Balconies and Balancing Acts:
First Report from My Second Summer
at the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem

Rabbi Michael Feshbach
Temple Shalom
Chevy Chase, Maryland

Two weeks and a day in Israel now, and this is one of the very first chances I have had to sit and reflect, to think and to write.  It has been a whirlwind, full days of learning and sharing, insight and opportunities.

            This was supposed to be a half day, and a slow one.  It is one of those minor fast days on the Jewish calendar – not nearly as well known, or as widely observed at Tisha B’Av (the 9^th day of the Hebrew month of Av, the day in late July or early August most years when both the first and the second Temples were destroyed, and the same day on which the Jews were expelled from Spain.)  This is Shiva Asar B’Tammuz, the 17^th day of the Hebrew month of Tammuz (which precedes Av),  the day on which the ancient walls of Jerusalem were breached.  Even many who observe Tisha B’Av do not fast on this day; shops and restaurants all seem open, and we were served by kippah-wearing bakers and chefs in a number of places.

            Still, what was supposed to be a half day at the Machon (the Insitute, meaning the Shalom Hartman Institute, where I am in the second of four Julys of intensive study in a multi-denominational program with rabbis from all branches of Judaism) quickly turned into one of the most interesting days of my trip.

            Immediately after the morning Talmud Study (a lesson from a fabulous teacher on the tractate of the Talmud dealing with fasts), my group of 28 rabbis was invited to meet with officers from the IDF (Israel Defense Forces) who were at the Machon at the beginning of what would be, for them, a two week program.  What are they doing there?  It turns out, as I had learned last summer, that all officers, of all branches of the IDF, once they reach a certain rank (captain?), are now required to take a course in Jewish identity, democracy and pluralism offered by the Hartman Institute.  Since the Machon I am at was founded by a liberal, pluralistically oriented, democracy supporting Orthodox rabbi named David Hartman, this has to be a good thing.  Indeed, the officers were learning about all different branches of Judaism.  There was even a Charedi (ultra-Orthodox) rabbi downstairs speaking with them – an incredible thing in and of itself since the Charedi tend to be anti-Zionist and do not support the symbols and institutions of the state, such as the military (whose soldiers, by the way, put their lives on the line to defend the Charedim who refuse to serve at all).

            Around fifteen of the North American rabbis stayed for this optional discussion, meeting with a group of twenty or so officers.  We wound up having a half hour to talk; I wish this had gone on for two hours.

            I spoke with one man and one woman, both of whom define themselves as secular, both of whom had all kinds of questions for me.  (My friend Debbie Newman Kamin, a Conservative rabbi from Chicago, was getting stunned questions at the next table.  A woman rabbi?  They’d heard of it, but, they kind of didn’t believe it.)  The male office said he grew up secular but was in the midst of wondering who he is, what it means to be Jewish, what it means to be Israeli, what kind of family he wants to have and what kind of world he wants to work for, and he was beginning to realize that there was a spiritual component to these questions.  He also said that many of his fellow officers had never thought much about what it meant to be “Jewish,” a question they had all been asked to reflect on a couple of days ago.  He was struck, he said, by how many of the stories these Israelis told about being Jewish had to do with trips overseas, questions raised by travel either to the United States or to Europe.  In his case, a trip to Poland and the death camps got him thinking about Judaism as a religion for the first time in his life.  The female officer I spoke with was of Iraqi descent, although her uncle had married a woman from London and belonged, in Israel, to a Reform synagogue.  She described herself as an atheist, but when I asked her what she meant by not believing in God she said that she did not believe that God wrote the Torah, and when I said that I agreed with her, and, further, that all the Reform and Conservative rabbis in the room did as well, she was a bit shocked.  The officer another friend spoke with said he, too, did not know how to relate to Judaism per se, and that he had never really thought about Judaism in terms of moral concerns until he was stationed, on the West Bank, in a place where he had to protect Charedi Jews who wanted to pray at some new site… and he had to occupy Palestinian homes in the middle of the night in order to protect these ultra-Orthodox Jews.  What is the right thing to do, and what is the proper way to behave.  Moral questions, certainly, but, he now realized… these are Jewish questions as well.

