This Normal Life

A Mohel in Jerusalem

Brian Blum — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 11:09:00 -0500

Last week our mohel, Rabbi Chanan Feld, passed away in Berkeley. I say “our” mohel – he presided over our now 18-year-old son Amir’s brit mila (ritual circumcision) in 1991 - but he really belonged to the entire northern half of California where he touched the lives of literally thousands of new parents and their offspring over a career that spanned some 20 years.

In accordance with his wishes, Feld was buried Monday on Jerusalem’s Mount of Olives cemetery. Hundreds of ex-Berkeley-ites now living in Israel made the pilgrimage to Jerusalem to pay their last respects. Jody and I were among them.

Feld had trained and worked as an accountant before turning his hand to the life of a traveling mohel. It makes a certain sense: both jobs require a fine attention to detail. One slip up can have catastrophic repercussions. Before becoming religious himself, he was a champion college soccer player.

Feld wasn’t the only mohel in the San Francisco Bay Area, but he was the one with the longest beard. He co-founded the Berkeley Beit Midrash, a popular house of Jewish learning. The wedding of his son Dovid to Rivkie Ferris, a daughter of the local Chabad rabbi, was described in the local San Francisco Bay Area Jewish newspaper as the “merging of two dynasties.”

Feld had, on many of occasions, spent Shabbat away from his family in some far flung California community in order to perform a brit on the weekend.

I had a more personal encounter with Feld. Prior to our wedding in 1988, back in my frummier (more stringently religious) days, I decided I wanted to have a proper brit milah. You see, I had been circumcised in the hospital but without any kind of ceremony.

In the privacy of his home, Feld made a tiny cut (and yes, it did hurt!) then said the appropriate blessings. As I saw it, I was now kosher enough to get married. Apparently, Jody agreed.

The funeral in Jerusalem started at a meeting point opposite the Ohr Somayach yeshiva, ironically the institution which first started me on my journey to Judaism 25 years ago. The idea was that there would be a formal procession of vehicles through East Jerusalem to the cemetery.

In the U.S., cars on their way to a funeral switch on their lights and are given a general right of way. In Israel, though, it’s every man for himself. We all got stuck at an interminable light that only permitted 3-4 cars across at a time. Any sense of decorum was quickly lost…as were many of the drivers as we wound through East Jerusalem.

There is a reason the Mount of Olives has been so revered over the centuries as a final resting place. It is said that when the Messiah arrives and the dead are resurrected, those buried on the mount will be the first to arrive at the newly constructed Temple just a hop and a skip across the valley. For those of us with a less supernatural perspective, it’s still a stunning view.

The graveside scene was a bedlam of black, with hundreds of men crowding around Feld’s body, circling and chanting. I tried to get in close, to no avail. Jody and the women were relegated to the back.

And then, at the very moment the burial itself began, the heavens – which had been threatening rain all day – finally opened up. This was not a small drizzle but a drenching downpour. There was no shelter whatsoever. Some saw this as a sign. A torrent of sadness, “pouring rain and tears,” wrote one woman on an online bulletin board. I'd say it was just bad luck.

We will be visiting the shiva house later this week where we will undoubtedly hear more stories of the life of Rabbi Chanan Feld. In the meantime, suffice it to say that the Jewish world has lost one of its small pillars, a modest man who attended to the Jewish needs of so many newborns and whose untimely death has left communities on two continents mourning, while at the same time considering their own beginnings and endings: Feld was only 53.

An active online community has been coordinating help for the Feld family. You can join it at http://www.lotsahelpinghands.com.

A Night in the Desert

Brian Blum — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 05:33:46 -0400

Feeling stressed out? Need to get away from it all? Here’s a travel tip that will take you so far off the beaten track, there’s barely a road to get there.

Succa Bamidbar (Succa in the Desert) is about as distant from civilization as you can get in Israel. Located 5 km from the already remote Mitzpe Ramon (a three and a half hour drive from Jerusalem or Tel Aviv) Succa Bamidbar is an ecological experiment in living among the sagebrush.

The establishment, founded in 1990 and run by the amiable Avi Dror and Chen Hadar, consists of 8 small cabins scattered across a barren rocky hillside. The cabins are not exactly like the succot mentioned in the Bible, the temporary dwellings used during the Feast of Tabernacles, with their breezy open walls and palm fronds for a roof. The rooms at Succa Bamidbar are made of wood and fabric, have doors with handles and are enclosed on all sides to keep the cold out in winter and the heat in during the summer.

The expansive rolling campsite is spacious to say the least. Each succa is set no less than 150 meters from the next; if it’s privacy you’re looking for, you’ve come to the right place. Some of the succot have electricity (run by solar batteries of course), others are lit just by kerosene lamps. There is no running water; the succot come equipped with a clay jug of fresh water. Sheets and blankets (though not towels or toiletries) are provided; you sleep on mattresses or low beds. The succot are attractively decorated, though there is no floor: a variety of colorful throw rugs cover up the rocky surface below.

The 8 succot range from two person teepee-like pup tents to a mid-sized building which fit our family of five. The largest succa is shaped like a Star of David and has exotic Indian-tinged wall hangings throughout its rustic interior. The entire community uses two environment friendly outhouses that are remarkably odorless: after every use, guests toss sawdust into the hole to keep it as fresh smelling as such things can be.

The most striking element of Succa Bamidbar is the solitude. With no lights at night, you walk the narrow paths between the guest succot and the central “Succa of Abraham,” where two sumptuous meals a day are served, with just a lantern which the proprietors provide. Located in a valley surrounded by craggy peaks, there is no “light pollution” from the nearby town of Mitzpe Ramon. The stars in the sky were more plentiful than any I’ve ever seen and the effect was that of an enormous eye-popping planetarium. On our first night, we sat under the canopy of stars gazing up, transfixed. It might seem trite to write, but it really was quite awe-inspiring.

Silence is also a major player in the uniqueness of the place. At night, you see nothing and you hear nothing. That is until 6:30 PM, when Avi and Chen ring an enormous gong which sounds over the entire valley – the call for dinner. On our first night there we had a delicious lentil soup with home-made croutons, macaroni and assorted vegetables. Our second night included freshly baked bread and home made sweet wine with a ginger cinnamon kick. The sweet potato soup and zucchini goat cheese casserole were both to die for.

The family-style dining room encourages interaction between the guests, and our dinner companions were an eclectic bunch, including a hip dentist from Seattle; a voice over actor and professional story teller from Tel Aviv; a teacher at a religious seminary for pre-army students from Kfar Adumim, an Israeli settlement near Jericho; and various yuppie-looking couples looking to get away from the rat race for a weekend of unadulterated isolation.

Breakfast is also served: a panoply of home made jams, yogurts and cheeses, hard boiled eggs, a fabulous chunky humus (with an accompanying schug - hot sauce - to warm up even the toughest desert denizen), and of course the various vegetables that constitute the ubiquitous Israeli salad that’s a staple of hotel breakfasts across the Holy Land. Lunch is not served.

Succa Bamidbar is a 45-minute drive from the center of the Grand Canyon-lite Ramon Crater where you can go on some fabulous day hikes. There is also a pleasant 25-minute hike from the Succa Bamidbar campsite to the edge of the crater with its breathtaking view.

A word about the road: Getting to Succa Bamidbar requires a treacherous trek down an unpaved path of which it would be disingenuous to call merely “bumpy.” There are potholes the size of mini versions of the Ramon Crater, ditches, gullies, and enormous rocks strewn across the path. The Succa Bamidbar website says that “any car can go there but please drive carefully.” We did it in a Toyota Corolla sedan; it took us 25 minutes. A 4X4 would have made a big difference.

Taking our leave of this magical place was tough. Upon returning to the big city, we got caught in a nasty traffic jam. Cars were jockeying aggressively for a better spot, honking, flashing their lights and in general acting in every way possible the antithesis of our desert experience. It made the return to civilization all that more palpable and our next trip to that barren hill in the middle of nowhere all the more anticipated.

Succa Bamidbar has a website in Hebrew and English: http://www.succah.co.il/en/. Call them +972-8-658-6280 (they don’t have email or cell phone).

Reservations are required. Here are the costs:

Sunday-Thursday
Couple NIS 450
Single NIS 250
Child 3-16 NIS 120
Additional adult NIS 200

Friday-Saturday/Holidays
Couple NIS 600
Single NIS 600
Child 3-16 NIS 140
Additional adult NIS 250

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A shorter version of this article was originally posted on the Israelity blog.

Cleaning up After Desert

Brian Blum — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 12:49:52 -0400

We recently joined a group of 30 friends for an inspiring hike in the Judean Desert. We started at the Dragot Cliffs just south of the checkpoint on the Dead Sea highway, and ended some 7 hours later at the Mitzpeh Shalem kibbutz.

The hike itself was stunning, with plenty of steep climbs up, down and around the gorgeous moonscape canyons below. We took a break at the Muraba’at Caves which our tour leader Asher (see picture) explained had been used in both the Great Revolt against the Romans and the Bar Kochba uprising 60 years later (written fragments and coins from both eras were found).

As we ate our pesto and salmon sandwiches, it was hard to act blasé about this amazing country, with its huge variety of ecosystems, from lush forest in the north to harsh desert further south, all within several hundred kilometers of each other.

That was until we came upon the trash. We had just started our final descent back towards the Dead Sea. There, strewn along the rocks, was a scattered pile of rubbish that accompanied us for a good 10 minutes of our hike down. Dirty plates that once held meat or hummus, bottles of cola, plastic cups.

How could people be so thoughtless to ruin such a pristine landscape, we remarked with little of our former glee? We thought back to our trip last summer to Africa where the strictly enforced rule on safari was GIGO – “garbage in/garbage out” (otherwise the animals would surely devour any trash bin in the game park).

Just as we were feeling down on our adopted country, something remarkable happened. Members of our group began cleaning up – picking up the trash, placing it into bags and carrying the result down the cliffs where it could be disposed of properly.

Mind you, carrying an extra load where you need both hands to safely navigate was a mitzvah in itself. And this part of the hike wasn’t short – it took us an hour and a half to reach flat ground again. But no one complained – it was clear to all that this was the right thing to do.

Yes, we have a beautiful country. And a (mostly) beautiful people too.

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This article originally appeared on the Israelity blog.

Sexuality and Orthodoxy

Brian Blum — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 04:26:18 -0400

Sex sells. And in Jerusalem, with its large religious population, a session on if Orthodoxy can come to terms with sexual activity – both in and out of marriage – drew an overflow crowd at the recent Gateways Festival of Jewish Learning and Culture.

The festival is a remarkable event: two days of pluralistic learning throughout the city, with sessions ranging from “The Mystery of the Mikveh” to analyzing how Israelis relate to God through pop music.

The session on “Sexuality and Orthodoxy” was led by two women – Beverley Damelin, a secular sex educator, and Dr. Jennie Rosenfeld, a religious woman who wrote her doctorate or sexuality in the Orthodox world and was named one of the “36 under 36” by the Jewish Week in 2008. They were remarkably open, pulling no punches and eschewing the kind of uncomfortable euphemisms one might expect from such an explosive topic.

The talk was divided into four sections: thoughts and feelings about sexuality; premarital sex as a response to the lengthy period of abstinence mandated for modern religious singles who often don’t get married until their 30s, 40s or later; masturbation; and sexual practices within marriage.

