April 23, 2009
The four of us fit comfortably into a Kia Magentis and we headed up Highway 2 to 65, past Afula to Mt. Gilboa. The travel books are right. A meal at the Country Restaurant, overlooking the Jezreel Valley is not to be missed. The fertile valley, with its neatly divided fields with a multitude of colors depending on the crop, is a magnificent site. The restaurant is perched on the side of the mountain like a treehouse, part way to the peak. The main courses were delicious and then we could not resist the temptation of dessert. Usually accustomed to sharing one dessert or at most two when with friends, we ended up with three, the most unusual of which was a selection of tahina and halvah ice cream with a date sauce. We tried, but could not resist finishing the last morsel and Pat remarked on the quality, “this really is the Promised Land!” We drove on to the peak after lunch. From the peak, not only the Jezreel valley is stunning, but also the views of Bet She’an, in the Jordan Valley, not far from the Jordan River, and beyond that the hills of Jordan. To the south is Jenin and the security barrier meandering.
We then headed west, along Route 71, onto the Afula ring road, to Route 60 into Nazareth. The modern highway climbs into the hills and then soon deteriorates into a maize of streets, most barely wide enough for the chaotic movements of the many cars and trucks, and few if any marked. There are a few signs to denote prominent sites, such as Mary’s Well and the Church of the Assumption, but this did not appear to be a city that is friendly to tourists. Navigating to our destination was analogous to airplanes being guided by control towers. Linda was on the phone, calling out the names of stores or landmarks, to a young volunteer woman (from Illinois) at the inn, who gently guided us to a narrow street where we were met by another young volunteer, this young man from Indiana. We carried our packs along narrow cobblestone passageways for a few minutes and then turned on an even narrower lane that brought us to the main entrance of the Fauzi Azar Inn.
The inn is a restored Arab mansion in the heart of the Old City. Suraida Nasser, one of the five daughters of the family that had owned the house for over 100 years, serves as the manager. As she explained, the Inn has been brought to life by an Israeli Jew who approached the family about opening a guest house in Nazareth. Although, in Suraida’s words, her grandfather had insisted that he would “refuse to sell to a Jew and that the grandchildren of his grandchildren should not sell to a Jew,” she and Maoz established a close and trusting relationship so that he has, what appears to be, a long-term lease on the mansion. It is always amazing how religion colors and dominates the way people describe their circumstances, not to mention lead their lives. Suraida sends her son to a Baptist school. “Why would I send him to a Jewish school?” she remarked, while adding, “I am not a Baptist (with some disdain), but it is a good school.”
Sarah, a recent archeology graduate from Holland, has come to Israel for six months, because she plans to study middle east archeology in graduate school. Although she is not Jewish, she had planned to work on a kibbutz for a while, using it as a base for travel, but the opportunity to volunteer at the inn in Nazareth brought her to this Arab city. Among her responsibilities are conducting walking tours of the Old City and the 15 shekels per person, helps to pay for her meals. Our two hour excursion took us to a small coffee house run by Wessam, who is a DJ by night, but runs his family coffee house by day, through the shuk, to the large and prosperous spice shop, and ending at a small restaurant that serves a kind of thick crepe pancake filled with cheese or nuts. The owner left for mid-day prayers at the mosque after serving us. When he still had not returned after we had thoroughly digested this delicious treat, we considered trying to explain in a mixture of Hebrew and English to a man who seemed to be a neighboring shopkeeper that we would like to leave the 100 shekels with him, but then, on second thought, decided that Sarah could just return later to pay in person. These personal tours of the nooks and crannies of the Old City by young people from the inn are a precious contrast to the standard visits to churches and relics.
“What has surprised you the most, since coming to Israel, Sarah?”
After a few seconds to think, she offered, “in Holland we only hear from Jews about Israel. I have learned about Arabs.”
Nazareth is the largest city of Arab-Israeli citizens, about 65,000 in number, of which nearly 70% are Muslim and the rest Christian. There are few, if any, Jews residing in Nazareth, but the new city of Nazareth Ilit on the adjacent hill is home to about 40,000 Jews. Suraida is quite vocal about the politics of Nazareth, both within the Arab community, and between the Arab and Jewish communities. Within the Arab community the tension between the Christians and Muslims is palpable, especially as parts of the Arab Muslim community become more fundamentalist in their positions. She commented that for all of the problems posed by Yassir Arafat, from her perspective, he was a voice for the Palestinian/Arab people—Muslim and Christian—distinct from Hamas’ and Hizbullah’s Muslim cast on Palestinian/Arab identity. In the city of Nazareth, there is a critical mass of Christian Arabs, but in many other parts of the West Bank, and perhaps Jerusalem, this is a shrinking minority of the Arab populace. With regard to the relationships between Jews and Arabs, we could not help but be sympathetic as she described the subtle and official discrimination that Arabs face. Perched on the peak of the neighboring hill, where Nazareth Ilit is booming, is a 12 story courthouse, about ten years old. Both the height of the structure and the prominent towers on the corners create the impression that this castle-like structure is more than an administrative headquarters, perhaps that it is a statement about control. The expansion of housing in Nazareth has not seen a parallel investment of resources in housing in Nazareth. The Azar family lost something like 100,000 acres of land after the War of Independence. The most troubling expression was the discrimination in treatment she experienced when traveling to the U.S. with colleagues, Jewish and Arab. She is pulled aside for additional security, not always in a respectful way. “Why not pull aside everyone, “equalism”, which is a very expressive term. Even acknowledging the unquestionable need for security precautions by Israel, the consequences of treating people differently over time, based on an ethnic classification (Arab), cannot help to strengthen this extraordinarily diverse country, if it is to continue to thrive when 20% of the population is Arab.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
How to Get from Here to There
April 22, 2009
Linda and I alighted from the #480 and boarded the #21 to take us close to the King David Hotel to meet our friends Pat and Norman. The bus was packed. We found ourselves sitting face-to-face, actually I was sitting knee-to-knee, with a young ultra-Orthodox man, who had flowing red peiot, a scraggly red beard, and thick wire glasses. He seemed nervous or perhaps absorbed in thought, when, after a few minutes, he asked in Hebrew where Rivka Street was. Even with Linda’s Hebrew, we could not provide much assistance, so he turned to an Orthodox man across the aisle who was similarly ignorant about the street. Then, I remembered that I had our detailed road map of Jerusalem with me, so with the same feeling that one gets trying to read a newspaper on the subway or in an airplane, I somehow managed to twist and turn the map to find the index in which Rivka was listed, and then twist, turn, and fold the map to find the coordinates. There indeed was Rivka St., quite a way from where we were on Jaffe St. I motioned to the man and showed him where Rivka St. was located, but the small quadrant was of no help, because we could not relate it to where we currently were. I unfolded most of the map and, because he was facing us, I turned it upside down, so he could see the writing, although he could not read English. We traced along Jaffe, to King George, to Emek Refaim which eventually led to the cross street of Rivka. He seemed to be relieved and although we got off the bus long before Rivka Street, I hope that we were able to be helpful to him.
After lunch on the terrace at the King David Hotel (recall Paul Newman in Exodus), we headed to the Tower of David Museum. Built into the walls of the Old City citadel. The museum expertly traces the history of Jerusalem from its earliest known history, about 3000 years ago, to modern times. Our main goal for the afternoon, however, was the City of David, a remarkable excavation beyond the southern wall of the Old City, on the moderately severe slope, leading into the Kidron Valley and that begins Mt. Moriah, on which the Temple Mount stands in the Old City. As is so often the case in Eastern Jerusalem, however, this site also contains not just remarkably valuable historical evidence, but remarkably challenging contemporary conflict, as the Jews and the Arabs struggle over housing (see the April 13 posting for a link to an Haaretz article about this site). This appears to be a very popular site in that the welcome area was swarming with school-aged children, teens, and adults in groups, large and small. The City of David website will do far more justice than I to describing this site, especially with its pictures and graphics. That said, our guide, Guy, who seemed to be in his late 20s, was dressed in a kippah and tzitzit, and we later learned was the proud father of a 6 week old baby, as well as a 2 year old and 4 year old. Indeed, his wife called on his cellphone twice during our 3 hour tour, obviously with her hands full. Including the guide, there were only 6 in our group, the sixth a young college aged traveler.
The discovery of a pool and steps which, when the recently initiated excavations are completed, will apparently lead up to the site of the Temple Mount is stunning. What has received so much lay archeological attention, however, is Hezekiah’s tunnel. Built to bring water from outside the walls during the anticipated siege of Jerusalem by the Assyrians in around 700 b.c.e., the tunnel is carved through solid rock for about 1/3 of a mile. Probably the first thing that anybody says is that if you are claustrophobic, it’s not for you. After working our way through sites as we moved down the slope, we come to the external entrance of the tunnel. There, everybody changes to their water shoes, puts on shorts or lifts their skirts, and takes out their flashlights. Then we climb down one or two steps into cool water that begins at about 8 inches as we snake our way through this incredible work of engineering that is perhaps 3 feet wide and about 6 feet in height, although some spots are only 5 feet. Within a few feet the water climbs to about 30 inches, but only for 10 or 20 feet, before resuming its depth of 6 to 8 inches. A little more than halfway through the tunnel, we reach a replica of the plaque that had been carved by the tunnellers to announce their accomplishment (apparently the original is in a Turkish museum, plundered during Ottoman times). Emerging at the other end, one is still both baffled by how they could have accomplished this with chisels and hammers, and in awe.
Linda and I alighted from the #480 and boarded the #21 to take us close to the King David Hotel to meet our friends Pat and Norman. The bus was packed. We found ourselves sitting face-to-face, actually I was sitting knee-to-knee, with a young ultra-Orthodox man, who had flowing red peiot, a scraggly red beard, and thick wire glasses. He seemed nervous or perhaps absorbed in thought, when, after a few minutes, he asked in Hebrew where Rivka Street was. Even with Linda’s Hebrew, we could not provide much assistance, so he turned to an Orthodox man across the aisle who was similarly ignorant about the street. Then, I remembered that I had our detailed road map of Jerusalem with me, so with the same feeling that one gets trying to read a newspaper on the subway or in an airplane, I somehow managed to twist and turn the map to find the index in which Rivka was listed, and then twist, turn, and fold the map to find the coordinates. There indeed was Rivka St., quite a way from where we were on Jaffe St. I motioned to the man and showed him where Rivka St. was located, but the small quadrant was of no help, because we could not relate it to where we currently were. I unfolded most of the map and, because he was facing us, I turned it upside down, so he could see the writing, although he could not read English. We traced along Jaffe, to King George, to Emek Refaim which eventually led to the cross street of Rivka. He seemed to be relieved and although we got off the bus long before Rivka Street, I hope that we were able to be helpful to him.
