Last Shabbat, Last Week, This Shabbat, This Coming Week
moocowinthecity Last weekend I went to meet a new friend for the first time. Itai (
nir1) introduced the two of us to each other because he thought that we would enjoy each others company. The friend I was introduced to is Aleks. He wanted to come to my Kibbutz for the weekend (he’s currently studying on the same ulpan I did when I arrived in Israel…he’s even working with the same cows I worked with!).
I told him that, in all honesty, there is nothing to do on my Kibbutz on the weekend (really, the place is dead). Instead, I suggested that we go to Jerusalem for Shabbat at the Kotel. I have been to Shabbat in Jerusalem many times before, though never at the Kotel…and I thought it was about time.
We decided to stay at Heritage House, a free religious hostel in the heart of the Old City (I stayed there during my pre-aliyah trip). After dropping off our bags and after I was able to jump out of my uniform and he was able to change, we made our way down the main road to the Kotel.
When we got to the stairs, I couldn’t believe what I saw – the stairs were teeming with people. A group of girls were singing and people were joining in…the only thing I could think of as their voices reached the heavens was Miriam leading the women to the river…dancing…people weren’t walking…everyone was dancing! Even if they were dancing slowly, they were dancing none the less…it was a sea of people making their way down the stairs to the Kotel. I turned to my friend and told him to say hello to his extended, global family, apparently they all decided to show up. We waved hi.
As we finally started to make our way down the stairs we began to dance with everyone. We made our way through security and entered. We rushed to ritually wash our hands at the fountains. Three times each hand and then we continued to make our way down to the wall itself…our bodies moving us. I was wearing jeans, converse sneakers, a t-shirt and a jacket and my very obvious tattoos. I don’t own much more than jeans and a few t-shirts outside of things that are green with “Tzahal” imprinted on them these days. My friend was similarly dressed. No one thought anything of it. Not a single comment, not a single evil eye.
So here we were…
We had our Kippot on
…now what?
Somewhere in the middle of the men’s section a Haredi man (he was wearing a tall black fur hat and a black coat, and he had pais…no shiny bathrobe though…I’m not sure what sect he was, but he was definitely Haredi) was shouting “Minyan! Minyan!” so we walked up to him and we said “we’d love to…but we’ve never prayed with someone who’s Haredi before…we don’t know how you pray” he asked us what our first language was and if we were Jewish (we had refused to speak in anything other than Hebrew that weekend and outside of once or twice – primarily to tourists and a nun – we did a good job of it) and we told him English and that yes, we were Jewish. He asked us where we were from and we told him – it turns out he’s from Upstate New York. He said not to worry, he’d show us.
He got out two prayer books, and waited for a few more people to arrive…and then we started to pray, and all around us voices were singing…people rocking back and forth, myself included, because your body moves to the beat of the prayer…like when camels move across the desert and flow like a ribbon, there’s a beat that everyone just picks up and you can’t help but to move.
If the sound of re-constructionist, reform, conservative, orthodox and haredi singing together in what ultimately turns into a cannon of Lecha Dodi as we all started Kabbalat Shabbat just a few moments apart from each other does not move Hashem and lift the angels and please them all, I don’t know what will – I’m still walking on the clouds.
And we prayed together, this Haredi man turning the pages for us and pointing to where we were if we got confused, and while I might not have known the order or why we turned pages back and forth and I still don’t think reading as fast as possible is the best way of doing things, I certainly knew the prayers…and then something happened that I have been praying will happen at Or-Elohim (my congregation back in New York) for years.
Everyone who I was praying with, primarily old men, started clapping…they were clapping out to the Lord, and singing…clapping and singing LOUDLY! We were uninhibitedly rejoicing in what Shabbat has to offer us…every embroidery of Jews dancing, every tapestry, every appliqué, every talis border of Jews dancing the Horah flashed before my eyes as I clapped and prayed and sang out, as it is written in the book of Psalms “from the depths of my soul I will call to you” with the Hebrew jumping off the pages of the prayer books and swirling around us, wrapping us in the warmth of Shabbat.