The two worked like a tag team: Damelin would describe sexuality from a health education perspective, then Rosenfeld would relate it back to halacha (Jewish law).

The bottom line: there’s a lot more permissible along the fringes of Orthodoxy than you might imagine…if you’re willing to think beyond that boxed set of Talmud on the shelf.

For example, when speaking about masturbation (probably the touchiest subject covered in the hour and a half seminar), Rosenfeld referenced the Rambam who describes it as “worse than murder.” The Shulchan Aruch calls it the “gravest sin possible.”

But in the 12^th century Sefer Hasidim, author Judah ben Shmuel of Regensburg Germany writes that if a man is given the unenviable choice of having to commit adultery, have sex with his wife while she is menstruating, or to masturbate, the latter is the best choice. Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but it’s at least an acknowledgment that it’s not 100% taboo.

Jewish texts are filled with these sorts of contradictions. The Shulchan Aruch includes a section that lays out exactly what is (or isn’t) permissible sexually within a marriage. No sex during the day or at night with the lights on; do it as fast as you can; missionary position only; try not to enjoy yourself too much.

But it turns out that this is actually a minority opinion in the Talmud; the majority ruling is that everything is permissible within the framework of marriage. Even modern poskim like Rav Soleveitchik agreed, calling such asceticsim only for a few “very righteous.”

The problem, Rosenfeld said, is that more extreme “all or nothing” readings are being increasingly adopted by young people coming out of religious schools and yeshivas (both in Israel and overseas) where aspiring towards seemingly righteous behavior is becoming normative.

This “all or nothing” analysis reinforces an oft-heard truism in the Orthodox world of the “slippery slope.” In the case of touching, for example, which according to the laws of “shomer negiah” is completely off limits for the unmarried, the thinking goes that something as innocuous as holding hands will necessarily and without question lead to sex.

That’s simply not true, Damelin said and Rosenfeld agreed. Why can’t couples find a middle ground? Discuss how far they’re willing to go…or not, in an open exchange of values. After all, houghts and actions are very different in nature and don’t carry the same degree of halachic punishment, Rosenfeld pointed out.

The answer seems to be that Orthodox couples don’t talk about their feelings regarding sex a whole lot - even if they’re in a non-sexual relationship. And that’s not healthy, Damelin said. “Exterminating such feelings gives rise to problems later on” when sexual desire becomes not just acceptable but necessary. Newly married couples can’t be expected to turn it on overnight, so to speak.

Much of the literature around sexual practices revolves around “sin,” Rosenfeld said. But ironically, the very rabbis in the Talmud who codified the more extreme laws were themselves flawed, and the Talmud doesn’t try to hide their dalliances with prostitutes and other illicit activities. Why then should Orthodox Jews today feel like they need to be on a higher level than the gedolim (the great scholars) 2,000 years ago, Rosenfeld asked?

Rosenfeld went one step further. If a religious couple is sexually active before marriage, that doesn’t mean they have to leave their Judaism at the door. There are many ethical teachings from Jewish tradition that can be applied, such as how to treat the other with dignity and respect.

And for Orthodox singles who find that abstinence is just not an option, there are loopholes. The main Torah prohibition against sex before marriage is that relations are forbidden when a woman is in nidah – that is, the time frame after her period until she goes to a mikveh, the ritual bath where she is symbolically purified.

If an unmarried woman goes to the mikveh, however, it would presumably lessen the severity of the sin. And, Rosenfeld added, no one is checking whether a woman comes with her hair covered or is wearing a wedding ring.

While Rosenfeld understood – and even accepted (while not entirely sanctioning)– this mikveh workaround, she cautioned against it being codified as mainstream behavior, lest it undermine the overall sanctity of marriage.

Sin can even be seen as a positive. Rosenfeld cited Rav Tzadok HaCohen, a 19^th century rabbinical authority, who re-interpreted the mystical Kabbalistic text, the Zohar, as saying that sin can be good in that it helps improve the depth of one’s repentance.

On the other hand, when writing about masturbation, the Sefer Hasid says that the best repentance is to fast for 40 days in the height of summer…or to sit in a bucket of ice at the height of winter.

There is also the story in the Gemara of a man overcome with sexual desire. The rabbis tell him to dress all in black, get as far away out of town as he can where no one knows him, and only then he can let out his sexual “compulsion.”

If we were to sum up the issue in a single sentence it would be that while Orthodoxy doesn’t officially permit many sexual behaviors, if you read the texts creatively and take into account what’s actually happening in the religious world, there are ways to, if not exactly reconcile tradition and modernity, then at least to feel a little less guilty about it.

You can see more of Jennie Rosenfeld in action on Google Video.

Wacky Rabbi

Brian Blum — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 07:35:29 -0400

What non-leather footwear did you don this Yom Kippur? Crocs, you say? Oy va voy! You just violated the latest fashion halacha from none other than esteemed Lithuanian leader Rabbi Yosef Sholom Eliayshiv who banned the popular rubber shoes for being “too comfortable. “

The ruling, according to an article in Ynet, came in response to a question from an apparently misguided yeshiva student in a classic case of what’s known in Hebrew as a “she’alah kitbag.”

The term originates from army lore. A soldier asks his commander before a long training hike if they should be carrying their “kitbags” (or backpacks). The commander responds yes of course. If the soldier hadn’t asked, the answer would most probably have been no.

I remember – in the pre-Crocs days - wearing these very uncomfortable cloth shoes. I’d feel every pebble on the walk to synagogue which, before moving to Israel, was a considerable distance. It was like walking barefoot across hot coals. I thought we were supposed to be celebrating Yom Kippur not the book of Job.

I did a spot check during services this year in my local shul and the Crocs clearly outnumbered any other type of footwear. If Rabbi Elyashiv hasn’t reversed this ridiculous ruling by next year, I say we take up arms…er, feet. Power to the Crocs!

No less than a week after Elyashiv’s Crocs ruling, that wacky rabbi was at it again The latest? He’s now banned Shabbat elevators.

The Shabbat elevator, for the uninitiated, is a regular elevator that on the Sabbath operates automatically, opening and closing its doors for approximately 30 seconds on each floor without the rider needing to press a button which would be prohibited on Shabbat.

Shabbat elevators have been essential for allowing religious residents to live in tall buildings. The skyscrapers in Manhattan immediately come to mind, but there are also retirement homes in Israel, like Tovei Ha’Ir in Jerusalem, as reported this week in Haaretz.

I was once in Las Vegas for a convention and I had to stay over the weekend. I went to meet with an observant colleague whose room was on the 24^th floor of a large casino hotel. We wound up hiking the stairwell together. Needless to say, I wasn’t particularly presentable for the meeting. And don’t get me started about the “electronic” key that my friend refused to use.

Haaretz quoted two residents at Tovei Ha’Ir who were not exactly jumping up and down (hopefully not in the elevator itself) in support of the latest humra (a particularly stringent take on Jewish law). “What changed suddenly? What was kosher until now is suddenly treif?” asked one genial gentleman. Another was less confrontational. “Lucky for me that he isn’t my rabbi. I only follow the Gerrer rebbe,” the resident quipped.

It’s not exactly clear what Rabbi Elyashiv expects here. That elderly residents living in a penthouse sell their digs and move to a one-floor walk up? And to whom would they sell those apartments? Perhaps young seminary students studying in one of the yeshivas that follow Elyashiv’s rulings? Ah, but that would be too cynical…

Snippets from America - Part 2

Brian Blum — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 11:21:21 -0400

Following up on my post from earlier this month, here are a few more snippets from our recent trip to the States.

Mordechai and Esther in the desert

One of the highlights of our trip was a stay in Yosemite, a stunningly beautiful national park located mid-way between Berkeley (where we started after visiting my mom) and Los Angeles (where Jody’s mom lives). That meant a lot of driving through flat, boring countryside.

Finding a decent radio station became a family quest. It was about 9:00 PM as we were searching through the dial that we heard a deep voice. “Then Mordechai said to Esther: Do not imagine that you will be able to escape in the King’s palace any more than the rest of the Jews.”

Huh?

Mind you, this was August, a half a year from Purim where we traditionally recite the Scroll of Esther from which this passage was taken. The booming voice continued, proceeding to recite the entire story up until the death of Haman.

Was there a Chabad outpost out here in the middle of the cornfields, we wondered? Of course not. This was a Christian radio station and the reading was part of its regular on-air Bible series. We tried to stay tuned for the next story, but the station faded out and we were reluctantly obliged to switch to more standard Classic Rock fare.

Interestingly, our August mini-Purim shpiel ended abruptly before the “real” conclusion of the story. The part about the Jews rising up and slaughtering those who had come to kill them – conveniently missing. Best not to make any allusions to those modern Israeli oppressors, I suppose…

Super sized

With the entire population of Israel less than that of many metropolitan centers in the U.S., the contrast between our little country and “big” America has always been clear. From cars to homes to restaurant portions (and the bellies of the subsequently exiting patrons), we were immersed in the super-sized culture documented in Morgan Spurlock’s fast food tragicomedy.

What really drove it home for us, though, was the rice milk. We’re accustomed to our little one-liter cartons here in Israel and, indeed, that’s what I remember from when we lived in the U.S. 15 years ago. Rice Milk abroad now comes in a super sized half-gallon box – that’s twice the size of its puny Israeli cousin. Water bottles have jumped to as large as 2 gallons! Even Ziplocs are bigger.

During our trip, 18-year-old Amir was eager to try out his new driving skills on American highways. I’m no stranger to a California freeway, but watching my son trying to change lanes across a six-lane road packed with fast moving traffic was enough to scare even the most introverted back seat driver.

On the flipside, we were overjoyed at our movie theater experience – stadium seating with a huge screen and an audience that actually turned off their cell phones before the movie starts! (Upon returning, Amir went to see Inglourious Basterds here in Jerusalem. The screen was tiny, the sound went in and out, as did the focus. Back to DVDs for us…)

Personal De-Entertainment System

When we booked our flight on Delta, we had the choice to fly through New York or Atlanta. I had taken the Delta NY flight in March when my father died. It was an old plane, with uncomfortable seats and a few inconveniently spaced TV screens for the evening’s movies. So when we heard the Atlanta route flew a spanking new 777 with a state-of-the-art personal entertainment system with tens of movies on demand, we said “sign us up.”

The flight to Atlanta adds an extra hour to the already 12+ hour flight from Israel. But we were looking forward to using that time to squeeze in at least six movies (me in particular as I can’t sleep on planes). I started with “17 Again.” Jody chose “Sunshine Cleaning.” Everything was going fine until about ¾ of the way into the film, it abruptly froze.

I looked around. The rest of the passengers were happily watching their films. It turned out that just the two rows we happened to be sitting in were stuck. I called the flight attendant. She was apologetic and promised to “re-boot” the system.

The screen went dark and Linux code began scrolling across the screen. I don't know who designed this, but consumers should never see computer language on a movie screen. It took nearly half an hour for the system to start up again.

Unfortunately, those same system designers had inexplicably linked the light controls to the touch screen display. That meant that we couldn’t turn the lights on to read. The kids nodded off, but I was stuck there, a chronic insomniac, sitting in the dark with absolutely nothing to do. A classic Jewish mother joke (“don’t mind me, I’ll just sit in the dark, it’s OK”) except I wasn’t laughing.

