Gay Pride in the State of Israel

In anticipation of the U.S. Supreme Court's upcoming rulings on gay marriage, I thought I'd write about homosexuality in Israel.  

A few weeks ago, Elana and I went to shul at Kehillat Kol HaNeshama, a prominent Reform congregation in our area.  We went twice: on Friday evening and again on Shabbat morning.  The occasion?  "Shabbat Ga'avah," or "(Gay) Pride Shabbat."  It's an annual event promoting the congregation's inclusivity.  It's a way for the shul to take a stand and make clear that gay, lesbian, trans and bisexual Jews are all welcome within the shul.

Such a gesture is much more unusual, and much more significant, than it would be in the States.

In Israel, virtually all Jewish religious institutions are Orthodox, and many gay Jews understandably feel alienated from them.  Not only might they be shunned, but they might find themselves the victims of vicious condemnation grounded in religious rhetoric.  Conservative and Reform congregations are very welcoming -- but there are relatively few of them.

In Israeli society at large, it's different.  Although it is undoubtedly still very difficult to come out of the closet, there have been great strides in secular Israeli society's approach to gay rights.  In this regard, Israel has long been the most progressive nation in the Middle East.  Indeed, it is on par with most Western countries.  Business, academia, government and the army are fully open to gays and lesbians.  It's already been ten years since the making of Yossi and Jagger, the groundbreaking Israeli film about two gay soldiers.  (In fact, a sequel, starring the still handsome and still popular actor, Ohad Knoller, has just been issued.  Click here for a New York Times article about the film.) Two weeks ago, there was the annual national gay pride parade in Tel Aviv, and gay pride parades were also recently held in Ashdod and in Haifa.  There were no disturbances.  And last year, Tel Aviv was voted the world's best gay travel destination by American Airlines.  (See here for details.)

Back to Pride Shabbat:  The guest speaker that Shabbat morning was Amichai Lau-Lavie.  Amichai Lau-Lavie is a fascinating person.  He has pristine rabbinic yichus ("pedigree"): he is the nephew of the former chief rabbi of Israel, Rabbi Israel Meir Lau, and the younger brother of Rabbi Benny Lau, a liberal Orthodox rabbi highly popular among Anglos here in Israel, whose weekly shiurim (Torah seminars) attract hundreds.  Amichai is following in his illustrious relatives' footsteps.  He is studying to become a rabbi.

Amichai is also gay.

Amichai told his story on that Shabbat morning in shul, and it was gripping.  He talked about the fear of isolation and rejection from his family and community.  He talked about how, before coming out of the closet, he had felt as though he was hovering between life and death.  He also talked about how his approach to the Orthodox religious establishment today is different from that of Rabbi Steven Greenberg.  Rabbi Greenberg, a gay Orthodox rabbi, is willing to be patient, and to wait for the Orthodox community to come around to his point of view.  But Amichai does not want to be patient.  He thinks that there is too much at stake:  too much suffering, and too many lives that could be destroyed, while waiting for the religious community to come around.

Instead, he is seeking religious approval now.  He has chosen to study for the rabbinate at the Jewish Theological Seminary, my alma mater, and to become a Conservative rabbi.  He believes that it is necessary to speak clearly and loudly -- today, not decades from now -- in favor of inclusivity.  

Amichai is a creative person.  You may have heard of one of his endeavors:  Storahtelling. (Click here for the story of Storahtelling.)   I hope one day to invite Amichai to our shul to teach and share his unique talents.    

In the meantime, there's a very important "takeaway" from Amichai's talk:  We may be living in the United States--indeed, in the trailblazing state of Massachusetts where gay marriage has been legal for almost ten years--but it can be tough even in our own community.  

We mustn't remain silent.  In the face of vulnerability, isolation, threats and fears, we must speak out and assure the gay, lesbian, bisexual and trans Jews among us that they are not alone, and that our community will always be open to them.  I spoke about this a number of years ago (in a sermon that is accessible here) and I reaffirm that message now. 

All of us deserve to feel pride in being created in the image of God -- whatever our gender identity or sexual orientation.  And all of us should do whatever we can to further that goal. 

What do President Obama and Formula One racing have in common?

What do President Obama and Formula One racing have in common?

If you live in Jerusalem, this isn’t a trick question.  The answer is simple:  many people (especially taxi drivers) were annoyed when President Obama visited Jerusalem back in March, right before Passover.  The visit closed down much of the city and people were very inconvenienced.  Similarly, many people (especially taxi drivers) are annoyed that Formula One is coming to Jerusalem today and tomorrow, and expect to be similarly inconvenienced.

