Standing in Israel
What follows are my reflections from the past week of learning at Jerusalem’s Shalom Hartman Institute.
I never get lost in Jerusalem. Perhaps it is because here I only walk and do not drive. Or perhaps it is because I started walking these streets forty years ago and have learned my way around. And now I am thankful to be here once again.
On Shabbat morning I woke up early and walked from the apartment we are renting to the Old City. I made my way past the King David Hotel and the campus where I first learned about Israel’s landscape, became enthralled with Zionist thinkers and acquainted with Hebrew’s nuances. The shops that lined the Mamilla mall were closed. The apartments nearby were quiet. Forty years ago, this area was dilapidated and filled with abandoned buildings. It was no man’s land prior to the 1967 war because it marked the division between East and West Jerusalem, between Israel’s and Jordan’s borders.
It was a cool morning and the sky a picturesque blue. The sun illuminated the stones of the city’s walls. I approached Jaffa Gate and made my way through the Arab shuk. A few stores were open. Their owners sipped Turkish coffee waiting for the afternoon’s tourists. Hasidic men and their sons raced past me. I offered the occasional Shabbat shalom and received greetings in return. The Western Wall plaza was filled with a sea of white tallises. I made my way through the large throng and touched the stones, offering a quiet prayer. I turned and climbed the steps toward the Jewish Quarter, past the newly rebuilt Hurva synagogue.
I walked through Zion gate, where Israel’s soldiers entered the Old City in 1967. Outside the gate one has an extraordinary view of Yemin Moshe, the first Jewish neighborhood built outside the Old City and below of Sultan’s Pool where Susie and I saw Santana perform years ago and of Gey Hinnom, where according to the ancient prophets, people sacrificed children to their false gods. I reminded myself to walk in the present and not through history. Jerusalem’s stones can be intoxicating. They can deceive one into thinking that we are living in a mythic reimagined past.
On Shabbat afternoon we went to a new coffee shop, Cafe Basimta. A large group of ultra-Orthodox young men and boys gathered there to protest the shop being open on Shabbat. We made our way through their shouts and screams of “Shabbes” and stood in line for forty-five minutes to order our coffees. They had run out of pastries and juice because so many had ventured there to protest the protest. I doubt our purchases will mend the painful rift between Israel’s secular majority and its powerful ultra-Orthodox minority, but it reminded us of where we stand.
At home, we spend our days talking about, and arguing about, Israel. We measure our friends and neighbors asking ourselves whether they are sufficiently pro-Israel. We rightfully become agitated with those who think Israel does not have a right to exist. We shout and protest, “Stand with Israel.” As I walk through Jerusalem’s streets, these maddening arguments appear trivial. Those far away words appear distant from these streets.
The reality of these streets filled with people walking hurriedly and those strolling casually, the cafes and shops, the cars and buses, the endless construction projects and their noise is my retort. These debates may very well be of significance back home. And I certainly worry about the dangerous consequences of the hateful rhetoric leveled against Israel, but here they appear small in comparison to the freedom of my Shabbat walk. My steps are my response. Israel’s existence is unshakeable. It is a privilege to be here and visit Jerusalem on a regular basis. I belong to a blessed Jewish generation. Here we are writing a new Jewish story in our ancient land. I must contribute to this story.
On another day we visited Mukhmas, a Palestinian community in the West Bank. We accompanied Israelis who are active in Protective Presence, protecting Palestinian villagers and farmers against settler violence. We watched as a settler grazed his sheep through the Palestinian’s farmland. We looked at the newly built settlements ringing the hilltops surrounding the village. Prior to October 7th there were no such settlements. Life has become unbearably difficult for Palestinians since that day and we wanted to hear their stories. Some Israelis are fighting against these injustices. We wanted to stand with them.
My days are filled learning with Hartman’s master teachers and debating the meaning of ancient and contemporary texts with colleagues. Together we traveled to Tzur Hadassah, a suburb of Jerusalem. There we met with Ilana whose son Yannai was killed on October 7th. He died defending the Zakim base and protecting the recruits and trainees who were under his command. She continued, “But I do not want to speak about how he died. I want to speak about how my twenty-year-old son lived.” She taught us that he believed that we must work on developing the muscle to see and hear others. Love, he exemplified, is like a muscle that we must train.
After many tears she offered us some Turkish coffee in his honor. Ilana then accompanied us on the bus to visit her friend. Laila is a Palestinian mother whose six-month-old son Qussay was killed by tear gas during the second intifada. Her son died because soldiers did not allow she and her husband to rush their son to the hospital. We had planned to travel to her office in Beit Jala to hear her story, but Israeli soldiers did not allow us to travel there because we would have to traverse the small area of the West Bank controlled by the Palestinian authority. Instead, Laila walked to our bus and spoke to us there.
She arrived exhausted. She gathered her strength and shared her story. She spoke about how she refused to speak about her son’s death for sixteen years. She only began to speak about her pain when a friend brought her to a meeting of the Parents Circle-Families Forum. There she met one of the soldiers who stopped her years ago. When he heard her story, he began sobbing. His tears aided her healing.
The Parents Circle-Families Forum is an organization that brings together Israelis and Palestinians who have lost a close family member to the conflict. Their common bond is their bereavement. We asked Laila about the protests back home wondering aloud if they gave her strength. She admitted that at first she welcomed the solidarity from afar but then said, “I realized I don’t care if you are pro-Palestine or pro-Israel. I only care if you are pro-peace.” Ilana added, “I don’t want another parent to bury their son or daughter.”
And I realized. Here, in Jerusalem I am never lost. I know where I stand.
I stand on Jerusalem’s streets. I stand in Israel.