The Women -- and Men -- of the Wall

The Kotel (that is, the Western Wall of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem) has been at the front and center of my consciousness -- and of the news -- lately.

To make a long story short, it has to do with the Women of the Wall (WOW).  The Women of the Wall is a group of women who have been meeting at the Kotel every Rosh Hodesh (the first day of a new Hebrew month) for over twenty years, seeking the right to pray there as a group.  They've faced opposition all along the way.  Male Hareidim (ultra-Orthodox Jews) have treated them with contempt, sometimes throwing water bottles and chairs at them.  The ultra-Orthodox women who gather around them don't tend to yell and scream; instead, they quietly plead with them to desist from praying as a group, warning that they face eternal damnation should they not.

I've gone to the Kotel to observe the Women of the Wall on each of the past three Rosh Hodeshes (in March, April and May).  During the first two, all I witnessed was screaming and shofar blowing (to drown out the sound of the women's voices).  

A few pictures appear below.  

(Notice that the WOW group is quite small.) 

 (Nonetheless, the opposition they engender is quite intense.)

(This man blew his shofar continually for several minutes, 

seeking to drown out the sound of the women davening.)

Even though there was no violence, the March and April gatherings were nonetheless disturbing.  For one thing, even though the Hareidim did not physically threaten the women, they employed threatening and inflammatory rhetoric.  As one Hareidi man shouted, "We withstood Hitler and we will withstand the reformim (Reform Jews)." This is a common theme in the rhetoric of the Hareidim: to see the Reform and Conservative movements as heretical sects whose purpose and effect is to destroy "true" Judaism.  (The irony is that Women of the Wall includes Orthodox women.)  

Moreover, both in March and in April, WOW women were detained by the police.  The women were told that they were violating "local custom" by praying with tallit and tefillin, and they were threatened with expulsion from the Kotel.  

In March, the women who had been detained were simply intimidated, and then released with a warning.  However, in April, when the group was brought before a judge, something  unexpected took place.   The magistrate (who happened to be female) bluntly dismissed the police's argument that the women and their "provocative behavior" were responsible for the disturbances.  She denied the police's request that the women be barred from the Kotel for three months and ordered them released immediately.  She went further:  she made it clear that the women had every right to pray at the Kotel.  The police quickly appealed, and were dealt an even more serious blow in the appeals court.  There, Judge Sobel (this time a man, and a religious one at that) ruled not only that the Women of the Wall had the right to gather, pray out loud and read from the Torah at the Kotel, but also that it was not inconsistent with "the custom of the place" for them to do so wearing tallit and tefillin.  

The government could have appealed this surprising decision to the Supreme Court, but for whatever reason, Israel's Attorney General chose not to do that.  And so, when Rosh Hodesh Sivan rolled around on Friday, May 10th, the police understood that their responsibility was not to arrest the women of the Wall but to protect them.  

It's fortunate that the police had come to this conclusion, because the Women of the Wall's legal victory the previous month had prompted a massive protest.  Young ultra-Orthodox women students -- thousands of them -- were bussed in, in order to prevent the Women of the Wall from approaching the Kotel.  And thousands of men were there as well -- to heap abuse on the women and their protectors.

I arrived a few minutes late.  As I entered the plaza, I was confronted by a sea of black hats.  As I passed through the security gate (which was unmanned; all of the police were in the plaza), I suddenly saw a Hareidi man spit forcefully and angrily into the face of a woman who was leaving the Kotel plaza.  I was dumbfounded.  Had he seen her pray? Is that what led to his rage?  It wasn't at all clear to me.  I was so taken aback, I was speechless.  But my wife, Elana, was not. She turned to the man and calmly said, "How can you treat someone this way?"  The man looked at her incredulously:  "But they're Reform!" he said.

Once down at the Plaza, Elana went her way and I went mine.  I found myself in a mob -- a jeering and determined one.  Water bottles were flying.  And then a chair got tossed in the air.  "What's going on?" I asked one of the men.  "The police," he said.  "They're protecting the women."  It became clear that the police were preventing the Hareidi men from overwhelming the Women of the Wall.  Ordinarily, the WOW group gathers in the women's section of the Kotel. This time, because it was so crowded with young seminary students, they were forced to gather in the public plaza far away from the Kotel itself.

But that didn't stop the men from screaming and whistling and mocking the women.  And because the police stood in their way, the police became a target too.  

