In 'The Land that I will show you': My July in Israel

I am here in Jerusalem for what was originally planned as a two part 6 week trip: the first two, with my wife Diane, for my extended Shalom Hartman Board meeting followed by Hartman’s Community Learning Program (CLP).

Sadly the outbreak of war with Iran on June 13 scuttled that 2 week plan. We did not leave as planned. However, as soon as airspace reopened and flights resumed, I booked a new itinerary to actualize the remaining 4 weeks.

I had spent a goodly part of the Spring vying to craft a volunteer stint here, post Hartman, which would be an extension of my work for the past 3 years, in Spiritual Care. I have been studying what is known as Clinical Pastoral Education or CPE since 2022 at the Jewish Theological Seminary (NY) - once a week via Zoom (plus 4 in-person in-NY cohort convenings) and applying my CPE learning in practicum internships at Kaiser Hospital in San Rafael and SF’s Senior Campus for Jewish Living.

My operative thought around volunteering as a Spiritual Care provider, was deepening the breadth of my own learning while imparting some modicum of “help” to Israelis in a dimension I felt I prospectively could. Last summer I’d ag volunteered in the fields; however, this summer I was determined to change it up and effect more congruence between my ongoing CPE learning and applying spiritual care to a community beset in a multitude of ways since 10/7 and just now the 12 day Iran War.

Much much more on that over the course of this blog.

For now, I am content to begin at the beginning and relate my arrival and first Shabbat. As will be the case throughout this annal, my aim is to provide you much more with what friends and family have been asking for - tell us about the mood of the country, tell us what you’re up to, bring us along - than tipping into the granularity (zzz) of the day to day. So mine will be a compilation of people and events and anecdotes that sum to capture my sojourn.

I will share an abundance of OII’s throughout - anecdotes that speak volumes and which, collectively, bare the mood: Only In Israel.

Getting Here

Once flights were reinstated after the war, ElAl was the only airline that resumed. Accordingly I flew EWR-Milan-TLV whereby Milan was directly reachable via United and ElAl picked me up from there. Our flight was about 2/3 full. On arriving, it was dismaying to walk into Foreigner Passport Control completely by myself. That is neither hyperbole nor a casual assessment. There was literally no one else present at that particular moment. Yes, perhaps minutes later such would not be the case, perhaps there’d be a handful of arrivals, but that it even was then, telegraphed the still fresh toll of the war.

OII It’s one thing to be approached/accosted on Fifth Avenue in NY or in Times Square by well meaning Chabadniks, asking if you’d like to put on tefillin. It’s quite another on a 737, bound for Israel, with nowhere to hide or run! That was a first. He had no takers, for those of you keeping score at home. But I admired his pluck. And to be sure, flight attendants let him be.

OII I also appreciated my row-mate, a 43 year long Jerusalem resident expat from Brazil, bringing me on her return from the restroom, pretzels and water because I was napping when they were passing them out. “Didn’t want you to be hungry!”

OII My cab driver whose poor English matched my poor Hebrew, showed me pictures of his son in full paratrooper battle regalia standing at the entry of a tunnel his unit unearthed in Gaza. He has served multiple stints, including one 4 months long. No shower no nothing.

OII The deli owner across from my airbnb, who held off closing to make my dinner sandwich. “How are you? How did you manage these recent couple weeks?” I asked. “I’m fine, we’re fine. We’re good at this.,” chuckling, “this resilient thing. We’ve had a lot of practice. Maybe too much.”

Friday - mid Sunday July 4-6

My airbnb is in Baka, a lovely Jerusalem ‘hood, known for its abundance of English speaking ex-pats, its potpourri of shuls and minyanim to suit any conceivable flavor one may be looking for, its centrality to almost anywhere in town via walking or short cab or bus, and its proximity to the Harakevet - the old train tracks which is a favorite walking/running/biking path newly outfitted with a world class indoor pool and gym facility (“The Jerusalem Pool”) right alongside its trailhead. As so many cities are, Jerusalem is a city of neighborhoods. Their respective distinctiveness, given the city’s incomparable cultural and religious history and diversity, is pronounced. So to be sure Baka hardly exemplifies all of Jerusalem. Hardly! It is a small lovely Jewish enclave that will serve as my gateway for what I aim to be a month of kaleidoscopic Jerusalem experiences.

Pre Shabbos marketing in Israel on Friday, that marks the start of the weekend, is a veritable Shabbos ritual in and of itself. The bustle is everywhere and the peels of “Shabbat Shalom!” make far more noise than the cash registers. Waiting in line is not the torpor of home; its much more like standing around at a Kiddush in shul, kibbitzing. That you don’t know someone is incidental - if you admire their baby or their dog or their particularly robust watermelon, it’s fodder for a conversation.

