very much enjoyed being there. A great success. (The Institute developed a slide show of fotos of the concert. If you have good and fast equipment, click here and then click on "Events" and "The Jerusalem Trio.")

We began Yom Yerushalayim (the celebration of the liberation of Jerusalem during the Six Day War in 1967) by going to the annual parade through the streets of Jerusalem which took place a day before the other celebrations. This turned out to be youth groups that had come from all over the country and floats with largely agricultural and industrial themes. We even had a fair number of tractors, public transportation buses, and a garbage truck in the parade. The audience was equally provincial &endash; mostly parents and friends of the marchers, together with some locals and tourists. An echo of earlier socialist Zionist parades.

On Yom Yerushalayim itself, I began by going to the local synagogue for festive services and a lecture. We should have gone to the Wall but the roads were blocked off for hours before the festivities began. I later heard that there was a band and singing and dancing all night. When I arrived at 4:45 a.m. for services, people were still streaming to the Wall, which is the natural place for such a celebration. Groups came from the settlements in the Gaza Strip, from the Golan in the north, indeed from everywhere. The usual ultraorthodox and sefardi prayergroups were dwarfed by the young newcomers, full of enthusiasm. As they prayed the Psalms of Thanksgiving (Hallel), they paused to dance. It was so moving that, at 7:15, I called Ursula to take a taxi to the Wall to see it. These groups not only recited the Hallel but also had prayers for the State of Israel, prayers for the Armed Forces, and supplications for those wounded in terrorist attacks. Some read special readings from the Torah and one group even had an insert (Al ha-Nissim) into the Silent Devotion. This is a major liturgical innovation in orthodox circles, though I've seen Conservative and Reform versions, an I need to get hold of that. It was very exciting and moving.

The rest of the day before Yom Yerushalayim began we spent visiting friends in Kibbutz Palmachim which is on the coast. I, of course, went for a swim despite the weather. It turns out that we were in the middle of a fairly serious sandstorm. The whole sky turned gray and the air thickened until it was hard to breathe. The fine grains of sand got into everything, leaving a whole layer of sand-dust everywhere. It took two days to clean it up. Toward the end of the day, it rained briefly and that left everything covered with sand-mud &endash; a real mess. I'd experienced these sandstorms before but never one so big.

THE POLITICAL SITUATION

Several of you have emailed to ask what is going on politically. No one knows. Whatever is happening is shrouded in layers of secrecy, which is probably good. We hope that Abu Mazen means it when he says he wants peace and is willing to put together a workable anti-terror coalition in Palestinian society. The Intifada has gotten the Palestinians nowhere and, if they realize that non-violence is a better way, that is surely a step forward. Sharon knows that counter-violence won't work in the long run. Despite his ideological convictions about holding on to the land, he knows we cannot "stay in Jenin forever"as he so plainly put it. The Americans hope that some window of opportunity may be briefly open and they are pushing both sides &endash; which both Israelis and Palestinians need to save face with their respective constituencies. The big joker in the deck is Arafat who will never accept the State of Israel as legitimate. His whole life has been devoted to denying that. As a result, he cannot accept a Palestinian state as legitimate either because that implies its counterpart: an Israeli state. Arafat is a shrewd fox, a consummate political maneuverer. He has already tried to undermine Abu Mazen and may even have him assassinated. Abu Mazen, on the other hand, despite Israeli and American attempts to marginalize Arafat, cannot ignore him. It is a very delicate situation.

The best we can hope for, at this time (Sunday, June 1, 2003), is an agreement on the cessation of terror by the Palestinians and the withdrawal of Israeli forces from some Palestinian territory. Will the Palestinians really control terror? Will Arafat allow this to happen? Or is this just a pause in the hostilities, a nod by everyone toward George Bush? I think no one knows, though everyone has an opinion. Peace would certainly be good for both economies but, Marx to the contrary notwithstanding, economics does not drive Middle Eastern politics. (My sources indicate that Saddam Hussein has moved to Libya, as they had predicted months ago. But the irony of Uday, his son, remaining in the formerly Jewish city of Minsk is too much.)

PARTING REFLECTIONS

As Ursula prepares to leave Israel, we have both turned a little reflective. I think life here has several qualities that make it special. First, it is very family oriented and, by extension, one's "family" includes everyone. What happens to anyone, is everyone's concern &endash; an ambulance, a circumcision, a terrorist attack, a wedding, and so on. People "look like" someone you know, as I've noted before. There is a sense of belonging here.

Second, there is a sense that what happens here counts,, that it is important. The work we do in the States &endash; and I've been at this for a long time -- is also important but it doesn't seem to have the same intensity that work has here.

Third, there is a richness and depth to life here. There are study groups everywhere, and lectures all the time, and concerts and theater. There are several courses on the Zohar, several courses here on modern Israeli Jewish thought, and there are lectures on poets. Not to speak of the vast effort in archaeology &endash; in the field and in the classroom &endash; and in Bible. Here, interfaith work is with people who really disagree; not much brotherhood week type work here. And there are courses in Hebrew poetry of all periods. It will not come as a surprise if I note that the offerings in Atlanta are not as rich. Furthermore, the level of knowledge here is very intense. In Atlanta, I am among the most learned in Jewish philosophy, mysticism, and theology in southeastern United States. Here, I am nobody. I know more than some but less than most. It is quite a humbling experience.

Shalom, U&D