CLAPPING! Singing! Swaying! You’d think we were at a rock concert! Nothing else mattered because Shabbat was finally here! The Midrash says that the Land of Israel is situated in the center of the world, and Jerusalem is in the center of the Land of Israel, and the Holy Temple is in the center of Jerusalem…and if anyone comes on a Friday night and sees the moving masses of skin colors that traverses the pallet of colors that comprise the human flesh then they will know that there have been few truer words ever spoken…perhaps only: “Shema Yisrael…”
If clapping and singing and dancing is good enough for the Kotel, if bringing in people regardless of how they are dressed is good enough for the Haredim at the Kotel, if all of this is good enough for the Kotel then it has to be good enough for everywhere else in the world! This…this is the standard that we should be striving for!
After we finished praying and we shook hands with those who prayed with us, Aleks and I made our way to a rooftop that I know of. This particular rooftop happens to be where all of the quarters in the Old City intersect and we shared fresh vegetables from the shook and looked out over the Temple Mount and we enjoyed the night sky of Jerusalem, lit up by the stars.
…this didn’t save us, however, from being yelled at for daring to feed ourselves: “HOW DARE YOU! THERE ARE FAMILIES WHO ARE DYING TO FEED YOU!” the manager of Heritage House screamed at us hours later as we (sheepishly) promised that next time we would take them up on their dinner offer and made our way upstairs to sleep for the night.
There’s a man and a Rabbi in the Old City who have been matching people, tourists, students, and guests up with places to eat every Friday night and for every lunch on Shabbat for the past thirty years (and if you’re vegan or diabetic, does he have a family for you!).
…this is my kind of Judaism.
The next day we woke up early and went to the Citadel of David to explore the museum and see one of my favorite movies on Jerusalem. I’m still trying to find a copy on the Internet and I’m going to email the Citadel and see if they won’t post one later tomorrow. The movie is a fifteen minute introduction to Jerusalem which I think should be required viewing for anyone who wants to talk about the subject, regardless of political or religious persuasion.
After we finished the video, toured the museum, and ate a lunch of cucumbers, tomatoes and pomegranate we walked out through the Jaffa Gate and around to the Lion Gate to walk the Via Dolorosa, the road that Jesus took to his death.
Along the way we stopped to have coffee at my favorite café (also introduced to me by nir1), the café at the Austrian Hospice. After sipping on coffee and resting for a bit, we continued walking the Via Dolorosa.
The Via Dolorosa ends at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. A place that I have been to many times, and will go to many more times in the future. The church is big, beautiful, and mysterious; always comfortable inside (by any measure) and something that has to be experienced to really understand. I have had the pleasure of being there on Easter as well as many other times of prayer and it is truly just awesome.
After finishing, we finally made our way back to the Jewish Quarter of the Old City where we moseyed on back to the Hostel where I changed back into uniform and we then welcomed the new week at Havdallah services with a Rabbi, the hostel manager and fellow guests over a wonderful dinner (I am of the opinion that it is next to impossible to starve in the Old City).
After we said our goodbyes and helped clean up a bit, we walked back from the Old City to the Central Bus Station (about thirty minutes) and took a bus to Tel Aviv where we parted ways and I went back down south and Aleks went back up north.
This past week was incredibly busy – between translations, writing speeches for generals going abroad, telling them what they should write in books they’re giving as presents (“I hope you’ll enjoy this book as much as I did!”), administering examinations, grading and teaching I was ready to pass out.
The entire week, by and large, remains a blur…but a productive blur, spent with friends. I’m truly blessed by working with fellow soldiers who have become a second family for me.
The more stressed I am, the more I clean and the more I organize…which means my room on the Kibbutz is almost at the point where Moshe Rabbeinu could eat off the floor if he felt like it, my classroom is spotless, and my office is anal retentive to the point where they don’t have ICD9 codes strong enough to cover the situation.
I spent a rather solitary Shabbat by myself on the Kibbutz this weekend, a stark contrast to last weekend, but a necessary break primarily involving sleep, cartoons, and comedy. Tomorrow I’m being sent to interpret between two different groups of people, which is exciting…and we’ll see how it goes.
Now, time to pack my bag for tomorrow and head to sleep.
G’night everyone.