After lunch on the terrace at the King David Hotel (recall Paul Newman in Exodus), we headed to the Tower of David Museum. Built into the walls of the Old City citadel. The museum expertly traces the history of Jerusalem from its earliest known history, about 3000 years ago, to modern times. Our main goal for the afternoon, however, was the City of David, a remarkable excavation beyond the southern wall of the Old City, on the moderately severe slope, leading into the Kidron Valley and that begins Mt. Moriah, on which the Temple Mount stands in the Old City. As is so often the case in Eastern Jerusalem, however, this site also contains not just remarkably valuable historical evidence, but remarkably challenging contemporary conflict, as the Jews and the Arabs struggle over housing (see the April 13 posting for a link to an Haaretz article about this site). This appears to be a very popular site in that the welcome area was swarming with school-aged children, teens, and adults in groups, large and small. The City of David website will do far more justice than I to describing this site, especially with its pictures and graphics. That said, our guide, Guy, who seemed to be in his late 20s, was dressed in a kippah and tzitzit, and we later learned was the proud father of a 6 week old baby, as well as a 2 year old and 4 year old. Indeed, his wife called on his cellphone twice during our 3 hour tour, obviously with her hands full. Including the guide, there were only 6 in our group, the sixth a young college aged traveler.
The discovery of a pool and steps which, when the recently initiated excavations are completed, will apparently lead up to the site of the Temple Mount is stunning. What has received so much lay archeological attention, however, is Hezekiah’s tunnel. Built to bring water from outside the walls during the anticipated siege of Jerusalem by the Assyrians in around 700 b.c.e., the tunnel is carved through solid rock for about 1/3 of a mile. Probably the first thing that anybody says is that if you are claustrophobic, it’s not for you. After working our way through sites as we moved down the slope, we come to the external entrance of the tunnel. There, everybody changes to their water shoes, puts on shorts or lifts their skirts, and takes out their flashlights. Then we climb down one or two steps into cool water that begins at about 8 inches as we snake our way through this incredible work of engineering that is perhaps 3 feet wide and about 6 feet in height, although some spots are only 5 feet. Within a few feet the water climbs to about 30 inches, but only for 10 or 20 feet, before resuming its depth of 6 to 8 inches. A little more than halfway through the tunnel, we reach a replica of the plaque that had been carved by the tunnellers to announce their accomplishment (apparently the original is in a Turkish museum, plundered during Ottoman times). Emerging at the other end, one is still both baffled by how they could have accomplished this with chisels and hammers, and in awe.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Yom HaShoah
April 21, 2009
The setting of the sun last night meant the beginning of Holocaust Martyrs’ and Heroes’ Remembrance Day, the first of three compelling observances over the course of the coming week, with Yom ha Zikkaron next Tuesday blending into Yom ha Azma’ut on Wednesday. On my computer, I managed to find the television broadcast of the opening ceremony at Warsaw Ghetto Square at Yad Vashem. Dignified, somber but not morbid, powerfully respectful of the past and the memory of those who suffered so horribly....somehow similar to our memorials in Durham-Chapel Hill and yet different in some fundamental way. It wasn’t until this morning that I was able to understand the difference.
This morning, Rekefet was standing at my desk, having just finished standardizing the computer signature for my email. In the next room, two colleagues animatedly discussed some issue in Hebrew. A lot of Israeli conversations sound like arguments. At 10 am the commemorative siren sounded. Literally in the middle of a breath, Rekefet stopped what she was about to say. The immediate silence from the next room sounded as if somebody had flipped the mute switch. I stood in silence, my eyes closed, just feeling the immensity of this ritual. The country comes to a halt for one minute of remembrance. When the siren blast ended, Rekefet said that standing alone was upsetting to her, that she was glad that in the schools, children are together for a ceremony as the siren sounds. This is the only place in the world that pauses—-together---as a community---as a people---to respect the memory of this unspeakable experience in the history of the Jews and to ponder our future. According to the Mishna, we were all together at Sinai at the giving of the Law. I think that we are all together on Yom HaShoah.
The setting of the sun last night meant the beginning of Holocaust Martyrs’ and Heroes’ Remembrance Day, the first of three compelling observances over the course of the coming week, with Yom ha Zikkaron next Tuesday blending into Yom ha Azma’ut on Wednesday. On my computer, I managed to find the television broadcast of the opening ceremony at Warsaw Ghetto Square at Yad Vashem. Dignified, somber but not morbid, powerfully respectful of the past and the memory of those who suffered so horribly....somehow similar to our memorials in Durham-Chapel Hill and yet different in some fundamental way. It wasn’t until this morning that I was able to understand the difference.
This morning, Rekefet was standing at my desk, having just finished standardizing the computer signature for my email. In the next room, two colleagues animatedly discussed some issue in Hebrew. A lot of Israeli conversations sound like arguments. At 10 am the commemorative siren sounded. Literally in the middle of a breath, Rekefet stopped what she was about to say. The immediate silence from the next room sounded as if somebody had flipped the mute switch. I stood in silence, my eyes closed, just feeling the immensity of this ritual. The country comes to a halt for one minute of remembrance. When the siren blast ended, Rekefet said that standing alone was upsetting to her, that she was glad that in the schools, children are together for a ceremony as the siren sounds. This is the only place in the world that pauses—-together---as a community---as a people---to respect the memory of this unspeakable experience in the history of the Jews and to ponder our future. According to the Mishna, we were all together at Sinai at the giving of the Law. I think that we are all together on Yom HaShoah.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Brooks on Israeli Culture
Today’s column by David Brooks on Israeli culture reflects our own experiences with this vibrant, energized, intense place and is well worth reading.
Busy Bakers
April 16, 2009
Passover ended yesterday at sundown. One of the fascinations of being in Israel where the majority culture is Jewish (ranging, to be sure, from very secular to very Orthodox) is that the transformations are Jewish. Perhaps the best analogy is that in a Christian country like the U.S., on the day after Thanksgiving, the ambience in malls, stores, and public places in general reflects Christmas, and the closer to December 25th, the moreso. In Israel, in public places, the ambience takes on the customs of the Jewish holidays or seasons, so for Passover leavened products like bread, cakes, pizza, and cones in the ubiquitous ice cream shops largely disappeared. Interestingly, this transformation was especially noticeable after the holiday ended. I alighted from the #480 on the lower level of the Jerusalem bus station, moved slowly in the line through the metal detector and the baggage x-ray, and then approached the door to the station, something I have done at least a dozen times over the past three months, but today was different. The potent aroma of freshly baked goods literally caused me to pause: sweet, chocolate, honey, poppy seed, nuts of all kinds, cheeses, to name a few. Later, I wandered through the shuk on Jaffe St. by stalls with piles of cookies, stacks of challah and other breads of countless shapes and sizes, 100 pound sacks of flours that the week before had been sealed. A lot of merchants must have been very busy, when the sun set last night. All of this I had observed in past weeks, but Passover allowed me to have this new experience of seeing.
Passover ended yesterday at sundown. One of the fascinations of being in Israel where the majority culture is Jewish (ranging, to be sure, from very secular to very Orthodox) is that the transformations are Jewish. Perhaps the best analogy is that in a Christian country like the U.S., on the day after Thanksgiving, the ambience in malls, stores, and public places in general reflects Christmas, and the closer to December 25th, the moreso. In Israel, in public places, the ambience takes on the customs of the Jewish holidays or seasons, so for Passover leavened products like bread, cakes, pizza, and cones in the ubiquitous ice cream shops largely disappeared. Interestingly, this transformation was especially noticeable after the holiday ended. I alighted from the #480 on the lower level of the Jerusalem bus station, moved slowly in the line through the metal detector and the baggage x-ray, and then approached the door to the station, something I have done at least a dozen times over the past three months, but today was different. The potent aroma of freshly baked goods literally caused me to pause: sweet, chocolate, honey, poppy seed, nuts of all kinds, cheeses, to name a few. Later, I wandered through the shuk on Jaffe St. by stalls with piles of cookies, stacks of challah and other breads of countless shapes and sizes, 100 pound sacks of flours that the week before had been sealed. A lot of merchants must have been very busy, when the sun set last night. All of this I had observed in past weeks, but Passover allowed me to have this new experience of seeing.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Jerusalem, the Divided Undivided Capital of Israel (3)
Security is understandably a primary concern for the people of Jerusalem and Israel. At the time of the first intifada, Jerusalem was home to about 10% of the population of Israel, but accounted for 20% of the deaths due to terrorism. One strategy to prevent terrorists from blowing themselves up on buses was to build a barrier or wall or fence between Jews and Palestinians. At the time of the second intifada, after the collapse of the discussions during the closing days of the Clinton administration, Jerusalemites accounted for 30% of the deaths. Consequently, there was a rather broad political consensus among Israelis to proceed with the building of a barrier, which in Jerusalem is about 50% fence and 50% wall. The problem with this approach is that it further complicates the ability to build functioning Palestinian communities in Jerusalem. A very dramatic effect, for example, is that access from the neighboring West Bank to the major Palestinian hospital in East Jerusalem is gradually being reduced. When the hospital closes, Jerusalem residents will add their needs to the already over-burdened Jewish facilities. The barrier represents perhaps the most excruciating dilemma of the many in this complicated environment. How many deaths would have to be prevented to justify how much hardship in the lives of Palestinians? Is one life “worth” some hardship, a lot of hardship, immense hardship? What if the barrier is not the most effective way to reduce the bombings over the longer term? Is it acceptable, if it is weakly effective or moderately effective or very effective? Interestingly, with the effectiveness of this barrier, terrorist attacks from within Jerusalem, such as the tractor terrorists, have increased.
Another agonizing aspect of the barrier is that it encloses the Shu’afat refugee camp. This was a Jordanian camp, close to the Green line, that consequently fell under Israel’s control after the Six Day War. This camp and two adjoining neighborhoods are within the administrative boundary of Jerusalem. For all of the injustice associated with the Arab world using the descendents of the 1948 War of Independence as pawns in their own political machinations and all of the corruption and waste within the UNRWA, it is especially troubling that Israel oversees one of these camps.
According to Palestinian law, the sale of land to Jews is punishable by death. No Palestinians serve on the Jerusalem municipality council. Terrorism has been a preferred strategy. Even after the Gaza operation, there are still rockets fired into southern Israel with no conceivable purpose other than to harm innocent people. Where are the individuals and associations of civil society within the Palestinian population? If current strategies are not working to advance the interests of the Palestinian residents of East Jerusalem, it might serve their interests, it might even be worth the risk, for individuals of diverse views to come forward with alternative approaches to this quagmire. What role, if any, does and can Israel play in building the capacity of civil society in East Jerusalem?
Jerusalem, the agonizingly divided undivided capital of Israel.
Another agonizing aspect of the barrier is that it encloses the Shu’afat refugee camp. This was a Jordanian camp, close to the Green line, that consequently fell under Israel’s control after the Six Day War. This camp and two adjoining neighborhoods are within the administrative boundary of Jerusalem. For all of the injustice associated with the Arab world using the descendents of the 1948 War of Independence as pawns in their own political machinations and all of the corruption and waste within the UNRWA, it is especially troubling that Israel oversees one of these camps.
According to Palestinian law, the sale of land to Jews is punishable by death. No Palestinians serve on the Jerusalem municipality council. Terrorism has been a preferred strategy. Even after the Gaza operation, there are still rockets fired into southern Israel with no conceivable purpose other than to harm innocent people. Where are the individuals and associations of civil society within the Palestinian population? If current strategies are not working to advance the interests of the Palestinian residents of East Jerusalem, it might serve their interests, it might even be worth the risk, for individuals of diverse views to come forward with alternative approaches to this quagmire. What role, if any, does and can Israel play in building the capacity of civil society in East Jerusalem?
Jerusalem, the agonizingly divided undivided capital of Israel.