I managed to find my way to the protected area in which the Women of the Wall were davening.  Although they had agreed not to bring a Torah scroll with them -- there were fears that this would spark a catastrophic riot -- they did read the Torah from a Humash.  A girl (the daughter of a colleague of mine) celebrated becoming a bat mitzvah.  Then, when the service was over, the police ushered us quickly out of the plaza.  The anger was still potent.  Eggs were thrown, and more water bottles.  Buses had been commandeered by the police to shuttle the women of the wall out of the area.  The Hareidim ran from the plaza to the parking lot and screamed and threw rocks at the buses.  To read a newspaper story about the incident, click here.   To see a remarkable collection of photographs taken by Noam Revkin-Fenton that morning, go here.  

No one knows what will happen next month.

In response to the growing tension, Prime Minister Netanyahu has charged Natan Sharansky with the responsibility of coming up with a solution to the problem.  He has proposed that the Kotel plaza be expanded to include the area to the south known as "Robinson's Arch"so that there can be three sections: men only (controlled by the Orthodox rabbinate), women only, and a group for egalitarian worship.  The details of his plan have not yet been publically revealed, but the proposal has been met with qualified approval by liberal Jewish leaders in the States.  

The Women of the Wall are not certain that they will accept the proposal. For they seek not to pray in a separate "egalitarian" section of the Kotel: they seek the right to pray in the women's section. 

Time will tell what they will decide to do, and whether they will succeed.  Some commentators have urged the women to refrain from praying at the wall until the Sharansky compromise plan has been implemented. For example, you can read an opinion piece written by Yossi Klein Halevi by clicking here.  

I agree with Halevi that all sides should support Sharansky's efforts to find a solution, and I find his piece thoughtful and well-written.  However,  I think that Halevi is wrong when he suggests (at the beginning and at the end of his piece) that the Women of the Wall share responsibility for the disgraceful behavior that has been taking place at the Wall each month.  The only way in which the Women of the Wall have contributed to that disgrace is by being victims of it.  I, for one, think it is inappropriate to blame the victims of hatred and contempt (and contemptible behavior) for what happens to them, and to condemn them for peacefully asserting their rights. 

To be continued ...

"Jerusalem, a city that is joined together" (Psalm 122)

"Jerusalem, a city that is joined together."  (Psalm 122)

Shalom, shalom!

Today is Yom Yerushalayim, Jerusalem Day, the anniversary (according to the Jewish calendar) of the day 46 years ago when Israeli troops fought fierce battles to unite the city under Israeli rule. I remember that day.

Between 1948 and 1967, Jews were unable to visit the Kotel or any of the other sites in the Old City.  The Jewish Quarter, destroyed during the War of Independence, remained in ruins.  Mount Scopus, to the north, though technically Israeli territory, was only accessible by means of a UN convey, and so Haddassah Hospital and the Hebrew University campus remained desolate and effectively off limits.  The view of the city from the south was also in Jordanian hands.  The closest Israelis could come to the Old City was to ascend a shrine on the Israeli-controlled salient of Mount Zion, and to peer in from there toward the Temple Mount. 

Although Israelis yearned for Jerusalem, they did not enter into the Six Day War with the intention of capturing the city.  They cautioned King Hussein (the ruler of Jordan, which then controlled all of the West Bank, including the old city of Jerusalem), to stay out of the war.  But he didn't.  Shells fell in the western part of the city.  In response, the Israelis attacked and, within a day or so, defeated the Jordanians and united the city. 

Since then, the city has been under Israeli control.  Once pockmarked with bullet holes, the "No Man's Land" areas along the old border through the city were demolished, and parks and expensive housing have taken their place.  New roads were built connecting the two halves of the city, and suburb after suburb were built to surround the city like a necklace, reinforcing the Israeli connection with the entire city.  At the same time, Israel has permitted each religious community to maintain its own shrines and has permitted people of all religious faiths to visit and pray in the city.  Each day, thousands of visitors--Jews, Christians, and Moslems--flock to the city.  

Notwithstanding the remarkable religious freedom that Israel has provided (rare in this part of the world), Israel's rule has not come without controversy.  This is not surprising.  The Jews living in the city hold Israeli citizenship; the Palestinians (38% of the population) do not.  Moreover, the city may be "joined together" but it is far from united.  There are secular Jewish neighborhoods and there are ultra-Orthodox Jewish neighborhoods.  There are Christian Arab enclaves and there are Moslem Arab neighborhoods.  Yes, there are areas where everyone seems to meet.  (One interesting example is the upscale Mamilla Mall, built along the old border.)  But for the most part, Palestinians and Israelis have little contact with one another.

