Tag Archives: Yiddishkeit

Tisha B’Av

2013-07-15 21.47.29Relating to the Three Weeks and Tisha B’Av is both easier and harder here than in Chicago. On one hand, you can’t look at the Kosel without seeing a ruin, and we see it often. Every time we hear the muezzin calling the Muslims to prayer at Al Aqsa, it is a reminder that Har HaBayis is not what it was or will be. The deep divisions between various factions here in Israel testify that we have not yet resolved the issues that brought churban Bayis Sheni.

Reading Eicha from a scroll, at the Kosel.

Reading Eicha from a scroll, at the Kosel.

On the other hand, we are immersed in a vibrant Jewish lifestyle here. Torah abounds, and we live (mostly) peacefully and prosperously in our eternal home. Even a hardened opponent of secular Zionism surely can’t help but feel the thrill of Jews having returned en masse to Eretz Yisrael. From this point of view, it can be hard to feel the galus.

In Chicago, whatever other distractions there are, you have the unavoidable fact of galus – that you are there, not here.

Although I did my davening at the yeshiva, I did go down briefly to the Kosel last night. It was, indeed, a balagan, but it was inspiring to see so many different groups sitting on the ground, reciting Eicha (the Book of Lamentations). I plan to go again today, despite the heat. May this be the last time we observe Tisha B’Av as a day of mourning.

A group of Temanim (Yemenite Jews) recite Kinos at the Kosel.

A group of Temanim (Yemenite Jews) recite Kinos at the Kosel.

Yitzi seems to have taken Tisha B'Av too far - sleeping on the floor.

Yitzi seems to have taken Tisha B’Av too far – sleeping on the floor.

 

Pesach Part IV: the rest of it

Egged Pesach kv"s

You know you're doing it right when you get that Apollo 11 feel.

You’re doing it right when you get that Apollo 11 look.

Notwithstanding our ill-timed trip down south, we managed to get done what needed to get done to get ready for the chag, without undue bloodshed. Pesach is when frum Jews achieve a whole new level of OCD in our religious fanaticism. Lawyers are often accused, correctly, of a tendency to belt-and-suspenders over-cautiousness. Orthodox Jews at Pesach take more of a put-a-belt-and-suspenders-on-a-jumpsuit-then-burn-the-jumpsuit-and-wrap-yourself-in-plastic-and-duct-tape-inside-aluminum-foil approach.

Chametz signYou can find lots of good explanations out there why we do this. “At Pesach time, chametz is compared to the yetzer hara (evil inclination), and we want to be utterly rid of it.” “We were saved from Egypt by virtue of chumras (stringencies), so we commemorate this by piling on the chumras in our Pesach observance.” “Halachically, eating any quantity of chametz – no matter how small – is a violation.” But, of course the real reason is bragging rights. (“Oh, you only triple-wrap your countertops? This is why we don’t mish.”)

 

 

Hagalas keilim. As you can imagine, kids don't find this interesting at all.

Hagalas keilim. As you can see, kids don’t find this interesting at all.

Another great thing about Pesach preparations is that fire is prominently involved. If there are cooking utensils that you want to use for Pesach but have been used for chametz, you have to clean them thoroughly, then do hagala (dunk them in boiling water). Oven racks are heated red-hot with a blowtorch. In Chicago, they set up a place to do this at one of the yeshivos as part of a pre-Pesach fair. In Jerusalem, you’ll see dudes with barrels of boiling-hot water on the street corners.

Here in the Rova, they set up shop in front of the community center. You had to wade through the spectator children to get there. One could cynically observe that they don’t have television… and I guess I just did. But it is really thrilling how the kids get so invested in the excitement of the holiday. For literally thousands of years, Jewish children have been caught up in watching hagala, helping to clean, gathering chametz to be burned, learning to say Mah Nishtanah (the Four Questions), etc., etc. As with pretty much everything, they take their cues from us. Our enthusiasm for Pesach becomes their enthusiasm. And their children’s enthusiasm. And their children’s. And so on, for over 3,300 years.

It is very likely that one of these people had the phone number of the fire department.

It is very likely that one of these people had the phone number of the fire department.