Yes. Believe it or not, there will be a Formula One race through the narrow streets of Jerusalem this afternoon.   I find it hard to believe, too!

Why?  Why in heaven’s name is Formula One racing coming to Jerusalem?  I don’t have a simple answer to that question, other than to say that the Mayor of Jerusalem, Nir Barkat, apparently likes car racing, and thought it would be a wonderful way to showcase the city.  (He’s running for re-election, by the way.)

Residents don’t agree.  Closing down much of the city – a very diverse city with very delicate sensitivities – raises anxiety.  The city is crowded enough as it is; and there are two other special events going on this week:  the annual “Shavua Ha-Sefer” (Book Week Fair) and the annual Jerusalem Light Festival.  Do the police really need another event to monitor?

To read one Jerusalem journalist’s amusing take on this “historic” event, click here: 

I have to give Mayor Barkat credit. He’s nothing if not bold. 

My response?  The classic Jewish one:  “Gam zeh ya’avor” -- “This too shall pass.”

"This Week in Palestine"

I thought that would grab your attention.

It certainly grabbed mine.

Let me explain.

A few months ago, my wife, Elana, and I went on a fascinating tour of hostels and hotels in the Old City of Jerusalem -- most of them from the nineteenth century.  The tour was arranged by Yad Ben-Zvi, a foundation here in Jerusalem (named in memory of Israel's second president, Yitzhak Ben-Zvi) that is devoted to the study of the Land of Israel.  

Former Israeli President Yitzhak Ben-Zvi 

on the Israeli 100 new shekel note (no longer in circulation)

Our tour began at Kikar Safra, the wide, expansive plaza in front of Jerusalem's City Hall.  It took us to a half-dozen tiny hotels and hostels, all still in operation, mainly in the Old City, and mainly catering to Christian travelers.

Our first stop was Notre Dame de Jerusalem, a beautiful, white Jerusalem stone-clad structure owned by the Vatican (and flying the Vatican's flag) just outside the New Gate entrance to the Old City.  

(Needless to say, the train wasn't here when the building was built in the 1880s.)

Notre Dame de Jerusalem is perched at the highest corner of the Old City, and in fact, the statue at its peak was, for many years, the highest point in the city.  During the latter part of the 19th and the first half of the 20th centuries, it served as a hostel for Christian pilgrims.  During the years that the city was divided (1948 to 1967) this building was just on the Israeli side of the so-called "Green Line," with barbed wire and snipers' nests just opposite.  Given the political situation, there was no need for pilgrim housing, and so the building was offered to the Israeli government, and the Hebrew University housed its students there.  After 1967, when the city was united, the Vatican asked for the building back, and offered the university sufficient money to build new dorms on their Givat Ram campus.  The new dorms were called "Shikunei ha-Elef" (literally, the "Millenial Dormitories") in acknowledgement.

A few interesting stories have been told about the site. One funny and well-known one concerns the nuns who lived and worked next door at the French hospital (also adjoining the Green Line that divided the city).   One day in the 1950s, one of the nuns was leaning out of the building and her false teeth tumbled to the ground, in what was then "No Man's Land."  After extensive negotiations involving the Israelis, the Jordanians, and the U.N., permission was given for one of the younger, more sprightly nuns to crawl into the No Man's Land to retreive them.  We were shown a nice picture of the nun and the international team that saved her teeth.

After our tour guide shared a few other interesting stories about the hotel, he gave us a few minutes to wander in the lobby (which is quite fine).  It was there, on one of the tables, that I saw copies of a free magazine available for tourists:  This Week in Palestine.

I took a look at the magazine.  Its glossy, well-formatted style was no different from that of the magazines you will typically find in hotels all over the world.  It's filled with ads for restaurants, hotels, and tourist attractions.  But it certainly seemed odd to me to read this particular magazine in Jerusalem.  For it definitely presented a point of view and an understanding of the "facts on the ground" different from the one I was used to.  For example, consider the map of Jerusalem inside.  

(The enclosed area in the lower half of the middle third of the map is the Old City.)

Understandably, the map is centered on the Old City of Jerusalem.  But the map doesn't make any effort to include the western half (really, the western two-thirds) of the city.  You'd never know that the Central Bus Station, the Machaneh Yehudah market, or Ben Yehudah Street existed -- much less the Israel Museum or Yad Vashem.  

