Yom Hazzikarón and Yom Haatzma'ut

Tonight and for two days Israel celebrates its two most important secular holidays: the first of them is Yom Hazzikaron (The day of rememberance) in which the country remembers all the fallen soldiers and the victims of terror. The TV stations that broadcast "entertaining" things shut down or dedicate their waves to memorial programs of specific families: following their grief, sharing with the entire country the memory of your boy or girl who fell in this war or the other. The same thing with radio. The whole country is one huge bleeding wound, one single remembering soul. Tomorrow, when the sun sets, the gloom of Yom Hazzikaron will be raised by the cheer and the fireworks of Independence Day (Yom Haatzma'ut). The stages that have held, some twenty four hours previous, grieving families will be filled with dancers and children, baloons, and flags (ubiquitous blue Stars of David on a sea of white). Sackcloth will be turned into dancing, grief into joy. In any other country such mingling of the most contradictory feelings in the human heart would seem schizophrenic and grotesque. However, in Israel it seems natural and logical. The continuing existence of the State (59 years tomorrow) is guaranteed, sadly, only by the efforts and sacrifices of these brave men and women. May it be His will that in the very close future this will not seem so blatantly obvious!

חג שמח

Hiking through the bottom of the world

I am really sorry I have not been paying attention to this, my little corner of the virtual world. As most bloggers I do suffer from bouts of enthusiasm and exhaustion. So I hope this time I will clean away the cobwebs and settle for good.
A lot of things have been happening since my last post. A new semester, Pesach, Alejandro´s wedding, the preparations to go back to the City Without Mountains. I may or may not get to write about these events. In any case, what I will write about (or more precisely show you) is the three day camping trip we made to Ein Gedi and the Dead Sea. Ein Gedi has been a site for Jewish settlement since the time of King David all the way into the seventh century of this era. Today there is a kibbutz there and several natural reserves which you will see in the pictures.
We spent the last three days camping and hiking, praying in the fields and in the ruins, praising Hashem in the darkness of the desert, making fire without matches, spending the night under the stars and learning from the eagles and the hyraxes how to be better bipedal rational animals who can laugh. (Spanish speakers please follow the link on the hyrax to discover a wonderful piece of trivia about the origins of the name of your language) [Before going on I would like to give kudos to Aaron and Ute for organizing the trip and to Tamir, our wonderful Israeli guide who taught us so much and who I hope gets to visit Colombia one of these days.] Without further ado, the pictures.

First we started at the Kibbutz with a great basket weaving workshop with basket weaver extraordinaire Mychal. The house in the picture is her house. She wove it out of the palm trees in the grove in the picture. She weaves and weaves and weaves and smiles and makes a living by teaching people all there is to know about the date palm (Tamar in Hebrew) and by weaving incredible complex things from the palm leaf. This was followed by a sumptuous lunch provided by ceramist Riki who also lives in the hut and builds mud kitchens.


Mychal and Riki live off the land and have creative professions. As for myself, as it is obvious in the picture, I could never make a living out of basket weaving. (However, I am very attached to my basket no matter how misshaped and uncomely.)

After the basket weaving we decided to make our way up the hill all the way to the oasis of Ein Gedi ("The spring of the Goat" in Hebrew) which involved huffing and puffing up an incredible incline full of rocks overlooking the Dead Sea. After braving the rockslides and the throngs of Ultraorthodox Jews who, for no apparent reason, were all hiking this path in the middle of a hot spring afternoon in their complete Polish garb (black hat and all), we reached the top of the hill and were rewarded by the crystal pool of Ein Gedi whose waters are cool and delicious (and a great place to put your tired, dusty feet after a long hike). Soon after it started to rain (with lightning and thunder and we had to hurry down the path, risking life and limb. I am sorry there are no pictures of that, we are not the National Geographic Society.)

Ein Gedi from below (yes, yes we climbed all the way up that hill and at 30 C no less).