When the screen was finally active, I quickly turned on the lights. They were staying open in case of another malfunction which, I am sad to report, was quickly forthcoming. It took another three re-boots before we had our movies back. Total number of movies watched on the flight: 2

Three weeks later, assured that the problem had been addressed, we eagerly anticipated our return flight and its assorted films. We got through the first flick fine. But during the second – wham – another frozen screen. And again – it was only our rows (OK, I exaggerate, it was actually our section – but just the right side, not the middle or left).

The flight attendant this time was more loquacious and admitted that the entire Panasonic-made system was subject to similar temper tantrums on a regular basis. I thought about writing to Delta. Instead I posted about it to Facebook where at least one of my friends wrote back to say the same thing had happened to her.

Lesson: don’t pick your flights based on the amenities. And bring a flashlight.

Embracing East Jerusalem

Brian Blum — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 05:55:37 -0400

I’ll admit it: I’m afraid of East Jerusalem. The reason isn’t that hard to discern. It wasn’t so long ago that an Israeli Jew who found himself lost in the Arab part of the city could be stoned, pulled out of the car and attacked.

These days, though, East Jerusalem is mostly safe and filled with tourists searching for the best kanafeh, a syrup-drenched cheese and dough dessert.

Still, it was with a certain amount of trepidation that Jody and I visited East Jerusalem not once but twice over the last two weeks.

The first trip was part of Jerusalem’s remarkable “Houses from Within” event. Every year, the city opens up tens of normally private homes and institutions to the public, all for free.

Last year we visited the light rail depot in Pisgat Ze’ev (see my article here). For 2009, we chose the Center for Near Eastern Studies (aka, the Jerusalem branch of the Mormon-run Brigham Young University).

The center is architecturally stunning, full of teak, marble and Jerusalem Stone. A sculptured fountain bubbles down several floors. There are lovely gardens, complete with a working replica of an Abrahamic-era olive press for the students who come from BYU for a semester to operate as part of their overall Israel “experience.” The 125,000 square foot center can house up to 170 students on eight levels.

But the main selling point for the center is the view. It hits you the instant you walk through the floor-to-ceiling double doors. Through a magnificent arched window, the city unfolds from a perspective rarely seen by most Israelis. BYU is situated on Mount Scopus and looks out at the Mount of Olives and the Old City from the east, with the “skyscrapers” of west Jerusalem rising in the background.

The view is best savored from a seat in the center’s concert hall, which features “the largest pipe organ in the Middle East.” Our 45-minute tour included a 10-minute musical history lesson and recital from the organ master. Concerts are held regularly during the year and are open to the public.

The last time I heard a huge pipe organ was at a local eatery growing up called “Pizza and Pipes.” This was better.

At the end of the tour, a young Israeli couple asked our guide for more information about the Mormon Church. The guide refused to answer. According to an agreement cut with the Israeli government some 20 years ago when permission was given to build the center, students and faculty are not allowed to proselytize. Apparently that means even giving a modicum of background.

I remember that controversy; it was during the time when I first arrived in Israel. The religious parties were up in arms and the center’s very establishment seemed in doubt.

The Israeli couple was quite insistent. The guide declined several times before referring them to the BYU website. Were they interested in conversation…or conversion, I wondered? I chose not to ask.

Our second foray into East Jerusalem came a few days later when we were invited to a multi-faith post-Ramadan Iftar meal at the home of Sheikh Ghassan Menasra just east of Wadi Joz.

The Sheikh has been active in the Nava Tehila Beit Midrash and invited members of the Jerusalem-based Jewish Renewal community to join him at his home for the traditional break-fast meal.

There were about 50 of us crammed into two small rooms. For some reason, I had expected someone as important as a “Sheikh” to live in a palatial home, but Ghassan’s house was modest and worn around the edges.

We removed our shoes and sat on the floor. In the center was a plastic tablecloth with plates full of rice topped with yogurt, stuffed grape leaves, sweet potato paste, pita, and cucumber and tomato salad.

The most interesting part of the evening was not the meal but getting there. Remember my trepidation about getting stuck in East Jerusalem? Well, that’s pretty much what happened. We left in a convoy of about 5 cars starting from Liberty Bell Park. The traffic was horrendous and we – being at the end of the chain – got separated.

The problem – for those of you familiar with the area – is that we turned left on Wadi Joz Street when we should have gone straight into the Wadi Joz neighborhood itself.

We stopped pedestrian after pedestrian seeking instruction. We were told to find the Commodore Hotel and the Sheikh’s home would be up the hill from there. But, of course, there was no Commodore in the direction we took. It was like being in Oz, with each passerby acting like a toughed up version of the scarecrow.

All the while, I was getting more and more nervous as the sun began to set. Completely lost in East Jerusalem, who’s to say we wouldn’t drive into the really wrong part of town and…

After close to 45 minutes, we found the hotel and shortly afterward parked at a dead end and hiked up a dirt path to the Sheikh’s house. Ghassan welcomed us warmly but we were embarrassed walking in well past the sunset start of the meal. Imagine stretching the Yom Kippur fast out for an extra hour. Fortunately they didn’t wait for us stragglers.

On the way up, my co-pilot – who has some experience in East Jerusalem – pointed out an establishment which he said sells the best kanafeh in town. Now that we know the lay of the land better, maybe we’ll come back for dessert some day.

Or then again, maybe not.

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The Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies is open to the public for tours. Contact them at +972-2-626-5666.

Snippets from America - Part 1

Brian Blum — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 04:47:57 -0400

We just returned from a nearly three-week vacation in the U.S. We visited family up and down California, hiked in redwoods and spent too many hours on planes and waiting in airports. Here are a few choice snippets from the trip. I’ll be posting a second batch later in the week.

Donuts follow me

One of the extravagances I indulge in when visiting the old country is doughnuts. Regular readers will recall our frantic searches for Krispy Kremes in years past.

This trip, to alleviate any sugar stress, I discretely informed our hosts that a box of Entenmanns’s glazed buttermilk doughnuts would not be unwelcome. Perhaps I didn’t realize the dedication of our friends and family to plug my fried dough fix.

The deluge began in Santa Rosa at my mother’s house. It continued at Juliet and Birger’s in Berkeley. Aaron’s home in Los Angeles was initially doughnut free…until the day of our departure when not one but two boxes appeared as a parting gift. That accompanied us through the first half of our stay in La Jolla.

The doughnuts were emblematic of a general glazed environment in which we found ourselves. From decadent desserts to a hurried visit to the scandalously synthetic and sugar injected Jelly Belly Factory (I’ll have more in a future post), I felt at times like it would have been just as effective to insert an IV and pump the sweet stuff directly into my veins. (By the way, I gained a couple of kilos on the trip which I’m diligently striving to work off. Can you say tofu?)

Aroma bait and switch

When Israel’s popular Aroma café opened outlets in New York and Toronto, Israeli expats and friends of the Jewish state rejoiced. High quality coffee, sandwiches and salads to challenge Starbuck’s hegemony had made it to North America. So when we heard there was an Aroma in Los Angeles, where we stayed for three days during our vacation, we were eager to feel the Israeli love.

As soon as we pulled up to the Aroma, though, we knew something was wrong. The familiar Aroma logo was missing, replaced by a flowery cursive. We asked the hostess at the door what the deal was. Speaking in quick Hebrew, she explained that there was no connection between the Israeli and LA Aromas – other than both were staffed by Israelis and served Israeli fare - and that the California establishment was not officially kosher though only dairy and fish were served.

We had driven at least a half an hour out of the way and we had three hungry kids (and one boyfriend) in tow. What choice did we have?

For the record, the menu is a mish-mash of Israeli fare – more Caffit than Aroma (the “sweet potato extravaganza” was similar to the Jerusalem brand but with more deep fried fritters). The prices were nothing to celebrate over either: for the six of us, the bill was over $100.

Tattoos

What is it with tattoos in America? It’s not like Israelis don’t go for body art. But tattoos in the Holy Land seem smaller, more decorative than their American counterparts. Everywhere we traveled in California, there were men whose entire arms, backs and sometimes chests (there were a lot of shirtless men) were covered in ink. I can’t vouch for the women’s chests, but we glimpsed many backs and arms that had undergone the artist’s needle.

And then there were the dagger earrings. We saw several of these aggressive accessories adorning exceedingly tough looking young men during our visit to the Six Flags Magic Mountain amusement park. Combined with the tattoos, I found myself actually pining for the Israeli version of macho.

Merav returns to the dark side

One of the key events of the trip was fifteen-year-old Merav’s return – after four years of staunch vegetarianism – to the world of the carnivore. Merav had not undergone an existential eating crisis. Rather, she had caved to the pressure exerted by her posse of meat eating friends back home.

We planned this meal meticulously. We picked a fancy kosher meat restaurant in Los Angeles. Merav asked her Safta and me to order and not tell her what she was getting. We chose spaghetti with meat sauce. It seemed less in-your-face than a steak for her first time out. We didn’t want to spoil her conversion from the get go.

The spaghetti arrived with a candle in the center. It would have been too embarrassing if we sang something silly like “Happy meat day to you,” so we restrained ourselves. Merav took a taste. Then another. Her face contorted with those initial bites. And then she delivered her pronouncement. Thumbs up.

Half way through her meal, she turned to me and gazed longingly at my veal chop. “Can I try some?” she asked innocently. “Sure,” I said. “I think I’ll have that next time,” she quipped.

Tell the doctor that the operation was successful.

Little Rat Dog

Brian Blum — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 08:57:55 -0400

We have been taking care of a cow this summer. No, not an authentic bovine. Rather a cash cow. At least that’s how it was explained to me by my 15-year-old daughter Merav that an adorable little dog would be joining us for the next six weeks.

Adorable is not the word I would have chosen. “Mini” was a runt of an animal, low to the floor, hung like a hotdog, with tall pointy ears, beady eyes and too much Chihuahua in her for my tastes. I nicknamed her “little rat dog.”

Other members of the family called her “Mini Met,” which sounds cute until you translate it into Hebrew where it alternately means “little death” or even worse “Mini is dead.”

If we were getting a full-time pet, it would be small and fluffy like Candy, the toy poodle I grew up with.

But little rat dog was worth NIS 1,000 to Merav for the summer. “I’ll take care of her, don’t you worry,” Merav reassured us.

Little rat dog had come to us from Merav’s friend Kayla who was on vacation in the U.S. during July and August. Kayla’s mother was not a fan of dogs and refused to have the dog in the house without Kayla there too.

Despite my disparaging remarks about little rat dog’s resemblance to a rodent, over time we became rather fond of her. She cuddled up next to us while we watched TV. She pounced playfully on Mr. Platypus, her stuffed toy friend. She shivered with delight at the sound of her leash.

Every night she would curl up with Merav in her bed and wouldn’t leave her side even if Merav didn’t get up until after noon (this being summer and all).

She was also a lip-kisser, which was cute at first until the affection got too French.

Then there were her less than pleasant traits: he shed and farted and, on more than one occasion, pooped in the house.

But the worst was the barking. If she heard a knock on the door or there was a strange sound in the house (like the time I turned a CD of one of my favorite late 70s punk bands, the Buzzcocks, up too loud in my home office), she would yip and yap like she was a dog ten times her size.