Anyway, back to fire. The day before Pesach, we go through our houses at nightfall, looking for any chametz we may have overlooked (this is called “bedikas chametz“). The next morning, we take all of our remaining chometz and burn it in a giant community bonfire. In the U.S., these fires are closely supervised by local firemen, with at least one fire truck present and ready for action. Here… well, not so much. I’m sure you’re wondering “why burn the chametz instead of just throwing it in the garbage?” To which I say, “what part of ‘giant community bonfire’ don’t you understand?”

Smoke over YerushalayimThe community fire for bi’ur chametz (destruction of chametz) was set up near Sha’ar Tzion (the Zion Gate), adjacent to the Kirk Douglas Sports Area. It’s a walk down the hill from the parking lot. The smoke from the burning chametz was wafting over the city walls, and it brought to mind all the kinds of smoke that have risen over Jerusalem. There were the mighty clouds of the korbanos, the ketores, and the Shechinah… and then the billowing black smoke of the burning Batei Mikdashim, and the whole city ablaze at the hands of rampaging Roman legions. To paraphrase the tefillah we say at the conclusion of learning, “we burn and they burn…” but ours should be for the sake of olam habah.

You thought I was kidding about the Kirk Douglas Sports Area, didn't you?

You thought I was kidding about the Kirk Douglas Sports Area, didn’t you?

Shalom Gershon in his kittel, ready for the seder.

Shalom Gershon in his kittel, ready for the seder.

We were invited out for the seder (another experience for us chutzniks – just one seder!), and we held a family meeting to decide whether to stay home and make our own. Given our usual practice of spending Pesach with family, and friends in the years before that, we’ve never actually made our own seder. We unanimously decided to take this opportunity. In honor of our location, I prepped with the haggadah of Rav Avigdor Nebenzahl, shlita, and the boys came to the seder loaded for bear with their questions.

You would have thought that, with a table of just the four of us (Mordechai was soon off to his crib), things would have gone pretty fast. But the boys were really into it (the candy rewards for questions didn’t hurt), and appreciated the extra attention, and we were still hard-pressed to eat the afikomen before chatzos (halachic midnight, which was at 11:45 p.m. seder night).

As I was sitting at the head of the table, in my kittel, making the yom tov kiddush, it occurred to me that this was the first time anyone in my family had made a seder in Jerusalem in approximately 2,000 years. It was suddenly very difficult to get through shehechiyanu.

Pesach Part II: matzah baking

Finished productI’m not a lazy blogger – I’m abating the tendency of blogs to push media into hyper-speed. I’m giving time to allow events to be put in historical perspective. I am a pioneer. A hero.

Anyway, with the luxury of time and perspective, I now feel free to share my experience in matzah baking.

Matzah halacha sederThe yeshivah organized a group trip to bake handmade matzah together, at the bakery in the basement of the massive Belz synagogue. In order to go, you had to take time in the prior weeks learning (and being tested on) selected halachos (laws) of making matzah. The law in this area is very detailed, and is primarily designed to ensure that the matzah definitely contains no chametz. The precautions taken to prevent it from leavening include taking no more than 18 minutes from the time the flour is mixed with water until the matzah is finished; constantly working the dough (kneading it, rolling it, etc.) before baking; rolling it very thin; and cooking in an extremely-hot, wood-fired oven.

YYS with the woodI brought Yitzi along for the experience, and he was thrilled. I didn’t actually see much of him, though, at the bakery because I had the boring job of working the dough while waiting for the rollers to be ready to start on it. He spent most of his time by the oven, which also included getting to sample the matzos that were invalidated for use on Pesach for one reason or another.

It was a pretty tiring, intense experience actually. The dough would start coming out, and we’d work frantically, working it and cranking out matzos for 18 minutes, trying to keep up with the pace of dough coming to the table. At 18 minutes, we’d stop, and switch to the other tables that guys had been scrubbing clean during the previous shift. Notably, the important jobs (e.g., doing the final rolling and getting the matzos into and out of the oven) were done by ringers. It also wasn’t cheap, as we had to rent the bakery and hire the ringers. But I was able to make my seder with matzos I’d helped make. Pretty cool. Here are some more pics & video:

Before we started, we even cut our nails to make sure no dough would get stuck under there and make our matzos chometz.

Before we started, we even cut our nails to make sure no dough would get stuck under there and make our matzos chometz.