Jerusalem, the Divided Undivided Capital of Israel (2)
The bus had barely pulled out of the Liberty Bell parking lot when the guide began with some basic demography. In 1967, Jews constituted about 75% and Arabs 25% of the newly defined administrative area created by the Six Day War. In 1980 it became the policy to maintain a significant Jewish majority at 70% or greater, but current figures suggest that the population of Jerusalem is about 65% Jewish. There were no Jews in East Jerusalem (after 1949) and the Jordanians, who controlled the area until 1967, neglected Jerusalem, prompting the departure of many intellectuals and middle class residents. The criteria that governed the annexation decisions included: as much land as possible to create a security buffer and assure space for growth; minimize the number of Palestinians so as to assure a Jewish majority, involving a tendency to incorporate agricultural land (without people), but not the adjacent villages (with people); command of ridges for security; and, some location-specific areas. With regard to Jerusalem as a spiritual home, it is fair to ask whether the spiritual importance of sites was a criterion, but apparently beyond unquestionably significant sites such as the Kotel, that may not have been a major criterion.
The legal status of the Palestinian population in Jerusalem has been problematic. They were offered citizenship in 1967, but several factors militated against acceptance. First, accepting citizenship would have been an acceptance of the de-facto annexation. One cannot be a citizen if the geographic entity, in this case East Jerusalem, has not been annexed, that is made a legal part of Jerusalem. Refusing citizenship was a way to protest the annexation, as was the refusal to accept a pledge of allegiance to the State of Israel. Perhaps the main reason that Palestinians as a group refused citizenship is that it would have meant acquiring Israeli passports, not a document that eased travel among Arab countries in 1967 or even in 2009. As permanent residents, Palestinians travel with travel permits, not passports. Palestinians do not vote for Knesset members (in contrast to the Arab-Israeli citizens), but they are eligible to vote for and serve on the Jerusalem city council; none do, so there is no Palestinian representation at the local policy-making level.
In an effort to preserve a majority Jewish presence in the newly defined Jerusalem and environs, communities/settlements have been developed in what can be described as four bubbles growing to the south (Gush Etzion), the south east (Gilo/Har Homa), the east (Ma’ale Adumim), and the north. These bubbles consist of communities with apartment blocks, parks, shops, and synagogues, that look like any urban re-development in the U.S. What is striking about these communities is that they are quite disconnected from the urban density of Jerusalem. One figure given is that these big, open spaces account for upwards of 40% of the land in East Jerusalem. Standing on the hills of these communities, they indeed appear to reflect the expansion criteria described above. One cannot help but be struck by the costs of providing city services to such disconnected sites. The Jerusalem environs looks like a real-life version of Go, the Japanese strategic board game, because these expansions are having the effect of blocking what would be the natural and historical connections among Palestinian communities. For example, the commercial and social relationships between Bethlehem to the south and East Jerusalem are disrupted. Historically, East Jerusalem accounted for a large percentage of the economy of the Palestinians, but that has declined in the face of these disruptions.
I’ll defer entering into a long discussion and analysis of the justifications, for and against these communities, acknowledging that there are many alternative views. Instead, let’s turn to a second, more troubling development intended to maintain the Jewish presence around Jerusalem. When the municipal boundaries of Jerusalem were expanded, many Arab villages, overnight, became part of Jerusalem, subject to the responsibilities and privileges inherent in that political association. It reminded me of the story of the peasant who lived on the ever-changing border between Russia and Poland. After one confrontation, when his small farm plot ended up in Poland, when it had been Russian, he was asked how he felt. “I am happy about this change, because the Russian winters were terrible.”
What benefits have accrued to these Arabs who find themselves in the municipality of Jerusalem? There are two components to this answer, one direct, the other indirect. The direct answer deals with the provision of city services, the basic functions of a municipality like roads, utilities, and schools. The indirect answer involves regulations and policies that promote or impede economic and community development. The path of our bus provided the opportunity to observe the deficiency in city services, deficiency that is obvious or stunning or shocking, depending on one’s political views. Sidewalks, bus stops, garbage bins that characterize the new Jewish communities are absent in the Arab towns that have been incorporated into Jerusalem. Some estimates have put the number of “missing” classrooms in the public schools at 1300. If the estimates that 75% of kids in East Jerusalem live below the poverty line are true, their families are not likely to be able to afford private schools. In the increasing globalization of resources, it would not be at all far fetched to find that Hamas funded educational programs are attracting these families, radicalizing them.
The reasons behind these circumstances are debated from left to right and back. Briefly, I’ll address the role of taxes, the primary source of revenue for cities. One argument is that Palestinian residents do not pay taxes (because to do so would acknowledge the legitimacy of the Jerusalem government), so it is fair that services are not provided. Another argument is that Palestinians do not pay taxes because they do not get services from the municipality. Another argument is that permanent residents are entitled to services, that there are standard legal procedures to address non-payment of taxes, only at the end of which might the withholding of basic services be acceptable. It is probably accurate that although Palestinians make up 34% of the population of Jerusalem, they receive under 10% of the municipal budget.
Indirectly, the law makes it extremely difficult, if not impossible, for the Palestinian Arabs of East Jerusalem to build wealth that might be invested in self-improvement. For example, apparently access to mortgage loans is dependent on service in the IDF, but even Arab-Israeli citizens do not serve in the IDF, so certainly those with the lesser status of “permanent resident” do not serve. Other elements of the building codes impede construction, so Palestinians can: (1) move to the West Bank; (2) try to tackle the bureaucracy; or, (3) build illegally. It is estimated that 50% of the buildings in East Jerusalem are illegal. This is not entirely the fault of Israeli policy; it is cheaper to build illegally, especially if the chances of demolition are at 4%. Aside from the political implications of illegal building, however, are the considerable health and safety threats from structures that may not adhere to basic, sound building codes.
The effect of these direct and indirect policies toward people who are legal residents of East Jerusalem is that Jerusalem is already divided. There are already two Jerusalems. Given this reality, it seems fair to ask what it means to talk about Jerusalem as the “eternal undivided capital of the State of Israel?” What are the values that underlie this political, economic, and sociological reality that has created two different cities—a divided--Jerusalem?
The legal status of the Palestinian population in Jerusalem has been problematic. They were offered citizenship in 1967, but several factors militated against acceptance. First, accepting citizenship would have been an acceptance of the de-facto annexation. One cannot be a citizen if the geographic entity, in this case East Jerusalem, has not been annexed, that is made a legal part of Jerusalem. Refusing citizenship was a way to protest the annexation, as was the refusal to accept a pledge of allegiance to the State of Israel. Perhaps the main reason that Palestinians as a group refused citizenship is that it would have meant acquiring Israeli passports, not a document that eased travel among Arab countries in 1967 or even in 2009. As permanent residents, Palestinians travel with travel permits, not passports. Palestinians do not vote for Knesset members (in contrast to the Arab-Israeli citizens), but they are eligible to vote for and serve on the Jerusalem city council; none do, so there is no Palestinian representation at the local policy-making level.
In an effort to preserve a majority Jewish presence in the newly defined Jerusalem and environs, communities/settlements have been developed in what can be described as four bubbles growing to the south (Gush Etzion), the south east (Gilo/Har Homa), the east (Ma’ale Adumim), and the north. These bubbles consist of communities with apartment blocks, parks, shops, and synagogues, that look like any urban re-development in the U.S. What is striking about these communities is that they are quite disconnected from the urban density of Jerusalem. One figure given is that these big, open spaces account for upwards of 40% of the land in East Jerusalem. Standing on the hills of these communities, they indeed appear to reflect the expansion criteria described above. One cannot help but be struck by the costs of providing city services to such disconnected sites. The Jerusalem environs looks like a real-life version of Go, the Japanese strategic board game, because these expansions are having the effect of blocking what would be the natural and historical connections among Palestinian communities. For example, the commercial and social relationships between Bethlehem to the south and East Jerusalem are disrupted. Historically, East Jerusalem accounted for a large percentage of the economy of the Palestinians, but that has declined in the face of these disruptions.
I’ll defer entering into a long discussion and analysis of the justifications, for and against these communities, acknowledging that there are many alternative views. Instead, let’s turn to a second, more troubling development intended to maintain the Jewish presence around Jerusalem. When the municipal boundaries of Jerusalem were expanded, many Arab villages, overnight, became part of Jerusalem, subject to the responsibilities and privileges inherent in that political association. It reminded me of the story of the peasant who lived on the ever-changing border between Russia and Poland. After one confrontation, when his small farm plot ended up in Poland, when it had been Russian, he was asked how he felt. “I am happy about this change, because the Russian winters were terrible.”
What benefits have accrued to these Arabs who find themselves in the municipality of Jerusalem? There are two components to this answer, one direct, the other indirect. The direct answer deals with the provision of city services, the basic functions of a municipality like roads, utilities, and schools. The indirect answer involves regulations and policies that promote or impede economic and community development. The path of our bus provided the opportunity to observe the deficiency in city services, deficiency that is obvious or stunning or shocking, depending on one’s political views. Sidewalks, bus stops, garbage bins that characterize the new Jewish communities are absent in the Arab towns that have been incorporated into Jerusalem. Some estimates have put the number of “missing” classrooms in the public schools at 1300. If the estimates that 75% of kids in East Jerusalem live below the poverty line are true, their families are not likely to be able to afford private schools. In the increasing globalization of resources, it would not be at all far fetched to find that Hamas funded educational programs are attracting these families, radicalizing them.
The reasons behind these circumstances are debated from left to right and back. Briefly, I’ll address the role of taxes, the primary source of revenue for cities. One argument is that Palestinian residents do not pay taxes (because to do so would acknowledge the legitimacy of the Jerusalem government), so it is fair that services are not provided. Another argument is that Palestinians do not pay taxes because they do not get services from the municipality. Another argument is that permanent residents are entitled to services, that there are standard legal procedures to address non-payment of taxes, only at the end of which might the withholding of basic services be acceptable. It is probably accurate that although Palestinians make up 34% of the population of Jerusalem, they receive under 10% of the municipal budget.
Indirectly, the law makes it extremely difficult, if not impossible, for the Palestinian Arabs of East Jerusalem to build wealth that might be invested in self-improvement. For example, apparently access to mortgage loans is dependent on service in the IDF, but even Arab-Israeli citizens do not serve in the IDF, so certainly those with the lesser status of “permanent resident” do not serve. Other elements of the building codes impede construction, so Palestinians can: (1) move to the West Bank; (2) try to tackle the bureaucracy; or, (3) build illegally. It is estimated that 50% of the buildings in East Jerusalem are illegal. This is not entirely the fault of Israeli policy; it is cheaper to build illegally, especially if the chances of demolition are at 4%. Aside from the political implications of illegal building, however, are the considerable health and safety threats from structures that may not adhere to basic, sound building codes.
The effect of these direct and indirect policies toward people who are legal residents of East Jerusalem is that Jerusalem is already divided. There are already two Jerusalems. Given this reality, it seems fair to ask what it means to talk about Jerusalem as the “eternal undivided capital of the State of Israel?” What are the values that underlie this political, economic, and sociological reality that has created two different cities—a divided--Jerusalem?