She particularly disliked black pants and shoes, which meant that anyone dressed up for Shabbat, as were many of Merav’s guy visitors who came to call during the summer, was subject to the welcoming rat dog treatment.

To make matters worse, our loyal housecleaner for the past 5 years is terrified of dogs. We made sure to lock little rat dog in Merav’s room when Miriam came on Fridays. One time, though, the dog got free. Miriam let out a blood-curdling scream while running away up the stairs to the terrace – you would have thought there was a suicide bomber at the front door.

As Kayla’s return loomed closer, I was looking forward to returning little rat dog. Her evil traits had overwhelmed those momentary bouts of affection.

And then came the news we all feared: Kayla would not be taking little rat dog back again. Her mother said she’d had enough.

“Could we please adopt her?” Merav implored. “Please?” I was resolute in my rejection of her petitions. We tried to find her a good home. Merav’s friend Esther initially agreed, only to be vetoed by her parents.

After much soul searching, we reluctantly returned little rat dog to Kayla for a brief goodbye after which she was to be carted off within a few days to the local pound. I thought of our old downstairs neighbors who had taken in 9 stray cats, fed them, spayed them and loved them. How could we be so cruel?

But it wasn’t fair – to turn us into the bad guys. I resented the situation that had been forced on us. As I imagined little rat dog alone in a cage, without human companionship, barking indiscriminately, it truly broke my heart. Hopefully, she would find a new home quickly. Someone who likes canine kisses better than we do.

At the last moment, little rat dog received a reprieve. Kayla had somehow wheedled her mother into concession. Mom had reluctantly agreed to allow Merav’s friend to keep the dog. We quietly rejoiced. Mini would live. And we might even get visitation rights.

I’m not ruling out the possibility of a dog down the road. There might still be a furry friend in our future someday. But please, just not another little rat dog.

Medusa Man

Brian Blum — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 07:04:29 -0400

I am not in general a big fan of the beach. Sand gets in everything and the sun bears down on you like a robber in a shoot-out (how else to explain the need to take up arms - in this case sunscreen - to stay alive?). The way I figure it, if you want to soak in a hot body of water, go take a bath at home.

But when my wife, Jody, insisted that we embark on a water-fueled "family outing" - and all three kids actually agreed to come - how could I say no?

After debating our beach options, we opted for what Google Maps showed us was the straightest and fastest route from Jerusalem - the Palmahim Beach in Rishon Lezion.

Google Maps has only been working here a few months now but it's been a godsend. Fifty-four minutes door to door from our home in southern Jerusalem to the Mediterranean on the new Route 431 that completely avoids the traffic jams one used to encounter going through the Rishon city center.

We quickly found a partially unoccupied pergola and plopped down our gear. Then it was off to the water.

Despite my grumblings about beaches in general, Israel's Mediterranean is one of the most temperate in the world. If you're looking to cool off, you'll want to head to another continent. But if avoiding that midbody "it's so cold, I can't go any farther" response is high on the agenda, you'll be in heaven.

And once we were submerged, I really couldn't complain. Lapped by gentle waves with my wife and children surrounding me, Jody was right: A day away was a much-needed summer respite for a family hooked on electronics.

We were all having a grand time frolicking in the water when suddenly I felt a sting on my leg. It was just a pinprick so I didn't pay it much attention. But then 11-year-old Aviv cried out. He'd been stung too. And a moment later, I got it a second time.

Jellyfish!

We'd heard that July was the season of the jellyfish - or medusot as they're known in Hebrew - but the woman at the beach information line told Jody on the phone that there were very few at this point in the season.

Apparently she was wrong.

"Don't worry, Dad," Aviv said reassuringly. "All we need to do is pee on your leg."

Urine apparently cures jellyfish stings. I just wasn't sure how we were going to get said urine on my leg in full view of thousands of frolicking beachcombers. Maybe we could enlist a friendly dog. "Here, boy, I'm a fire hydrant, see my red burning legs."

And then, out of the blue, he came, like an aquatic superhero here to save the day. He was trim with wavy black hair, a bit of a five o'clock shadow and wearing patriotic blue-and-white bathing trunks. He literally dived into the salty ocean water while the throng of onlookers gazed in confusion.

He came up for air and headed back for the beach. In his hand: a medusa.

It was truly hideous. I had imagined them as little creatures about the size of a starfish. But this medusa was enormous. A white quivering blob with tentacles all around. Our savior placed the medusa on the beach where some of the braver children poked it with a stick. I imagine it was suffocating out of the water. Call me cruel but I couldn't take my eyes off the scene.

And then the man jumped back into the sea. A few minutes later, he returned, another wretched ctenophore in tow.

As I watched him pluck one medusa after another from the coastal depths, I realized he was no ordinary Israeli. This was Medusa Man - here to rid the oceans of the dreaded threat to mortal merrymakers out for a day of carefree abandon.

If this was an Adam Sandler movie, a throng of buxom bikini-clad blondes would be cheering him on. Well, I can dream, can't I?

Could Medusa Man keep us safe from the stings of sorrow that threatened to ruin our day? Hardly. He was outnumbered by evolution. But as we returned to the water, we felt confident that our experience might be ever so slightly sanguine.

That is, until we got stung again.

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This article originally appeared in The Jerusalem Post. If you read it there already, I hope you enjoyed it a second time!

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We will be on vacation until the end of August, so look for "This Normal Life on the Road" - an Israeli American's impressions of the "old country."

Review: The Shizen Spa - a Perfect Anniversary Getaway

Brian Blum — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 05:33:13 -0400

My wife Jody and I have tried for several years now to find a window of time for a mid-week getaway to the Shizen Spa Resort in Herzeliya. We finally made it happen last week when our youngest Aviv was away at overnight camp and we were able to justify the expense as a treat for our 21st wedding anniversary (actual date: this coming Friday).

To our great delight, the resort lived up to its much delayed expectations.

Jody and I are big spa hotel fans. In the past we’ve headed north to the Carmel Forest Spa and Mitzpe Hayamim above Rosh Pina. The Shizen is more of an urban day spa with an adjoining hotel, but the proximity to home (an hour and 15 minutes from Jerusalem without traffic) made it particularly attractive.

The Shizen consists of 40 rooms carved out of the established Daniel Hotel situated along the beach adjacent to the tony villas of Herzeliya Pituach. The Shizen section has its own entrance and reception desk with soft music and a rarefied décor and attitude. After sipping glasses of (not so fresh) orange juice while checking in, we walked down a chic dimly lit hallway with charming niches along one side filled with designer ceramics.

Our room was large by Israeli standards and had hardwood floors instead of the usual semi-stained carpet. But the most prominent feature was a humongous, 6 foot by 6-foot circular mirror. It looked like a portal into another dimension ala the Stargate movie and TV series. The bed was arranged diagonally in the room rather than perpendicular to a wall. It faced a balcony which looked out over the Mediterranean (where we caught a truly spectacular sunset). There was a small desk and mini-bar behind the bed itself.

We had booked massages in the resort’s spa for the afternoon of our arrival. Jody had a deep tissue work out; mine was a Chinese number called Tuina which my masseuse described as so vigorous first timers could only handle 25 out of the allotted 50 minutes.

Twina is used as a form of physical therapy in China, my masseuse said. It certainly wasn’t relaxing (afterward I thought I could hear the blood racing through my veins more freely) but I think I could have taken the full treatment. For the second half of my hour I had a vigorous reflexology treatment (I didn’t notice if there was a sign on the door reading “vigorous room”).

My masseuse was a hoot. A tough Israeli, she barked commands at me. “Relax, don’t resist. If you don’t give in, I can’t help you. Release…now!”

We followed the massage with a long dunk in the Jacuzzi and a couple of cups of wild berry tea in the spa’s pleasant, if a tad too boisterous, tea corner. Everyone was wearing their spa robes which for some inexplicable reason were labeled “man” and “woman.”

Next it was off to dinner. Our hosts had recommended a brand new Japanese restaurant a five-minute walk away on the "9" Beach. Sugoi was as trendy as a Tel Aviv trance.

Decked out with couches facing the ocean, neon blue lighting and a small wading pool (with real bikini-clad beach goers dipping their toes before their sushi arrived), the restaurant mixed a variety of Asian motifs, most notably large hand-carved wooden walls imported from India. It would have made more sense if this were an Indian restaurant, but the food was so good, I had little reason to quibble.

Jody ordered a combo sushi plate – salmon, spicy tuna and avocado – which came in a charming wooden boat. Lately, I’ve been bragging about the level of freshness at Sushi Bar Rehavia, our favorite Japanese establishment in Jerusalem, but Sugoi’s fish was on another level entirely. I hate to use clichés, but it really was melt-in-your-mouth.

But the sushi couldn’t top the entrecote noodles I ordered. I usually order beef at Asian restaurants and wish I had chosen the chicken. Not this time. There were spices in my dish that were quite delish, and it got even more decadent by dipping each chopsticks-full in the accompanying spicy mayonnaise. We didn’t order appetizers or desert – a good idea, we were stuffed anyway – and the bill came to a very modest NIS 130 ($32) for two.

(The Shizen, by the way, has its own Asian-themed restaurant, but it was far pricier: entrees started at NIS 85 for a "guacamole stuffed" hamburger).

We walked back to the hotel along the beach, past another restaurant where you sit in plastic Keter chairs right in the sand while a reggae band played inside. The beach was tres romantic, filled with late night swimmers, frisky dogs, and white cresting waves illuminated only by the shimmer of the half moon.

The next day, we worked out in the well-equipped gym (8 treadmills, 2 elliptical machines and lots of weights) before dining on the Shizen’s elegant breakfast buffet. For a small boutique hotel, the spread was as lavish as The King David - ten times its size.

We finished off what turned out to be a near perfect holiday by relaxing on the chaise chairs by the pool, again facing the ocean (but without the sand and mess – see my piece in The Jerusalem Post about our trip to the Medusa-infested beach).

Mid-week bed and breakfast with two complimentary half hour massages and full access to the spa, runs NIS 1,147 ($286) – less than a room at any 5 star hotel in the country.

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Shizen Lifestyle Spa Resort is located at the Daniel Hotel Complex at 60 Ramot Yam St. in Herzliya Pituach. Reservations: +972-9-952-0825.

Business Advice for Social Entrepreneurs

Brian Blum — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 05:17:47 -0400

As the 16 “social entrepreneurs” took to the stage last Thursday to present their 15-second “elevator pitch,” I was filled with a profound sense of Jewish pride.

Here were some of Israel’s best and brightest, hand selected by the Presentense organization which aims to arm young people who want to do good with solid business skills and knowledge.

And at first glance, the strategy has paid off handsomely. The participants in the Presentense “launch night” were confident and personable. The first ever publicly presented elevator pitches on their would-be companies – from subjects as diverse as fostering peace in the Middle East to making prayer more accessible – were polished and presentable; none would have been out of place in a corporate board room.

After the on-stage performance, each Presentense “fellow” manned a table equipped with a laptop, business cards and printed collateral material for the 500 or so guests to peruse and pocket.