Ready, set... go!

Ready, set… go!

The assembly line.

The assembly line.

Scrubbing the tables clean between shifts.

Scrubbing the tables clean between shifts.

Cleaning the rollers while we work feverishly in the background.

Cleaning the rollers while we work feverishly in the background.

Into the oven.

Into the oven.

The final touches to the baked matzos.

The final touches to the baked matzos.

The crew kicks back after a job well done.

The crew kicks back after a job well done.

Pesach, Part I: Preparation

Getting ready for Pesach is challenging under any circumstances. You have clean the house thoroughly for chametz, going room-by-room, and then take measures to prevent re-contamination. You have to do a tremendous amount of shopping, essentially re-stocking your food supply in its entirely, since everything has to be certified kosher-for-Pesach and cannot have been opened (for fear that it was contaminated with chametz), not to mention all of the food needed for the holiday (and Shabbos chol hamoed) meals. Oh, and you’ll need candy to give the children for good questions & answers at the seder, which really keeps them interested. All the laundry and dry cleaning needs to get done, because (except for kids’ clothes), you can’t do it even on chol hamoed. This is also a traditional time to get new clothes – in honor of the holiday, and because shopping for other-than-holiday needs also can’t be done on chol hamoed. You’ll also want to get presents (toys and books) for the kids before Pesach. Then there’s all the cooking, which can’t be done until at least part of the kitchen is cleaned and prepped to make it free of chametz.

Manifestly unbreakable if it can withstand a pre-Pesach shutdown of Jerusalem.

Manifestly unbreakable if it can withstand a pre-Pesach shutdown of Jerusalem.

Here in Jeruslaem, basically the entire city (probably the entire country) is out shopping en masse for the weeks leading up to Pesach. So, of course, this was the perfect time for a street-closing, traffic-jamming, city-paralyzing visit from the President of the United States! To be clear, on the whole, Israelis were and are glad for the trip (and many of his remarks were well-received). But there was a lot of grumbling about the timing. Case in point, I heard a woman on the bus refer sardonically to the upcoming Tuesday as “Yom Slishi, Erev Obama” (“Tuesday, ‘Obama Eve'”).

Obama: flagsThe President steered clear of the Old City, and we planned shopping locations around his visit, so we were largely unaffected. We did come back a bit early from our own ill-timed trip to Eilat (post coming) so that we could return the rental car to our local Hertz, right next to the King David Hotel where Obama stayed, before they closed down the street. The only other evidence of his trip for us were a lot of loud helicopter overflights for those few days. I tried to convince the boys that we were going to invite Obama over, since he’d be glad to hang out with some Chicagoans all the way over here, but they have become wise to my deceptions.

Jonathan Pollard has become a major cause célèbre here, and there were signs all over pushing for his pardon. I really don’t want this blog to get political (and I’m not putting up with any comment wars!) but, FWIW, my thoughts on the topic jibe fairly well with this.

Obama: Yes You CanObama: Shelach Et Achi

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For those of us in the Rova, Pesach preparations were further complicated by a music festival whose timing and necessity were highly questionable. And, to my great amusement, both were indeed questioned in the English version of a notice to Rova residents from the police deparment. The Hebrew side of the notice seemed to play it straight, so I’m assuming that they asked some Anglo Rova resident to do the English version, with this result:

Rova parking notice

Although we managed to work around these complications, Pesach prep was an intensive experience. Being that this was our only Pesach here, we had no sets of dishes, cookware, or appliances for use on Pesach. We usually go to our cousins in New Jersey for the holiday, so we hadn’t had to do a complete house cleaning, including flipping the kitchen, in years. We also had to learn the ropes in terms of all of the extra kashrus issues there are here in Israel on Pesach.

In fact, Pesach shopping here was far more difficult than in Chicago. Lots of otherwise kosher-for-Pesach products here contain kitniyos (grain-like and legume products that are prohibited during Pesach to Ashkenazic Jews, for reasons described at the link), which Sephardim can eat. Given that half of Israeli Jews (and probably more than half of kosher-keeping Israeli Jews) are Sephardim, I understand the prevalence of kitniyos products. But why in the world do they put kitniyos in products – like macaroons – that no self-respecting Sephardi would eat?