The kibbutz's palm groves as seen from halfway up the trail. Ein Gedi is an oasis of lush vegetation in the middle of one of the harshest deserts in the world. The pool of blue in the background is Yam Hamelach (the Dead Sea): the lowest point in the world (400 m below sea level) and the saltiest body of water on the planet (nothing can live in its waters). Such fun factoids only make the miracle of Ein Gedi more amazing. Indeed, as King Solomon said, "My beloved is unto me as a cluster of henna-flowers In the vineyards of En-gedi." (Song of Songs 1.14)

At last, the waters of Ein Gedi. (This pool of three meters of diameter feeds all the green in the valley below. Thus is the power of water in the desert.) Later that afternoon we met with our guide, Tamir, and set up camp amidst the ruins of the old kibbutz. The day ended with us trying to learn to light fire without matches and with long meditative walks around the nearby forest practicing the chasidic art of hitbodedut (isolation) espontaneous conversations with God in solitude.

[To be continued]

Spring is here!

I am sorry for being so out of touch and out of the blogosphere. I have simply been resting and working on other projects that needed my complete attention. But, since I returned to school yesterday, I think I should also reinitiate my blogging routine. So, first, some updates.

Thank you to all that participated in the poll. After a lot of thought, I opted to use the "sh" despite the arguments for the phonetic symbol. After all, this siddur is intended for learners and I do not want to confuse them. As for the iterations, I decided to keep the sh and place a period between the iterated shins, like so: ish.she.

The second update. About three weeks ago we went hiking in the lower Galilee, close to the coast, in the Carmel Mountain ridge. Here are some pictures of how spring is lived in this beautiful part of the world.

Poppies of the Galil

Carmel ridge with the Mediterranean in the background ("Será porque mi niñez sigue jugando en tu playa, escondido tras las cañas duerme mi primer amor, llevo tu luz y tu olor por dónde quiera que vaya....)

De profundis clamavi ad Te Domine (Ps 130)
ממעמקים קראתיך ד

Tale of Two Cities

If you did not know that they are separated by only a handful of kilometers and by a fourty minute bus ride, you could probably end up believing that Tel Aviv and Jerusalem are in different countries. In some cases, you could even end up believing that they are different planets. Jerusalem is one of the oldest cities in the world. Burdened and marked by the endless battles that have refreshed its walls with a new color of red every time: Jebusite and Hebrew, Assyrian and Jewish, Greek and Roman, Byzantine and Arab, Crusader and Turk, European and Levantine, Israeli and Palestinian. Its stones are worth more in words and prayers of millions of souls who every day carry it in their lips and in their hearts and by reinventing it in their minds, betray it. Its alleyways are crooked and made of white slippery stone, like lipidous veins of an enormous lythic animal. No other city is Jewish as Jerusalem is Jewish. Tel Aviv is the among the newest cities in the world. Barely one hundred years old, it grows like a cancer on the side of the oldest port in the world: Jaffa, the city of Casiopea and Andromeda, the Kraken's playhouse. The only purpose of this city was to create the new Jew, unencumbered by the dust and the stones of old Jerusalem. Moreover, the only purpose of Tel Aviv was to be Jerusalem's antithesis, its brilliant new replacement. It's streets are wide and full of trees. The only old thing in Tel Aviv is the lottery signs that get washed with the new rains. Tel Aviv's shore is forever young and changing, ebbing with the tides, while Jerusalem holds with its stone talons the sides of the unalterable mountains of Judea. Jerusalem has monasterys and synagogues. Tel Aviv has massage-parlors and discotheques. Jerusalem has the Wall. Tel Aviv has the beach. Jerusalem has the stubborness of the faithful. Tel Aviv has the carelessness of the cosmopolitan. Jerusalem is an old woman, beautiful and wise but set in her ways. Tel Aviv is a friendly coquette, voluptous and inviting. Jerusalem looks perpetually to the past. Tel Aviv is the future, running away from yesterday.

