From Jerusalem with Love

Fall in Jerusalem

This month I learned that Jerusalem and Boston share something bizarre in common: both cities have incredibly erratic weather, more so than cities just an hour (Tel Aviv) or four hours (New York) away from them. Located in the mountainous backbone of Israel, Jerusalem has a cold, wet winter, unlike the heavily populated coastal plain just minutes away. The city's altitude also means that summers are relatively mild, and while people are sweating buckets in Tel Aviv, they are strolling comfortably in Jerusalem.

The city's topography makes the transition weeks between summer and winter chock full of surprises. A few nights ago, I walked home in an hour-long downpour of chilly rain. In general, nights have become very cold, not on par with New England, but certainly cause to bust out space heaters and - last night - wrap a scarf around my big ears after showering. Yesterday brought 70-degree temperatures to the city, though people here would not know what that means, since they use Celsius. Thanks to the "heat wave," I did not need a jacket for my Shabbos schpatsir, a perfect opportunity to see "Fall in Jerusalem."

Contrary to what I thought before moving here in July, Jerusalem does have a colorful, unique autumn. The erratic weather supports a full array of trees and plants at all stages, from newly blossomed roses to red and brown-leaved trees (like New England!). Jerusalem is a city of gated gardens, and though December is just a few days away, these gardens are full of oranges, pomegranates and a host of plants I would need a book to name.

Take a look at the "Fall in Jerusalem" photo album for 40 pictures of Jerusalem taken on November 26 in Baka, Katamon, Rehavia, Yemin Moshe and the German Colony.

Grandma

Sophie Miller Schwartz - 1914-2005

I know how I will remember Grandma. I’m sitting on the couch in her apartment during one of my regular visits since I finished college. She is surrounded by dozens of plants and family members’ photographs – of which there are more, it is hard to tell. To the side of the couch sits a pile of colorful knitted squares for use in one of several afgans she is making – for a new baby, for a neighbor, or for me.

Alone with Grandma, I listen to stories of her life without distraction – growing up on a farm, helping to “kidnap” one of her sisters, entertaining for relatives and friends through the years. Everything is told with a smile on her face, sometimes followed by the words, “how do you like that?” Part of what made listening to Grandma’s stories interesting was that her journey through life really did surprise me. Her cheerful stories arose from nine decades that were extraordinarily difficult, and would have left most people bitter and detached at their conclusion. But not Grandma.

Losing her mother at a young age, Grandma’s education ended and she was forced to work and adjust to a series of new homes. Tragedy continually struck her family, from her sister Rose’s polio to the loss of her brother Aaron in World War II. Her life as an adult, though blessed with children and material security, was also fraught with difficulties, from a still-born child to bypass surgery to watching her husband and the sisters she loved succumb to age and disease.

Amidst hardship and tragedies, Grandma lived in service to others, taking care of siblings, children, relatives and friends. In many ways, she was the glue that held the family together. Everyone loved Sophie, from in-laws to nieces to babies in the supermarket. My father, it is said, married my mother for my Grandmother’s cooking.

Denied basic opportunities like a high school education, Grandma persevered. Unlike the typical American housewife of her generation, she led a long career, avidly read novels and challenged her mind. During one visit two years ago, I remember her reciting the names of all 50 states, alphabetically. Keep in mind this was a 90 year-old woman!

Almost blind in one eye, she spent her final years in regular contact with relatives around the country, knitting and sending out afgans, and reflecting on a life filled with friends and family. It was meaningful for me to see my own mother devote so much time and energy to Grandma during my formative years. At the end of a life taking care of others, Grandma deserved to be taken of herself, and she was.

Though I was only eleven when my Grandfather passed away, I remember enough to understand that my grandparents embodied faith. Grandpa’s faith seemed to come from Judaism – I remember him walking to synagogue and saying daily prayers. Grandma’s faith seemed to come from life itself, and the possibility of finding joy amidst the most trying of circumstances. She took delight in everything accomplished by her four grandsons, from elementary school artwork to high school plays to law school.

Except for the past year, Grandma always lived on her own, fiercely independent and opposing any “fuss” made around her. In recent months, losing ground to her health and ability to take care of herself, Grandma remained vibrant, always thrilled to spend a few minutes with family members. When I visited the nursing home, she made sure all the nurses knew who I was - “one of the twins!” she would say with a wide smile.

