The 11th Floor

A Perpsective Overlooking Jerusalem, Israeli Life, and Talmud Torah

Sunday, October 29, 2006

"I saw a gate in Jerusalem with two signs on it: Bruchim Habaim [Welcome] and Ayn Kenisah [ Do Not Enter]." — Yehudah Amichai

“But I grew up in Poland, where it gets so cold, vodka freezes!”
“But I’m from Toronto, where it gets so cold, gas freezes! ”
“But I was raised in Minnesota, where it gets so cold, the snow falls out of your breath!”
“But there’s never any snow in Jerusalem!”
These are all the responses to “you can’t imagine how cold it is here in Jerusalem in the winter.” Second year students talk about the winter the same way Darth Vader talked about the dark side of the force. Sabras and olim alike note with the weary “just-you-wait” attitude that confidently tells you there is no form of cold like that which rushes through the Judean hills each winter.

This past week has been a very full one for all of us here on the 11th floor, including a serious shift in the climate. Blue skies that were unmarred for months are now shrouded in clouds of every variety except mammatus clouds (which often come with tornadoes).
And rain has come, along with temperatures in the 50’s and dampness. This, as most North Americans will tell you, is known as fall. There is little real winter in Jerusalem as most Canadians know it. It’s just that November is four months long.

Of course this was not just a long week because of the climate. We lost Thursday’s precious social evening (and shopping/Shabbat prep) hours because we all went on the “Masa Goes North” extravaganza. Thousands of young adults studying in Israel this year are getting funding from the Masa foundation. This past week found 2000 of them on a train to Acre (or Akko). The train was filled with people dressed up as characters such as Einstein and Herzel, as well as a drumming group and a small klezmir band. The actor playing Herzel wore a top hat and tails (a long tuxedo), and he led a rousing game of “Herzel says.”
“Herzel Says Hands Up!
Herzel Says Hands Down!
Herzel Says Lift Your Bag.
Okay, Sit Down. ACH!!! YOU ARE OUT!!! HERZEL DID NOT SAY!!!!”

My friend MK speaks German, and he spent a bit of time learning about relativity from the actor who played Eienstein- all in German! The train was decorated with flags (as in the bad photo), filled with 2000 students in their late teens and 20’s meeting and renewing friendships, and sharing three bathrooms. The train was a very scenic ride, weaving through Jerusalem suburbs, Tel Aviv, Haifa, and other towns along the way.

After the lovely train ride, it was a lot of hurry up and wait, mixed with mismanagement. Busses carried us distances we could have walked. Signs pointed to bathrooms with no toilet seats- or no soap. The participants all paraded through he streets of Akko; too bad the residents of the city were not warned, and found themselves unable to get about their business without warning.

“We forgot Rule 12,” lamented a long time aquaintance, “never let Israelis plan something this complicated if its not a war.” Did we know that we were supposed to bring some money? Yes. Did we know that it was to help the economically devastated town that missed an entire tourist season of over 1,000,000 visitors? No. Did we know we would be led right through the shuk (old market district) of the city, and that we were supposed to shop? No. Did half of the participants go on a tour of the Akko citadel instead of the shuk? Yes. Did we wait for three hours before the concluding ceremony and concert? I’ll leave that one up to you, dear reader (photo is of citadel walls as we waited).

The ending ceremony was a bizarre mix: dancers and singers performing Zionist classics in the style of “Up With People;” The Minister of European Felt Exports made a welcome speech; a heartbreaking memorial to Michael Levin, who fell in combat with Hezbollah not more than a few months ago; another heartbreaking speech from the mayor of Akko thanking us for coming, and a performance of the neo-hippy Israeli group Gaya.

After the fireworks and speeches, 2000 people all had to go home- by bus. Busses often had mixes of two or three groups (e.g. Young Judea, Bnei Akiva, et. al.) assigned to a single bus, which meant that some busses waited 45 minutes for people who never showed (remember rule 12?) and everyone else waited 45 minutes just for the dozens of buses to get out of a parking lot the size of an inflatable kid’s swimming pool.

Masa is still a worthwhile organization, and there are 8,000 students who are getting funding to study here- please support it. But maybe next time they will make sure those who plan the event are as good as the actors who made that train ride so much fun!