            From this too brief conversation, Debbie, my friend Sid and I walked down to Emek Refaim, the main street in the upscale, mixed modern-Orthodox/secular, heavily Anglo-oriented German Colony, and grabbed lunch (yes, I confess, I don’t fast on the 17^th of Tammuz).  And then, at Debbie’s invitation, Ira picked us up.  Who is Ira?  He was known as Ira Cohen when he was in the States, before he made aliyah, and among other things he had opened the very first Kosher Kitchen, a kind of coop that I remember in White Oak, in the Washington area in the 1980’s.  Now, though…. Now, he works with a number of Federations, but also represents a school system called Yad B’Yad (Hand in Hand), and it was the Jerusalem campus of one of the three Yad B’Yad schools that we want to visit.  This is essentially a charter school in Jerusalem, with one-third government funding, one-third funding from tuition, and the rest from donations… which, almost uniquely, educates Jewish and Arab students together!  For readers in the United States used to the multi-cultural context in which we live, it is very hard to appreciate just how rare, how incredibly special such an institution is.  It is a bi-lingual school, with each class having one Arabic speaking teacher and one Hebrew speaking teacher (plus the kids learn English beginning in third grade).  There was neighborhood opposition to the school at first, but the beautiful campus and community outreach have won most people over.  Friendships form among children…and families.  Jews and Arabs invite one another into their homes.  A special curriculum had to be developed (rather than the state curriculum) for both history (teaching several narratives side by side) and religion (since there are students from at least three religions attending this school).  We spoke with some of the teachers and saw the youngest kids and the teenagers who attended the summer camp; what a breath of hope and fresh air in the midst of hostility and suspicion!  The students face questions from friends who attend other schools; some of their Jewish friends can’t believe the Jewish students go to school with Arabs, and (to my shame and sadness), the Arabs react with incredulity that the Arab students have had Jews in their homes who did not try to attach them.  Stereotypes have set in strongly and deeply during the past decade; the hope and openness brought by Oslo seem long past and deeply buried.  But, as I have written elsewhere, it was only a decade and a half ago.  It can happen again.  It can.  It really can.

            This is just one part, of one day, with more to come and lots more to reflect on concerning the first two weeks here.  I have been at services by the sea, and welcomed into homes; we have met in several contexts with the new leader of the Reform movement, and sat with leaders of all North American denominations.  The large group of rabbis (several hundred) who studied at Hartman for the first two weeks, with whom we interacted closely during their two weeks here are gone, leaving just my cohort for the next week and a half (along with Hartman’s North American Scholars Circle, and a group of Christian Leaders, with whom we will also study).  I have toured the West Bank (including entering into the closed portion of the Palestinian Authority, Area A), and gone off to an Israeli Arab town for dinner.  I have walked through Jerusalem street festivals, and seen the latest Israeli movie (a thriller about, get this, the cutthroat competition in the field of academic Talmudic research).  I have studied ancient text and the lastest Israeli rock music.  I have seen young adults, children, and several couples from our congregation, and heard from some of the leading thinkers in Israel and North America.  I have been on rooftops and in cellars.  And I have not, once, been to the Wall.

But this piece is getting long already, so I will try to write about some of those experiences later tonight.             

I sit near a balcony in my Jerusalem apartment, in the once secular elite and now, somewhat rapidly Charedifying (is that a word?) neighborhood of Rechavia.  It is quier, for the moment, and the breeze stirs the leaves while a warm humid blanket of air still sits upon the city.  In one direction, just beyond the balcony, is the Israel Museum and the Knessset, the centerpieces of modern Israel, the pride of Israeli sovereignty.  In another direction is the center of the city, and then, further away, the Old City I have yet to visit on this trip.  So many different perspectives.  So many different views, from one balacony.  Apart from missing my family greatly… how blessed I am to be here!

Until I can write again, my love to all of you.

L’shalom  (In Peace),

Rabbi Michael Feshbach