Tag Archives: yeshiva

The last day of school

Shalom with his Rebbe.

Shalom with his Rebbe.

Today was Shalom Gershon’s last day of school here, and the last day of my own zman (term) in yeshiva. Although I may be able to pop in a bit when seder resumes in Elul, that will be our last week here and there will be a lot of packing, etc., keeping me from really getting back into it. So, for all intents and purposes, this marks the end of my sojourn this year as an avreich (full-time adult yeshiva student).

There’s a tefillah that we say when leaving the beis medrash (study hall) after a day of learning:

…מודה אני לפניך ה’ אלוקי ואלוקי אבותי ששמת חלקי מיושבי בית המדרש ולא שמת חלקי קרנות

“Thank you, Hashem, my G-d and G-d of my fathers, for placing my portion among those who sit in the study hall, and not placing my portion among those who hang around on corners…” (loosely translated)

Leaving the beis medrash today, I had a really hard time saying the tefillah. I have a first-rate job, and a terrific life, waiting back in Chicago. It’s not exactly hanging out on street corners. But having my portion among those in the beis medrash…

This entire year, I’ve been intending to write up some discussion of what learning in yeshiva is like. I keep putting it off because it’s easier to write about other things. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to capture its essence, and there are aspects to many of the subject matters we’ve been learning that people might find distracting and cause them to miss the point. But I do need to try, since it has been the central point of our little adventure. B’li neder, I’ll try to put something together. (I also plan to put together a post on how the boys’ year in school has been.)

But I’m feeling the pain of leaving full-time learning behind on a lot of levels. It isn’t just that I’m going to have to massively cut back on an activity that I’ve come to enjoy so viscerally. Nor is it just (“just!”) the fact that we consider Torah learning to be the pinnacle activity for personal development and reward. There’s also the fact that, as a latecomer to observant Judaism, I’m so far behind in the skills and knowledge necessary to be part of the learning community – which is to say the mainstream. After a year, on top of what I have been able to cobble together in the past few years, I feel like I’m on the entrance ramp. I have basic abilities, though my language skills are still lacking. It seems like a little more work and the world of Jewish texts would really open up to me.

I knew that, whatever progress I made this year, I wouldn’t be satisfied with it. I’m sure if I’d gotten even further, I still would feel like I just need a little more. Satisfaction is always just out of reach, and I’m pretty sure that’s a good thing. So the question now is how much I’ll be able to close the gap back in Chicago, when I’m back in the regular routine. Of course, now matter how much it is, it won’t be enough.

 

Snow in Jerusalem!

IMG_0953Everything here has ground to a halt as Jerusalem got the most snow it has seen in over 20 years. They said it was 20 cm in the city center (near us), and even more in outlying areas. I still haven’t quite mastered the metric system, but I’m pretty sure that 20 centimeters is about 4 feet.

The orange tree around the corner from our apartment.

The orange tree around the corner from our apartment.

The boys are totally delighted, even though this would be routine back in Chicago (albeit not lately). They’re caught up in the excitement of the rest of the kids, who are absolutely beside themselves.

The local attitude is mostly to shrug, smile, and take the snow day. The schools are closed (except Yitzi’s school, Zilberman’s, which isn’t so surprising if you know anything about Zilberman’s), as are virtually all of the stores, restaurants, etc. Starting last night, they made the buses and train free in Jerusalem, to discourage people from driving. But then they suspended service on most of the buses, and the rest this morning when it really started to come down. The city does apparently have some snow removal equipment, but it’s clear that this will all be melted away shortly anyway.

Our sugya, with a demonstrative aid.

Our sugya, with a demonstrative aid.

At my yeshiva, those who live outside the Rova weren’t able to come in the morning, and there was a festive atmosphere for the rest of us. Instead of our usual Thursday schedule (review of the week’s daf, followed by a test), the whole yeshiva is learning a sugya on snow (at the bottom of Niddah 17A). Some guys brought in snowballs for inspiration.

Some more photos I took this morning are below. Enjoy.

The square near our apartment, where the boys were getting to work.

The square near our apartment, where the local kids were getting to work.

In front of the Churva synagogue, doing a little Sefer Yetzira work to make the minyan.

In front of the Churva synagogue, doing a little Sefer Yetzira work to make the minyan.

Looking down Rechov Hayehudim.

Looking down Rechov Hayehudim.

Looking the other way down Rechov Yehudim.

Looking the other way down Rechov Yehudim.

More foliage-weather incongruity.

More foliage-weather incongruity.

 

The snow is major news here, as is this snowman, apparently.

The snow is major news here, as is this snowman, apparently.

The Cardo.

The Cardo.

These guys are having a long-distance snowball fight with guys below the Cardo.

These guys are having a long-distance snowball fight with guys below the Cardo.

The Yehudim/Cardo area from another angle.

The Yehudim/Cardo area from another angle.

The snowman made by our friends, the Weisses.

The snowman made by our friends, the Weisses.

The Weisses' snow fort (occupied by some random guy who is not a Weiss). Our boys helped make this.

The Weisses’ snow fort (occupied by some random guy who is not a Weiss). Our boys helped make this.