As I weaved between the entrepreneurs’ pitches, I found myself enthralled by the creativity…but confused by the business models behind many of these pre-seed startups. It’s not that Presentense didn’t prepare its participants properly; it’s more the nature of social change-focused non-profits which have lofty goals but that all too often rely on philanthropy not profits.

But I’m feeling up to the challenge. So let me here present some of the projects that most stood out for me, and let’s brainstorm together on how each could, if not actually generate enough revenue to make its founders rich, at least sustain itself as a social entrepreneurial success.

CreaTV

As a media guy, I found CreaTV fascinating – a marketplace of sorts matching up amateur movie makers with professionals to develop quality products for YouTube or broadcast television. CreaTV is targeting the Israeli market initially and will reach out to students at Israel cinema schools. Founder Elad Kimelman describes himself as an “enthusiastic Zionist” who believes that Jewish-produced media can help bind together the Israeli and Diaspora Jewish communities.

Kimelman hopes that the company will generate projects that receive funding from Israeli production companies; CreaTV would then take a cut. That’s not a bad idea, but unless there are a lot of financed productions, it’s hard to see how the site will sustain itself in the interim. YouTube is drowning under bandwidth costs and parent Google still hasn’t figured out how to sufficiently monetize the site.

A Vimeo model, where CreaTV charges for video storage above a certain monthly file size and bandwidth limit might work (although rumors are that Vimeo is in financial trouble). CreaTV could also adopt the approach of recruitment classifieds, charging a fee when a match is made. But that seems to go against the company’s do-good goal of fostering partnerships.

MediaMidrash

MediaMidrash is another media startup that I liked a lot. Founders Russel Neiss, a librarian, and Charlie Schwartz, a rabbinic student at JTS, dream of creating a site where all of the Jewish videos in the world could be uploaded for teachers to use in school classes. Moreover, teachers could include curriculum to enhance the videos (from both the videomakers themselves and independent instructors who find the videos useful).

My first job back 20 years ago was as the at the San Francisco Bureau of Jewish Education’s media department. I was in charge of taking orders from teachers and sending out films, VHS tapes and even filmstrips (remember those?) I would have loved a computerized database like MediaMidrash.

Again the question: how will this make money? I spoke with Neiss who said it was a low cost operation and that he could run it while keeping his day job. I pointed out that, if MediaMidrash takes off, bandwidth and storage costs will quickly outstrip a volunteer job. The company’s documentation talks about offering premium services such as creating custom video and course material, staff training and websites.

In general, I think this “freemium” model – where you give away most of the content for free and upsell paid services – is the way to go. But creating new video and course content will require specialized staff – whether in-house or outsourced – and the mark-up in order to keep the company going (and pay its founders) may prove prohibitive to Jewish day schools already suffering in a post-Madoff era. Let’s hope that’s not the case.

JewTo

Jewto.com is a great name that founder Melissa Berg somehow snagged – finding a short and catchy URL like that is almost unheard of these days. Berg wants to create a mashup of Craigslist-like classifieds with a global guide to Jewish resources. Think every kosher restaurant in the world and mezuzas for sale.

Berg talked to me about hiring staff to write about all things Jewish in your city, but a more scalable model would be ape Yelp, the popular U.S. reviews and rankings site, where regular readers like you and me write the reviews of restaurants, dentists, bars, beauty salons and more. No need to pay when users contribute for the fame and glory.

Jewto can then upsell premium placement – such as your restaurant at the top of the listings (clearly marked as sponsored of course) – along with tools such as table booking, menu listings and take out. Yelp also sells display advertising – so should Jewto.

Berg should also look into partnering with fellow Israeli startup Bite 2Eat for the restaurant booking functionality as well a to look into whether Yelp or a similar site licenses its engine to third parties.

Jewto is a huge project but the business model – if done right (and it will need VC financing to pull off) – has real potential.

Peula

Did you ever receive crappy service from a store or government office? Wanted to complain but didn’t know how? Peula.com is here to help. The company is building a system to automate letter writing and to gather support from similarly minded aggrieved individuals online. Peula then sends your complaint on the right person.

Peula’s secret sauce is that when the target of your complaint responds, the reply is sent to all of the people listed on your e-complaint which means the responsible party’s response is tracked publicly.

Peula hopes this will differentiate it from its already formidable competition. In Israel, there’s atzuma.co.il, tluna.co.il, and shout.co.il. In the U.S. and U.K., companies like PlanetFeedback and HowtoComplain, and even the Better Business Bureau provide similar services – all for free.

Since the competition doesn’t charge, neither can Peula. Ads and sponsorships on the site are the company’s main business prospects. Allowing users to print letters for a fee, as founder Romi Shamai suggested to me, doesn’t make a lot of sense – users could too easily just copy and paste. There are probably additional added value tools Peula could add that I haven’t thought of yet.

The Open Siddur Project

Perhaps my favorite entrepreneur of the evening was Aharon Varady who is trying to create an online siddur (prayer book) with versions and commentaries from every source imaginable – from Rashi to Jewish Renewal plus user-contributed content. Spiritual seekers could then mix and match how they want to pray and print out their own personal siddur. “Imagine if the first siddur presented to a day school student was actually crafted by that student over the course of a year while being introduced to the liturgy in class,” Varady says.

As someone who struggles with prayer myself, I would love to have a site like Open Siddur. Varady is committed to “keeping this resource completely free.” So how to make money? Varady hopes to charge for printed copies through partnerships with print-on-demand printers.

But what would keep someone from simply generating their on their home printer? Those of us in the Internet publishing business have all learned the hard way that users won’t pay for content online. The print-on-demand model could work, but since each siddur would be customized for the individual, the volume would be low and as a result any partnership revenue from the POD guys would be similarly small.

Selling services around the siddur project – Jewish designers, calligraphers, scholars and even freelance editors – and taking a cut might be a better direction.

The Israel-Asia Center

The Israel-Asia Center seems to be the most mature project in the 2009 Presentense fellows program. The company already has a working website – a news magazine focused on “promoting partnerships between Israel, the Jewish people and Asia, with a strong focus on China.”

The management team includes an Israeli professor in China, and founder Rebecca Zeffert, a PR specialist and Chinese Studies graduate. They’re backed by a 20-member volunteer team in Israel, China, the U.S. and India. The company also has an impressive advisory board.

The Israel-Asia Center’s business model also makes sense: use the website as a platform for selling services – course syllabi on Israel-China relations, speaking engagements, briefings and exchange programs.

Given the growth of China as the world’s second largest economy and Israel’s already existing ties with the Asian giant, I give a hearty thumbs up to Zeffert and crew.

There were a bunch of other entrepreneurs at the event that I didn’t get a chance to talk with. Will they all succeed? Certainly not. Do they deserve to? Absolutely. Do I have all the answers? Not a chance. But this is just a start; some friendly advice, and I have no doubt these fledgling startups will receive plenty more.

What do you think? Which directions would you point these worthwhile endeavors. Drop me a line or leave a comment on the blog.

Passion for Hebrew

Brian Blum — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 11:11:05 -0400

I have long had a love hate relationship with Hebrew. I first arrived in Israel in 1984 as a backpacker with no plans and lots of time to indulge in the fine art of bumming around. I did a few Jewish learning programs, wrote scripts for videos, worked in a deli and, somewhere in the midst of being a slacker, found time to learn a little Hebrew in a summer ulpan (Hebrew class).

The ulpan was located at the settlement of Ofra. I dropped out when my roommates started throwing knives at the back of the door to our shared bedroom (I wish I was kidding).

Somehow, though, with my rudimentary Hebrew, I got by. I was able to order falafel and ask for directions (even if I didn’t always understand the answers). I did a lot of pointing. I also met Jody, my then wife-to-be, who had taken a six-month ulpan and spoke much more fluently than me. She did all the translating and dealing with bureaucracy.

In the spring of 1987, Jody and I headed back to the U.S. with plans of eventually making aliyah. 7 years later, we were back in Israel, my Hebrew no better for the time spent abroad.

Over the course of the next 14 years, I attended two 5-month ulpans. I progressed to a fairly high class – level heh - the highest you can go. But then I didn’t use it. There was just no opportunity.

I worked for companies where 90% of the staff spoke English. All our friends were English-speakers. If I tried to speak Hebrew to Israelis, they would quickly switch to English rather than suffer through my stuttering slaughter of their mother tongue.

For the last five years I’ve been writing for AIM Group, a U.S.-based consulting group. I conduct interviews over the phone and publish regular articles – you guessed it, all in English. I work at home so, other than the occasional meeting at Café Aroma (where the menu is in Hebrew and English), I’ve been living in a little English-speaking bubble.

All that would be fine except that I’ve been totally non-functional when it comes to dealing with the outside world. If a water pipe burst and we needed to call the plumber, I’d have the hardest time making myself understood. When the bank called, I’d immediately run for Jody. At my kids’ parent teacher meetings, I did a lot of nodding. Attending a play or watching an Israeli program on TV (other than "Srugim," which we stopped and started repeatedly) was out of the question.

And that’s gotten me quite down. A friend asked me recently if I was happy with my life. I said I love my wife, my kids, living in Israel. But the Hebrew – not being able to participate in society – was an ongoing sore spot. I joked that, because of my lack of linguistic proficiency when the kids were out of the house, my plan was to retire to South Florida (mind you, I’ve never actually been to South Florida, but I’ve heard there are a lot of Jews there).

When I realized that the one thing standing between Israel and my satisfaction was my lack of Hebrew, I finally decided to do something about it. I enrolled in Ulpan Or, an immersive Hebrew-learning program that promises to jump you up an entire level in just two weeks.

Ulpan Or is different than any other ulpan I’ve attended. You don’t sit in a class with 20 other students going around the room reading a sentence or two about what you did last summer. Instead, you work one-on-one with a teacher who customizes the program based on your specific skills and needs. The sessions consist of 30 minutes with the teacher followed by 30 minutes working with a set of special self-study workbooks. There are three hours a day of class followed by another three hours of homework.

Each book contains situations from the news or general media in both Hebrew and English. A listen-along CD accompanies the program. You first learn the vocabulary, then follow the CD and write down what you hear, check your text with the book, and finally translate the English back into Hebrew.

There is a separate book and CD for dikduk (Hebrew grammar) and a weekly “e-Tone” (a play on the Hebrew word for newspaper) that’s sent out every Thursday by email with stories recorded straight from the nightly Israeli news. For students who have the time, there are tiyulim (trips) and coffee house discussion groups. If you’re overseas, the ulpan even offers “guided distance learning” by Skype.

Ulpan Or was founded ten years ago by Orly Ganor, a Hebrew teacher who became frustrated with the way Hebrew is usually taught in Israel. By her calculations, in an average ulpan, the student gets to speak no more than 8 minutes a day. Over the course of the 5 months these programs usually run, that’s under 15 hours total.

In Ulpan Or, by contrast, the student is speaking for at least an hour and a half a day. Multiply that by the 10 days of the course and you get to the same amount in a much shorter time frame.

The program was catalyzed in the 1990s when the Russian aliyah to Israel began in earnest. Co-director Yoel Ganor explains that “there many intellectuals who needed to learn Hebrew quickly and they didn’t want to waste time.” The ulpan has now graduated some 6,000 students.

