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Some reflections on Israel

 
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From the Golan to Samaria/Shomrom to Revava to Ramallah

Cousins’ lives and life situations can be very similar — and very different. This is true within families as it is within the Jewish and Palestinian nations.

Immediately after my son Eytan and I arrived at Ben Gurion Airport, a couple of days before starting our participation in this year’s Israel Bonds rabbinic cabinet mission, we drove up to Moshav Avnei Eitan in the southern Golan Heights. We were visiting cousins Tova and Yossi and their nine daughters.

Our Golan relatives are among the 20 families who were evicted from Gush Katif in 2005. They moved from the extreme south to Israel’s northernmost reaches. Tova and Yossi left Kfar Darom, its Gazan neighbors, and its southern Negev winds to experience the heights of Israel, along with views of their new Syrian neighbors. In our small rental car, we felt the ferocity of the Golan’s harsh northern winds.

There was a stark contrast between the outside elements and the home we entered. Once inside, we were greeted by warmth and unmatched Israeli hospitality. The family was finally in its new home, after eight years in temporary quarters. Their previous house was a four-bedroom prefab trailer provided by the government. Most of the family’s possessions were packed for them by the army before their eviction from Kfar Darom, because they didn’t want to be “complicit” with their own evacuation. Years’ worth of possessions were stored in a shipping container in their backyard.

The family joyously showed off their new, modern, spacious, custom-built ranch house. Despite being home to children from 2 to 18 years old, the house was neat, roomy, serene, cheerful, bright, and filled with much love and geniality.

Early the next morning, we drove to Samaria/Shomron for another family reunion. After descending the heights of the Golan, we traveled south along the Jordan River until we came to Derech Allon, the road that winds its way westward through Samaria/Shomron and the Judean mountains. This road was supposed to be the first step in implementing the Allon plan, which would occupy a narrow corridor of land along the west of the Jordan River up to the eastern slopes of the Samarian mountains in order to assure some strategic depth and security while relinquishing the rest of the West Bank to Arab-Jordanian control. The plan never was implemented. None of the sides agreed. In the meantime, military reality changed. The area still is disputed between Israelis and Palestinians. Jordan long ago bowed out of any active offer to participate in a solution and open its borders to more of its Palestinian cousins.

Allon Road meanders across biblical landscapes that haven’t changed for hundreds of years. Sheep, goats, and shepherds outnumber cars and trucks. Red warning signs in Hebrew, Arabic, and English warn drivers not to proceed into “Area A,” which is under Palestinian Authority control. “The entrance for Israeli citizens is forbidden, dangerous to your lives and is against Israeli law.” The hilly, windy road passes large, empty, arid mountainous vistas that transfer you back to the time of the prophets, almost three millennia ago.

After driving through the past, we enter the present reality of Israel’s settlements in Samaria/Shomron, the West Bank community of Revava. Before you enter Revava’s security gate, you can look west and see the Jordanian Valley and Israel’s ancient past. Entering Revava, a short half-hour from Petach Tikva and Tel Aviv and near the new Israeli city of Ariel, it is difficult to believe that this beautifully placid, well-manicured suburban community was established as recently as 1991.

Though not as densely populated as its name suggested — “revava” means “ten thousands” and comes from the blessing to Rebekah found in Genesis — the new town is home to a few hundred Orthodox Jewish families, plus students studying in both girls and boys yeshivot. There are new houses and a new synagogue, and the local nursery school is expanding. In front is a large sign in red letters: “Don’t give in to Kerry,” reflecting the community’s political views and commitment to remaining where they are. We visit our relatives’ lovely home, enjoy the beautiful garden filled with fruit trees, grape vines, citrus and blossoming almond trees, and marvel at the serenity.

Just a few miles west of “Area A,” and its warnings, Jews are living in a modern, placid community of lovely, suburban homes. The politics of settlement remains a day-to-day conversation and a source of concern, while the joy of home, religion, culture, family and friendship remains constant. We get back into our car so that we can be in Tel Aviv before 1: p.m. We drive quickly along Israel’s Route 5, a modern expressway, and arrive in Tel Aviv in half an hour, a few thousand years removed from Samaria and its reminders of Israel’s biblical origins.

Israel Bonds takes us to meet with the political, intellectual, cultural, and scientific movers and shakers who are changing Israel’s present and reshaping its future. In Tel Aviv, we visit the bright leaders of Check Point, Israel’s major internet firewall security firm, who have helped propel Israel into the forefront of 21st century innovation. Its modest building stands in the shadow of Google’s massive modern skyscraper just around the corner.

A few miles south of Tel Aviv, we visit Israel’s sewage waste water treatment complex, which takes 85 per cent of the waste water of Israel’s residential and commercial centers on the Mediterranean coast and transfers the purified water to the Negev in the south to irrigate the desert producing bumper crops each year. No country comes close to Israel’s rate of reusing scant natural resources. Spain, coming in second, re-uses 18 per cent of its wastewater. The sewage treatment center is not only feeding the desert — it also has become a teaching workshop training representatives from countries in Africa, Europe, Asia, and North America to make the best use of ever-diminishing water resources.

The contrasts between the past and the present are stark. It isn’t until the two of us visit the modern Palestinian city of Ramallah on our own, following the Israel Bonds Mission, that we also experience a modern Palestinian metropolis. Banks from throughout the Middle East have set up headquarters in this bustling city. Technology centers are growing. Office and apartment rentals are attracting premium prices. Ramallah is growing daily.

An honor guard stands in front of Yasser Arafat’s Mausoleum and beside his tomb, but we are the only ones to visit the empty space. Police and soldiers stand guard on the well-traveled streets as PA President Mahmoud Abbas and his entourage drive by. No one seems to be paying too much attention.