My private visits with Grandma these past few years often ended with her asking if I wanted anything in her apartment. The question always made me sad, as if walking out with something of hers would hasten the inevitable day when she would leave us. Instead of agreeing to take something, I usually brought something – small plants from the supermarket next door. When she moved to the nursing home and her apartment was emptied, I felt right about asking for one particular item I always admired.

Framed simply in brown wood, it is a needlepoint by Grandma depicting the American bald eagle holding two flags. Above the eagle are the words, “In God We Trust.” Below the eagle are the words “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.” At the very bottom of the needlepoint are the initials “SMS” – Sophie Miller Schwartz – and the year, 1962.

The needlepoint hangs three feet from where I sit in my Jerusalem apartment, typing these words. More than anything I can think of, it represents Grandma’s life. Hearing her stories was a gift to both of us. Her life, and how she responded to its events, invigorates my own sense of freedom and joy. Looking at the needlepoint, I see Grandma’s smile and hear her often-asked words, “How are you?” I know she will never be far.

On Identity

What do you do when the cutest guy who walks into the GLBT Open House one night is actually a girl? Or, more accurately, if he identifies as a male born into a female body, and has been taking testosterone shots to alter that body? Two years ago, Ofir joined the first Israeli army combat unit for both men and women, where people joke, "Here, the women become men." In Ofir's case, this actually happened, though he will tell you he has always been a male, simply trapped in the wrong body. After meeting this scruffy 21-year old last month, I interviewed him for two hours out of curiosity and the lofty goal of writing his story. I'm still sitting on the notes, waiting for inspiration. Luckily, I have my classes on Israeli society and politics to chew over other, less juicy identity crises in the meantime.

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"We are one people - our enemies have made us one without our consent, as repeatedly happens in history," wrote Theodore Herzl about the Jews one century ago. Though highly secularized himself, Herzl's obsession with Jewish identity fueled his dream of a country that would produce a new Jew - proud, safe and assimilated into the family of nations. Though blessed with an extraordinary country, Israeli Jews remain conflicted about the role of Jewish identity in everything from Israel's borders to its immigration laws to its democratic ideals. Herzl and Zionism created a Jewish state, but who, and what, will ultimately determine Israel's Jewish identity? If Herzl never prayed or practiced Jewish ritual, why did he care so much about Jewish survival and identity? What is identity, anyway?

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The other day, my dad called to say he thought my identity might have been stolen. I had to chuckle, thinking, who in the world would want to steal my identity? Wouldn't it just be easier to keep their own? At any rate, we eventually determined the credit card transactions in question were not actually connected to a theft of my poor identity. "Identity theft" presumably refers to those things that can be co-opted and used by some low-life to purchase better clothes and Sharper Image gadgets. But can someone's "inner" identity also be stolen, those traits and characteristics than define him or her as an individual? Who do you call to report that kind of identity theft?

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"Well, since you can't read Hebrow [sic] so I'll tell you what is in my profile. I'm married man, looking for good sex...so by now is it ok with you?" Welcome to Atraf.com, the popular Israeli dating site for people of all sexual orientations, preferences and circumstances. The man who wrote this Email is not alone in his situation. Run by Orthodox Jewish men and their moral leanings, Jerusalem is full of people who feel the need to hide their identity, distort it, or conform it to something it is not. Certainly, this happens all over the world, more so in places like Jerusalem and Borough Park, and somewhat less in places like Tel Aviv and Greenwich Village. Is it possible for someone to embrace their identity in its entirety, without having to worry about others' judgment or persecution? For whom do you feel worse, the man who wrote that Email, or his wife and children?