The snow fort made by one of our artist neighbors, Rivka Deutsch, and family.

The snow fort made by one of our artist neighbors, Rivka Deutsch, and family.

The back view of Fort Deutsch.

The back view of Fort Deutsch.

Side view of the Churva.

Side view of the Churva.

Rosh Hashanah

“Please. Send. More. Brisket.”

When it comes to the High Holidays, the common perception is that Rosh Hashanah is fun, while Yom Kippur is the hard one. After all, Yom Kippur is when we fast and repent, spending all day talking about how bad we were last year, begging for forgiveness, and promising that next year will somehow be different. As a kid, I definitely dreaded Yom Kippur. Spending a big chunk of the day in synagogue brought it to another whole level of affliction.

By contrast, Rosh Hashanah is all apples & honey, warm wishes for a sweet new year, the shofar, much shorter services, and even fish heads. If not for the fact that it is an ominous portent of the Day of Atonement to come just 10 days later, Rosh Hashanah would be just about perfect.

But that isn’t quite how it really is. Rosh Hashanah is, in truth, the Yom HaDin – the Day of Judgment. Our fate for the next year is being determined, at least preliminarily. Yes, we’re supposed to be happy and enjoy all of the special observances of the holiday, but we’re also supposed to be in awe of the King and His judgment.

Nonetheless, back home in Chicago, Rosh Hashanah tended to feel more celebratory than trepidatious. Not so here. Much of that is because I’m not just in Jerusalem, but in yeshiva. We’ve been hammering away at teshuvah (repentance – literally, “return”) for all of the Hebrew month of Elul, including careful study of a classic work on the topic (Rabbenu Yonah’s Sha’arei Teshuvah) and formulation of practical exercises to implement the concepts therein. Public speeches by the rabbis of the yeshiva have been teshuvah-focused, and the topic has been hanging heavily in the air since I got here.

Still, Rosh Hashanah itself was at another level of intensity from what I’m used to. Part of it was that the yeshiva davens (prays) vasikin on Rosh Hashanah. Vasikin means that the service is timed to hit the shmoneh esrei exactly at sunrise. To do this, we started a bit after 5:30 a.m. each of the two days. (We’re also going to daven vasikin for Yom Kippur, which is after the time change here in Israel. Looks like a roughly 4:30 a.m. start time.) It seems vasikin is far from unusual on Rosh Hashanah, because there were plenty of people out when I was walking to yeshiva in the morning.

Even aside from vasikin, there was a much stronger flavor of “Yom HaDin.” For example, the speaker before mussaf (the part of the service in which, among other things, the shofar is blown) was Rabbi Krieger, the yeshiva’s Shoel U’Meishiv (a rabbi who is available during the day to answer the students’ questions), who also happens to be a great-nephew of Rabbi Meir Simcha HaKohen, a.k.a. the Ohr Somayach or the Meshech Chochma. He talked about how hard it was to speak at that moment, in light of the impending shofar blowing, and related that Rabbi Isser Zalman Meltzer was once asked to speak in the same slot. According to Rabbi Krieger, Rav Meltzer got up, and promptly began crying uncontrollably. He cried for 10 minutes, and sat down… that was his speech.

Another difference from Chicago is that there is far less uniformity in the community-wide schedule. At home, aside from the occasional vasikin minyan, the various synagogues start and and at similar times. The whole neighborhood seems pretty much on the same rhythm, with people coming & going between home, synagogue, and meals at basically the same time. Here, there is much more variety. Starting and finishing times vary wildly. Even for those who daven vasikin, some (like my yeshiva) do a lot of singing, etc., and so don’t finish until after 11:30 a.m. By contrast, our lunch host also davened vasikin, but his private minyan goes pretty straight through, and they were done hours earlier. Our houseguests went to services at Aish Hatorah, and didn’t get back until 2:00 p.m. Some kabbalists have a shul around the corner from here, and I can only imagine when or how long they davened (a friend of a friend reportedly once went there for evening Shabbos services, but left after it took about 15 minutes for them to say the first line of Krias Shema). And I have no idea what it was like down at the Kotel.

G-d should cast our sins into the depths of the… sewer?

On Rosh Hashanah afternoon, there’s a custom to perform tashlich, a ceremony done next to a body of water. In Chicago, we go to the nearby North Shore Channel of the Chicago River. It’s your classic, preferred venue for tashlich – flowing water, fish swimming happily. There no such open water in Jerusalem, much less in the Old City. So, here, they do tashlich in the square near our apartment… next to two big sewer grates. I guess there might be water down there somewhere, but I sure didn’t see any. Jerusalem usually has it all over Chicago in matters of spiritual ambiance, but the Windy City takes this particular contest going away.

I have to say that, overall, I found myself a little homesick over Rosh Hashanah, pretty much for the first time since we got here. On the High Holidays, you’re kind of going to battle spiritually. I missed not only the familiar surroundings of my synagogue, and our star chazzan, but especially the tight bond among the mispallelim (those praying). We’re not a kehilla (congregation) of convenience, but one of choice, with similar goals and strong friendships. There’s a bond among the people in yeshiva, for sure, but I’ve only been here a month. Also, most of the guys here are significantly younger. In all, it feels weird to be going to war without my platoon.