Preparing for Shabbat on Friday was a frantic rush, but Saturday lunch saw the 11th floor filled with guests. The day had dawned grey, and a dreay rain falling. But by noon, we were back in the relatively warm apartment. There was much food, drink, and singing in complex harmonies. Salads were crisp, the chicken was hot and spicy, and the kasha was delicious. Some napped on our couch, and some stayed until havdalah. The crowning touch: a rainbow appeared a few hours into lunch- the perfect symbol to mark the weekly parsha…the parsha of Noah.

Hmmm…. Two weeks ago we prayed for rain- and got it. This week, we talked about the rainbow, and one appeared. Its rather fantastic, but I hope this trend ends before we read about the 10 plagues.

Friday, October 20, 2006

"On that hill," God said, "I'll build the Kenesset."

Like many Ashkenazi Jews, I grew up with rugelach, the semi-cylindrical pastries that are a rolled strip of sweet dough and a filling. Alas, Gittel’s bakery has been gone for many years now, (yes, there really is a Gittel, a saintly woman who speaks fluent Spanish, Russian, and 4 other languages) but hers were and always will be the best in my mind. They were the perfect blend of nuts, caramelized sugars and cinnamon. The dough she and her husband used was far more cookie-like than most. They were…sublime.

But no matter how I espoused the greatness of Gittel’s, New Yorkers and others who disparaged my home town always had a three word rebuttal for me: “Marzipan’s chocolate rugelach.”

People still bring them back by the KILOGRAM from Israel. Those waiting for them at home eat them as if they were manna from heaven itself. They do this even though they get smushed by baggage handlers, crammed into overhead bins (or stepped on when placed below the seat in front you), irradiated in the x-ray detector, and arrive 72 hours after they have been made.

Feh.

They are perfectly lovely pastries, but I think there are local Jerusalem Bakeries- not to mention bakeries in Canada- that do just as good a job as Marzipan when it comes to chocolate and rugelach. Mentioning this opinion in public has always earned me the same shocked reaction I am sure I would get if I said “Actually, I’m in favor of a 783 state solution to the Arab-Israeli Conflict.”

It has always seemed to me that people are afraid to say “Marzipan's rugelach? The chocolate? They’re OK,” as if the Shin-Bet can find a security threat just by seeing if people posses the proper pavlovian profile when presented with these preeminent pastries (my, wasn’t that illiterative). Recently, however, somebody confided in me a dark secret. “I don’t think they are that good there either,” he noted quietly, “but the ones filled with ******- those are incredible. Those you have to try.”

So today, I went with my chevrutah partner to the Marzipan bakery. I saw a tray of something coming out of the oven.
Something bigger than chocolate rugelach, but the same shape.
Something that people were all pointing at and ordering in large amounts.
Something with a filling that was not chocolate, but clearly sweet.
Something like... Halvah.

It was only by an act of love (and the need not to get any fatter) that I was able to save one of the two halvah filled rugelach I bought. I gave the other to my beloved wife, who came home with a tired and slightly grumpy expression- it had been a long week. The smile it produced with one bite was instantaneous- and worth every shekel.

Halvah Rugelach. Has there even been a confection that is more symbolic of the Israeli people? Halvah, that crumbly sesame and sugar concoction that you either love or hate, is truly at its peak here in Israel, thanks to both the influx of Jews from the Eydot Ha’mizrach as well as the influence of arab citizens. Ashkenazi Jews have brought to Israel the latest in rugelach technology. Combine the two traditions, and you have a culinary force that could topple a government. That and the pizza boureaka alone are reasons to work tirelessly for a just and secure State of Israel. But there are things here even more remarkable than the pastries, chances for a better future worth even more effort.

And if we still will it, it still is no dream.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

The little Jewish Grandma says "He had a hat!"

The whole country is on vacation this week. Scattered across the country are art festivals, alternative art festivals, alternative performance art festivals, wine festivals, music festivals, and in addition thousands are flocking northward to spend shekels in regions devastated by the war with Hezbollah. Youth groups and yeshivot have programs where music with an Ashkenazi accent goes thudding into the night way past bedtime. The old city is packed with tours and tourists and street musicians (and riot police).