Ulpan Or is not cheap – it costs close to $1,000 for the quick course. But in those two weeks, I must have covered about 200 pages of material. I was pretty much not available to my family. The dishes piled up. The kids had to wash their own clothes.

Now on the other side of the ulpan, how do I feel? My vocabulary has certainly increased. So has my overall comfort and confidence in speaking. I find myself with a new passion to speak Hebrew whenever I can.

I’m certainly not catching all the nuances. Jody and I attended an evening featuring comedian Jacky Levy performed. I didn’t have a clue what he was saying. Apparently, understanding Hebrew humor should be last on the list.

The key now, says Orly Ganor, is to practice, practice, practice. That’s not going to be so easy. My work is still in English; my friends haven’t suddenly switched languages. I tried to converse with my kids in Hebrew. They refused.

But when the phone rings and it's a telemarketer trying to sell me something I don’t need, I now listen patiently and engage in a tad of Hebrew small talk...before brusquely slamming down the phone.

---------------------

Ulpan Or is located at 1 Mendely St. (Corner of 24 Keren Hayessod St.) in Jerusalem.

Tel: +972-2-561-1132
Fax: +972-2-561-1314

Parades and Tolerance, Then and Now

Brian Blum — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 14:20:07 -0400

My nearly sixteen-year-old daughter Merav attended the Jerusalem Gay Pride Parade two weeks ago. She had heard about the event, the controversy it had engendered, and thought it would be interesting to see what all the fuss was about.

It’s funny how time tends to curl around and repeat itself. When I was sixteen, I attended my first gay parade, in the heart of San Francisco’s famed Castro District, for many of the same reasons: curiosity, support, adventure.

The San Francisco parade was a major cultural event for the city. A staggering 250,000 people showed up in 1977; there were floats, flamboyance and not an insignificant amount of PDA (with a goodly sprinkling of near nudity).

Despite San Francisco’s well known reputation for tolerance, the gay community was certainly not immune to controversy: 1978’s Proposition 6 – also known as the Brigg’s Initiative – would have banned gays and lesbians from working in California public schools.

I remember the entire state waiting on pins and needles for the voter outcome (it was defeated in a last minute surprise turn around, dealing former orange juice spokeswoman Anita Bryant’s national anti-gay campaign to its first major defeat).

The euphoria didn’t last long. A short time later came the tragic murder of Harvey Milk, San Francisco’s first openly gay supervisor, played in a virtuoso performance by Sean Penn in the Oscar-winning film “Milk.”

Those were confusing times for a nerdy young 16-year-old like me who liked to hang out with his straight friends in the heart of the Castro. That boarded up subway station where in the movie Harvey Milk first used his megaphone to charge up an angry mob? There was a performance artist named Ruby Rodriguez who used to do a risqué cabaret act (including rubber chickens and ventriloquism) every Friday night in that same spot. When the bars let out at 2:00 AM, hundreds of drunk, gay men crowded around. My friends and I were there to cheer Ruby on (I have the tape to prove it).

Although I prided myself on my liberal San Francisco values, I got into my own public controversy with the gay community. In 1978, I was writing a column for the local newspaper. In what I thought would be an “eye opening” pro-tolerance piece, I posited that, if 10 percent of the population were gay, then there must be a number of gay men and women in the high school from which I had recently graduated…including, I wrote, “possibly the football team quarterback or the head cheerleader.”

What was I thinking?

The San Francisco Advocate – a gay-run newspaper - sent a letter of protest to my boss, calling the article homophobic, and I was promptly sacked.

If anything, the pride parade in Jerusalem has stoked even more flames.

True, the Jerusalem version is much tamer than San Francisco’s (or even Tel Aviv’s pride parade earlier in the month which culminated in a group wedding on the beach). But it is no stranger to controversy.

In the past, the parade has been mired by protests by haredi and right wing agitators who consider homosexuality to be a biblical abomination and something that should not be flaunted anywhere, and certainly not in the Holy City. The 2005 parade ended in violence when an ultra-Orthodox man stabbed three participants (he is now serving a 12-year prison sentence).

Then, in 2006, members of the anti-Zionist extremist Eda Haredit religious sect conducted a “pulsa d’nura” – a kabalistic ceremony which, wrote the Jerusalem Post, is believed to “unleash unearthly powers against specific sinners” – to curse the parade.

To the best of my knowledge, lightning did not strike down any revelers that year.

The 2009 version of the parade went off without incident, save for a single case of egg throwing. Haredi protesters steered clear this year, in part to avoid having to explain to their children what the parade was all about. Or perhaps they had bigger fish to fry, like the opening of a parking lot on Shabbat (I’ll save that rant for another post but I just have to ask…where does it say in the Torah that providing a safe and convenient place to park one’s car is a desecration of God’s name?)

In any case, 4,000 people participated in the parade under a police cover of 1,500 officers. Perhaps the biggest complaint was the inevitable traffic jams during the evening rush hour crush.

Still, it got me thinking: what is it about religion that makes one believe that a supernatural being is on the believer’s side or, indeed, that one can reasonably ascertain what that deity’s opinion is on any particular earthly issue?

I’ve still not forgotten, shortly after I first arrived in Israel in 1985, Shas member of Knesset and then Minister of the Interior Yitzhak Peretz placing the blame for a horrendous train accident that killed 22 junior high school students from Petach Tikva on a movie house that was allowed to remain open on Shabbat.

And yet, I fell into that trap myself. In my more religiously extreme days, I tried to take on what I thought was the Orthodox party line regarding homosexuality. My parents were aghast. So was I when I woke up 20 years later and realized how twisted my thinking had become.

Marcia Falk, writing in The Book of Blessings, presents an alternative to the standard Shema prayer:

“Shema Israel, Alfey panim, m’lo olam shekinatah ribuy panecha echad.”

"Hear O Israel, divinity has thousands of faces, the fullness of the world is its presence, the multiplicity of its faces is One.”

Falk’s aim in her poetic license, she writes, is “to articulate what a monotheistic belief means to us. To me it means the honoring of diversity within the unity of creation.”

That diversity means people of all shapes, sizes, shades and, I would add, sexual orientation.
I’m proud that my daughter came out to support the parade, like her father did over 30 years ago. Because I have to believe that, despite what some adherents claim, tolerance is an intrinsic Jewish value and one – borrowing a page of my own from the kabala - that there isn’t enough of in this fractured, broken world.

Hugs and High School

Brian Blum — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 04:18:41 -0400

What I’ll remember most about our son Amir’s graduation from 12th grade earlier this week was the hugs. Hugs between the guys. Hugs from the teachers to the graduates while on stage receiving their diplomas. The spontaneous group hug and circle dance the guys did to Mashina’s “Return, Return” at the end of the evening.

It was all so sweet. And it got me reminiscing. I don’t remember ever being so affectionate with my male friends when I was in high school, some 30 years ago. On the contrary, I distinctly recall that, after all 400 12th graders received their diplomas in our high school gym, I gave a big bear hug to my best friend John while thinking that this was the first time I’d ever hugged him or any other guy (girls, well that was another story…)

I also remember that it wasn’t until I arrived in Israel after college and found myself in a more traditional Jewish framework that I got into the habit of shaking someone’s hand. Before that: no handshakes, no hugs. What did we do then? Just glare at each other for 12 years?

Fortunately, when you need to do some impromptu research, there’s nothing like Facebook. I put out my question on hugs and high school. My contemporaries weighed in quickly. No, absolutely we did not hug back in 1978, they said. There were the occasional “soul handshakes” and a few high fives.

By the 1980s, “everybody was doing that stupid BH 90210 hand slap and point the fingers thing,” my friend Boaz wrote. “We used to make out in the hallways but that was it,” Debbie from Modi'in added.

But the times they are a changing, even in the U.S. An article by Sarah Kershaw in The New York Times that my Facebook buddy Yosef referred me to described how hugs have now caught on in high school...outside of Israel. So much so that there are different terms for all the hugging.

For example, there's the “bear claw” where a boy embraces a girl awkwardly with his elbows poking out. The "fist bump and slap on the back." Something known as the “shake and lean.” And now the “triple” – any combination of three girls and boys hugging at once.

It’s become so rampant that some schools are now trying to limit hugging via a “three-second rule” or to ban hugs outright. “Touching and physical contact is very dangerous territory,” bemoaned a principal in New Jersey interviewed by Kershaw.

The kids disagree, calling it the “hello” of their generation. “We like to get cozy,” said a San Francisco eighth grader. “The high-five is, like, boring.”

What seems to be unique to Israel (and perhaps other Mediterranean countries – I haven’t done a scientific study), is hugging between students and teachers, something that would be absolutely verboten in a litigious U.S. where it could be perceived as bordering on sexual harassment or abuse.

All hugging aside, the graduation ceremony of our oldest child was very emotional for my wife Jody and I. To think that we have come so far as to have a child finished with his formal education. How did we get so old! “Proud and old are not mutually exclusive,” our friend Shira was quick to point out on Facebook.

Some other highlights from graduation:

-- As each boy (Amir attended an all boy’s school) received his diploma, his teacher read a short paragraph describing the graduate (Hartman high school, with a graduating class of 56, is small enough to indulge such a personal touch).

-- There was a lot of emphasis on the army and mechinot (pre-army preparatory programs) rather than "where are you going to college next year?"

-- Amir put together a great slide show with music summing up the six years the guys have been together. The photos of the class from 7th grade elicited some raucous teenage guffaws.

-- Hartman Institute founder Rabbi David Hartman gave an impassioned speech on the importance for religious youth to fight against extremism and intolerance. “Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not religious,” he exhorted the graduates.

-- This being Israel, the dress code was casual, though a number of the graduates wore loosely knotted ties over untucked short sleeve shirts and jeans. Needless to say there were no caps and gowns. And so, at the end of the evening, rather than toss their caps into the air, they threw their kippot to the sky.

Jody and I were so filled with pride and excitement. It’s a major milestone...for the entire family. So what did we do when Amir came over to us after the ceremony was done?

We gave him a great big hug, of course.

Leonard Bernstein’s Kaddish

Brian Blum — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 06:58:55 -0400

Two weeks ago, prior to the "Enhanced Kaddish" ceremony we held for my father, Jody and I attended a very different musical memorial. Together with several thousand Israelis, we trekked to Yad Vashem, The Holocaust Martyrs' and Heroes' Remembrance Authority, for a special outdoor performance of Leonard Bernstein’s Symphony No. 3, also known as Kaddish.

The symphony was being performed with a text written and narrated by Samuel Pisar, an international lawyer, author and Holocaust survivor. The text, which Pisar wrote at Bernstein’s instigation, is a heart wrenching review of human cruelty in general, and towards the Jewish people in particular.

Pisar recounts his own experience surviving Auschwitz while watching his entire family being killed. The narration is timed to blend precisely with the anguished, atonal music which, according to the printed program, required an unusually large orchestral complement – including a tuba, sandpaper and a glockenspiel – plus two choirs (the Tel Aviv Chamber Choir and the Ankor Children's ensemble) and Israeli soprano Danna Glaser.

The underlying theme to Pisar’s work is an unbridled anger at God for allowing such genocide to occur, coupled with a chilling warning against allowing it to occur again. Pisar finished his “Dialogue with God” following 9/11 and the attacks figure prominently in his narrative.