Adding to the weirdness of this Rosh Hashanah was the stomach bug that went through the family. My turn came just after mincha (the afternoon service) on the first day, which put me in bed until I made it to synagogue early the next morning. Both Yitzi and Shalom had it pretty bad, but Mordechai, thank G-d, avoided it entirely. Debbie got it the worst by far, but I’ll let her tell her tale when she’s ready.

Even with the sickness, of the stomach and home- variety, Rosh Hashanah here was an amazing experience. People talk about the kedushah (holiness) of Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel), of Jerusalem, and of the Old City, but it doesn’t hit you over the head like a sledgehammer – at least it didn’t for me. Instead, it is like a quiet background hum that slowly grows in intensity over time. By the time of Rosh Hashanah, I could feel its momentum, and it was part of what made this an intense experience. We’ll see how it feels as our year progresses…

Wishing everyone a g’mar chasima tova and an easy, meaningful fast.

Being here

Maybe the weirdest thing about being here is that, oddly enough, I have to keep reminding myself that we’re far, far away. For all the differences, there’s a lot that’s familiar. The streets of the Old City may be stone, but you’re as likely to hear English on them as Hebrew (maybe more likely). Americans abound, including the constant tour groups streaming through the squares. Other than the texts themselves, and the “Yeshivish” jargon, everything at my yeshiva is in English (most of the “foreign” flavor comes from the large number of South African students there). I get my news the same way I did at home – from the Internet – and from generally the same sources. I glance over the online Chicago Tribune, the Wall Street Journal, Facebook… I look at the Jerusalem Post site more than I used to, but most of its online stories seem to be geared for the international audience anyway. My media mix is largely unchanged, with the exception of being unable to stream WXRT (VPN, I’m looking into you soon!).

Also, when you’re a Torah-observant Jew, there are lots of familiar standbys. A shul is a shul. We’re used to services being all in Hebrew anyway. Shabbos is Shabbos. The familiar rhythm of frantic Friday errand-running, hurried showers, setting up timers, hot water, hot plate, crock pot, etc.; the sudden, forced peace that comes with lit candles and swaying brachos; family Shabbos dinner at a formal, clothed table with songs and parsha sheets; morning davening at shul, followed by lunch at home or as guests, with the usual discussion of the Torah portion, current events, and our journeys in Yiddishkeit; the leisurely afternoon, mincha, the simple-but-satisfying seuda shlishis of challah, hardboiled eggs, etc., the too-soon end with ma’ariv and havdala, bringing that back-to-work feeling… all of it transcends place.

When shul, yeshiva, and Shabbos all feel like home, it can be difficult to remember how far we’ve come. Debbie’s and the boys’ experience is totally different, as they deal much more with Jerusalem as a new, foreign place. But I find myself sometimes jarred when I look up past the stone and catch a view of the Mount of Olives or a similar, undeniably foreign landscape, and remember that I am There.

My schedule

Because I know you want to know everything about my day, here’s my weekday (Sun – Thurs) schedule:

7:20 a.m.: Shacharis (morning prayer service) at Yeshivas Bircas HaTorah (5 minute walk from our apartment)

8:15-ish a.m.: Breakfast at home

9:10 a.m.: Mussar (Torah-based character development) class at the yeshiva

9:40 a.m.: Begin chavrusa (study partner) learning; start with a daf (front & back of page) of Mishnah Bereruah, followed by gemara (Meseches Kesuvos, in which we’re learning a daf per week, including the commentators Rashi, Tosafos, and the Maharsha)

1:10 p.m.: Mincha (afternoon prayer service) at the yeshiva

1:40-ish p.m.: Lunch at home, often followed or preceded by errands

3:00 p.m.: Vaad (sort of a group workshop) at the yeshiva, to work on implementing concepts from mussar class

3:20 p.m.: Resume chavrusa learning

5:15 p.m.: Class on part of the gemara we have been learning

6:30-ish p.m.: Return home for dinner, etc.

I haven’t yet scheduled my evenings, though I’m considering finding a (modern) Hebrew tutor. Other alternatives would include getting another chavrusa to learn something else with me, or choosing something to learn on my own. I’m trying to take “sitting on my tush, blogging” off the menu.

Kesuvos

My timing is good. As I begin there, Bircas HaTorah will be starting a new masechta (tractate, or volume, of Talmud). We’ll be learning Kesuvos (in modern Hebrew, Ketubot). A kesuva is the Jewish marriage contract, which spells out the husband’s obligations to the wife, particularly if she becomes widowed or divorced. Maseches Kesuvos is ostensibly about the laws of the kesuva but, like the rest of the Talmud, its discussion tends to wander into many areas of Jewish law and history. In fact, I’m told that Kesuvos is sometimes referred to as “mini-Shas“¹ because it includes discussion of so many diverse topics.

¹Shas is a Hebrew acronym for “Shisha Sedarim,” referring to the Six Orders into which the Mishna (and therefore the Gemara) are divided.