Pesach hechsher madnessEven aside from the kitniyos issue, the mehadrin (higher level) hashgachos (kosher supervision/certification) here went crazy for Pesach. For example, on a tremendous number of products under the supervision of the (mehadrin) Eida Charedis, its hashgacha specifically excluded Pesach. This left them under Rabbanut supervision alone, which we don’t rely upon. In a few situations, it seems the reason was a halachic difference of opinion, such as with diet pop, because the Israeli mehadrin hashgacha considers aspartame to be kitniyos while the Rabbanut (and American hashgachos) do not. But there were other situations (like that pictured at right) where the Eida Charedis excluded Pesach, while a different mehadrin hashgacha (here, Chasam Sofer) did certify for Pesach, including that there were no kitniyos. Why the Eida Charedis said “no” is a mystery.

Between all of the kitniyos and mehadrin hashgacha issues, we never were able to find any margarine, pickles, olives, salad dressing, or non-beet horseradish. We found almost no cookies or macaroons (who would have thought that I’d ever be complaining about trouble finding macaroons?). Only at the last minute did I find candy to hand out at the seder. I don’t think we found any spreads, other than date spread, to put on matzah. All of this despite the fact that I even went up to shop at the big American-style Yesh supermarket in Ramat Eshkol.

By contrast, in Chicago (or NJ) I would readily have found all of this, and more. I’m certainly not complaining about spending Pesach here – to the contrary, it was wonderful – but the kashrus situation in Israel is ridiculous, and beyond ridiculous when it comes to Pesach and Ashkenazim.

Well, that sure was a whiny post… Pesach positivity to come soon in future Parts, IY”H!

Oh, yeah, we live right by Har Habayis

It is surprisingly easy to get blasé about living in the Old City. Even in the shadow of the holiest place on earth, day-to-day routine takes over. Omnipresent tourists and what-should-be-surreal surroundings don’t prevent the Rova from becoming the neighborhood. Two-thousand-year-old column fragments are just another place to stop and tie your shoes. The local shtiebel, where you can easily grab a minyan, also happens to be the over-700-year-old Ramban synagogue.

So you have to keep your eyes open for chances to really take advantage of the location, and remind yourself where you are. Although I usually don’t do my davening at the Kosel, on Erev Pesach, I specifically went there for mincha. After mincha, I stood at the Wall and recited the Order of the korban Pesach (consisting primarily of the mishnayos that describe the procedure), a little overwhelmed at the thought that, if the Beis Hamikdash were standing, I would be only a short distance away, up on Har Habayis, with my korban.[1] Jewish cultural memory is very strong. We haven’t brought a korban Pesach in 2,000 years, but it feels like we stopped yesterday, and are ready to resume tomorrow.

Although our seder went well past midnight, I decided to drag myself out of bed for the vasikin minyan at the Churva synagogue. I enjoy davening there, but the reason I dragged myself out of bed after about 3 1/2 hours of sleep (services started at 4:54 a.m.) was the post-shacharis “aliyah leregel.” There is a mitzvah in the Torah to go up to the Beis Hamikdash in Jerusalem on three holidays – Pesach, Shavuos, and Succos (the “shalosh regalim“). Today, when there is no Temple, the mitzvah is not operative, but the Zilbermans (who run Yitzi’s school and, effectively, the Churva) organize an outing in remembrance of the mitzvah on each of the regalim. After the vasikin minyan, a group of us gathered up and (with police escort) walked into the Muslim Quarter, to a shuk that ended in steps up to a huge double-door opening onto Har Habayis, facing where the Kadosh Hakedoshim (central, most holy part of the Beis Hamikdash) stood. The doors were closed, but a smaller door-within-a-door was open. At that time of the morning, the shuk was closed, making it an empty, dark tunnel. We walked into the shuk, continuing the on-and-off singing since we’d left the Churva. Striding along towards Har Habayis, singing “Ki Va Moed,” with literally a bright light at the end of the tunnel, was a spine-tingling taste of what we hope is soon to come.

The police let us approach in small groups, go up the steps, and peer through the door. All you could really see was a courtyard and the base of the Dome of the Rock, but it was amazing. As each group finished looking, they joined the rest in a huge circle of singing and dancing in the dark shuk. I made my way home and crawled into bed for a few hours more sleep before lunch.