Jerusalem, the Divided Undivided Capital of Israel (1)
April 14, 2009
The English media (and most likely the other media) in Israel are awash with political, religious, socio-economical, and historical analyses of the relationship between Israel and Palestinians, Jews and Muslims, Israel and her Muslim neighbors in the Middle East, take your pick. As mind-numbingly and emotionally complicated as these relationships are in general, the conflicts and/or dilemmas come into sharp focus, and therefore intensify, around the subject of Jerusalem, especially, around the subject of divided or undivided Jerusalem as the capital(s) for Israel and a Palestinian state. No amount of reading, viewing of videos, attendance at lectures or rallies, or participation in discussion of this complex situation can take the place of being on the ground in Jerusalem, of observing the entanglements, of standing in a neighborhood with a guide who can convincingly argue, “one the one hand…” and then take a deep breath and just as convincingly argue, “on the other hand…”
Ir Amim (City of Peoples or Nations)
“is an Israeli non-profit, non-partisan organization founded in order to actively engage in those issues impacting on Israeli-Palestinian relations in Jerusalem and on the political future of the city. Ir Amim seeks to render Jerusalem a more viable and equitable city, while generating and promoting a more politically sustainable future.” Among its activities are tours of Jerusalem and its environs. Our guide, a strikingly handsome, blue-eyed, 35 year old Israeli, with a few days of beard growth, was articulate and passionate, without being tendentious, as he encouraged the 20 or so participants to, “see the facts for yourself. Whatever you decide is for you to decide.”
Before describing our 4 hour exploration, I’ll present three ideas, not yet developed enough to be considered conclusions. First, two groups of people, Jews and non-Jews (Palestinian-Arabs, Arabs, even names have political implications) inhabit Jerusalem and three groups, Jews, Muslims, and Christians have profound connections to holy sites. Haaretz has a predictable perspective on this issue, but a recent article is worth reading, nevertheless.
Even the term “inhabit” is complicated, however, because after the Six Day War in 1967, Israel effectively annexed 70 square kilometers (Chapel Hill is about 50 square kilometers), including East Jerusalem, although most of the world considers it not an annexation, but an administrative area. What was once a small city in terms of area, has become, by administrative decision, a large metropolitan area. Putting aside Biblical, religious, archeological, historical, legal or any other lens that one might use to analyze this situation in order to draw conclusions, it seems indisputable that two groups reside in Jerusalem. For Jerusalem to be the capital of Israel, the Jewish state, there are many reasons for Jews to be the majority population in the city. What seems fundamental, then, is that short of physically removing Arabs/Palestinians from areas that they inhabit or Jews from areas that they inhabit in order to create a separation, all inhabitants must be treated with respect, with access to the same privileges and benefits. To be very concrete, for the sake of argument, let’s use a legal/historical lens. The Arabs lost the Six Day War, fair and square, so Israel has won or earned this territory. Accepting this assumption or line of argument, there are still tens of thousands of Arabs who reside in this area called Jerusalem. A fraction of political or religious leaders would advocate expelling these inhabitants, so even though Israel won the war, the Arab people remain and a democratic government and society dictate that they be treated fairly. To underscore the point, the issue here is Jewish Arab relations in Jerusalem. The issue of Israel’s role in the disputed/occupied territories of the West Bank is for another discussion.
Second, should it be possible to create a separation into two states, there are fanatics who not only advocate the use of violence, but act violently against Jews. For these, the goal seems to be not to remove Israeli authority from the West Bank, but from the current State of Israel as well. Hamas launches rockets from Gaza that can have no other effect than to harm and terrorize innocent people. The security risks of violent neighbors across the street must be acknowledged. Absent the acceptance of non-violent approaches to disagreements, the security needs are not only legitimate, but seminal.
Third, it is puzzling that the leadership of the Palestinian population seems to be monolithic. Prior to the recent fundamental split and war between the Fatah party and Hamas, Palestinian people seemed to have one voice. Current strategies do not appear to be advancing the well-being of the Palestinians of East Jerusalem, so where are the diverse opinions about testing new approaches?
The English media (and most likely the other media) in Israel are awash with political, religious, socio-economical, and historical analyses of the relationship between Israel and Palestinians, Jews and Muslims, Israel and her Muslim neighbors in the Middle East, take your pick. As mind-numbingly and emotionally complicated as these relationships are in general, the conflicts and/or dilemmas come into sharp focus, and therefore intensify, around the subject of Jerusalem, especially, around the subject of divided or undivided Jerusalem as the capital(s) for Israel and a Palestinian state. No amount of reading, viewing of videos, attendance at lectures or rallies, or participation in discussion of this complex situation can take the place of being on the ground in Jerusalem, of observing the entanglements, of standing in a neighborhood with a guide who can convincingly argue, “one the one hand…” and then take a deep breath and just as convincingly argue, “on the other hand…”
Ir Amim (City of Peoples or Nations)
“is an Israeli non-profit, non-partisan organization founded in order to actively engage in those issues impacting on Israeli-Palestinian relations in Jerusalem and on the political future of the city. Ir Amim seeks to render Jerusalem a more viable and equitable city, while generating and promoting a more politically sustainable future.” Among its activities are tours of Jerusalem and its environs. Our guide, a strikingly handsome, blue-eyed, 35 year old Israeli, with a few days of beard growth, was articulate and passionate, without being tendentious, as he encouraged the 20 or so participants to, “see the facts for yourself. Whatever you decide is for you to decide.”
Before describing our 4 hour exploration, I’ll present three ideas, not yet developed enough to be considered conclusions. First, two groups of people, Jews and non-Jews (Palestinian-Arabs, Arabs, even names have political implications) inhabit Jerusalem and three groups, Jews, Muslims, and Christians have profound connections to holy sites. Haaretz has a predictable perspective on this issue, but a recent article is worth reading, nevertheless.
Even the term “inhabit” is complicated, however, because after the Six Day War in 1967, Israel effectively annexed 70 square kilometers (Chapel Hill is about 50 square kilometers), including East Jerusalem, although most of the world considers it not an annexation, but an administrative area. What was once a small city in terms of area, has become, by administrative decision, a large metropolitan area. Putting aside Biblical, religious, archeological, historical, legal or any other lens that one might use to analyze this situation in order to draw conclusions, it seems indisputable that two groups reside in Jerusalem. For Jerusalem to be the capital of Israel, the Jewish state, there are many reasons for Jews to be the majority population in the city. What seems fundamental, then, is that short of physically removing Arabs/Palestinians from areas that they inhabit or Jews from areas that they inhabit in order to create a separation, all inhabitants must be treated with respect, with access to the same privileges and benefits. To be very concrete, for the sake of argument, let’s use a legal/historical lens. The Arabs lost the Six Day War, fair and square, so Israel has won or earned this territory. Accepting this assumption or line of argument, there are still tens of thousands of Arabs who reside in this area called Jerusalem. A fraction of political or religious leaders would advocate expelling these inhabitants, so even though Israel won the war, the Arab people remain and a democratic government and society dictate that they be treated fairly. To underscore the point, the issue here is Jewish Arab relations in Jerusalem. The issue of Israel’s role in the disputed/occupied territories of the West Bank is for another discussion.
Second, should it be possible to create a separation into two states, there are fanatics who not only advocate the use of violence, but act violently against Jews. For these, the goal seems to be not to remove Israeli authority from the West Bank, but from the current State of Israel as well. Hamas launches rockets from Gaza that can have no other effect than to harm and terrorize innocent people. The security risks of violent neighbors across the street must be acknowledged. Absent the acceptance of non-violent approaches to disagreements, the security needs are not only legitimate, but seminal.
Third, it is puzzling that the leadership of the Palestinian population seems to be monolithic. Prior to the recent fundamental split and war between the Fatah party and Hamas, Palestinian people seemed to have one voice. Current strategies do not appear to be advancing the well-being of the Palestinians of East Jerusalem, so where are the diverse opinions about testing new approaches?
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Project-driven Funding
April 12, 2009
While globalized giving may create the opportunity for organizations, small and large, to reach more donors, it is most certainly creating several challenges. First, with such a large menu of options, donors can be quite specific and therefore restrictive in their giving. This is often translated into support for projects that reflect the objectives of donors, instead of for organizations that share the mission and goals of donors. Projects do not just happen, of course. They are designed and implemented by individuals in organizations. These individuals invest their time and expertise in establishing relationships with those served by agencies or organizations and their projects. Organizations, made up of these individuals, are more effective when clients and/or communities perceive them as having made a commitment to the community, view them as collaborators, not simply motivated by a funding source that may or may not be long-term. In addition, organizations, even the leanest, most efficient organizations, have administrative costs. Even frugal--indeed saintly--organizations have salaries or utility bills that allow them to meet their objectives or plan and secure funding for the next project. Finally, categorical projects, that is, with often narrowly defined objectives, may not map effectively to the needs and context of a particular community. For example, does an interest in at-risk children include programs for their parents? Or take the example of the Hasadna Conservatory in Jerusalem. Does providing music lessons to Ethiopian children meet the interests of a donor dedicated to at-risk children or not? This is the fundamental tension between categorical programs on the one hand and comprehensive programs on the other. Some donors are needed to support the “pool” of funds that most organizations need to function. If everybody just supports programs, the result may be that there is no organization to carry out programs.
A second challenge is that project-driven giving encourages more evaluation. While evaluation should be fundamental, so that donors can know the effectiveness of their giving and can use that information to guide choices among the myriad of options, the process can encumber organizations with an added bureaucratic layer. The trick is to incorporate evaluation into the day to day operations and records, but that too can be cumbersome. Should reports be issued monthly? Yearly? What level of data is required and what is the expense in time, effort, and good will to generate this information. What happens if the evaluation requirements impinge on the basic operational efforts of a small organization? This then seems to be another argument for giving to support the “pool.” Such shared resources may make it more likely that important evaluation needs can be met without disrupting from or detracting from actual services.
What are the implications for the Jewish community? Traditionally, Jews have supported a community fund, whether through Jewish federations or their earlier renditions going back as far as the middle ages. Under this model community leaders are responsible for allocating the collections. They allocate to individuals in need and organizations that assist those in need. This mechanism of a communal fund has helped to assure that most needs are met. These might be individual needs for food or shelter at one end of a spectrum. At the other end of the spectrum are massive community needs such as providing the planning, raising, and distribution of huge amounts of money. For example: organizing communal funds to provide money and human resources to help develop pre-state Israel and then facilitate the transition to a functioning state; raising hundreds of millions of dollars to transport 100,000 Ethiopian Jews to Israel during the 1990s; providing food, medicine and visitors to tens of thousands of elderly Holocaust survivors in the former Soviet Union. Globalization is changing this mechanism because donors feel less of an obligation (or perhaps no obligation) to a communal fund and at the same time they are no longer on the community system to provide the needs assessment and allocation decisions; they can do this on their own. There are tensions over the very value of “all Jews are responsible one for the other.” Is this still a fundamental value for the Jewish people? If it is, what are the mechanisms to assure that autonomous, global donors can act on that value?