I had been invited by a friend for Friday night Kabbalat Shabbat and a potluck in the bordering mixed Arab and Jewish neighborhood of Abu Tor, just south of the Old City, where I’d been before. It was without question, the most soulful Kabbalat Shabbat I have ever experienced. We (50+) filled the brim of the bazaar-feeling living room of our host, a self-called Spiritual entrepreneur, early 30-something, Adirhi Haberman-Bronze, who leads Kula Liba, “…a Jerusalem community that explores the intersection of prayer, music, movement and ritual.” We sat on the floor, on pillows and carpet, around a huge silver platter befitting a shuk, bearing an overcrowded assortment of Shabbos nairot (candles). And we sang Kabbalat Shabbat, every word, seamlessly, sans pausing, accompanied by a bongo drum and concertina. Many prayers became mantra’esque, with closing stanzas being repeated over and over, by a succession of random participants, doing the group singing equivalent of punching the beachball let loose at a concert - sending it over to the next guy and the next and the next. We were all transported by the experience - Kabbalah’istic in every sense. Our prayers were followed by a vegan potluck whose highlight was the Motzi, sung by the designated Motzi’er, in a nod to the Fourth of July, to a rousing tune of Star Spangled Banner (he fit it in expertly.)

Shabbos morning began with a run down the Harakevet where I played my longstanding only-in-Jerusalem game: wishing those I pass, “Shabbat Shalom” and tracking my batting average of responses. Can’t do that in Marin! I batted about my historic average: .900’ish! Then minyan at Hakhel, a mehitza egal modern orthodox community chiefly comprised of ex pat families that I had attended in the past. Davening there pretty much all business. Singing not so much. The Bar M boy was a whiz - what is it with these native speaking Israeli kids who layne at warp speed? Kiddush was as low key as it could be - in a courtyard with some crackers and cookies and veggies, and plenty of drinks - no prepared food whatsoever. Everyone was schmoozing and having a wonderful time and there wasn’t a caterer to be seen for miles. North American Bar M families: take note (and save a bundle!). Let a thousand minyanim and kiddushes flourish in Yerushalayim — one for every kind of davener.

Shabbos lunch, 90 minutes after shul, was a stemwinder. Arrived at my friend’s apartment at 1:00 and we left close to 7. What didn’t we discuss (and eat and drink?) — this incredibly accomplished, multi generational and eclectic group from England/Israel/NY, Romania/Transylvania/Hungary, Cleveland, Israel/NY, Paris, Seattle and Israel? All Jerusalem residents; I was the only visitor. The shared mood was acknowledged, to a person (only 2 were away when the war began) of feeling utterly spent and exhausted. Yet there was also universal expressions of Hope brought about by a grit and determination to get through this protracted seeming never-ending rough patch. One openly bared her soul and declared her secret wish we move on beyond our fixation with the Hostages - with profound empathy but weary of being drained emotionally for so long. Another gently, respectfully chided her: you can feel all of that but the Hostages have to remain at the center of our being. It is not one or the other: feel your emotional weariness and your yearning to break free from that while holding at the same time, our national obsession with freeing the Hostages. How could politics not arise (NY mayoralty miraculously did NOT!): Bibi was the consensus speculation, resignedly, to be PM until he chose not to be. He will refashion himself to lead the next government.

OII Walking home as Shabbos wound down, I reflected wondrously on the bazaar Kabbalah Shabbat and morning minyan and kiddush, and Shabbat lunch: only 2 weeks ago, there was no Shabbat in Israel. Virtually every person I has been with, 2 weeks ago was in their bomb shelter. Many had likened it to the worst of Covid days when the world was shut down and shut in. Yet my friend Yoni, from Hartman, when I ran into him at the Kiddush, seemed to capture it best: “Listen, it was a roller coaster. Up and down and up and down and around. But we had our seat belts on. And it was already 2 -3 weeks ago. Change happens so fast around here, we’ve moved on. You see it all around you. It’s Shabbos. We’re back to making Shabbos.” That’s what I had experienced: an exquisite Jerusalem Shabbat, rendered by a community, set upon, taxed and weathered, but resilient and faithful to living the best Jewish and proudly Israeli lives they can.

Sunday began with a divine swim workout in the 33.3 meter community pool, 12 minutes away. Divine.

OII Walking to the pool, I came alongside an older woman and wished her Boker Tov (Good morning). Her pleasant Hebrew reply was decidedly English inflected. Which gave me all the encouragement I needed to ascertain she has lived in the neighborhood for 30 years and she would be a font of information for where to shop for reasonably priced and good, fruits and vegetables and bread. She was! We introduced ourselves and ended up walking into the pool/gym together. When I came onto the pool deck 30 min later there she was in water aerobics and she yelled out over her teacher, “Hi Howard!” Local aquatic hospitality.

OII 20 minutes into my swim, the lifeguard calmly barked through a bullhorn. I asked a young woman ‘what did he say?’ “‘Men Only’” time in the pool has begun - I am getting out; the ‘Women Only’ time is in the afternoon” Welcome to pool rules in religiously minded Jerusalem. I must say it made for a whole glorious lane for me!

OII After working out, I was in a nearby bakery that sold pastries and barekhas but no fresh bread. I was on my phone trying to plot a nearby bakery for bread. Another customer, an Israeli, asked could he help. I told him of my quest. He said to follow him. He walked me to a local bread store nearby but out of his way that turned out to be excellent. He made a point of telling me and obviously delighted doing so - all the bread is half price after 6:30! Enroute he had asked where I was from. “Ah, so you are not from NY? You are lucky. You watch: Israel will be inundated with Jewish New Yorkers, fleeing New York to live here. This is a dangerous guy.” Who’s to know what will transpire, but the proximity of NYC to Jerusalem was in plain view and an oncoming surge in Jerusalem real estate prices!

*****