Chanukah

Shalom & Yitzi checking out the chanukiot around the corner from our place, on Rechov Chayei Olam.

"A great miracle happened here" - Dan finished his Chanukah post!

“A great miracle happened here” – Dan finished his Chanukah post!

It has already been nearly a month since Chanukah, but it was certainly an experience worth revisiting. (Not to mention that I’m finding blogging in a consistent and timely way to be much harder than it seems.) Growing up, I always dreamed of being in Israel for Chanukah.[1] I realized that dream last year, when we were here in Jerusalem for much of Chanukah. But living in the Rova this year took things to a whole new level.

In Israel, chanukiot are put outside the home when possible, in glass boxes made for that purpose.[2] In the Rova, some apartments have notches in the outside stone wall specifically made for chanukiot. Virtually every door has a chanukia outside of it, and many have several – the custom is for each child in the house to light one, in addition to the parents’, and multiple apartments in the same building may light at the same outside door, as was the case for us. The overall effect is stunning, with lines of boxes filled with light lining the cobbled streets of the Rova.

Our neighbors' and our chanukiot, in all of their glory on the 8th night.

Our neighbors’ and our chanukiot, in all of their glory on the 8th night.

All of the holidays bring a surge in the already-numerous tourists here in the Rova, but Chanukah is unique. One major difference is that, for Chanukah, the overwhelming majority of visitors are (non-religious) Israelis. They come in every night to see the chanukiot, mostly in tour groups. As Chanukah goes on, the crowds keep getting bigger, and start coming earlier. Many come to see lighting itself, which happens here promptly at sunset.[3] Although we live on a normally-sleepy street, our building is a particularly popular Chanukah tourist destination. So, for example, when I stepped out to get ready to light on the seventh night, this is what was waiting for me:

Lego chanukiah, complete with Lego firemen.

Lego chanukiah, complete with Lego firemen.

Part of the reason our place is so popular is the large and lovely, hand-painted chanukia case of our neighbors, the Deutsches, and the Lego chanukiot of our other neighbors, the Shores. But they’re not the main reason. Debbie described it well in an email she wrote up for people back in Chicago:

As Chanukah comes to an end I just wanted to share a special part of our Chanukah here in the Old City. A number of years ago a neighbor of mine was part of an Ahavas Yisrael group[4] and trying to think of ideas to fulfill this mitzvah. Now, living in the Old City can feel like living in Disney Land with tourists constantly coming and going. Many folks have moved out of the Rova for this reason. But my beautiful neighbor chose to embrace this element of our neighborhood. During Chanukah most of the tourists are Israelis. She decided to set up a table in front of our building and hand out hot drinks.

Close-up of the Lego fireman in action.

Close-up of the Lego fireman in action.

It was a hit.

The kids in the building love it and have taken over setting up and manning the table. My kids think it is the best thing ever and Yitzi delighted in handing out candy we found in our cupboard.

The crowds build every night as people come to look at the chanukiot and have a warm treat. Tour groups come and my amazing neighbor brings them into her home and gives a little spiel on the holiday and offers for them to light (note: her husband works for Aish. Still it is amazing to give over one’s home night after night to large groups for this). The feeling is not kiruvy,[5] it is warm, happy, ahava. Everyone is smiling and when I peek out into the crowds, they thank me.

Chanukah drinks 2One man knocked on the door looking for medicine for his daughter who was not feeling well. I gave him what I had, and later the mother and daughter came to say thank you. It was so Israeli and lovely as we just felt connected.

It is amazing to me how much the intention of one’s acts can affect everyone. My street is mobbed for a week, which makes running errands and such more difficult. But the feeling is so happy and good, I don’t really mind. I am so inspired by being with happy Jews who are happy being together. Jews who don’t normally get to interact with each other.

Tourists love our chanukiot.

Tourists love our chanukiot.

I second everything Debbie said, with one caveat. It feels wonderful to “host” secular Israelis and celebrate this holiday together with them. The one wistful thing is the feeling that many are tourists not only to the Rova, but also to Chanukah. They take pictures of their kids next to other families’ chanukiot. They film others lighting the chanukia, saying the brachos, and singing Haneiros Halleilu and Maos Tzur.[6] They happily, but often sheepishly, wish us Chanukah sameach. I’m sure many do make Chanukah at home, but I’m also sure that many (more?) do not. I hope the light they brought back home from the Rova finds “kindling” there, as well.