From Pisar’s text:

I must honor their tragic legacy,
And warn the living
- Of every race, color and creed -
Against the new catastrophes
That may still lie ahead.
For the unthinkable is again possible
A relapse into the darks ages,
As a leap toward a radiant future.

Pisar’s complaint against God is unmistakable:

How can one be sure
That the catastrophe was totally man-made?
We know from the book of Genesis
How wrathful a God you can be,
When You lose your notorious temper.

Concerning the destruction on September 11, Pisar writes that only after “the carnage that ushered in a newly inflamed world vaguely reminiscent of the one into which I was born did I settle down to write” the text itself. The narrative, Pisar adds, represents “a mounting crescendo for universal tolerance, reconciliation and peace between the hereditary enemies of history.”

The symphony with Pisar’s text was first performed in Chicago in 2003 before an audience of 10,000. This was its premiere in Israel. In attendance were Israeli President Shimon Peres and the President of Romania Traian Băsescu.

Our attendance at the event took on a separate meaning for me, removed from the Holocaust narrative. When we first received the invitation, the idea of hearing a work called Kaddish – in the midst of my own year of saying Kaddish – intrigued me. As I’ve written already, I’ve struggled with the words of the prayer and have tried to find refuge in musical interpretations.

So sitting in the audience and listening to a work by Leonard Bernstein felt like another way of honoring my father. Even more so, as I’m not a big fan of orchestral music, despite my father’s best efforts over the years to convince me otherwise.

I remember my parents taking us several times to the San Francisco Opera House to hear the symphony. While I was consistently “wowed” by the sheer talent that such a production entails, it remained rock and roll that moved my soul.

Indeed, had my father not passed away, it is doubtful I would have even been interested in an evening of classical music. And I won’t lie: the music still didn’t speak to me. But the significance of being there on a monumental evening did.

The day after our evening at Yad Vashem, air raid sirens sounded across Israel at 11:00 AM. The country wasn’t under attack; rather we were participating in the largest ever emergency exercise the nation has undertaken. The rising and falling siren – unlike the steady wails for Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Martyrs' and Heroes' Remembrance Day) and Yom HaZicharon (Memorial Day) – lasted for a minute and a half during which time we were instructed to hurry to our bomb shelters.

The exercise was meant to raise public awareness and to test the responsiveness of emergency workers, coordinate organizations, and pinpoint any failings in the sirens themselves.

During the second Gulf War, we prepared sealed rooms with duck tape, but this was the first time we’ve used the concrete reinforced bomb shelter next to the underground garage of our building complex. At first, we couldn’t get the door unlocked…not a good omen had it been a real attack. Our descent also seemed too casual, even reckless.

Once inside, we inspected what could be our home away from home for an extended period. The shelter was bare – no furniture of any kind, certainly no beds on which to spend a night. The toilet didn’t work either – the water had been turned off. We made a note of everything.

The alarming juxtaposition of the drill with Bernstein’s symphony and Pisar’s text was not lost on us. It would be reassuring to believe that, 60+ years after the end of World War II, hatred and violence would have plummeted from that summit of hell. Of course, that’s not the case.

“Every citizen in the State of Israel must know that anywhere in the country, at any time, an emergency scenario can materialize, and one must know how to act," Deputy Defense Minister Matan Vilnai said after the exercise.

Pisar’s text ends on a surprisingly optimistic beat. He acknowledges that, after the Shoah, God taught him to “love and dream again” and blessed him with “a new happy family and with children and grandchildren whose sparkling faces and sterling characters resurrect for me every day the memory of those I have lost.”

He concludes:

Bond with us, Lord
Guide us toward reconciliation
On our small, divided, fragile planet –
Our common home.

Amen.

ObamaNation

Brian Blum — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 04:31:29 -0400

Let me preface the following rant by saying I voted for the guy. I had great expectations, not quite bordering on messianic, but in that general direction. His oration; the clear, educated and trained mind – especially compared with his predecessor - was lucidly refreshing.

Yes, those of us in Israel were worried that he’d take too soft a stance vis a vis Iran. But, as I wrote prior to the elections, I was sure that those negotiating overtures would come to a quick demise after the Islamic Republic made clear it had no intention of modifying its hard line position.

Ditto on Israel. Yes, there might be some tougher rhetoric, but the bonds between the U.S. and the Jewish state are too strong to fall into any kind of serious crisis.

It is therefore with true regret that I find my support of U.S. President Barack Obama, at least when it comes to our little corner of the world, to have been misplaced. Many of my sublimated fears, the ones I blithely tossed into the dust accumulating under my bed, seem to be coming true.

President Obama’s speech last week in Cairo started out on the right foot. He had promised a message of reconciliation and he was quick to deliver. He was tough on terrorism while speaking passionately about democracy, religious freedom and women's rights in the Arab world.

When it came to the Jews, I was taken aback – in a good way. Here was a U.S. President, appearing in an Arab capital, saying that under no uncertain circumstances Holocaust denial is wrong. “Six million Jews were killed, more than the entire Jewish population of Israel today. Denying that fact is baseless. It is ignorant, and it is hateful,” Obama told the crowd (to no applause).

Obama went on to say that “the aspiration for a Jewish homeland is rooted in a tragic history that cannot be denied. Around the world the Jewish people were persecuted for centuries. And anti-Semitism in Europe culminated in an unprecedented Holocaust.”

The unstated but undeniable message: the Jews deserve a state because of tragedy, persecution and, in particular, the Shoah.

And that’s where he got it so wrong.

The Holocaust is not the reason we’re here in Israel. It may have been the final catalyst that made the Jewish state viable in the international community, but the connection between the Jews and the land goes back thousands of years. And Obama never once mentioned this historical fact.

What he did was play right into the Arab narrative: that Israel is a foreign entity in an Arab land brought about solely from European guilt. It frames Israel’s existence from a negative: we were killed, therefore give us something in return.

The Arab world makes no bones about rejecting this justification wholeheartedly. “Why should we have to pay for European crimes?” is a common refrain. After all, haven’t Yassar Arafat and all his would be successors claimed for years that there was never even a Jewish presence on the Temple Mount?

And, with no historical connection, just a fading feeling that a safe haven for the Jews might be a good thing, why not give the Jews a less controversial homeland. Like Uganda? Or, as in Michael Chabon’s alt-history novel “The Yiddish Policeman’s Union,” a small, wet and miserable corner of Alaska.

The Zionist movement rejected the Uganda option in 1903 because, as the Jerusalem Post wrote in an editorial earlier this week, “Uganda did not belong to the Jews.”

If this is truly Obama’s position – that Israel is simply payback for genocide - then he is sadly misinformed…and dangerous to boot. He may be striving for even-handedness, but when history is disregarded, then only the most recent positioning becomes valid and this will, as sure as Al-Queida is planning another attack, doom any real prospects for peace.

But Obama proceeded to make it worse. In a line that must have been carefully calculated and worked over for months by speechwriters and policy makers, he stated, immediately after his exhortation against Holocaust denial, “on the other hand, it is also undeniable that the Palestinian people… have suffered in pursuit of a homeland."

Now, I’m no hard-core right-winger. I will be the first to acknowledge that the Palestinian side has legitimate grievances that must be addressed.

But to even compare the murder of 6 million Jews with the results of a war where the Arab side attacked the nascent state of Israel is unconscionable. Does Obama truly believe this? Despite all his eloquence, this borders on anti-Semitism itself.

At this point in his speech, I was so flabbergasted I could barely expect anything worse. But here it came. His long awaited tough approach to Iran. We expected negotiation, yes, but with the stick of sanctions and just a hint of military action.

Instead what we got was a namby pamb,y brief monologue (a mere 8 paragraphs vs. 25 on the Arab-Israel conflict) on how it would be perfectly fine with the U.S. for Iran to have a peaceful nuclear program as long as it wasn’t military in nature. Right. Isn’t that what Iran has been saying for years to forestall U.N. inspections?

Obama, in a few short paragraphs, gave Iran a free pass, making it clear that the U.S. would take no substantive action, to stop Iran’s relentless pursuit of the bomb (and the missiles to deliver it). Couple that with his delegitimization of Israel’s historical connection to the land, and it’s painfully clear that we are totally and completely on our own.

I was elated at the election of Barack Obama. I had great expectations for a new world order, with a leader who promised, and might truly succeed, in bringing about real change. And still he might. But that change doesn’t look particularly good for the Jews.

To paraphrase the other big message regarding the Israeli-Palestinian conflict (and one that I won't get into here), we are not the obstacles to peace. The president of the United States is.

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I know I’m not the first person to write about these issues. But I would be very interested to hear your comments. Do you agree with my analysis? Do you think I’m over-dramatizing the speech? Or am I hopelessly naive? Please post your comments to the blog and let’s start a conversation.

Kaddish & Kiddush

Brian Blum — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 03:26:07 -0400

Since my father died two months ago, I’ve thought a lot about what is the nature of community and, in particular, what is my place in it. It’s not a simple question.

For many years I’ve been what I jokingly call “tefilacally-challenged” (tefilah being the Hebrew for “prayer”). Prayer is not something that’s easy for me to relate to. Yes, I go to synagogue but, more often than not, I use it as a time for introspection, maybe a little light meditation, rather than reading the specific words in the siddur.

One of the strong prayer traditions of mourning is to say Kaddish whenever there’s a minyan. One says it for a year after a parent dies, a month for children, spouse and siblings.

For many observant Jews, this means making an effort to get to synagogue for the three daily prayer services. As I’ve talked with people about the mourning period, I’ve heard repeated stories of ostensibly secular men and women taking on this commandment and deriving great satisfaction from it.

That hasn’t been my experience, though. Indeed, the Kaddish, for me, is even more difficult than the rest of the davening. I’m a very literal person and I find it hard to get my head around the traditional understandings of the prayer: that I’m helping my father’s soul find its way to heaven, or that I am so anguished that I must publicly proclaim my faith multiple times a day, lest I lapse into heresy. In any case, my devoutly irreligious father wouldn’t have wanted any part in all this.

Don’t get me wrong, despite my misgivings I’ve still been saying Kaddish…but only when I make it to shul, which is erratic at best. And yet, as I’ve written before, sitting shiva in Israel was one of the most meaningful moments of my life, primarily because of the power of community. The fact that so many people came from all over the country to support me and to hear stories about my father still brings tears to my eyes.

But I have to ask: does that community expect anything in return? Or to put it differently: what are the essential minimums of participation that qualify one for membership in a religious community?

I’m not speaking about the specific communities to which we belong here in Jerusalem which are as liberal and accepting as any I’ve known. (The joke at shul is that, as long as you show up for Kiddush duty, you’re a bonafide member.)

To be sure, there are many aspects to a religious community: learning, giving tzedakah, hosting guests for Shabbat, celebrating smachot, Zionism, observing Jewish law. But isn’t the prayer community the most central pillar?

Jews for thousands of years have prayed together. The Mishna and Talmud are filled with rules about what to say at what times and in what situations.

Can one come to Saturday morning Kiddush without saying Kaddish? How about if you come Friday night but not Shabbat day? Or if your wife and/or kids are regulars - can you coast by on the zechut of the family?

Many of the same arguments could be made for online communities, by the way. Is it enough to join, or do you need to create a profile, upload some pictures and “poke” a few people? What if you only “lurk” on a discussion forum rather than participate? Are you truly a member of the community if you follow your activity stream but never update your status?