What I found particularly interesting -- and disappointing -- is that, as you can see, parts of the map are shown in a different color.  The legend informs us that these are "Israeli Built-Up Areas."  

Although it is not noted in the magazine, these include three very different regions:  First, The Jewish Quarter of the Old City, in which Jews have long lived.  The quarter was razed in 1948, and  Jews were banned from it between 1948 and 1967.  Second, Mount Scopus, which has been part of Israel since 1948.  Technically, it was under Israeli control between 1948 and 1967, but it was inaccessible except by means of an armored convey that travelled there once a week to assert sovereignty.  Third, Ramat Eshkol, one of the neighborhoods built by the Israelis after 1967 on annexed land that had been on the other side of the Green Line.  All three of those areas are given the same color, even though each has a very different history and political status.  

There are several articles in the magazine about sites in "Palestine."  The issue focuses on archaeology, and how it has been used by the Israelis to give authenticity and legitimacy to the Jewish attachment to the Land.

You would think that it wouldn't be necessary to deny the Jewish attachment to this land to assert a Palestinian one, but that is exactly what this magazine does.  For example, one paragraph in the article on archaeology begins as follows:  

"Archaeology is one of the many tactics Israel uses to claim ground in Palestine.  Many historical sites have been exploited to benefit the Jewish narrative."  

Though somewhat slanted, those sentences have the ring of truth.  

But then comes, "I've never heard a Palestinian deny a Jewish presence in Palestine, the place that joins Christianity, Judaism and Islam."  

That, unfortunately, is just ludicrous.  Take, for example, the famous statement by Yasser Arafat that there never was a Jewish temple on the site of the Temple Mount (a claim which is repeated in the magazine, by the way).  (You can read this and similar preposterous statements here.)  

The article in This Week in Palestine reminds me of the story of the scouts who were sent to explore the Land of Canaan (see Parashat Shlach L'cha in the Book of Numbers).  The scouts first told the truth, namely that the land is flowing with "milk and honey" (Numbers 13:27), before maligning the land (in the very next verse).  Why?  As Rabbi Johanan said in the name of Rabbi Meir: "Slander that does not begin with truth is not believable."  (Sotah 35a).

It also reminds me of something I realized a number of years ago, when I co-chaired a JCRC mission that brought nineteen Christian ministers to Israel:  you can travel to "The Holy Land" without, so to speak, ever setting foot in "Israel." Many of the ministers had gone on Holy Land pilgrimages (some described them as "trips to Palestine"), staying in places like Notre Dame de Jerusalem, reading magazines like This Week in Palestine, and travelling from hotel to hotel, from restaurant to restaurant, from holy site to holy site, without encountering Jewish aspects of Israel.  

Incidentally, although there is not yet a Palestinian state, it is easy to believe otherwise.  Consider the following screen shot from my iPhone.  It is open to the Moovit application's map of the area.  (I use Moovit all the time to get around town.)  Note the caption on the border that marks the former "Green Line" between the state of Israel and the Palestinian authority:

What's my hope?  My hope is that just as Israeli maps depict the entire city of Jerusalem, and show where all of the Christian and Muslim holy sites are, as well as the Jewish ones, one day Palestinian maps will do the same.  Moreover, one day, the articles in magazines like This Week in Palestine will recommend Israeli hotels and holy sites and eateries, as well as Palestinian ones.  And there won't be any attempt to exploit magazines like This Week in Palestine to score political points.  

Finally, one day, all the articles in magazines like this will be fair and balanced.  Amen! 

What do Israel and the Philippines have in common?

Actually, more than you might think.

When I was growing up, I don’t think I ever thought about Israel and the Philippines in the same context.  Yet, during the past few weeks, there have been three times that I’ve thought about both the Philippines and Israel -- and so I thought it worthwhile to describe them.

I.

A few weeks ago, my wife, Elana, brought home an unusual magazine from the Post Office.  It was Focalmag, a free English-language magazine devoted to serving the Filipino community here.  (Click here for the online version.)

Now, you may be wondering:  The Filipino community?  Isn’t Israel a Jewish state?  What are Filipinos doing here?

That’s a very interesting question.  In fact, there are many people from the Philippines here.  The Philippine embassy estimates that there are 39,000 Filipinos working in Israel, 10,000 of them in Jerusalem.  Click here for details.   