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Many non-Orthodox North American Jews make aliyah to Israel and promptly encounter their own Jewish identity crisis. For many years, they defined their Judaism though membership in Reform or Conservative congregations, activities at the local Jewish Community Center, or affiliations like AIPAC and Hadassah. Here in Israel, 80% of the population is Jewish, and "Judaism" is something run by men in black hats. There are almost no "Reform" or "Conservative" movements here, and most Israelis scoff at the notion. Granted, most Israelis rarely enter a synagogue, but the synagogue they are not visiting is an Orthodox synagogue. It can be quite difficult for non-Orthodox immigrants to find a community with which to share Jewish holidays and rituals. When almost everyone around you in Jewish, how do you make that part of your identity special, separate, and vibrant? Are menorahs at every ten feet during Chanukah enough to do it? Many people simply give up and drive to McDonald's on Saturday, risking Orthodox youth throwing stones at their car on the way. That's what Herzl would have done, right?

What If...

Surrounded by 200,000 people in Tel Aviv's Rabin Square last night, I thought about the power of an individual to change the course of history. The gathering was a commemoration for former Prime Minister Yitzchak Rabin, murdered ten years ago by an extremist Jew opposed to the peace process. Having led Israel with vision and purpose during war and peace, Rabin remains the ultimate symbol of his country's tumultuous half-century.

One of the largest rallies in Israeli history, the evening of memories and songs included remarks from President Bill Clinton (Israelis don't use "former" when it comes to "the king"). The commemoration closed with the rousing "Song of Peace," sung by Rabin on the same stage just minutes before his murder. Banners, chants and speakers' remarks urged Israelis to continue Rabin's quest for co-existence by pushing forward with a two-state solution to Israel's conflict with the Palestinians.

Rabin's decision to negotiate with the PLO more than a decade ago changed the Middle East forever, from catalyzing peace with Jordan to advancing the slow death of the "Greater Israel" dream. Just 15 years ago, the words "Palestinian state" were verboten in Israeli politics. Rabin's credibility as an Israeli war hero allowed him to envision - and embark on building - a new reality for Israelis and Palestinians.

Today, Israelis debate what might have happened had Rabin not been assassinated. To the Left, Rabin is something of a martyred deity, whose murder shattered hopes for peace and set Israel on a crash-course with the Palestinians. To the Right, Rabin and his "Oslo" cronies inflicted irreparable damage, transferring territory - and no small amount of weaponry - to terrorists sworn to Israel's destruction.

Though Rabin's legacy and even his intentions are subject to debate, the process he launched trudges onward - through a bloody intifada, the death of Arafat and the ascent of Sharon, the one-time hawk who today utters words that even Rabin never said: "Palestinian state." Like Rabin, Sharon spent decades defending Israel against Arab annihilation on the battlefield, and later traded his fatigues for an olive branch.

Rabin's dream of Palestinian and Israeli children playing side by side is still some years away. Though the peace process flounders, Rabin's legacy continues to impact all Israelis who yearn for peace. His story is the story of Israel, struggling for survival and yearning for acceptance.

(See the "Rabin Commemoration" photo album)

Life or Death

Last night I saw a screening of the controversial new film "Paradise Now," which portrays a pair of young Palestinian men recruited for a suicide bombing in Tel Aviv. "From the most unexpected place, comes a bold new call for peace," reads the film's promotional materials. Far from a call for peace, "Paradise Now" neatly justifies the wholesale murder of civilians.

Writer-director Hany Abu-Assad positions terrorism as the logical, fair response to Israel's occupation of the West Bank. In Abu-Assad's West Bank, the road to "peace" requires you to strap on 20 kilograms of explosives and detonate amongst strangers. Acknowledging Israel's vast military superiority, the bombers act to continue "the struggle," and for a lack of other options, we are told.

"Paradise Now" makes no mention of the culture of indoctrination that photographs Palestinian babies in suicide bomber belts and trains boys at summer camp to explode on crowded buses. All we get are young men with loving families who sadly, and inevitably, decide to blow themselves up. Only Israel is to blame - for these young men's suicides, for the civilians they murder, for the occupation, for Palestinian collaborators, etc.

Until people everywhere stop justifying the mass murder of civilians, terrorism will continue to thrive. Terrorism, you see, is actually the latest form of genocide. If Islamists had the ability to murder every infidel on Earth, they would do so in an instant. Attacks continue to mount in Israel, Spain, the United States, England, Indonesia and - just yesterday - Jordan. As with Hitler just half a century ago, the free world has two options: to capitulate, or to conquer.