While globalized giving may create the opportunity for organizations, small and large, to reach more donors, it is most certainly creating several challenges. First, with such a large menu of options, donors can be quite specific and therefore restrictive in their giving. This is often translated into support for projects that reflect the objectives of donors, instead of for organizations that share the mission and goals of donors. Projects do not just happen, of course. They are designed and implemented by individuals in organizations. These individuals invest their time and expertise in establishing relationships with those served by agencies or organizations and their projects. Organizations, made up of these individuals, are more effective when clients and/or communities perceive them as having made a commitment to the community, view them as collaborators, not simply motivated by a funding source that may or may not be long-term. In addition, organizations, even the leanest, most efficient organizations, have administrative costs. Even frugal--indeed saintly--organizations have salaries or utility bills that allow them to meet their objectives or plan and secure funding for the next project. Finally, categorical projects, that is, with often narrowly defined objectives, may not map effectively to the needs and context of a particular community. For example, does an interest in at-risk children include programs for their parents? Or take the example of the Hasadna Conservatory in Jerusalem. Does providing music lessons to Ethiopian children meet the interests of a donor dedicated to at-risk children or not? This is the fundamental tension between categorical programs on the one hand and comprehensive programs on the other. Some donors are needed to support the “pool” of funds that most organizations need to function. If everybody just supports programs, the result may be that there is no organization to carry out programs.
A second challenge is that project-driven giving encourages more evaluation. While evaluation should be fundamental, so that donors can know the effectiveness of their giving and can use that information to guide choices among the myriad of options, the process can encumber organizations with an added bureaucratic layer. The trick is to incorporate evaluation into the day to day operations and records, but that too can be cumbersome. Should reports be issued monthly? Yearly? What level of data is required and what is the expense in time, effort, and good will to generate this information. What happens if the evaluation requirements impinge on the basic operational efforts of a small organization? This then seems to be another argument for giving to support the “pool.” Such shared resources may make it more likely that important evaluation needs can be met without disrupting from or detracting from actual services.
What are the implications for the Jewish community? Traditionally, Jews have supported a community fund, whether through Jewish federations or their earlier renditions going back as far as the middle ages. Under this model community leaders are responsible for allocating the collections. They allocate to individuals in need and organizations that assist those in need. This mechanism of a communal fund has helped to assure that most needs are met. These might be individual needs for food or shelter at one end of a spectrum. At the other end of the spectrum are massive community needs such as providing the planning, raising, and distribution of huge amounts of money. For example: organizing communal funds to provide money and human resources to help develop pre-state Israel and then facilitate the transition to a functioning state; raising hundreds of millions of dollars to transport 100,000 Ethiopian Jews to Israel during the 1990s; providing food, medicine and visitors to tens of thousands of elderly Holocaust survivors in the former Soviet Union. Globalization is changing this mechanism because donors feel less of an obligation (or perhaps no obligation) to a communal fund and at the same time they are no longer on the community system to provide the needs assessment and allocation decisions; they can do this on their own. There are tensions over the very value of “all Jews are responsible one for the other.” Is this still a fundamental value for the Jewish people? If it is, what are the mechanisms to assure that autonomous, global donors can act on that value?
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Let All Who Are Hungry...
What a great seder. Please pass the charoset. Apparently, these pictures from the Tel Aviv zoo are quite popular around Passover!
Friday, April 10, 2009
Searching for Tzedakah
April 10, 2009
Rabbi Galia Sadan, one of four rabbis at Beit Daniel, met with me, because I have become quite curious about some of the practices and rituals that I observe during my pretty regular attendance on Shabbat mornings and in addition, I wanted to learn her reflections on some encounters over the concept of tzedakah. She is energetic and articulate with a passion for the mission of this institution. As I have mentioned, Beit Daniel is a large Reform synagogue, where in Israel, the government provides institutional support only to the Orthodox sect of Judaism. Interestingly, this congregation was originally one congregation, but split into two over some disagreements. The Daniel family provided generous financial incentives for the two groups to merge in the early 1990s.
Beit Daniel is home to about 160 bar and bat mitzvahs per year, often 3 over the course of a typical Shabbat. What I have noticed, however, is that there is little, if any, overlap in attendees, particularly among the kids. Each week the group is different. The Rabbi explained that most secular Israelis (and most are secular) are uncomfortable with the rituals and traditions of synagogue life. This is partly due to the Orthodox monopoly on formal religious life. Basically, “I can’t be religious, because I am not Orthodox.” She characterized this aversion more as ambivalence, however, expressed as “that’s (my) synagogue that I don’t belong to.” So while many families want to find ritual meaning, they are reluctant to support institutional religion. The 160 families that come to Beit Daniel for bar and bat mitzvahs are, for the most part, not members. It is part of the mission of this congregation, however, to provide this “window” into the world of ritual Jewish life for any who are willing to commit themselves 10 meetings over 2 to 3 months of preparation. This large educational program is also a source of revenue at 3000 NIS. Beit Daniel does not use this window to build the synagogue community, in contrast to many U.S. synagogues where one key element of the educational programs leading to bar and bat mitzvah is to develop a sense of Jewish community emanating from the synagogue.
At the Chapel Hill Kehillah, I have expressed my dismay that candy tossing has degraded the spirit and purpose of our bnei mitzvah rituals. Simply put, as the student finishes the ritual readings, those in attendance shower her/him with candy as a symbol of the “sweetness” of Torah and in recognition of this accomplishment. In my view the aggressive hurling of these small missiles is out of place. As I have noted, at Beit Daniel, the issue is the same, so I could not resist asking the rabbi about this. She laughed heartily and concurred that this was an issue. What started as women’s participation in the Orthodox service as soft tossing of candy from their separate space, often in balconies, has become a more egalitarian and often ferocious custom in many congregations. She admitted that one child was wounded above the eye, although he was able to complete the service! There is a beautiful, hand-painted mural at the back of the bima and every 6 or 8 months, the artist must come to touch it up because of pockmarks from candy. She then started to brainstorm about other ways—perhaps mechanical-- that the sweetness of the occasion could be conveyed. Rabbis of the world, please figure out a way to divert this misplaced energy.
Rabbi Galia is the first Israeli spiritual leader with whom I have had the opportunity to explore questions related to tzedakah. For many secular Israelis, this seminal multi-faceted concept of justice/charity from the Torah does not inform their views of giving and I have been perplexed by this. Rather, the concepts of “social investment” or “philanthropy,” important in their own right to be sure, seem to have supplanted this foundational Jewish value in conversations about giving. She provided two illuminating thoughts. First, she emphasized that among the Orthodox community, the commandment or mitzvah to practice tzedakah is strong. She gave as an example, Yad Sarah, the organization, started by ultra-Orthodox Jews 30 years ago, that has become a leader in the provision of medical equipment and assistance for Israelis—Jews and non-Jews--all stemming from the belief that Jews have an obligation to help those in need. Second, two historical and socio-economic forces are at playthat affect the use of the concept of tzedakah. While economically thriving overall, many Israelis are “counting their shekels” and still feel stressed by the demands of this society—growing economic disparity, ongoing defense and security concerns. They do not perceive themselves as having the ability to practice tzedakah, although she is quick to acknowledge that all Jews have this obligation, that even the poor person should not be deprived of the opportunity to make gifts of tzedakah. The other force is more historical and sociological. Many of those who came to Palestine and later the State of Israel, did so to build a new Jewish culture, throwing away many traditions and rejecting the constraints of halacha (Jewish law), including the idea of the commandment to practice the mitzvah of tzedakah. As a result, there is a generation or two of Israelis who have no historical and cultural memory of this core Jewish mitzvah and practice.
Rabbi Galia Sadan, one of four rabbis at Beit Daniel, met with me, because I have become quite curious about some of the practices and rituals that I observe during my pretty regular attendance on Shabbat mornings and in addition, I wanted to learn her reflections on some encounters over the concept of tzedakah. She is energetic and articulate with a passion for the mission of this institution. As I have mentioned, Beit Daniel is a large Reform synagogue, where in Israel, the government provides institutional support only to the Orthodox sect of Judaism. Interestingly, this congregation was originally one congregation, but split into two over some disagreements. The Daniel family provided generous financial incentives for the two groups to merge in the early 1990s.
Beit Daniel is home to about 160 bar and bat mitzvahs per year, often 3 over the course of a typical Shabbat. What I have noticed, however, is that there is little, if any, overlap in attendees, particularly among the kids. Each week the group is different. The Rabbi explained that most secular Israelis (and most are secular) are uncomfortable with the rituals and traditions of synagogue life. This is partly due to the Orthodox monopoly on formal religious life. Basically, “I can’t be religious, because I am not Orthodox.” She characterized this aversion more as ambivalence, however, expressed as “that’s (my) synagogue that I don’t belong to.” So while many families want to find ritual meaning, they are reluctant to support institutional religion. The 160 families that come to Beit Daniel for bar and bat mitzvahs are, for the most part, not members. It is part of the mission of this congregation, however, to provide this “window” into the world of ritual Jewish life for any who are willing to commit themselves 10 meetings over 2 to 3 months of preparation. This large educational program is also a source of revenue at 3000 NIS. Beit Daniel does not use this window to build the synagogue community, in contrast to many U.S. synagogues where one key element of the educational programs leading to bar and bat mitzvah is to develop a sense of Jewish community emanating from the synagogue.
At the Chapel Hill Kehillah, I have expressed my dismay that candy tossing has degraded the spirit and purpose of our bnei mitzvah rituals. Simply put, as the student finishes the ritual readings, those in attendance shower her/him with candy as a symbol of the “sweetness” of Torah and in recognition of this accomplishment. In my view the aggressive hurling of these small missiles is out of place. As I have noted, at Beit Daniel, the issue is the same, so I could not resist asking the rabbi about this. She laughed heartily and concurred that this was an issue. What started as women’s participation in the Orthodox service as soft tossing of candy from their separate space, often in balconies, has become a more egalitarian and often ferocious custom in many congregations. She admitted that one child was wounded above the eye, although he was able to complete the service! There is a beautiful, hand-painted mural at the back of the bima and every 6 or 8 months, the artist must come to touch it up because of pockmarks from candy. She then started to brainstorm about other ways—perhaps mechanical-- that the sweetness of the occasion could be conveyed. Rabbis of the world, please figure out a way to divert this misplaced energy.
Rabbi Galia is the first Israeli spiritual leader with whom I have had the opportunity to explore questions related to tzedakah. For many secular Israelis, this seminal multi-faceted concept of justice/charity from the Torah does not inform their views of giving and I have been perplexed by this. Rather, the concepts of “social investment” or “philanthropy,” important in their own right to be sure, seem to have supplanted this foundational Jewish value in conversations about giving. She provided two illuminating thoughts. First, she emphasized that among the Orthodox community, the commandment or mitzvah to practice tzedakah is strong. She gave as an example, Yad Sarah, the organization, started by ultra-Orthodox Jews 30 years ago, that has become a leader in the provision of medical equipment and assistance for Israelis—Jews and non-Jews--all stemming from the belief that Jews have an obligation to help those in need. Second, two historical and socio-economic forces are at playthat affect the use of the concept of tzedakah. While economically thriving overall, many Israelis are “counting their shekels” and still feel stressed by the demands of this society—growing economic disparity, ongoing defense and security concerns. They do not perceive themselves as having the ability to practice tzedakah, although she is quick to acknowledge that all Jews have this obligation, that even the poor person should not be deprived of the opportunity to make gifts of tzedakah. The other force is more historical and sociological. Many of those who came to Palestine and later the State of Israel, did so to build a new Jewish culture, throwing away many traditions and rejecting the constraints of halacha (Jewish law), including the idea of the commandment to practice the mitzvah of tzedakah. As a result, there is a generation or two of Israelis who have no historical and cultural memory of this core Jewish mitzvah and practice.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Seders and Traffic Jams
April 9, 2009
We left Tel Aviv at about 6 pm with the Perlman family. The
distance to Kibbutz Har’el is only about 20 miles, but the traffic jammed up on Highway 1, shortly after leaving the Tel A
viv portion. It was not until nearly an hour later that we exited the highway at the Har’el turnoff. Off in the distance, Lee pointed out Kibbutz Neve Shalom, a joint Jewish Arab undertaking on a neighboring hillside. Kibbutz Har’el was home to Lee for 5-6 years after he made aliyah in the early 1980s. It has had a rocky history with several starts and stops, over political and economic disagreements and challenges. The entire kibbutz movement has undergone dramatic changes, and Har’el, faced with huge debt, is now basically no different than a condominium community in the U.S. There are no shared economic activities, but there are some shared community activities and upkeep. The location, halfway between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, makes it ideal for housing for both cities, so the kibbutz rents many of its housing units.