Yitzi & Shalom display the festive sufganiyot boxes from the bakery.

Yitzi & Shalom display the festive sufganiyot boxes from the bakery.

When it comes to holiday foods, America and Israel seem to have opposite approaches regarding latkes and sufganiot. The emphasis in the U.S. is on the latkes, which are everywhere, while sufganiyot are available but not so prevalent. The converse is true here – latkes are not so easy to find, while sufganiyot are dominant. The bakeries in the Rova could barely keep up with the demand. During the tourist crush of the holiday, they were constantly cranking out trays and trays of a whole variety of sufganiyot (i.e., different fillings & toppings). There were even special boxes to carry them home.

Maybe it's a good thing you can't get these year-round.

Maybe it’s a good thing you can’t get these year-round.

In Chicago, “sufganiyot” really just means eating donuts at Chanukah time. They’re no different from the ones we eat all year. But, in Israel, donuts are pretty much only a Chanukah treat. Sure, you’ll see the occasional lonely box of Entenmann’s-style donuts at the makolet – usually adorned with the description “American-style” and a U.S. flag – but that’s about it. Israeli sufganiyot are much doughier than American donuts, and are almost exclusively the filled kind. I had a good time with the sufganiyot, but could’ve used some more latkes. Having no food processor (we’re trying not to buy so many appliances, which we’d wind up leaving here anyway) made it not so feasible to crank out our own, and no one seemed to be selling them.

I’ll wrap up this post with a gallery of some pictures of chanukiot around the Rova. But first is a 2-minute video someone made of Chanukah in Jerusalem. The initial :30 or so is shot in the Rova. I actually recognize several of these chanukiot (although ours did not make the cut, apparently). The next :30 or so was shot at Mamilla mall, which is just outside the Old City:

Our neighbors, the Eshets, have a nicer-than-average chanukia.

Our neighbors, the Eshets, have a nicer-than-average chanukia.

Looking up the street on Chayei Olam gives a sense of the street scene with all the chanukiot. Sorry for the blurriness.

Looking up the street on Chayei Olam gives a sense of the street scene with all the chanukiot.

Shalom's school friend loves with his family in an apartment that overlooks a popular Rova thoroughfare - their chanukiot were in the video.

A friend of Shalom’s from school lives with his family in an apartment that overlooks a popular Rova thoroughfare – their chanukiot were in the video.

Many apartments have openings in the stone walls next to their doors specifically for a chanukia.

Many apartments have an opening in the stone wall next to the door specifically for a chanukia.

Like cats everywhere, the Jerusalem variety know when people are looking at a particular spot, and insert themselves accordingly.

Like cats everywhere, the Jerusalem variety know when people are looking at a particular spot, and insert themselves accordingly.

Not everybody lights olive oil - the colored ones are pretty.

Not everybody lights olive oil – the colored ones are pretty.

IMG_3160

The traditional candy bar/bamba/jelly bean chanukiot.

The traditional candy bar / bamba / jelly bean chanukiot.

This is how our chanukiot looked in the daytime, prepared for the first night's lighting.

This is how our chanukiot looked in the daytime, prepared for the first night’s lighting.

 

Succos

The thing about being in Israel — particularly Jerusalem — for holidays is the universality. Instead of a small pocket of observance in the larger world of non-Jews and non-observant Jews, virtually everyone here is at least generally on the same page. For Succos, this means succahs sprouting on virtually every marpeset (porch) and roof, piles of schach all over, and arba minim for sale everywhere.

In reality, I should’ve been more blown away by the phenomenon than I was. This is actually kind of a theme for our trip here. I think it has to do with feeling more like participants than spectators. A tourist oohs and aahs over the spectacle, but a resident is focused on how to get the succah up and where to get his arba minim.

Hold your comments, halacha police – my Dad is left-handed.