And yet, there are also synagogues in Tel Aviv- hidden in the small plazas and the streets with the name of honored heretics. And to them a handful of faithful flock on Shabbat, quietly almost surreptitiously as if not to make any noise and disturb the noise of the city with their prayers. They know their place, they are humble penitents in the city of sin. And, yes, Jerusalem has its discos too- hidden among the dusty roads of the abandoned industrial park of Talpiyot. The carrousers arrive also silently, in cabs and mopeds, covered by the evening fog. Trying to savour the contained rebelliousness of their dancing. Pouring their pagan joy in the dusty walls of the compound that muffle the beat of the music and protects the city outside. These are wary bacchanals, self-conscious menads. Somewhere in the middle of these two extremes there is life to be had. There is a road and fourty minutes and a country. Sometimes, when the rain stops, there are also cows.

Vorspeis for next post, travelling through the Judean desert

Kibbutz Hanaton

It may be because once you grow up you start to get weary from city life (which is why every adult I know eventually gets to the point in their life when they want to buy land and move to the countryside). It may be the socialist elements of my upbringing and youth. It may be the calling of the Land and the idealized image I tend to have of early Zionism. But lately I have been having fantasies of moving to a kibbutz and living there.

My first candidate would be Kibbutz Hanaton in the Lower Galilee. Kibbutz Hanaton is not only one of the most gorgeous places I have visited in Israel (It has an ordinary sort of breathtaking beauty) but also the only kibbutz associated with the Conservative Movement. Furthermore, Kibbutz Hanaton needs the people. They need volunteers and new members to realize their full potential which, from my naive perspective, is great. I would love to eat from the fruit of my labor. I would love to wake up to the song of the mountains of the Galilee. I would love to set up a yeshiva for Spanish speakers that would combine Torah learning with volunteer work in the Kibbutz. I would love to shepherd my eight children (future) through the grapefruit groves. I would love so many things. Who knows? If you willeth, it is no dream. After all, this is the country were dreams come true for nice little good Jewish boys like yours truly. We shall see.

This past weekend the Blooms visited Kibbutz Hanaton. On our way there we stopped on the Druze village of Dalyiat al-Karmel. The Druze are one of the minority communities that live in Israel, and I must confess that I know much less than I would like to. This is probably because their religion (an offshoot of Islam) is a mysteric religion whose secrets are not revealed to the uninitiated. From what I saw in my visit to this town, the men wear funny hats that look like pink fezes (as opposed to the flat funny hats we Jews wear) and the women wear beautiful white flowy hijabs. The other thing I know about the Druze is that, in distinction to most Arabs in Israel, they do serve -with flying distinction- in the Israeli Defense Forces. The origins for this exception may be in the natural loyalty of the Druze to the country where they live or because they have been persecuted by Muslim goverments in the area and are grateful for the religious freedom afforded to them by the State of Israel. Daliyat Al-Carmel is a quaint town. Part bazaar, part suburb, and part Druze sanctuary. We stopped for a while, bought some trinkets for our acquaintances and then proceeded to have Druze pita for lunch (a soft pita bread generously spread with fresh labaneh -creamy goat cheese- and sprinkled with za'atar-hyssop, Israeli mountain-oregano- and olive oil, toasted over an open fire oven- on the picture to the left).

Druze Funeral Procession (Daliyat al-Carmel)

After leaving Daliyat al-Carmel, we went straight to the Kibbutz. Kibbutz Hanaton stands on a Tel (a round hill) in a valley close to the city of Nazareth. Its name means in Egyptian "Glory of Athon". Four milennia ago, on the hill where the kibbutz stands today, stood an Egyptian garrison that controlled the traffic along the sensitive valley that connects the valley of the Sea of Galilee with the Royal Road which connected Egypt with Assyria and was, in a way, the most important road in the world at the time. The name stuck through the four milennia of uninterrupted inhabitation of the area. The kibbutz is, like most kibbutzim, a collective enterprise. The property of the kibbutz is owned by all the members collectivelly and even those members who work outside of the kibbutz must give their income to it to be distributed equally among the members. This kibbutz is unique in the sense that it embraces a religious ideology (i.e. that of the Conservative movement) and has several religious institutions inside the kibbutz (such as a synagogue and a mikvah-a ritual bath). In review, we had a lovely weekend at the kibbutz and were given, once again, like everytime we go there, a lot of dreaming material. I will now be quiet and let the beauty of the place speak for itself.

