market place blown away

The marketplace I refer to is not Hadera's shuk, where 4 Israelis were killed on Wednesday in a pigua (suicide bombing). After a pigua, the area is evacuated of casualties, cleaned up, and returned to normal in a matter of hours.

I refer to Abraham Joshua Heschel's The Sabbath. He writes, A thought has blown the marketplace away. He explains Judaism as a sacralization of time, rather than space. There are proscribed words and actions, but there is no proscribed place. Shabbat is something intangible you carry with you wherever you go. In Israel, it is evident every Friday afternoon, the thought is enough to shut down the country, to halt commerce, travel, and bitter words. To resume study, reflection, and have a family meal.

Two shabbats ago, I met up with my girls in Ashkelon, and we caught a taxi to Nitzanim, a beautiful Mediterranean beach. We set up camp, lit Shabbat candles, and had a romantic meal, the sunset still in view. This is the Shabbat I shed some fear, and did my first front walk-over. Nellie led a ballet class in the sand. We read a children's book "Galgalim" ("Wheels") in Hebrew. We talked about finding the Middle Way of Judaism. I went running on the beach, not knowing it was an area especially for macho Israeli guys to show off on their ATVs. Jerrin got a gory jellyfish thigh attack, but I didn't have to pee on it, because they keep vinegar at the bar.

Last Shabbat I was in Tzfat, which is known as the holy city of ruach. There are four holy cities: Jerusalem is fire, Tiberias is water, Hebron is earth, and Tzfat ruach (air/spirit). It is said to be the longest continually-inhabited jewish city in the world. Its old city is carpeted with pale sandstone, and blue hangs over the hill; awnings and window grates are painted blue, and the sky is clear and crisp. The air is said to be medicinal for body and spirit. Although I wasn't feeling too well after sleeping for 3 nights on the beach of the Kinneret through the weather change, I made my way to Kabbalat Shabbat at a Chabad synagogue and to the home of a Chabadnik couple and their 7 beautiful daughters. They spoke no English, so I focused on the food while Asher, the father, told tales of tzaddiks (righteous men) at length, and the women discussed the new exhibition at Yad Vashem. Tzfat was cold, but shivering in my bed did not diminish the power that I felt there. Fall had definitely begun and with it a different idea of what this year will bring. Most notably, a new friend, Shmuel, who has just begun studying at a yeshiva in Tzfat, asked if I was a revolutionary. Please, friends, I hope you understand that I can say no more.

This Shabbat I am visiting with the aunt of my dear friend, who fills her hilltop cottage with all the organic produce and exotic teas I can think of. She comforts me with stories of her adventures here and abroad, of meeting fascinating teachers, and learning to cook, and heal, and understanding where she was meant to go. This morning we swam in the sea, and this afternoon we had a sunset walk among pines and a rose garden, with both the Palestinian and Jordanian border fences in sight.

When I finish writing, I will invite Shabbat, and the marketplace of my words will blow away for a day.

zionism, like hip-hop, is a way of life

Feivel, our site coordinator and guitarist in a Jerusalem-based band, asked us, "What is hip-hop?" Hip-hop is a way of life. It is the spoken word, music, dance, and art that artists use to arouse people with a common identity to create community. By this definition, Zionism is hip-hop.

It's unusual these days to hear people self-proclaim themselves zionists. You have to devote a couple of hours to sit with a person and listen to his story. You can't just ask, "Are you a political zionist?" "a labor zionist?" "a religious zionist?" That would be an I-It encounter, a cheap objectification of the thing that often forms the foundation, conscious or subconscious, of a person's lifestyle and livelihood.

If i have learned anything so far, it is that sincere humanization is the result of constant, nagging threats. They reiterated it a thousand times during orientation: No means maybe. Maybe means flash another smile and you'll get it. If you make eye contact, play israeli/jewish geography, or sincerely inquire about a person's life, you're a lot more likely to meet success in your requests. The cashier will search the store to find the brand that's on sale, people will let you cut the line (except boarding a bus), and when the person next to you on line also speaks english and finds out you're also originally from new jersey, they will probably invite you over for coffee or a shabbat meal. Despite the divisions within this country, brotherhood lives.

Zionism lives. Talking politics in the Northeast USA and Europe, I wouldn't have known. I have surrounded myself with astute, informed cynics. But here, I've met countless new and old olim (immigrants to Israel) who made great sacrifices to live here. People who left a high quality of life because they were pulled here by the magnetic force of Zionism.

Zionism is still a magnet. Jerrin and I shared two Shabbat meals with new immigrants in their 20s from Paris, Montreal and Toronto. They earned degrees in engineering, pharmacy, journalism, and have no aspirations to practice those professions here. Maxim, our friend from Paris emphasized (I paraphrase), "I did not come here because my life is Paris was bad. My life was very, very, very good. I had my own apartment but I ate every meal somewhere else, each meal with different friends. I studied to be an engineer, but I don't want to be an engineer. I left my girlfriend, and I don't know what will happen in the two years she has left at university. I didn't observe Shabbat in France. I didn't wear a kippah. In France, everyone wants their own house with their own yard and their own life. Here, in Israel, people walk in and out of each other's houses, they drink a little coffee, they talk, they rest on Shabbat. I knew I had to come here." So Zionism, like hip-hop, is not easily defined, but surely a way of life. In the case of someone who makes the move, there are two lives--Diaspora and Israel. Zeh mah yesh-- this is what there is.