Our seder took place in the kibbutz community center, formerly the children’s house. Folding tables and plastic chairs for 40 filled the space. Tables with main courses and desserts were arranged in an adjoining space. The 40 or so in attendance included relatives of Edna, including her sister Orna, who, by the way, directs health promotion programs for the kibbutz movement, as well as friends from the kibbutz. There were children as young as 3 or 4, all the way up to elders. Lee led the seder using a haggadah written by kibbutz members, with the primary focus on agriculture and nature, rather than the traditional story. For example, although the first of the four questions was about matzah, the fourth was “why on this night to we engage in long and serious discussion about our lives?” There was generous participation with readings and commentary. In a truly practical vein, somebody pointed out that in some ancient cultures, the ritual was to eat the meal and then tell the story, so we consumed a fair amount of matzah, charoset, and moror, as we proceeded.
After the meal, the tradition in this kibbutz is to act out the song Chad Gadya (Just One Kid), about the escalating costs to oppressors—the cat who ate, the goat, the dog who ate the cat, the stick that beat the dog, all the way up to the Source who destroyed the angel of death. Wearing a goat’s mask, a 3 year old girl was carried around the room by her dad during the first verse, followed by others in masks or props playing their roles for each verse. We enjoyed a jazz version of “Go Down Moses.” Udi on the accordion was joined by Aiton, the kibbutz gardner. Probably in his 60s, this tall, slender sax player had long, gray dreadlocks, a linen shirt, and plaid pants that may have come from the second-hand shop for golfers. When we finished the traditional songs, we moved on to a contemporary sing-a-long, with songs like Jerusalem of Gold, before closing with a lively rendition of Dylan’s “It Ain’t No Use to Sit and Wonder Why, Babe” and a hardy “We Shall Overcome.” At around 11 we shifted into cleanup mode and in 45 minutes the chairs were stacked, the tables folded, the floor swept, the compostable and recyclable trash sorted, and the simple cut flower arrangements distributed.
So familiar and so different. What a wonderful experience.
As we headed back onto Highway 1 at close to midnight, think New Jersey Turnpike on the Sunday after Thanksgiving or Interstate 40 from the beach at the end of 4th of July weekend. Maybe this is what it was like when 600,000 Hebrews were crossing the Sea of Reeds. Even though Pesach is a holiday in Israel-- offices and shops are closed—many participants in the tens of thousands of seders here in Israel are returning from evenings with friends and family to their homes in Tel Aviv.
We left Tel Aviv at about 6 pm with the Perlman family. The
distance to Kibbutz Har’el is only about 20 miles, but the traffic jammed up on Highway 1, shortly after leaving the Tel A
viv portion. It was not until nearly an hour later that we exited the highway at the Har’el turnoff. Off in the distance, Lee pointed out Kibbutz Neve Shalom, a joint Jewish Arab undertaking on a neighboring hillside. Kibbutz Har’el was home to Lee for 5-6 years after he made aliyah in the early 1980s. It has had a rocky history with several starts and stops, over political and economic disagreements and challenges. The entire kibbutz movement has undergone dramatic changes, and Har’el, faced with huge debt, is now basically no different than a condominium community in the U.S. There are no shared economic activities, but there are some shared community activities and upkeep. The location, halfway between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, makes it ideal for housing for both cities, so the kibbutz rents many of its housing units.Our seder took place in the kibbutz community center, formerly the children’s house. Folding tables and plastic chairs for 40 filled the space. Tables with main courses and desserts were arranged in an adjoining space. The 40 or so in attendance included relatives of Edna, including her sister Orna, who, by the way, directs health promotion programs for the kibbutz movement, as well as friends from the kibbutz. There were children as young as 3 or 4, all the way up to elders. Lee led the seder using a haggadah written by kibbutz members, with the primary focus on agriculture and nature, rather than the traditional story. For example, although the first of the four questions was about matzah, the fourth was “why on this night to we engage in long and serious discussion about our lives?” There was generous participation with readings and commentary. In a truly practical vein, somebody pointed out that in some ancient cultures, the ritual was to eat the meal and then tell the story, so we consumed a fair amount of matzah, charoset, and moror, as we proceeded.
After the meal, the tradition in this kibbutz is to act out the song Chad Gadya (Just One Kid), about the escalating costs to oppressors—the cat who ate, the goat, the dog who ate the cat, the stick that beat the dog, all the way up to the Source who destroyed the angel of death. Wearing a goat’s mask, a 3 year old girl was carried around the room by her dad during the first verse, followed by others in masks or props playing their roles for each verse. We enjoyed a jazz version of “Go Down Moses.” Udi on the accordion was joined by Aiton, the kibbutz gardner. Probably in his 60s, this tall, slender sax player had long, gray dreadlocks, a linen shirt, and plaid pants that may have come from the second-hand shop for golfers. When we finished the traditional songs, we moved on to a contemporary sing-a-long, with songs like Jerusalem of Gold, before closing with a lively rendition of Dylan’s “It Ain’t No Use to Sit and Wonder Why, Babe” and a hardy “We Shall Overcome.” At around 11 we shifted into cleanup mode and in 45 minutes the chairs were stacked, the tables folded, the floor swept, the compostable and recyclable trash sorted, and the simple cut flower arrangements distributed.
So familiar and so different. What a wonderful experience.
As we headed back onto Highway 1 at close to midnight, think New Jersey Turnpike on the Sunday after Thanksgiving or Interstate 40 from the beach at the end of 4th of July weekend. Maybe this is what it was like when 600,000 Hebrews were crossing the Sea of Reeds. Even though Pesach is a holiday in Israel-- offices and shops are closed—many participants in the tens of thousands of seders here in Israel are returning from evenings with friends and family to their homes in Tel Aviv.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
In Honor of the Memory of Rose Margolis
April 8, 2009
We were invited by Edna Perlman to join Lee, Udi, Inbal, and Eli, at the seder at KIibbutz Har’el where her sister lives. The event is a potluck at the kibbutz and because we have rather limited tools in our kitchen, Linda suggested Aunt Rose’s Pesach matzah candy. Rose, born in 1903 (although we are not supposed to know that!), was the oldest of the 5 children of Hirsch and Hynda. The family of Rose, Ida, Helen, Ed, and my father Dave, were part of a tiny Jewish community in the small lumber and mining town of Hurely, Wisconsin, until Hynda passed away in 1913. Apparently there were no prospects for re-marriage and because Hirsch was not able to take care of the children by himself, they were moved by the Jewish community to the Jewish Orphan Home in Cleveland, Ohio. Hirsch moved with them, living in a small apartment in Cleveland.
Although Rose never married, in many ways she became the matriarch of the Margolis branch of the family. She was a lover of Israel, proud of her Judaism, a keen believer in tzedakah/justice, and a loving and loyal aunt. For Passover she used to make her much-loved chocolate, matzah candy. I am sure she would be thrilled to know that I have made this in our cramped kitchen in Israel to share at a seder. In honor of the memory of Aunt Rose, here’s the recipe:
1. Lightly toast or bake several pieces of matzah
2. Coarsely chop some almonds and lightly toast them
3. In a microwave or double-boiler melt some chocolate. Nestle’s semi-sweet morsels are fine, but the better the chocolate, the better.
4. Combine all the ingredients, and keep mixing until it is a somewhat uniform chocolate mixture, with matzah pieces barely showing, if at all.
5. Put bite-sized clumps on wax paper covered cookie sheets and refrigerate or freeze until the chocolate has re-hardened.
6. If taking this to a seder, be sure to save some for home use!
Chag Pesach Sameach!
We were invited by Edna Perlman to join Lee, Udi, Inbal, and Eli, at the seder at KIibbutz Har’el where her sister lives. The event is a potluck at the kibbutz and because we have rather limited tools in our kitchen, Linda suggested Aunt Rose’s Pesach matzah candy. Rose, born in 1903 (although we are not supposed to know that!), was the oldest of the 5 children of Hirsch and Hynda. The family of Rose, Ida, Helen, Ed, and my father Dave, were part of a tiny Jewish community in the small lumber and mining town of Hurely, Wisconsin, until Hynda passed away in 1913. Apparently there were no prospects for re-marriage and because Hirsch was not able to take care of the children by himself, they were moved by the Jewish community to the Jewish Orphan Home in Cleveland, Ohio. Hirsch moved with them, living in a small apartment in Cleveland.
Although Rose never married, in many ways she became the matriarch of the Margolis branch of the family. She was a lover of Israel, proud of her Judaism, a keen believer in tzedakah/justice, and a loving and loyal aunt. For Passover she used to make her much-loved chocolate, matzah candy. I am sure she would be thrilled to know that I have made this in our cramped kitchen in Israel to share at a seder. In honor of the memory of Aunt Rose, here’s the recipe:
1. Lightly toast or bake several pieces of matzah
2. Coarsely chop some almonds and lightly toast them
3. In a microwave or double-boiler melt some chocolate. Nestle’s semi-sweet morsels are fine, but the better the chocolate, the better.
4. Combine all the ingredients, and keep mixing until it is a somewhat uniform chocolate mixture, with matzah pieces barely showing, if at all.
5. Put bite-sized clumps on wax paper covered cookie sheets and refrigerate or freeze until the chocolate has re-hardened.
6. If taking this to a seder, be sure to save some for home use!
Chag Pesach Sameach!
Monday, April 6, 2009
Passover is Coming
April 6, 2009
Signs that Passover is coming in Israel:
1. Weeks ago, a newspaper story reported that cows receive a special diet so the milk can be certified kosher for Passover by the Chief Rabbinate
2. Discarded items, large and small, start to appear on the street, as people clean their houses
3. Scraping noises echo in apartment buildings as people push furniture around to clean
4. Posted on bus stops “Passover Cleaning Service, Thorough and Cheap, call…”
5. Aluminum foil, yes aluminum foil, has stickers certifying that it is kosher for Passover
6. Passover baked goods start to appear and non-kosher baked goods start to disappear from the shelves in supermarkets, but not in the kiosks at the shuks
7. The Chief Rabbinate, at its expense, has issued special bar code readers so that supermarkets can block the sale of products deemed non-kosher by the Chief Rabbinate
8. Not only are the shelves overflowing with mitzvah, but also there are choices
9. After 3 months studying Hebrew, I really understood the counting in the Passover song, “Who Knows One?”
10. The thought that on Wednesday evening, here in Israel, there may be 100,000 or 200,000 seders all going on at the same time is both incomprehensible and joyful to the utmost.