We know that almost all terrorists receive support, funding and harbor from a handful of countries, most notably Iran and Syria. How many more buses, hotels and skyscrapers must explode before the world holds the leaders of these countries accountable? Such a demand - and not the moral equivalency, "cycle of violence" sludge espoused in "Paradise Now" - would be a true call for peace.

Back to School

I just finished a week of "firsts" - the first week of university classes in more than half a decade, and the first party in my own apartment in Jerusalem. Which to describe first?

More than 50 people stopped by the party on Thursday night, including classmates from the summer uplan, graduate students, friends from my synagogue and the GLBT Open House, people's roommates, etc. I put out a spread of pita bread, Middle Eastern salads and pastries from the shuk (market) and, as requested, people brought all kinds of libations.

Here are some quotes from the night that was, some from myself and others uttered by guests:

• "Who are all half these people?"
• "Aviva, you can't get your coat right now, there is an orgy going on in the bedroom."
• "Shotgun not going in to get Aviva's coat."
• "I can't join in, I have three dozen guests here!"
• "Where the hell do I keep putting my drink?"
• "Does everyone on Otzma still smoke pot all the time?"
• "Yes."
• "That person has no gender."
• "Thanks for being the only gay guy here who did not hit on me tonight."
• "Look, I made a net gain of ten bottles of wine!"

And finally, the last quote of the night, spoken in Hebrew by a crusty neighbor in my building, proving the party was in fact a success:

• "...I will call the police."

Now for the classes.

I started the "gimel" level ulpan, the second level of five I must complete to get my degree. Unlike the intense summer ulpan with five hours of class each day, this graduate student ulpan meets for two hour a day, four days a week. I was thrilled to feel like I was not drowning the first few days of class, as I felt I was during the first weeks of summer ulpan. The teacher, Batya, is seasoned, funny and sweet. The class includes students from Sweden, Taiwan, Korea, the US and - here's a new one - Azerbaijan.

My five classes in English are taught by Israeli professors from the "regular" Hebrew University and all relate to my masters program, Society and Politics of Israel. This is the kind of stuff I was reading about on the subway in Boston and before bed, so it's exciting to be learning it formally, and from experts:

• "Political Economy of the Middle East," taught by Dr. Amos Nadan, examines how social and political conditions in the Middle East shape economic conditions, and vice versa. I am very excited about this course, as it will touch on timely issues like economic aspects of terrorism, oil revenues and socio-political change, and the effectiveness of economic sanctions.

• "Historical Geography of Jerusalem" will use the city as a living laboratory to examine the growth and development of Jerusalem during its long history, from Biblical times to the Crusaders to the present. Most lessons will be held in the field, including this week's class, when we will meet at the Old City's "Dung Gate" to learn how King David made Jerusalem the capital of the ancient Israelites. Dr. Shaul Sapir seems to be a train-of-thought kind of guy (mixed blessing?), and is a top archaeologist in the country.

• "Social and Political History of the State of Israel from 1948 to 1977" is what it sounds like. It's an overview class painting the broad picture I have been learning about on my own the past five years. This course might turn out to be interesting because of the questions students will ask. At the end of this week's class on the pre-state period, the tool from Azerbaijan said, "Since a Jew shot Yitzchak Rabin, does that mean Jews don't want peace?" This same tool is in my ulpan class and has twice argued with the teacher about the pronunciation of Hebrew words. More to come on my new nemesis...

• Dr. Reuven Hazzan's "Israel: Politics and Society" comes highly recommended - I am auditing this class, actually. He is a respected political analyst and writer who spent last week's class breaking our misconception that Israel's political system is "different" than other countries; instead, Israel's system incorporates elements from other countries, including the US and England. Hazzan said it is dangerous to consider Israel so "unique," because it discourages learning from other, more time-tested systems, excludes Israel from international studies, and promotes the country's image as a pariah state.

• Finally, in "General Sociological Theories and Israeli Society: Approaches and Adaptations," we will study sociological theories in England, France and the US, connecting the formation of these theories to the cultures themselves. The class is a requirement for the two-dozen people in my program and taught by our advisor, Dr. Gad Yair. The Spring semester version of this course will turn the spotlight on social groups in Israel.

(Unfortunately, there are no photo's for this entry, due to my state at the party.)