But it is still sukkot, and even a few reasonably secular jews have built the traditional four sided huts along with the observant. Plus, any restaurant that is kosher and has seating, has a sukkah for the week. And since we are in the Judean hills and not Minneapolis or Toronto, the weather is warm enough during the day to appreciate shade, but not so cold at night that you need a heater just to eat dinner. Note to Chicagoans: in Israel it is not customary to eat dinner in the Sukkah with your winter gloves on, mainly because you don’t need them.

No building represents Israeli Jews better than the sukkah. Laced together with twine and zip ties, it is an unsteady ramshackle compilation of sheets, planks, bamboo and palm fronds. Israelis love their sukkot- you put it together 1-2-3, and if an end doesn’t fit, WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!, it gets pounded into place. Halfway is the way. No building codes, no safety concerns. Balconies 4 stories off the ground have their railings unmounted so that the family can have a sukkah. If there is a balcony above them, they simply extend the sukkah outward off the balcony another 2 meteres- and this is even when the balcony itself is only 0.5 meters deep to begin with. Another sukkah may be built halfway up the wall of that one.

In fact, this week Jerusalem is the Mishnayot of Tractate Sukkah come alive. Sukkot are built on rooftops and in trees, in courtyards and over other sukkot. Half sukkot, round sukkot, and half-round sukkot are all about. They explode outward from windows, ledges, atriums and doorways. Half the sukkah is in the street? Its okay. Built it in front of the door that says “Do not block- emergency exit!” ? Of course. And to meet halachic requirements, they twist at odd angles, are shorter or taller to meet demand, can have 5 walls or be made up only of windows.

Israeli Jews are not the most patient among those of the Hebrew faith, and some of the sukkot are a danger to those who occupy them- or those who are in the space right below them. This should come as no surprise to those of us who know and love Israelis. As for Jerusalem, it is a mountainous city, and an old one at that- this means that back yards are a rare occourence, even for the rich. Gardens are what fill the space surrounding homes- fountains, vines, trees and flowerbeds. A big swath of space that is only grass or stone pavement is unheard of for any home that was not a consulate or monastery.
So Israeli Jews are inventive, building wherever the space allows. Many of the sukkot can not be easily seen. They are hidden behind fences and gates, behind laundry lines and trees. Some are studies or gazebos with roofs removed. Most are not on the ground floor and from street level they can not be seen.

All in all, the majority of Sukkot in Jerusalem are hidden.

These numerous hidden sukkot can only be found easily at night when lit up from the inside. The lights within illuminate the colored tarps and bedsheets that form sukkot walls, and what is invisible in daylight is revealed as glorious color in the night. Daytime vistas that reveal a handful of booths are transformed into a panoply of sukkot at night.

Consider this for a moment, that most of the sukkot in Jerusalem are best searched out at night, when along with the lights, you can find them by the sounds of family dinners and the smells of dining al fresco. This is not, I think just a matter of urban topography. There is something endemic to Sukkot that is represented by illumination from within. Unlike Hannukah, sukkot are not about the publicizing of a miracle, rather they are spaces for celebration and happiness. According to the Gemara (Bavli Sukka 26a) a person who is unable to be happy is exempt from dwelling in the Sukkah. Sukkot are supposed to be places of joy- of feasting, song, gladness and delight. How remarkable that in Jerusalem the sukkah serves as an echo of the human heart. When the human heart is full and glad, a person’s face shines and radiates that joy which they are holding inside- just as the sukkah lets the joy it holds shine out into the night. It is a remarkable festival, for it lets that is internal radiate outward.

I might suggest that it is not that the Sukkot of Jerusalem are best found at night: rather, they are best seen and understood at night. That is when their lesson shines the clearest.

Monday, October 02, 2006

The man says, "How can you tell?" The woman says, "You told me yesterday."

What would it be like if the entire city went to shul with you, and then had a big kiddush?
No, seriously. Imagine for a moment if instead of a handful people trickling out of your building in the afternoon of Kol Nidrey, there were dozens. On the side street, your crowd flowed into a group of hundreds, and on the main boulevard, the crowd was larger than you could possibly count. Many were wearing white from head to toe – or suits if they were Americans. Kitels, Talitot, prayerbooks, strollers, all flowing to one place of prayer or another.