The National Water Carrier and the hills of Tzippori

The Mountains of Nazareth to the Northeast

The Kibbutz´s Neighbors: The Arab town of Kfar Manda

Yam Kinneret y la Segunda Aliyá

Antes, y cuando digo antes de todo estos problemas y líos en los que se encuentra Israel hoy en día, cuando uno decía "Israel" ésta palabra evocava imágenes muy específicas: kibbutzim, muchachos y muchachas tostados por el sol cargando canastos llenos de frutas y verduras, el poder del ejército israelí en 1967, campos verdes en medio del desierto. Esta postal (ingenua y simplista como todas las postales) era, sin embargo, el proyecto y el sueno de una generación de soñadores. Estos soñadores eran, por lo general, muchachos adolescentes del Este de Europa que a comienzos del siglo veinte emigraron a la Tierra de Israel para construir en este parche de desierto una sociedad ideal basada en las nociones del Socialismo, la igualdad y el nacionalismo judío. Estos muchachos, al abandonar Europa, no sólo se estaban rebelando en contra de los valores burgueses europeos sino contra una idea de judaísmo que se había desarrollado por dos mil años en la diáspora. El judaísmo de la diáspora enfatizaba el cerebro, el nuevo judaísmo el cuerpo y el músculo. El judaísmo de la diáspora era comercial e intelectual, el nuevo era agrícola y militar. El judaísmo de la diáspora miraba hacia el Talmud (escrito en Babilonia y dedicado a complejos argumentos legales y teológicos) para inspirarse, el nuevo judaísmo quería volver a la era heróica de Josué y del Rey David. El judaísmo de la diáspora miraba hacia Dios como el último redentor de Israel, el nuevo judaísmo (y ya aquí se vuelve difícil usar este término) creía en la redención a través del trabajo.

A pesar de que esta generación de corazones inflamados tuvo ideas tremendamente problemáticas y uno puede decir que su proyecto no sólo era bastante ingénuo sino peligroso, es innegable que lo que este país es hoy en día (lo bueno y lo malo) está basado en gran parte en los esfuerzos e idiosincrasias de estos jalutzim "pioneros" de la segunda ola de inmigración.
Hace una semana visitamos los sitios e instalaciones de los asentamientos de estos inmigrantes a orillas del Yam Kinneret (Mar de Galilea). Allí visitamos el primer kibbutz (Degania), la primera finca experimental (Javat hakinneret), el primer moshav (Kinneret) y el cementerio de estos pioneros. He aquí unas cuantas fotos.

The road from Jerusalem to Jericho (snapshots of the Judean desert)

Y el desierto florecerá...

Palmas a orillas del Yam Kinneret

Cementerio del Yishuv (al fondo, más Kinneret)

Atardecer en la Galilea (una visíón del futuro)

El ombligo del Mundo

No lo digo sólo yo, lo dicen los antiguos. ¡Disfruten!

Otoño Judío (Stav Yehudí)

En pago a Adón Pronek y a su esposa por unas maravillosas imágenes que me ponen en Jerusalén más rápido que cualquier avión.

Tomo una pausa en medio de mi ocupada escritura de sermones para Yom Kippur que comienza este domingo a la caída del sol para respirar. Miro la maleta que debería estar empacando para llevar nuestros escasos corotos al otro lado del mar, a una de mis ciudades montañosas. Súbitamente una canción que me hizo conocer Adón Pronek salta en mi lista de música. La canción es Stav Yehudí (Otoño judío), cantanda por el decano de la canción popular israelí, Arik Einstein (en la foto) basado en un poema de Abraham Jalfi. Esta canción respira una tristeza y una lentitud muy propia de Jerusalén al comienzo del otoño y es el abrebocas perfecto para este año jerosolimitano lleno de tardes doradas y otras maravillas sutiles. Comparto la letra y una traducción y una explicación de ciertos términos que tal vez sean desconocidos.

סתיו יהודי

סתיו יהודי בארץ אבותי
שולח בי
רמזי אלול.

כבר משתגעות בי קצת
הציפורים הקטנטנות שורקות העצב
של יום הכיפורים.