It was easy for me to forget that I was in an unfriendly, potentially dangerous Palestinian territory until Eytan reminded me not to speak Hebrew. We were keeping a purposely low profile. For Israelis, this was “Area A,” potentially dangerous and illegal to visit.

As we prepare to leave Israel, questions arise: Will Secretary of State Kerry and President Obama succeed in helping the parties reach an agreement, despite those on both sides who are against any compromise? Will Israel and the Palestinian Authority come to a mutual understanding and create a nation that Palestinians can call their own? Will Palestinians acknowledge that Israel was created to be a Jewish state? Will Israelis and Palestinians recognize that the status quo is neither viable nor neutral, and that it is the long-term best interests of both nations to come to a two-state solution? Will these two nations be able to stand side by side with true peace solemnizing their partnership? Will the shadows of past territorial give backs and agreements, and the violence which has subsequently exploded from Gaza, and the terror which is currently emanating from the Sinai, be averted in any future land swaps and peace compromises?

Despite the oceans, lifestyle and sometimes political proclivities which divide us, familial cousins enjoy seeing one another and reuniting. Can Israeli and Palestinian cousins, the children of Abraham and the children of Ishmael, cross the seas which divide and separate them? Can they each have their own houses, welcome each other into their homes, and be good neighbors and become like family?

These are some of the questions which stay with us as we leave Israel and family and return to the United States to digest what we have seen and to dream about tomorrow.

 

Rabbi Richard Hammerman
Richard Hammerman of Caldwell is rabbi emeritus of Congregation B’nai Israel in Toms River, a former senior vice president of the World Council of Conservative/ Masorti Synagogues/Masorti Olami, and a member of the rabbinic cabinets at JStreet and Israel Blonds.
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Why Ferguson matters to Jews

“Standing on the parted shores of history, we still believe what we were taught before ever we stood at Sinai’s foot:

“That wherever we go, it is eternally Egypt; that there is a better place, a promised land; that the winding way to that promise passes through the wilderness.

“That there is no way to get from here to there except by joining hands, marching together.”

This passage is read every Friday night at my synagogue, Barnert Temple, and I am moved each time it is read. Ever since I was a teenager, I would picture Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. walking hand in hand in 1965, marching for voting rights in Selma, Alabama.

 

 

To a daughter on her way to Israel

We spend much of Thursday at Marshall’s.

“What do you think?” I ask you, frowning. “Here. Add up these numbers.” I read you the measurements of the cute red wheelie bag, and you punch the figures into your phone.

“It comes to 44, Mom. Perfect!” Perfect for El Al, that is. Height plus width plus depth, the dimensions of your carry-on luggage may not exceed 45 inches.

“That’s great, sweetie!” I say cheerfully, and we wheel it to the cashier. One more thing we can cross off the list.

 

 

Jewish time

Have you forgotten that the seasons have no regard

for the sovereignty of the sun

and instead attend upon

the grace and glory of the moon?

have you forgotten that the day begins

with evening’s song

and ends with shadow’s conquest of the hills?


 

I never heard any talk about “Jewish time” until I moved to New Jersey. When I was growing up, my family belonged to a Reform temple in Forest Hills, New York, and maybe it still retained a strong sense of its German-Jewish origins. Punctuality is a value, some say an obsession, present in powerful form in British as well as German culture, and by extension the Anglo-Saxon-dominated culture of the United States. And it was marginalized groups that were known to possess a different sense of time from the mainstream.

That’s why, back when I was a college student in the ‘70s, I heard references to stereotypes about “Indian time” for Native Americans, “Spanish time” for Latinos, and “Black time” for African-Americans. But back then, I never heard anyone talk about “Jewish time” or “Hebrew time” to explain why, for example, services scheduled to begin at 8 p.m. might not actually start until 8:15 or 8:20.

 

 

RECENTLYADDED

A reason for optimism

A Frenchman, a German and a Jew were wandering in the desert. All three were parched with thirst. They each craved their favorite drink.

The Frenchman proclaimed, “I am thirsty! I must have a glass of wine!”

The German said, “I am thirsty! I must have a frothy beer!”

The Jew said, “I am thirsty! I must have diabetes!”

Jews are a worrying lot. We often are consumed by fear, and see our glasses of wine and beer as only half full. Perhaps that is from years of persecution, or perhaps it is just part of our DNA. Any way you slice it, we are pessimistic.

 

 

Deep down, you already know

About asking help — and listening to ourselves

It isn’t a news flash that we have access to massive amounts of information today. But the numbers about the numbers are worth reporting.

Dr. Martin Hilbert and a team of researchers at the University of Southern California calculated that the average American met with the equivalent of 40 85-page newspapers containing only information — no ads — per day in 1986. By 2007, we were exposed daily to the equivalent of 174 newspapers. Dr. Hilbert has not yet released any information past that date. I am just hoping that he and his research team aren’t buried under a pile of reports, unable to get up.

 

 

An American’s Yom Kippur in Israel

A man of my age — I am just a few months short of 88 — does not like changes.

We like to be in familiar places, doing familiar things with familiar people. This tendency also applies to the marking of Jewish holidays. I like to be in a familiar synagogue, hearing the voices of familiar clergy, singing familiar melodies and hearing the sound of a familiar shofar.

Back in the 1930’s, when Yom Kippur rolled around, my father would take me to the New Temple of Brno in Czechoslovakia, where we sat in a pew that was completely occupied by family members — male family members, of course. Mother, aunts and sundry female cousins all were relegated to the balcony. My father was one of 13 siblings, so there was no shortage of uncles, aunts, cousins and in-laws to occupy a considerable portion of the temple.

 

 
 
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