I can tell you are probably not impressed, especially if you are from a section of NYC, Baltimore, or Cleveland where plenty of Jews walk in large groups to shul on Yom Kippur. “Well of course there are lots of people going to synagogue- you are living in Jerusalem, for God’s sake! Tell us something we wouldn’t have guessed, Captain Obvious.”

Okay; The weather was great for first day of October?

“We can check the weather in Israel you know. Try again.”

Uh. Right. Everything is closed down- TV networks go off the air.
Even the little shops that are always open are closed.

“So what. It is a national holiday. We have national holidays outside of Israel as well. They even have them in Canada."

How about this: in Jerusalem, Yom Kippur is a happy festival day, just like in the Talmud.

“Okay, now you are just making stuff up to impress us.”

What do you mean- that the Talmud says Yom Kippur was a happy day, or that it’s a happy day again?

“Er….. both?”

Okay- we find the following in Mishna, Taanit 4:8 (and Gemara on Taanit 30b):
Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel said, Israel had no days as joyous as The Fifteenth of Av and Yom Kippur; for on those days, the maidens of Jerusalem would go out dressed in borrowed white clothing - borrowed, in order not to embarrass those who had none…. The maidens of Jerusalem would go out and dance [in a circle] in the vineyards. And what would they say? "Young man, lift up your eyes and see what you choose for yourself. Do not consider beauty; rather consider family, 'For charm is false, and beauty is vanity. A woman who reveres God, she is the one to be praised..' (Proverbs 31:30) ".
So there you go on the Talmud side. And what makes it happy here in modern J'lem?

Modern Jerusalem has an endless amount of hidden synagogues. While there are large congregations made of spotless white plaster and Jerusalem stone, there are also ground floor apartments made into hand built Mizrachi chapels, and school rooms and auditoriums rented out for Saturday mornings. Each one of these fills up on Yom Kippur, and after Kol Nidrey, they all empty out onto the street.

I could tell you that nobody drives on Yom Kippur in Israel. Or I could tell you that Jerusalem law only allows emergency vehicles on the roads. But the best way to explain it is this: the street signals aren’t working. Let me be specific: EVERY STREET SIGNAL IS OFF IN JERUSALEM. Not some, not just blinking red lights- there are no stop lights. No walk signals. They turn them off. And the street- the street becomes the domain of white clad yerushalmim, talking for hours on end. Chairs appear, and soon a street is blocked by circle of neighbors catching up on a summer’s worth of news. Porches are full of sheytel (wig) clad women of different generations sharing babysitting duties for a newborn.

It was, in effect, like the largest Kiddush you have ever seen; its just that instead of not being sure where the food tables are, nobody was looking for them. Thousands of Jews were talking, sharing, walking and wandering, blocking intersections that normally are more dangerous than 5 day old cholent from the local Chabad house. This goes on for as far as you can see- and although the business districts of the city were apparently silent, residential streets are filled with conversation and rambling groups of jews- secular, religious, religious for the day, going to no place in particular.

That is not to say the streets are completely safe. There are little kids on bicycles and scooters also enjoying the car-free roads. While they all come from different backgrounds, they all ride their bikes like Israeli adults drive- that is to say, like homicidal maniacs. But between their small size and the way they shout to teach other, they don’t rev up enough speed to really do more than bruise. A nickname of Yom Kippur is “Chag ha’ofanayim”- the bicycle festival. Since it is a day off, and there is no TV, secular families trek all over the city on bikes exploring, and the religious kids? They just bike around to annoy the rest of us. (I received no reports of bikes, scooters, or fun of any sort in the ultra-Orthodox areas of Jerusalem- but that does not mean that some fun did not happen when nobody was looking).

Between the streets all becoming pedestrian malls, the friends catching up with each other, the quiet that settles over the city and the welcome break from work taken by everyone, you can feel there is a quality to the day that can only be described as happy. When you see this in modern Jerusalem, history comes alive. And that is Yom Kippur in Jerusalem, where suddenly you can understand what Rabban Shimon ben Gamilel was talking about nearly 2000 years ago.

May we all have been inscribed for a sweet and joyous new year.