Rabbi's Blog

Thanksgiving in Jerusalem

This week it was Thanksgiving in America and I am in Jerusalem feeling full of thanks for so much here; the beauty and the passion; the courage and the hope of ordinary people wanting a different future; the incredible gift of reconnecting with wonderful friends; the opportunity to learn such deep Torah from the mouths and hearts of sages.

My week has been so full, it is hard to capture the essence of this experience.  The range of emotions that I feel here in one day is exhausting and I find myself using the word “intense” so often that it has become cheap.  On Monday morning I walked at 5am to the Old City and joined a very early minyan of Sephardi Jews from Arab lands at the Western Wall.  These services at first light are always so special with the first moment of sunrise greeted by silent prayer and I love the very different quality of sound of these eastern Jews.  From there I went to a class and, after a very rich Torah study on the spiritual role of humanity in the creation story at Yeshivat Sulam Yaakov in Nachlaot, I was outside and heard gun shots and minutes later I was in the shuk seeing paramedics running everywhere.  It turns out that I was there just after two Palestinian teenage girls had attempted to attack people with scissors.  One of the victims was a 70 year old Palestinian man and now one of the girls is dead.  It is so crazy and desperately sad.  Within minutes, life returns to normal here, because it has to and I was surprised by the apparently minor impact that being in such close proximity to this attack had on me.  Later that night I went with my old friend and teacher Michael Kagan to an extraordinary interfaith Sufi Ziker, a spiritual ceremony of music, chanting and dancing. Jews, Christians, Muslims, Buddhists and more gathering and praying for peace.  Whirling dervishes whose devotional dancing invoked a Divine promise of healing.

On Wednesday morning I walked once again to the Kotel, the Western Wall, but this time to the section that has been designated as “egalitarian,” as teachers and students from the Conservative Yeshiva, where I studied for two years, gather there to pray every Wednesday morning.  No one else was there except us and I was asked to lead the shacharit service, which was amazing.  I have prayed dozens of times by this wall, usually bustling with the energy of hundreds, over the years, but I have never led for others and certainly not in this intimate way.  It was very moving for me and, in my spiritual imagination, these prayers from my heart ascended to a high place.  Later that day, Bruce Shaffer and I went on a little road trip to EcoME and the Dead Sea.  EcoME is an ecological meeting place for Palestinians, Israelis and others, near the ancient city of Jericho, with a small, intentional community in makeshift desert dwellings holding space for gatherings, conversations and workshops.  I know some of the founders and it was good to experience the product of this vision and to enjoy the hospitality. From there we drove up to Metzukei Dragot, a desert mountain center, overlooking the Jordan and the Dead Sea.  We got there just as the sun was setting and the full moon rising in the same exquisite, light-filled moment.

On Thursday, Thanksgiving Day in America, I spent part of the day on the land that houses the Shorashim/Roots/Judur center for coexistence in the West Bank.  Boulder’s Jewish community has been supporting this work in various ways and we have welcomed the Palestinian and Israeli partners in this work to Bonai Shalom twice now.  Seeing Ali Abu Awad on his own land, along with Rabbis Shaul Yudelman, Hanan Shlesinger and others from the West Bank Jewish settlements was very important for me, having supported the work from afar and only seen the actual place in my imagination.  All of this is happening in the region of Gush Etzion, a painfully controversial place which has witnessed too much spilled blood, much of it just in recent weeks with horrible terrorist attacks at bus stops and junctions with knives, guns and cars.  Politically, I have certainly not been a supporter of the constantly expanding settlements, and driving out to the Gush for the first time was an unsettling experience.  The military presence right now is overwhelming, with half a dozen soldiers in full combat gear at every bus stop and at every corner.  We drove into Alon Shvut to meet Hanan outside his house and we drove with him to Derech HaAvot, Patriarchs Way, one of the oldest roads in Israel that used to go from Beer Sheva to Jerusalem and is considered to be the very route taken by our Biblical ancestors on their journeys.  There is an ancient mikveh there used for ritual immersion by pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem for the festivals.  So much history lays its claim on this land. For everyone.  I actually am beginning to understand the ideology of settlers more, especially those with the passion and humanity to see their neighbors and respect their dignity and rights too.  There are real efforts with Shorashim to build a new community among these peoples who have lived so close and yet many worlds apart for too long.  Whatever some of us may wish for politically, these people are not going anywhere, so attempts to work together are essential.

When I got back into Jerusalem, feeling somewhat relieved, I met my old friend Rabbi Yedidya (Julian) Sinclair and I told him that I was feeling really confused.  “Confusion is good,” was his reply.  He continued to explain that those without confusion were the dangerous ones.  I am not confused about how much I love it here, but by my reactions to the conflicts. I love being in Jerusalem and feel so alive here.  There is so much to wrestle with, politically, spiritually and socially, and it is far, far from perfect and there is injustice and pain everywhere.  Abandoning the whole project and our people in this land is certainly not the answer. Not my answer.  Sitting outside a café in the Bakka neighborhood, I saw someone wearing a t-shirt that said “Lack of Passion is Fatal.”  Passion can be the source of violence when misdirected, but being here has renewed my commitment and my own passion to be part of the continuing drama of the people and the land that we call Israel.

The name Israel, Yisrael, is given to Jacob in this week’s Torah portion after he struggles with some kind of mysterious divine being and, apparently, wins.  There is a teaching that the dust (avak) that comes up from the earth during that wrestling match ascends to the Throne of Glory, to heaven itself.  This enigmatic teaching implies that real, authentic struggle, however painful in the physical realm, has the potential to be spiritual and transformative.  Too much of the fighting and violence here is not creating holy dust, but a thick mud of hatred.  The real work, perhaps, is to reengage with a different kind of non-violent struggle where our enemies can become our friends, where dancing, whirling feet stir up heavenly and healing dust.  Many people I speak to find it hard to hope, but they do carry on with that passion and chutzpah that you need to live here.  So, as we enter this Shabbat of Thanksgiving weekend, among the many conflicting and confusing emotions, I feel deeply grateful for my time here among amazing and courageous people.