לשנה הבאה בירושלים
Next year, may we all be in Jerusalem!
Signs that Passover is coming in Israel:
1. Weeks ago, a newspaper story reported that cows receive a special diet so the milk can be certified kosher for Passover by the Chief Rabbinate
2. Discarded items, large and small, start to appear on the street, as people clean their houses
3. Scraping noises echo in apartment buildings as people push furniture around to clean
4. Posted on bus stops “Passover Cleaning Service, Thorough and Cheap, call…”
5. Aluminum foil, yes aluminum foil, has stickers certifying that it is kosher for Passover
6. Passover baked goods start to appear and non-kosher baked goods start to disappear from the shelves in supermarkets, but not in the kiosks at the shuks
7. The Chief Rabbinate, at its expense, has issued special bar code readers so that supermarkets can block the sale of products deemed non-kosher by the Chief Rabbinate
8. Not only are the shelves overflowing with mitzvah, but also there are choices
9. After 3 months studying Hebrew, I really understood the counting in the Passover song, “Who Knows One?”
10. The thought that on Wednesday evening, here in Israel, there may be 100,000 or 200,000 seders all going on at the same time is both incomprehensible and joyful to the utmost.
לשנה הבאה בירושלים
Next year, may we all be in Jerusalem!
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Is This Butter?
By last week, we had finally used the last of the Irish butter that we had purchased from our local market in January. I needed more butter to bake some cornbread for the potluck lunch that we have at Sheatufim each Sunday. When our local market did not seem to have any butter for a few days, we were successful at the market in the next neighborhood. Successful, that is, until I read the label closely as I pre-heated the oven. Margarine should not have been that hard to read in Hebrew! I substituted olive oil for the butter to great effect. As of today, however, we were still without butter and aside from our usual use, it seems to be a particular staple during Passover.
On our walk back from the “Tel Aviv at 100” opening concert at Rabin Square, we noticed the large market on Pinkas still open at 9:50 so we stopped in. We worked our way to the dairy isle and started to review what looked like butter. We were confident that we would not make the margarine mistake again, but were we looking at salted or unsalted butter? There were no non-Hebrew clues at all. An elderly, slightly stooped man, wearing one of those Russian black peasant/worker caps was examining the yogurt nearby. In fact, I had noticed him parked in that isle, through the large front window as we had approached the store.
“Atah midaber Anglit?” I have become quite fluent with this expression.
Right out of the Yiddish theatre, he gave a barely noticeable shrug of his shoulders and said, “English? A little,” he offered in a moderately accented Israeli/Eastern European English.
“Is this butter?”
After a brief examination, he confirmed that it was butter.
“Is this sweet butter or salted butter?”
This took a little longer, but we all decided that we could tell the difference.
“You can take a smaller one. It’s the same. This is very large. Also it’s kosher for Pesach,” he added.
“I think the large one is b’seder (o.k.),” I reassured him. ”Because we’ll use it for Passover.”
Our business was not finished, however.
“Be sure to check the label,” he advised as he took the package from me and turned it over and around to find the expiration date. “2010,” he laughed, “you can even use it for next Pesach.” And then, as he turned, he paused with the perfect timing of a comedian, to add, “if you can believe anything they say!”
Our friend, it seemed was not finished with us, because when he heard Linda say that we needed chocolate, he guided us to the chocolate isle. “This is good Israeli chocolate.” He rustled through some bars to find a package of two bars, pointing out, “the price is better. You can buy six bars this way. It’s local. Not the other foreign ones.”
After a warm “chag sameach” (Happy Holiday), we headed to find another item, as he went to check out.
Even buying butter at 10 pm on a Saturday night leads to new friendships.
On our walk back from the “Tel Aviv at 100” opening concert at Rabin Square, we noticed the large market on Pinkas still open at 9:50 so we stopped in. We worked our way to the dairy isle and started to review what looked like butter. We were confident that we would not make the margarine mistake again, but were we looking at salted or unsalted butter? There were no non-Hebrew clues at all. An elderly, slightly stooped man, wearing one of those Russian black peasant/worker caps was examining the yogurt nearby. In fact, I had noticed him parked in that isle, through the large front window as we had approached the store.
“Atah midaber Anglit?” I have become quite fluent with this expression.
Right out of the Yiddish theatre, he gave a barely noticeable shrug of his shoulders and said, “English? A little,” he offered in a moderately accented Israeli/Eastern European English.
“Is this butter?”
After a brief examination, he confirmed that it was butter.
“Is this sweet butter or salted butter?”
This took a little longer, but we all decided that we could tell the difference.
“You can take a smaller one. It’s the same. This is very large. Also it’s kosher for Pesach,” he added.
“I think the large one is b’seder (o.k.),” I reassured him. ”Because we’ll use it for Passover.”
Our business was not finished, however.
“Be sure to check the label,” he advised as he took the package from me and turned it over and around to find the expiration date. “2010,” he laughed, “you can even use it for next Pesach.” And then, as he turned, he paused with the perfect timing of a comedian, to add, “if you can believe anything they say!”
Our friend, it seemed was not finished with us, because when he heard Linda say that we needed chocolate, he guided us to the chocolate isle. “This is good Israeli chocolate.” He rustled through some bars to find a package of two bars, pointing out, “the price is better. You can buy six bars this way. It’s local. Not the other foreign ones.”
After a warm “chag sameach” (Happy Holiday), we headed to find another item, as he went to check out.
Even buying butter at 10 pm on a Saturday night leads to new friendships.
Tel Aviv 100
April 4, 2009
Tel Aviv was founded 100 years ago, as a suburb of neighboring Yaffo. Over the years it has grown into a thriving, vibrant, colorful metropolis, Israel’s largest city, a truly international city, at the center of Israel’s dynamic economy. Although there was a formal declaration on Thursday on Rothschild for dignitaries, tonight was the opening bash. Hundreds of thousands gathered on Rabin Square for a 90 minute light show, fireworks and concert with current pop stars and the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra, directed by Zubin Mehta. This opening gala was about Tel Aviv, the city, not about the State of Israel or the history of the Jewish people. Each of the 5-10 minute segments told a part of Tel Aviv’s history in music and lights to an enthusiastic crowd of elder elders to infants in strollers and packs. What a proud, joyful, and affirmative way to launch this year long celebration.
Tel Aviv was founded 100 years ago, as a suburb of neighboring Yaffo. Over the years it has grown into a thriving, vibrant, colorful metropolis, Israel’s largest city, a truly international city, at the center of Israel’s dynamic economy. Although there was a formal declaration on Thursday on Rothschild for dignitaries, tonight was the opening bash. Hundreds of thousands gathered on Rabin Square for a 90 minute light show, fireworks and concert with current pop stars and the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra, directed by Zubin Mehta. This opening gala was about Tel Aviv, the city, not about the State of Israel or the history of the Jewish people. Each of the 5-10 minute segments told a part of Tel Aviv’s history in music and lights to an enthusiastic crowd of elder elders to infants in strollers and packs. What a proud, joyful, and affirmative way to launch this year long celebration.
This is the Way We Do the Wash
In January, after doing one load of laundry in the small washer in our apartment and hanging the clothes to dry on the line suspended outside from the bathroom window (recall Molly Goldberg), I decided that I would rather not spend this time doing my laundry. Fortunately, in our little shopping complex in the center of Bavli, there are two small shops for laundry and dry cleaning. At Clean Shop http://cleanshop.co.il/, it costs 50 shekels for 6 kilos (one large load). After taking my laundry every 10 days or so, I have enjoyed getting to know Hadassah and her daughter Adar. They are both friendly and tolerant of my Hebrew. It doesn’t hurt that they both speak English. Today, there was a new assistant, Micki, the same age as Hadassah. I inquired about dry cleaning my jacket and Micki jumped right in saying “40 shekels, about 10 bucks.” She asked where I was from and then commented that I did not sound like I was from North Carolina. As I was turning to leave, she said, with a big smile, “do you have a friend in North Carolina who would like to come to Israel?” I laughed and then Hadassah chimed in, “me too, two for one!” How do you say “JDate” in Hebrew?
Thursday, April 2, 2009
After 3000 Years...
April 2, 2009
After almost 3,000 years of Jewish peoplehood, or even 60 years of the State of Israel, one would think that there would be some historical memory with regard to holidays. Based on my call to the Egged Bus Company, I wonder.
“Shalom. On Shavuot, May 29, will the bus run between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv?”
“What?” the agent asked.
“On Shavuot, will the buses run?”
“Do you mean the holiday Shavuot?”
“Yes, May 29.”
“I don’t know. You have to call back one week before.”
After almost 3,000 years of Jewish peoplehood, or even 60 years of the State of Israel, one would think that there would be some historical memory with regard to holidays. Based on my call to the Egged Bus Company, I wonder.
“Shalom. On Shavuot, May 29, will the bus run between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv?”
“What?” the agent asked.
“On Shavuot, will the buses run?”
“Do you mean the holiday Shavuot?”
“Yes, May 29.”
“I don’t know. You have to call back one week before.”
Take a Little Off the Top
The other day I noticed a sign in English “Barber Shop Men and Children” on David Fridman, just off Yehuda Ha-Maccabi. Reassured by the sign, today I stopped in for a haircut. Baruch, who cut my hair, was sitting at a small table on the sidewalk in front of the shop, reading the newspaper. He and the other barber, both in their late 50’s or early 60’s, were clad in short white coats and each wore a kippah. As I crossed the threshold Baruch greeted me with “b’vakashah” (please) and followed me into the shop.
“Atah midaber Anglit?” confident that the sign had brought me to a place where I could communicate my complicated and specialized styling needs in English. After all, this is the Holy Land where Samson had one of the worst hair days on record. It wasn’t enough for Baruch to say, in Hebrew, that he does not speak English, but his partner made it a duet. I couldn't bring myself to turn back at this point, however. After all, it was only a haircut. As I sat in the chair, Baruch did say, “short?” The customer in the next chair, then added, “you want short?” so I thought “let the trimming begin.” What a craftsman. First he went to work with sheers, then an electric razor for trimming, and then a thinning sheers. He pulled a piece of cotton from a metal container, dipped it in a shaving solution, brushed the hairline around the ears and on the back of the neck and with a flourish, through the small cotton ball onto the apron covering me. He used a straight-edged blade to finish the hairlines and then took another cotton ball, this time dipped in alcohol to clean the lines he had just shaved. With the same flare, this cotton ball ended up on the apron. Then he took a straight razor and went over the remaining hair to make sure that there were no straggling ends or misplaced strands. The performance ended with a large brush to remove any clippings from my neck and shoulders.
After he handed me the mirror, not one of those wimpy hand mirrors, but a 1 ft by 2 ft mirror that could go on a wall, I exclaimed, “metzuyan, yofi” (excellent, great), to which Baruch, delighted by my Hebrew, rambled in Hebrew about why did I say that I could not speak Hebrew! I also now know the Hebrew words for short, medium, and long, not bad for 60 shekels.