אז יתקע בשופרות לפתוח שערי שמיים.
ופנים יהודיות מן הגולה
באפרפר נוגה
ירחפו לפני כסא אדון עולם.

ובקשות ותחנונים וניצוצות הרבה
בעומק עיניהן.

Otoño Judío
(Avraham Jalfi)

Otoño judío en la tierra de mis ancestros
envía en mí
guiños de Elul

Ya se enloquecen un poco en mí
los pajaros pequeñitos que trinan la tristeza
de Yom Kippur

Entonces soplará los shofarot para abrir las puertas de los cielos.
Y rostros judíos del exilio
en grisacea melancolía
flotarán frente al trono del Señor del Universo.

Y muchas plegarias y ruegos y resplandores
en el fondo de sus ojos.

Explicación:
Elul- último mes del calendario judío (usualmente coincide con agosto-septiembre en el calendario occidental). Este mes está dedicado a la preparación espiritual para las altas fiestas a través de una cuidadosa evaluación de las acciones de el año que pasó y la petición de perdón de aquellas personas a las que hemos injuriado. Las altas fiestas son Rosh Hashaná ("Comienzo del año", primer y segundo día del año) y Yom Kippur ("Día del perdón", el décimo día del primer mes).
Yom Kippur- El día más sagrado del calendario judío está marcado por un ayuno de 26 horas dedicado exclusivamente a la oración, el estudio y al arrepentimiento por las transgresiones cometidas no sólo por el individuo sino por el pueblo entero. Al terminar este día todos las transgresiones son perdonadas. Las transgresiones contra Dios son perdonadas por Dios y las transgresiones en contra de los otros deben ser perdonados por éstos dados los esfuerzos por recibir el perdón realizados en Elul.
Shofarot- Plural de "shofar" cuerno de carnero. Este cuerno es parte central de la liturgia de Rosh Hashaná en el cual es tocado varias veces. El sonido del shofar debe, de acuerdo a nuestros sabios, despertarnos de nuestro sueño y llevarnos a una penitencia, un arrepentimiento y una vida más perfecta. El shofar también aparece en la Biblia como una de las manifestaciones de Dios. Cuando Dios entrega la Torá a los Israelitas en Sinaí, todo ello está acompañado de un toque constante y portentoso de shofar.

Reason #2654

Reason why I love Israel #2654

To fend off boredom during the long hours of work in the library, I listen -through the internet- to Israeli radio stations. It is a good way to practice my Hebrew and to keep up to what it is really going on over in that turbulent side of the world. I like to listen, mostly, to religious radio stations. Today, while listening to a special program on the music and customs of the Jews of Egypt before their expulsion after the creation of the State of Israel. There was this song sang by author and songwriter Dudu Dheri about Maimonides. It could only be described as disco-pop. A schmaltzy beat with some off key flamenco guitars in the background and a synthetizer following the Arabic-style makamic recount of Maimonides' life, from his birth in Cordova up to his death in Egypt under the personal service of Salah-al-Din. I cannot take the melody of the chorus out of my head: "Harambam! Hanesher Hagadol! Gadol behochmato shenata bo boro" (Maimonides! The great Eagle! Great was his wisdom which his Creator planted in him.)

I wonder when will we have vallenatos in Colombia that tell the heroic struggles of our philosophers, or a beautiful Irish reel narrating, among the wilting sound of the tin whistles, the life of Bishop Berkeley. Until then, this will remain a schmaltzy and sentimental reason, trivial of course, to love Israel more and more.

Colombian Jew making it big in Israel (no, it's not me)

Good to know that people from the Old Country are making good inroads in the Altneuland. Hearty Mazel Tov!

New student union leader wants to bring WUJS 'back to its roots'

By ISSAC APTER

As students prepare to return to university campuses across
the globe in the coming weeks, Daniel Translateur is settling into his position
as the new chairman of the World Union of Jewish Students (WUJS). Less than a
month after his unanimous appointment by the WUJS executive, Translateur, an
immigrant from Colombia with extensive experience in Jewish communal service,
already has a clear vision of what he would like to accomplish during his term
as chairman.

To read the rest of the article, click here.