In the midst of all this, I attended a talk by Rabbi David Aaron. A friend had heard Aaron speak on prayer and insisted that we attend. Maybe it would give me a new perspective, she suggested.

I should have known better. The author of such books as “The Secret Life of God” and “Living a Joyous Life: The True Spirit of Jewish Practice,” Aaron’s message was as disheartening as it was exclusionary.

In essence, he said that if you’re not a part of a prayer community, there’s really no point in being in the religious Jewish world at all. The unstated implication: “We don’t want you.” That had me running for the spiritual door.

I had the exact opposite experience during a private meeting with Nachshon David Mahanymi, a Rabbi-in-training with the Jewish Renewal movement here in Jerusalem. His take was that I was getting it all backwards.

The year of mourning is all about creating meaningful ways to remember the person who has passed away, he said. We began to brainstorm alternative approaches for how I could honor my father, in a manner that he would appreciate and to which I could better relate.

There’s an expression referring to the mourning period, “ilu’i nishmato,” which, re-framed in a modern light, might be translated as “to elevate the essence of who he was.”

My father was a writer. And music infused his life with joy. What could I do that would incorporate these two elements of his life, I wondered?

An idea began to form. Perhaps I could sponsor a series of events over the course of the twelve months of mourning that would serve to elevate his name.

And by making these public, it might also be a way where I could connect with community beyond the walls of the synagogue. Call it an “Enhanced Kaddish.”

To that end, the first community event that I have planned will take place on Tuesday, June 9 at 8:30 PM at Kehilat Yedidya, 12 Nahum Lifshitz Street in the Baka neighborhood of Jerusalem. It will be an evening of “stories and song” in memory of my father.

Joining us will be Yoel Sykes and Daphna Rosenberg, musicians from Nava Tehila, who have composed seven original songs based on psukim from various places in the Torah, prophets and psalms. By weaving together the music with the text, my hope is that you will get to know better what my father was like and what he was passionate about.

I’ll continue saying Kaddish in shul – at least when I make it in time - while at the same time bringing my Enhanced Kaddish to the greater community. Beyond that, my year of mourning, I expect, will be challenging and constantly evolving.

I'm OK with that. Are you?

----------------------
Please RSVP to brianblum@gmail.com if you are planning to come to the June 9 evening so we can arrange the space accordingly.

TNL Classic: More Cheese Please

Brian Blum — Thu, 28 May 2009 05:04:23 -0400

The Jewish holiday of Shavuot begins tonight and I’ve dug up another TNL classic. This one first appeared just before Shavuot in 2005. The kids are, naturally, a bit younger in this story but the learning is just as relevant today. Enjoy…and chag sameach!

---------------------------

“What are we going to do today?” six-year-old Aviv demanded as he shoveled in his tenth spoonful of cornflakes in as many seconds.

It was shortly before Shavuot last year and the kids were off school. Then ten-year-old Merav and twelve-year-old Amir were now looking up from their breakfasts as well, waiting for my pronouncement.

But I was ready. I had concocted the perfect plan.

Now, one of the traditions of Shavuot is to eat dairy products. So I declared in as animated a way as I could: “We’re going to a cheese farm!”

“A what?” asked Amir with more than a hint of cynicism.

“I read about it in the paper. There’s an organic goat farm that sells these incredible cheeses. It’s only a few minutes outside the city. Wouldn’t that just be perfect?

But to my surprise, the kids were into it. I should have known; they like just about anything that has to do with eating.

[Unfortunately, the Har HaRuach Goat Farm has been closed since this story was originally written. But there are other great goat farms in Israel, including Eretz Zavat Chalav u'Dvash near Petach Tikva, the Zook Farm outside of Beit Shemesh, a farm in Sataf and another in the Negev (see this link for more information on all of the farms.]

As we drove home from our cheesy day, the conversation turned to the upcoming holiday. Shavuot symbolically marks the day the Israelites received the Torah on Mount Sinai after leaving Egypt.

“So, does anyone know where the custom of eating dairy on Shavuot comes from?” I asked.

Blank stares.

“Um…I think it had something to do with when they left Egypt, they didn’t have enough time to take any meat...” Merav ventured a guess.

“That was the matza,” Amir corrected her.

“Maybe they didn’t have meat plates?” I joked.

“They didn’t use dishes,” Amir and Merav both shot back in unison.

All the joking, however, didn’t diminish the fact that we hadn’t the foggiest idea why we eat dairy

So I proposed a contest. We have several computers at home. We would divide into teams and scour the Internet. Whoever came up with the best explanation would get an extra helping of quiche at dinner.

Amir and I headed for the computer upstairs. Merav and Jody took control of the downstairs machine. We came back together and shared the results of our research.

From Team Merav:
“Shavuot was when the Jews accepted the Torah which means it’s also when we learned about separating milk and meat and the various laws governing animal slaughter. Before that, what else could we eat but dairy?” OK, but that sounded a little too much like my joke about the dishes!

And:
“Israel is known as the land of milk and honey.” But then why don’t we eat honey cake on Shavout instead of cheesecake and blintzes?

From Team Amir:
“The gematria (the practice where each Hebrew letter is assigned a numerical value) of chalav – the Hebrew for milk – is 40, the same number of days that Moses was up on Mount Sinai.” Maybe, but a whole holiday based on what essentially comes down to an ancient magician’s card trick?

And:
“Receiving the Torah was a form of rebirth.” So we celebrate by eating baby food. Namely: milk.

Even Aviv shook his head at that one.

Finally, it was Jody who found what we all agreed was the most acceptable, if somewhat obtuse, explanation.

According to the mystical book of the Zohar, for the 49 days of the omer period – the amount of time between Passover (leaving Egypt) and Shavuot (receiving the Torah), the Jews needed to be in as pure a state as possible. Abstaining from eating meat, which is inextricably connected with death, facilitates such purity.

“But wait a minute,” I said. “If Shavuot is supposed to be the night we got the Torah, then we should be celebrating by eating meat. The 49 days of purification are over. Time to break this flesh fast. Let the party begin!”

“Meat, meat, meat,” the two older kids began to chant [this was several years before Merav became a vegetarian].

Jody, however, turned to us and, with a single withering look that encapsulated exactly why it is so difficult to change 3000 years of tradition, said simply:

“So, what am I supposed to do with all that lasagna?”

TNL Classic: Save My Spot

Brian Blum — Fri, 22 May 2009 06:23:48 -0400

This week, Jody got stuck in a half-hour long p’kak – Hebrew for “a traffic jam” – waiting to get to the front of the meat counter at the supermarket. That reminded me of a supermarket-themed piece I wrote way back in 2004 about a similar experience. So in that spirit, here’s another “TNL Classic.”

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He looked like a regular guy. His short cropped hair, half frame wire glasses, t-shirt (not too designer, not too sloppy) and well worn sandals all suggested a cafe patron with at least a moderately worldly frame of reference. So when he asked Jody to “save his spot” at the SuperSol Deal supermarket checkout line, it was hard to refuse.

“Save my spot” is one of the hardest things for the Western immigrant to Israel to get used to. It can occur at nearly any time in just about any public place: the line at the post office, the pharmacy, the bank. An optimist would say it’s simply a way of maximizing limited resources. You reserve your spot and then continue shopping. As long as you get back before your turn, no one gets hurt.

Others would call it plain chutzpah.

Usually we shrug it off and try to go with the flow. There are bigger battles to fry. And to protest this quintessentially Israeli behavior is to admit that we have not – nor may we ever – fully integrate into life here in our new home.

Plus the man with the wire frame glasses had a gentle look that said “trust me, I’m not here to screw you. I’m just covering all my bases.”

Well, looks can be deceiving.

He had maybe twenty items in his basket and he wanted to see if he could get through the "Seven Item Maximum" Express Line. That should have been a red flag right there.

He trotted off and was gone for ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Jody and her basket slowly inched forward. It was a Thursday night and the store was overflowing with pre-Shabbat shoppers.

Jody spied the man with the wire frame glasses moving from check out lane to check out lane, trying to secure a space. The Express Lane wouldn’t let him in. He pestered the customer service desk.

And then, when Jody was finally next in line to check out, the man returned. He didn’t say anything but it was clear he expected his spot back.

Now, maybe there’s an etiquette in spot saving, something that, not having grown up here, we just don’t have the cultural background (some would say baggage) to pick up on. But it seemed clear to Jody that a fifteen-minute sojourn was pushing it.

She gave him another quintessential Israeli gesture: she shrugged.

To no avail. The man in the wire frame glasses inched his cart up to Jody’s and angled it in such a way that there was no way to gracefully avoid confrontation. Someone had to back down.

The woman in front of Jody, who was now transferring items from her cart to the checkout counter, turned around and snarled at the man. “Go in back of her,” she said. “It’s only fair.”

“I was here first,” the man said. It was so incredibly childish that Jody let out a laugh. Like two kids wrangling over who gets the last scoop of ice cream.

This only increased the man’s determination. He pushed his cart forward again.

“What does it matter to you?” he said to Jody. “It’s not like you’re giving up on something you already had.”

“Be a gentleman,” the woman in front said.

Now, a native-born Israeli would have pushed back or turned to fisticuffs. A native-born Israeli would have yelled and made such a fuss that the man and his no longer charming cafe culture wire frame glasses would have been caustically embarrassed into retreat.

Jody let him through.

With a sneer, he drove home this battleground victory, hissing under his breath “Americans are so inflexible.”

How he could discern Jody's country of origin was anybody's guess. She hadn't said a word the entire time. But this latest declaration was too much for the woman in front who had taken the role of Jody’s defender.

“She’s just as Israeli as you or me,” she snapped. One look at Jody’s basket filled with Israeli brand milk and pizza and cornflakes and frozen chicken would confirm that assertion.

Jody was still too stunned by the whole incident. All she had intended to do was shop. She hadn’t gone scrapping for an international incident.

And then, the man with the wire frame glasses left his cart in place...and went off to shop some more. Unbelievable! Jody thought.

He returned just as the woman in front had placed her last item on the conveyer belt and was getting her credit card ready. He moved into place, quickly bagged his twenty items, paid, and triumphantly took off, having beaten the system...and his fellow shoppers.

Jody was loading her goods onto the conveyer belt when she spied him making a hasty return. She girded herself for another confrontation. But the wild beast look that had so taken over his visage had subsided. He was holding out his hand.

“I hope I didn’t upset you,” he said.

“Well you did,” Jody replied. She wasn’t letting him off the hook for ruining her day quite so easily.

“Oh, well..” he said, hesitating for a moment. “Well, um...then Shabbat Shalom!”

And that was it. As far as he was concerned, the matter was closed. Bygones should be bygones and any animosity from this point forward would be as inappropriate as...well, his behavior just a few moments ago.

What could Jody do? Not return the greeting? That would be so un-Israeli. And she’d already been accused of that. But maybe there was something to learn here. About how Israelis deal with conflict. Or muster an apology.

She’d think about that later. For now, there was only one thing to say.

“Shabbat Shalom,” Jody wished the man with the wire frame glasses. She shook his hand and he smiled. Jody suppressed another laugh and smiled back.

And then they walked their baskets through the sliding glass door and out into the parking lot together.