The reason is quite simple.  There is a great deal of unemployment in the Philippines. Israel, on the other hand, is a country with a great need for low-income workers.  Through a program created by the Israeli government a few years ago, many Filipinos come to this country to serve as caretakers for the elderly. It seems to work out well, for both the Filipinos and the Israelis. The Filipinos speak English, which is a second language here, and they don’t raise any particular political or security anxieties. They are able to earn money that they can send back home to support their families. 

Wherever you go in Israel you see Filipinos walking down the street hand in hand with the elderly, or wheeling them around in wheelchairs.  In my neighborhood, you often see Filipinos shopping in the grocery store or riding the busses.  In the elevator in my building, I am as likely to encounter a Filipino as an Israeli. It’s gotten to the point where they don’t stand out. 

(Patar is the name of a beach in the Philippines.)

Focalmag is a reminder of just how much a presence Filipinos are in this country.  Filipinos not only have their own magazine; they have their own restaurants and stores and churches and pastors.  It’s fortunate that they have the latter, because, as low-income foreign workers, they can be quite isolated and can sometimes be the victims of condescension, disrespect, and even discrimination. 

The other day, I asked an Israeli whether he was concerned about the growing presence of Filipinos in the country.  “Not particularly,” he said. “After all, they have to go back to the Philippines after a few years.”  But, of course, not all do. What we are seeing is in effect the creation of a new minority of non-citizen temporary workers here in Israel.   Is Israel prepared for this?  Who would have predicted this when the state was created in 1948?

II.

One of my projects this year has been to translate articles from Otzar Dinim u-Minhagim, "A Treasury of Jewish Law and Lore," a guide to Jewish religious practice written in 1917 in Hebrew in New York City by the Jewish scholar, J.D. Eisenstein.  (I'll have more to say about this project in a future blogpost.)  The other day, I was working on an entry entitled, “Day and Night.”  It concerns various questions that have to do with when a day begins and when it ends.  A good portion of the article has to do with how Jews are supposed to behave when they are travelling in the area of the International Date Line in the Pacific Ocean.  (To read my translation of the article, click here.)

In “Day and Night,” Eisenstein points out that when the location of the date line was altered in the mid-1800s, certain communities found that not only the date but also the day of the week changed.  One of these communities was—you guessed it—the Philippines. Prior to 1845, the Date Line ran to the west of the Philippines, but in 1845 it was moved to the east, so that the day and date in the Philippines would be identical to those in China and Japan.  Monday, December 30, 1844 in the Philippines was followed by Wednesday, January 1, 1845!  (An even more complicated day and date change occurred in Alaska in 1867 when the United States purchased the territory from Russia and the line was moved to the west of the territory.)

Now, why did Eisenstein think to discuss what had happened in the Philippines or in Alaska in his book?  What would be the relevance of this to Jews?

As you might have guessed, the Jewish question this raises is, when should a Jew in these areas observe Shabbat? Should he or she observe it according to the old calendar or according to the new one?

The answer that Eisenstein gave is this: 

With respect to the decisions made by the governments in Alaska and the Philippines to switch the day and the date: if in these places there were ancient Jewish communities that regularly observed Shabbat from time immemorial, then even newcomers who moved there after the respective changes would be obligated to observe the traditional local Shabbat, and no change by the government to add or subtract a day would make any difference.  But if the community is a new one and there is no established Shabbat there, then they should observe Shabbat consistent with prevailing law and local practice.

In my opinion, this is a sensible solution.  In fact, there never were “ancient Jewish communities” in either the Philippines or Alaska, so Jews living there, whether in 1845 or today, follow the current “prevailing” calendar. 

III.

Speaking of Jews and the Philippines, ... 

One recent Friday evening, we went to a friend’s home for Shabbat dinner.  That evening, she happened to have volunteered to host folks in her shul who didn’t have a place to go for Shabbat dinner.  Visiting the shul that evening was a couple from California, and so they joined us for dinner.  The guy looked like a typical American Jew of Eastern European ancestry; the woman he was with did not.  She looked, well, Filipino.  Indeed she was.  Looking around the table, it was clear that people were intrigued.  Given that in Israel, practically the only Filipinos one encounters are aides to the elderly (see above), seeing such a couple defied the conventions.  When the woman began talking about her synagogue in California, and how excited she was finally to be travelling to Israel, we realized that we were in the presence of a Filipino Jewish woman.  We later learned that she had converted to Judaism a few years ago, and that although her husband had already been to Israel several times before, they had long anticipated travelling to Israel together.  I shared with her what I had learned about the Philippines and the movement of the International Date Line in 1845.  (She was very polite.)  What an unexpected and delightful reminder of just how heterogenous a people we are!