My Dad joined us for the chag (holiday). He was a very good sport, and happily took on everything. If that had only meant full observance of Succos (and Shabbos) — eating and sleeping in the succah, abstaining from melacha (prohibited “work”) on the Yom Tov days and Shabbos, spending more time in services than he’s used to — it would have been impressive enough. But he also kept the second day of Yom Tov, when we were only keeping one day. That meant he had to make kiddush and havdalah for himself, and abstain from lots of activities he would’ve liked to do — such as take pictures — even as we and most of the city were treating the day as chol hamoed (or, for the last day, entirely chol (non-holy)).

Our own succah construction turned out to be more of an adventure than I’d anticipated. I was expecting it to be very easy. Our marpeset is really a chatzir (courtyard), with four stone walls. There’s a wooden frame bolted into the stone overhead, ready to be covered with schach. Not only that, but there were schach mats, rolled up in covers up on the bracket, ready to be rolled out. The only apparent complication was that the frame is pretty high up, about 15 feet, which would require a seriously high ladder. Locating such a ladder turned out to be a real issue. At best, I was able to borrow a ladder that would lean against the wall from which the frame could be reached if you stood on a high rung. But there was no hope of a v-shaped ladder high enough to reach the frame from the middle of the succah, greatly complicating the job of rolling out the mats.

A confusing shot of Moshe from below, working up on the frame.

After much hand-wringing, and some good advice, I decided on an American-style solution: hire somebody to do it for me. Moshe, a younger guy from the yeshiva was offering his services, so I called him up. I warned him about the difficult height, etc. But he’s an Israeli, and so was typically sanguine about the whole thing (national slogan: “ayn bayah” (“no problem”)). He came over, and decided that the easiest way to deal with the situation was to pull himself up onto the frame and work from up there. We were joined by my neighbor and also fellow Bircas learner, Kobe Eshet, who — as another Israeli — similarly saw no problem trusting the frame with Moshe’s weight. Because the mats were in terrible shape (water damaged, infested with bugs), we had to go buy some palm fronds, and Moshe put them up there.

As an aside, I find it really lame that, when they translate things like sports team names into Hebrew, for t-shirts and the like, they just transliterate them. For example, “Chicago Bulls” becomes “שיקגו בולס” instead of “שיקגו שוורים.” Perhaps the lamest example, though, is Spiderman (“ספיידרמן“), because translation would yield the utterly awesome “איש עכביש” (“eesh akaveesh“).

Palm frond schach in place – thanks איש עכביש!

We had just been discussing איש עכביש that very evening (including my attempt to translate the Spiderman theme song into Hebrew). So, amazed by Moshe’s climbing dexterity and fearlessness, I promptly bestowed the name on him. The next morning, I told the boys about it:

“Guess who put up our schach!”

“Who, Abba?”

“איש עכביש!”

“Nooooooo, Abba — Spiderman’s not real!”

“Well, then, how do you explain how our schach got put up?”

[Stunned silence]

Decorated and ready for action.

In the end, our succah felt a lot different from what I’m used to. It was wonderful and spacious but, with its relatively high ceiling and permanent walls, it didn’t have quite that same temporary (and shaky) feel that I get at home. There’s also the fact that there were no October Chicago winds howling against it. Due to the stone walls, to which no tape will stick, I strung up a clothesline around the sides, and we pinned up decorations. We added blinking lights this year, which the boys loved. I did find myself, as I was trying to sleep through the Times Square Effect, wishing that I’d set the timer to turn them off earlier. It was also a novelty to have it be too warm in the succah for comfortable sleeping. I hadn’t thought to set up a fan — a fact that had my neighbors tsk-tsking at me when I mentioned it.

Although I’d picked up my Dad’s and my lulavim and esrogim from someone at the yeshiva, I purposely held off getting them for the boys, because I wanted to go see the massive arba minim shuk (market) in Geula. Yitzi, my Dad, and I went there motzei Shabbos (Saturday night) to get the boys’ arba minim sets and to get decorations for our succah. The shuk was really cool, with so many people hawking their stuff, and men carefully inspecting the wares. It was full of a wide variety of Jews – chassidim, Yerushalmis, yeshiva bochrim (mostly from the nearby Mir yeshiva) – who were all having a good time. My Dad took some nice pics:

Checking out a lulav.

Looking at esrogim.

Yitzi looks for an esrog.

Pretending like I know what I’m talking about (as usual).

Yitzi is respectful enough to pretend he believes I know what I’m talking about.

