ואפילו כולנו חכמים, כולנו נבונים, כולנו זקנים, כולנו יודעים את התורה, מצוה עלינו לספר

A few vignettes from my ten days in Israel:

On Categorization: I went to Sod Siach on Shabbat Chol HaMoed, wearing my one short-sleeved dress. There I noticed a woman wearing a sleeveless top. Great, I thought, now I can avoid repeating outfits for the last day of chag. Shevi’i shel Peach, I wore my sleeveless dress. A taxi driver stopped to see if I wanted a ride, because, obviously, sleeveless dress = secular.

When I get to Sod Siach on the last day of chag, the doors were closed, so I start chatting first in English, then in Hebrew with the guy my age sitting next to the building, who winds up being ba’al shacharit.

“So,” he asks, “you’re a rabbi, or studying to be a rabbi?”

“Chas veShalom!” I respond. “You assume that all American women who come to daven at Sod Siach are rabbis?”

“Biderech klal, kein.”

Later, when the two of us get chastised for chatting outside of shul during Yizkor, and urged to come back in for the prayer for victims of the Holocaust who “belong to everyone” I remark to him “except for the Mizrahim.” He adds “and the Americans, and the Australians.”  I decide that we can be friends.

On Yichus: On Shabbat, I do Gelila. No one comes to talk to me after shul. On last day of chag, I do Shlishi. By Kriyat Yam Suf, someone has already come over to ask if I’m Eliana Fishman.

“Nu, how do you know my dad?”

“I also know your mom! We stayed with them in New York. How’s her health?”

That he asked about my mom’s health and not my dad’s health means that I can pinpoint when, approximately, they saw each other last. Needless to say, I’m quite social post-shul. Drishat shalom to Imma and Abba from Elchanan and Vered Noam.

On Bashert: On the last day of Chol HaMoed I see a Facebook post from a distant friend who lives in Jerusalem that she is having a plumbing emergency, and does anyone have a place that she and her nine- month old son can stay for chag. I message her to let her know that I have two spare bedrooms in Katamon that she is most welcome to. Sarah, her husband Yehuda, and baby Akiva spend chag with me, on the same day that Big Akiva announces his engagement. The apartment had been feeling large and lonely, and it was wonderful to fill it, and catch up with Sarah, and meet her husband and son. They also helped banish my grandfather’s aura, which still lingers in the apartment.

On Avoiding the Occupation: Ruth, who was partially in charge of Seder at the Pollards, is big on doing “activities” during the Seder (having everyone bring an object that represents freedom to them, and talking about it, having the table debate the pros and cons of leaving Egypt, etc.) At one point, towards the end of Magid, she starts talking about what it means when an enslaved people becomes an oppressor.

“No, no, no!” interrupts her son, Gabe. “I’m going to talk about that for my freedom object.” 

During the meal, Gabe explains to his mother that he had printed out the NIF 50 years of Occupation pamphlet, and brought it as his freedom object, only it turns out that he left it in Jerusalem. Then Gabe decides  that he doesn’t want to talk about it. They debate back-and-forth about whether they should talk about it, it’ll make people uncomfortable, oy politics. I am watching the absurdity of Israeli society playing out before my eyes (they don’t talk about Occupation, they just fight about whether or not they can talk about Occupation). Finally, it is decided that Ruth will say something, with no discussion after it. To paraphrase her words “We need to be conscious of what happens when, through no fault of our own, an oppressed people becomes an oppressor.” Apparently, that’s what “talking about the Occupation” looks like in Israel.

Tuesday night, after a lovely dinner with some family members, I arrive at the apartment in Jerusalem at about 1 AM. I have an email from my friend Jon from DC asking if instead of grabbing breakfast on Wednesday morning, I would like to join him and his sister on a tiyul to the Herodium. I have no idea what that is, but sure, sounds fun. Great! They’ll pick me up in their car at 9. After a quick stop at the Palmach Super, I meet them. We’re chatting, catching up, when all of a sudden I see signs for Gilo and Bethlehem.

 “You guys aren’t taking me to the West Bank, are you?”

“Uh, yeah, actually we are.”

“Jon! You know I wouldn’t do that!”

“But aren’t you going to Bethlehem in a month?

”

“As part of a Palestinian solidarity mission! Not to an Israeli tourist site in a car with Israeli plates!”

We turn around and go to the Castel, which we thought was a Crusader fortress, but winds up being an ode to Israeli nationalism and military pride, built atop the former home of a Mukhtar. We also go to Gan Hemed, a park next to a former olive press with clear signs of Islamic architecture. At neither site is there any mention of what happened to the Arabs that used to live there.

Takeaways: When in Israel, Google before going. Also, in Israel, avoiding *talking* about the Occupation is easy. Avoiding the Occupation itself is harder.

On Surprise: I don’t consider myself to be an expert on Occupation—far from it. Despite that, I was consistently surprised by how little the American Olim that I spoke to know about the Occupation. Mind you, I only talked about it if someone asked why I was coming back to Israel in May, and opted to go with the true answer (CJNV trip) instead of the pretty answer, which is also true (my friend’s wedding). But those people who I spoke with had no concept of what a shetach tzvaee sagur/closed military zone is, or how it’s used to seize Palestinian land. They had not heard of the law encouraging border security to ban entry to those who support BDS/settlement boycotts. Admittedly, these are largely people who did not serve in the Israeli military, so I would not generalize this to anyone beyond American Olim (or even just the American Olim that I happened to talk to, though one of them was a Shatil staffer, who I really would have thought would know). Once again: the failure of the American Jewish educational system, and the failure of American Jewish institutions who ignore Occupation. I’m officially no longer buying into the narrative of “American lefties are less educated on the ‘matzav’ than American righties/centrists”.

On American Identity: David, my good friend from DC who I haven’t seen in 8 years, is married to Margo, a Russian Olah, working for Hiddush, a religious pluralism org, and is raising his two-year-old daughter in English, Russian, and Hebrew. He and I hung out on Saturday night until 1:30 AM, and then I had lunch at his and Margo’s apartment on the last day of chag. He thinks that American olim are treated better than other olim (like Margo) because they are seen as “having giving something up” to make Aliyah, and having done it for the “right reasons” (Zionism instead of economic opportunity). This kind of put a spin on many of my interactions with Israelis who were so kind (cashiers calling me neshamah, free samples at the takeout place, a response of besimcha/bikeif whenever I thanked someone for anything).   As a Jew and as an Ashkenazi, I am aware of my tremendous privilege in Israel, but I hadn’t considered the ramifications of my Americanness. I have always been intentional about speaking Hebrew with an American accent, both because I’m proud of my American identity, and because I reject the notion that Israelis “own” Hebrew/the Israeli way of doing things is better than my way of doing things. Something to think about.

Currently in the Athens airport, waiting for my flight to Chios. More next week!

*Quotation from the Haggadah: Though we are all wise, all discerning, all elders, all know Torah, we are commanded to tell