So who says that Israel and the Philippines have nothing in common?  

Six Days of War -- Forty Six Years Later

Tomorrow (June 5th, 2013) will mark the 46th anniversary of the day on which a momentous war between Israel and her Arab neighbors, a war that reshaped the Middle East, began.

I just read an interesting article in the Israeli newspaper, Yediot Aharonot, about that war.

It focuses on the name eventually given to the conflict.  Today, of course, we call it, "The Six Day War." (Arabs prefer the name, "The June 1967 War.)  But when did it get that name?

Obviously, that name didn't arise until the war was over--it couldn't possibly have--but what we may not know is that it wasn't for several months that that name became official.  In the meantime, Israelis offered their leaders various names for the conflict. The Yediot article quoted from several letters that can be found today in the State archives.  

For example, a young woman named Varda Faust wrote to Moshe Dayan (the then-Defense Minister who was given the lion's share of credit for Israel's lightning victory) suggesting two names.  

First, she suggested "The Sinarama War."  That made-up word includes the names of two great theaters of the 1967 conflict: the Sinai desert and the Golan Heights ("Ramat ha-Golan," in Hebrew).  

The other name she suggested was "The Selaim War."  "Selaim" means "rocks"; it is also an acronym; its consonants are the first letters of the names of countries that had been allied against Israel during the conflict:  S (Syria); L (Lebanon); I (Iraq); and M (Mitzrayim=Egypt).  Varda, who lives today in Renanah, has no memory of writing that letter.  "Today I'm more than 60 years old," she said the other day.  "Then, I was a young girl!"  

Two weeks after the end of the war, Abraham Abramoff, an attorney, wrote to the Prime Minister's Office to suggest the name, "Milchemet Shai" -- the "Shai" War.  "Shai" (shin, yod) is an acronym for "Sheshet ha-Yamim," (Six Days); "shai" is also a Hebrew word meaning, "a gift."  Abramoff indicated that he thought the word was appropriate because it referred to one of the many precious gifts that the Israeli army had given to the nation, namely, unifying the city of Jerusalem.

  Abramoff (who is now 87 years old) also does not remember sending his letter.  As he put it, "I've written many letters in my life!"

Another person suggested a name that's hard to translate:  Milchemet Kol ha-Kavod.  "Kol ha-Kavod" means something like, "Congratulations," or "More Power to You." This name captures the euphoria that gripped Israel in the wake of the war's extraordinary outcome.

Yehezkel Nissan from Be'er Sheva suggested the name, "Mas'ei." Mas'ei," which means, "journeys," is the name of the last Torah portion in the Book of Numbers; it lists the various places the Israelites camped after leaving Egypt.  In addition, "Mas'ei" (much like "Selaim" -- see above) contains the first initials of Egypt, Syria, Iraq, and Jordan -- nations over which Israel was victorious during the war.  

Apparently, the Israeli government mulled over these and other recommendations until August 26th, 1967, when it decided that the official name of the conflict would be "Milchemet Sheshet HaYamim," a name that evokes the creation story in the Book of Genesis.  In English, the name is "The Six-Day War;" however, because the Hebrew word "yamim" (meaning, "days") is plural, you may occasionally hear an Israeli say, "The Six-Days War."

Whatever it is called today, one thing is clear:  generally, a war doesn't acquire a name until it is over.  And sometimes, the impact of a war isn't clear until long after that.  On the one hand, many people feared that Israel would not survive the Six Day War.  The Arab armies arrayed against the young (not yet 20-year old) state were committed to its destruction.  Today, of course, Israel is a thriving nation.  On the other hand, would anyone in 1967 have imagined that, 46 years later, Israel would still be in control of territories that it had not formally annexed, and millions of stateless Palestinians?  Would anyone have imagined then that the frontline states that posed such a threat in 1967 would pose less of a threat today than various non-state actors, such as Hezbollah and Hamas, and more distant states such as Iran?  

As Michael Oren (Israel's ambassador to the United States and the author of Six Days of War, the masterful history of the war) puts it, whatever we call it, the Six-Day War is unfortunately the "war that never quite ended for statesmen, soldiers, and historians." Moreover, he grimly notes, it is "liable to erupt again." 

One hopes that everyone is mindful of that prognosis as Israel and her neighbors engage in yet another effort at pursuing a peaceful resolution of their long-standing conflict.