Today, there will be concerts and other events throughout the city, and a parade.  This is indeed a time for a celebration.  We should never take for granted our ability to view, to visit and to live in the city of Jerusalem.  For most of Jewish history, these rights were denied to us.     

But as much as this is a time for celebration, it is also, inevitably, a time for reflection.  Are there ways to diminish the tension in the holy city?  Are there ways not currently being pursued that could better unite everyone who lives here and everyone who visits here?  Or will there always be an uneasy calm here, at best?

Let me close with a poem by the great Hebrew poet, Yehuda Amichai (1924-2000).   It appeared in this morning's Haaretz.  

Jerusalem is a Spinning Carousel

Yehuda Amichai

Jerusalem is a carousel spinning round and round

from the Old City through every neighborhood 

and back to the Old.

And you can’t get off. If you jump you’re risking your life

and if you step off when it stops you must pay again

to get back on for more turns that will never end.

Instead of painted elephants and horses to ride,

religions go up, down and around on their axes

to unctuous melodies from the houses of prayer.

Jerusalem is a seesaw: Sometimes I go down,

to past generations and sometimes up, into the sky,

then like a child dangling on high, legs swinging, I cry

"I want to get down, Daddy!" "Daddy, I want to get down!"

"Daddy, get me down!"

And like that, all the saints go up into the sky.

They’re like children screaming, "Daddy, I want to stay high!"

"Daddy don’t bring me down!" 

"Our Father Our King, leave me on high!" 

"Our Father Our King!"


Translated by Vivian Eden; published with permission of Hanna Amichai.

***

A Word I Hadn't Known

The other day, I heard a word I hadn't heard before:  "Hamshush."  

Hamshush is an acronym.  Israelis love acronyms.  This one is composed of the letters "khet," "mem," "shesh," "vav," and "shesh"  (חמשו"ש).  These refer to "hamishi," "shishi," "and shabbat" -- in other words, the fifth, sixth and seventh days of the week.  

Why has this term arisen? It's arisen because, as elsewhere in the industrial world, Israelis crave their weekends. Weekends aren't very long here -- though they're longer than they used to be.  

Once upon a time, Israeli workers didn't have to work from Friday afternoon through the end of Shabbat on Saturday night.  Whether you were religious or not, that was tough.  For religious Jews, that meant that Shabbat preparations had to be squeezed into Friday afternoon.  For non-religious Jews, their one weekend day was one on which there was limited public transportation and diminished commercial activity.

Over the past twenty years, I have noticed that things have changed.  More and more Israelis don't work on Fridays at all.  Colleges and universities rarely schedule classes on Fridays.  The government is contemplating eliminating Friday classes for most school children.  Friday and Saturday together have come to form what seems closer to an American-style weekend. 

But as a result of that, a new phenomenon has arisen:  adding Thursday evening to the mix.

It has the most impact on men and women doing army service.  Soldiers in the army who get off for Shabbat are usually discharged on Friday mornings.  They may barely get home in time for Shabbat.  Saturday night, they might stay up late, but they've got to be back at their base early Sunday morning.  It's tough. 

 Soldiers returning to their bases on a Sunday morning.  

(Photo taken at the main train station in Tel Aviv. That looks like an awfully heavy pack, doesn't it?)

However, sometimes soldiers get to leave their base on Thursday afternoon (Yom Hamishi), and they get to return to their base a little later on Sunday morning.  That makes it seem almost like an American weekend:  they get from Thursday evening through Sunday morning off.

THAT is a "Hamshush."  And it's worth it. 

Two steps forward ...

Just the other day, Israel's cabinet approved a new series of banknotes to be produced by the Bank of Israel.  As in the United States, Israel's government periodically issues new bills to thwart conterfeiters.  In addition, these new bills will be more colorful and therefore more distinct one from the other -- and thus easier for the visually impaired to use.  

Gracing the four new bills will be the portraits of four modern Hebrew poets.   The voices of these poets inspired Zionists for the better part of the twentieth century, up to and including the early decades of the State of Israel.  Even today, these poets remain beloved among many within Israel.  

Significantly, two of the four are women:  the poet known simply as "Rachel," or "Rachel the Poetess" (Rachel Bluwstein; 1890-1931), 


and Leah Goldberg (1911-1970).  





The other two are Shaul (Saul) Tchernichovsky (1875-1943)

and Natan Alterman (1910-1970). 

I have long admired the poetry of all four of these poets, and  I look forward to seeing -- and reading -- the new banknotes.  (In addition to their portraits, selections from their poetry will appear on the bills.)