Learning what makes kosher hadassim.

Picking out decorations for the succah.

Every store in Geula/Meah Shearim seemed to have been converted to selling either arba minim or succah decorations.

By the way, I now understand why my friends who have lived in Israel bemoan every year the quality of the arba minim we get in Chicago. The quality here was so ridiculously good that I just kept laughing. The lulavim I got for the boys — chinuch (educational) sets that are only need to be barely kosher for a bracha — were easily better than those I’ve gotten for myself the last couple of years. And I’ve never seen ones in Chicago as nice as those I got for myself and my father this year.

Perhaps the most amazing thing about the entire holiday is that this did NOT turn into a sword fight.

This was Shalom’s first year with his own set. He’s actually still pretty young for it, but I wanted to surprise him with a special treat for our Succos in Israel. He was so delighted to have his very own lulav and esrog.

The thing that was just like home was that it actually rained — complete with lightning and thunder — the first night. Fortunately, it was well after we’d made kiddush and hamotze, so we got in our mitzvos of the evening. Locals said this was an extremely rare event, and no one could remember more than a sprinkling (and certainly not lightning & thunder) on Succos. The Talmud (mishna on Succah 28b) says that, if it rains (on the first night of Succos), forcing you to leave the succah, it is comparable to a servant who comes to fill the cup of his master, and the master pours it in his face. Nearly every year in Chicago, it either rains or threatens rain on Succos, so Rabbi Gross is perennially reminding us of the halacha in such a case, and mentioning that mishna. He always points out that it really only applies in Eretz Yisrael (Israel) — which was a great comfort… until this year.

Chol hamoed deserves its own posts — and I’ve already done a couple, including our trip to Nahariya and Bircas Cohanim. I’ll try to add something quick about the Western Wall Tunnels, which I highly recommend. And maybe our dinner at Entrecote, which I also highly recommend.

For all that we missed from home this Succos (including, probably more than anything, spending it with our cousins, the Presbergs), I already know that next year (assuming that we’re not all here — l’shanah haba’ah b’Yerushalayim habenuyah!) we’ll be feeling the loss of the magic of Succos in Yerushalayim.

Kavod hameis

I’ve been working for some time on a lengthy post about Succos, though it’s been hard to find the time to finish it. Then, the other day, a technical snafu erased my evening’s work. I’ll get around to finishing it, but I’m a bit demoralized.

Here’s a pic of the Churva from a few weeks ago, with its succah in front.

In the meantime, I wanted to share something that happened here over Shabbos. It seems that an elderly gentleman (92 or 93) was davening (praying) at the vasikin minyan (morning service that starts before sunrise) this morning at the Churva, when he passed away. They cleared the building, canceled the remaining services for the day (there are many other options here in the Rova, obviously), and set up a succession of shomrim so that someone would be there with him in the synagogue constantly.

The reason they did this was that, under Jewish law, on Shabbos, a dead body falls into the category of muktzeh, which cannot be moved until after Shabbos. There is an exception for kavod hameis — the honor of the dead — if the body were to be somewhere disgraceful to it. But, here,kavod mameis certainly was for him to remain in the synagogue. So, there he remained.

One of the things that struck me when I heard the account this afternoon was everyone’s attitude. No one was horrified by the circumstances, or bemoaned the inconvenience, etc. Instead, everyone remarked on the Divine chesed (kindness) in (a) allowing this man’s last words to be the tefillos (prayers) of Shabbos kodesh (the holy Sabbath); and (b) having him pass away in the Churva — which is not only a magnificent and holy place, but is also well-air-conditioned — instead of (alone?) in his own, non-air-conditioned apartment. It also gave the community the opportunity to give an extra measure of kavod (honor) by freely turning over the Churva for this use.

A  situation that could have been macabre instead was an amazing example of the values and dignity of the community. Mi k’amcha Yisrael…

Bircas Cohanim

Twice a year, there is a mass bircas cohanim at the Kotel. This time, we were there. It was pretty moving, though there were not as many cohanim as I was expecting.

 

Walking down into the plaza.

 

Here’s a bit of video I took of the last bracha:

 

Leaving the plaza… right past the “No Exit” sign.

 

Although we left, a few people apparently elected to stay for the second bircas cohanim of mussaf.

 

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.