Women's groups cheered the inclusion of the two women.  But the choices engendered controversy nonetheless, for these poets are all of European descent.  None is Sephardic or Mizrahi.  (The term "Mizrahi" generally refers to Jews from Near Eastern, Arabic-speaking, countries.)  

Predictably, Arye Deri, the leader of Shas (Israel's ultra-Orthodox Sephardic political party), saw the exclusion as deliberate and part of a pattern of abuse:  "This ... is a symptom of the government's behavior toward the Mizrahi public. ... Mizrahim are excluded from the Supreme Court, academia, the media, the Israel Prize, and the current government, and now it's reached our banknotes." 

Arye Deri has long been quick to decry discrimination against Mizrahim in Israeli society.  When he was indicted for corruption in the 1990s, he argued that he was being targetted because he was a Mizrahi political leader.  (He was later convicted.)  

But he has a point.  Mizrahi Jews faced terrible discrimination during their arrival in Israel in the 1950's and '60's, and beyond.  Even today, the vestiges of past discrimination are still present, and it's easy enough to consider this one of them.  If the faces on Israel's banknotes are intended to represent the nation, they should be representative, and not simply be drawn from one "edah" ("community") within the nation.  

Incidentally, it also did not go unnoticed that no Arab has yet appeared on an Israeli banknote.  "During the public debate on whether to put a Mizrahi portrait on the new banknotes, we didn't see even a hint of intent to put a non-Jew on the bills," complained Issawi Freij.  Freij is a 42-year old accountant who represents the Meretz party in the Knesset.  Freij is right; no groundswell of support has yet arisen to put an Arab face on Israeli money.

Regarding the absence of Mizrahi portraits, retired Supreme Court Justice Jacob Turkel, who was responsible for recommending the new designs, didn't seem to appreciate the hurt feelings.  

"I'm not belittling anyone -- some of our greatest spiritual masters came from Spain, but this obsession is silly," he said.  "I can't even define what I am, since my ancestors were exiled from Spain to Turkey and from there to Galicia 500 years ago.  It seems pretty insignificant to me, but maybe there are people for whom this is important."

Indeed there are.  Identity politics is alive and well in Israel.  There are other groups as well who also see themselves on the margins; for example, ultra-Orthodox Jews.  

Although it has probably never occurred to anyone to put the late Lubavitcher Rebbe, Menachem Mendel Schneerson, on Israeli currency (after all, he never came to Israel), for a while there was interest in creating a banknote with the portrait of Rav Abraham Isaac Kook, the first Ashkenazic Chief Rabbi (1865-1935).  

Rav Kook was known for his appreciation for, and his willingness to reach out to, the secular halutzim (pioneers), notwithstanding their resistance to traditional religious practice.  

Perhaps, as one editorial in today's paper put it, a little sensitivity is called for.  True, modern Zionism arose in Europe, so it isn't surprising that the greatest classical Zionist poets were of European background. But surely there are Mizrahi poets or scholars or community leaders whom it would be proper for the State to honor.    Prime Minister Netanyahu tried to "make shalom."  He recommended that the next person to be portrayed on Israeli currency should be Yehudah Ha-Levi, the great medieval Sephardic poet.  Yehudah Ha-Levi did come from Spain, and he did compose beautiful and heartfelt odes to Zion, but I would think that a more contemporary figure would be more suitable (and more responsive to the concerns that have been voiced).  

A recent op-ed in Haaretz recommended several 20th century Mizrahi writers, including Jacqueline Kahanoff (1917-1979), a Jewish-Egyptian writer who eventually emigrated to Israel. 

Although she wrote in English, Kahanoff has been influential among several generations of Israeli Sephardic and Mizrahi Jews.  

Thinking about this subject has given me a great idea:  to teach a course on modern Zionism in which the stories behind those portrayed on Israeli banknotes are presented.  What a great way to teach the history of Zionism!  After all, can you imagine understanding the history of Zionism without being introduced to writers like Chaim Nachman Bialik and S.Y. Agnon?  Or philanthropists like Moses Montefiore and Edmond de Rothschild?  Or community leaders like Henrietta Szold?  Or pre-state political leaders like Theodor Herzl, Zeev Jabotinsky and Chaim Weizman? Or Zionist supporters from abroad, like Albert Einstein (who almost became Israel's first president)?  Or early Israeli  leaders like David Ben Gurion, Yitzhak Ben Zvi, Zalman Shazar, Levi Eshkol and Golda Meir?  

In any event, I hope that the next time the Bank of Israel recommends new banknotes, they pay more attention to the range of communities that make up Israel's increasingly heterogeneous society.