“Atah midaber Anglit?” confident that the sign had brought me to a place where I could communicate my complicated and specialized styling needs in English. After all, this is the Holy Land where Samson had one of the worst hair days on record. It wasn’t enough for Baruch to say, in Hebrew, that he does not speak English, but his partner made it a duet. I couldn't bring myself to turn back at this point, however. After all, it was only a haircut. As I sat in the chair, Baruch did say, “short?” The customer in the next chair, then added, “you want short?” so I thought “let the trimming begin.” What a craftsman. First he went to work with sheers, then an electric razor for trimming, and then a thinning sheers. He pulled a piece of cotton from a metal container, dipped it in a shaving solution, brushed the hairline around the ears and on the back of the neck and with a flourish, through the small cotton ball onto the apron covering me. He used a straight-edged blade to finish the hairlines and then took another cotton ball, this time dipped in alcohol to clean the lines he had just shaved. With the same flare, this cotton ball ended up on the apron. Then he took a straight razor and went over the remaining hair to make sure that there were no straggling ends or misplaced strands. The performance ended with a large brush to remove any clippings from my neck and shoulders.
After he handed me the mirror, not one of those wimpy hand mirrors, but a 1 ft by 2 ft mirror that could go on a wall, I exclaimed, “metzuyan, yofi” (excellent, great), to which Baruch, delighted by my Hebrew, rambled in Hebrew about why did I say that I could not speak Hebrew! I also now know the Hebrew words for short, medium, and long, not bad for 60 shekels.
Matzlichah (To Succeed)
April 1, 2009
I walked to Assuta Hospital on Rehov Jabotinsky in order to have some routine laboratory work done. I have not spent much time on the Israeli health system, so this is not an explanation or analysis. I do not even know the history of this hospital or how it relates to the system. That said, the hospital looks like a group of houses or small buildings that have been connected by walkways, some covered, others not. Some of the corridors linking wards on the second or third floors are also open. The setting was a distinct contrast to the modern, glass and steel, Tel Aviv Medical Center. The guard at the main entrance directed me through the main courtyard to section 5, first floor (not the ground floor). The yard was a lush, vibrant array of foliage—flowers in bloom with the ever-changing spring season, trees, and a small lawn. Patients, in hospital garb, were sitting on benches, many, interestingly enough, smoking, but other than that the ambiance of this garden was calming and healing. There was nobody waiting in the lab, so I walked to the desk and was relieved that the clerk spoke English. Not only did I want some reassurance that I was in the right place and that these tests could be done, but it turned out that they “needed” my passport number, an interaction that was better conducted in English.
We have not yet been able to figure out the passport routine in Israel. Everybody is supposed to carry an ID card, so for foreigners this would be a passport. Nevertheless, the constant vigilance needed so as not to lose a passport, through carelessness or theft, when carrying it around on a daily basis would be enervating, so we leave them at home. Today was only the second time that I have been asked for my passport in a non-governmental setting, the other at security at the university train station. Fortunately, Linda was at home to read me the number over the phone. If you are wondering how the clerk knew that the number I gave her was indeed my number, so was I. I think this was another example of the concept of “matzlichah” (to succeed) or the idea that there is give and take, you try to get what you want, I try to get what I want and at some point one or the other succeeds or perhaps both feel they have succeeded.
I walked through the door to blood drawing room number 1 and a woman my age, dressed in a white lab coat, followed me in with welcoming gestures. I offered my usual, “at midaberet Ivrit?” (Do you speak Hebrew?) to which she smiled and in Hebrew responded at length, concluding with, (in English) “you speak English better than me. What we need is a language that everybody can speak.” “How about music,” I asked. To this her friendly demeanor expanded with a huge smile, shaking of her head as she said, “this is what my husband says. He loves music. What kind of music do you like?”
“I enjoy classical music.”
“He also. He plays very loud.”
“There is a lot of classical music in Tel Aviv,” I added.
“Yes, there is also much other music,” she laughed, referring to the hop-hop, rap, and others that are even more foreign to me.
“Chag Sameach (Happy Holiday) and todah rabbah (thank you very much),” I said as I departed for the cashier’s desk near the main entrance. After pausing briefly in the garden--it’s a great garden--I found the cashier’s station. It took only a few minutes to pay my bill and be on my way.
I walked to Assuta Hospital on Rehov Jabotinsky in order to have some routine laboratory work done. I have not spent much time on the Israeli health system, so this is not an explanation or analysis. I do not even know the history of this hospital or how it relates to the system. That said, the hospital looks like a group of houses or small buildings that have been connected by walkways, some covered, others not. Some of the corridors linking wards on the second or third floors are also open. The setting was a distinct contrast to the modern, glass and steel, Tel Aviv Medical Center. The guard at the main entrance directed me through the main courtyard to section 5, first floor (not the ground floor). The yard was a lush, vibrant array of foliage—flowers in bloom with the ever-changing spring season, trees, and a small lawn. Patients, in hospital garb, were sitting on benches, many, interestingly enough, smoking, but other than that the ambiance of this garden was calming and healing. There was nobody waiting in the lab, so I walked to the desk and was relieved that the clerk spoke English. Not only did I want some reassurance that I was in the right place and that these tests could be done, but it turned out that they “needed” my passport number, an interaction that was better conducted in English.
We have not yet been able to figure out the passport routine in Israel. Everybody is supposed to carry an ID card, so for foreigners this would be a passport. Nevertheless, the constant vigilance needed so as not to lose a passport, through carelessness or theft, when carrying it around on a daily basis would be enervating, so we leave them at home. Today was only the second time that I have been asked for my passport in a non-governmental setting, the other at security at the university train station. Fortunately, Linda was at home to read me the number over the phone. If you are wondering how the clerk knew that the number I gave her was indeed my number, so was I. I think this was another example of the concept of “matzlichah” (to succeed) or the idea that there is give and take, you try to get what you want, I try to get what I want and at some point one or the other succeeds or perhaps both feel they have succeeded.
I walked through the door to blood drawing room number 1 and a woman my age, dressed in a white lab coat, followed me in with welcoming gestures. I offered my usual, “at midaberet Ivrit?” (Do you speak Hebrew?) to which she smiled and in Hebrew responded at length, concluding with, (in English) “you speak English better than me. What we need is a language that everybody can speak.” “How about music,” I asked. To this her friendly demeanor expanded with a huge smile, shaking of her head as she said, “this is what my husband says. He loves music. What kind of music do you like?”
“I enjoy classical music.”
“He also. He plays very loud.”
“There is a lot of classical music in Tel Aviv,” I added.
“Yes, there is also much other music,” she laughed, referring to the hop-hop, rap, and others that are even more foreign to me.
“Chag Sameach (Happy Holiday) and todah rabbah (thank you very much),” I said as I departed for the cashier’s desk near the main entrance. After pausing briefly in the garden--it’s a great garden--I found the cashier’s station. It took only a few minutes to pay my bill and be on my way.
You Mean You Didn’t You Get Your Invitation for a Seat at the Table?
March 31, 2009
Only today does Israel have an incoming government, more than six weeks after the election. While a government in name, it’s not at all clear that it will be able to govern. In order to secure the 61 seats that he needs, Netanyahu has created a cabinet with 30 ministers and 7 or 8 deputy ministers, so more than half of the coalition is also in the cabinet! Apparently, they are going to have to find more furniture so that everybody can have a seat at the table when the cabinet meets. Why not just abandon the cabinet and govern directly through the entire Knesset?! With this cabinet, it means that more than half of the coalition will have the equivalent of executive responsibilities, because the separation between the legislative branch (Congress) and the executive branch (President) in the U.S. does not exist in the Israeli governing structure. Of course each of these seats in the cabinet has several costs. The transparent costs are the roughly 2 million NIS required to staff each minister and the promised expenditures on pet programs like Orthodox yeshivah subsidies. The covert costs are the secret agreements on expenditures that Netanyahu has made to recruit enough members to the 61 seats that he needs to be prime minister. Talk about conflicts of interest. The betting has already started on how many days Israel’s 32nd government will stand.
Only today does Israel have an incoming government, more than six weeks after the election. While a government in name, it’s not at all clear that it will be able to govern. In order to secure the 61 seats that he needs, Netanyahu has created a cabinet with 30 ministers and 7 or 8 deputy ministers, so more than half of the coalition is also in the cabinet! Apparently, they are going to have to find more furniture so that everybody can have a seat at the table when the cabinet meets. Why not just abandon the cabinet and govern directly through the entire Knesset?! With this cabinet, it means that more than half of the coalition will have the equivalent of executive responsibilities, because the separation between the legislative branch (Congress) and the executive branch (President) in the U.S. does not exist in the Israeli governing structure. Of course each of these seats in the cabinet has several costs. The transparent costs are the roughly 2 million NIS required to staff each minister and the promised expenditures on pet programs like Orthodox yeshivah subsidies. The covert costs are the secret agreements on expenditures that Netanyahu has made to recruit enough members to the 61 seats that he needs to be prime minister. Talk about conflicts of interest. The betting has already started on how many days Israel’s 32nd government will stand.
Sad, Very Sad
March 29, 2009
Israel experiences too many of the kind of excruciating situations described in today’s Jerusalem Post and a February 20th story from Haaretz.
The Daily Alert news feed reported that “Palestinian authorities disbanded a youth orchestra from Jenin in the West Bank after it played for a group of Holocaust survivors in Israel. Local official Adnan Hindi on Sunday called the Holocaust a "political issue" and accused conductor Wafa Younis, an Israeli Arab woman who helped organize the event, of dragging the children into a political dispute. The concert was held last week at the Holocaust Survivors' Center in Holon as part of "Good Deeds Day," an annual event. Ramzi Fayad, a spokesman for various political factions in Jenin, also condemned the participation of the teenagers in the Holocaust event, saying all the groups were strongly opposed to any form of normalization with Israel.” (Khaled Abu Toameh for the Jerusalem Post)
Another example was reported in Haaretz on February 20 (unfortunately, there does not appear to be an accessible link). Prof. Ali Dogramaci, a member of one of Turkey’s wealthiest and prestigious families, offered $850 million to build a medical campus—children’s hospital, outpatient clinic, a hotel to accommodate Palestinian families, and housing and shops for Jewish, Palestinian and foreign professionals who would staff the facilities—on the Israeli side of the Green Line at the Jalameh crossing. After two years of discussions, including the Prime Minister, senior officials, and ambassadors, the plan has apparently been nixed by the IDF over security concerns.
At some profound, core level, there must be shared interests that go deeper than political appearances and ostensible and admittedly palpable security concerns. If allowed to go forward, these activities—concerts by children, shared medical campus—might actually allow people in this troubled region to realize that what they have in common may be more rewarding and fulfilling than the hatreds that tear them apart.
Israel experiences too many of the kind of excruciating situations described in today’s Jerusalem Post and a February 20th story from Haaretz.
The Daily Alert news feed reported that “Palestinian authorities disbanded a youth orchestra from Jenin in the West Bank after it played for a group of Holocaust survivors in Israel. Local official Adnan Hindi on Sunday called the Holocaust a "political issue" and accused conductor Wafa Younis, an Israeli Arab woman who helped organize the event, of dragging the children into a political dispute. The concert was held last week at the Holocaust Survivors' Center in Holon as part of "Good Deeds Day," an annual event. Ramzi Fayad, a spokesman for various political factions in Jenin, also condemned the participation of the teenagers in the Holocaust event, saying all the groups were strongly opposed to any form of normalization with Israel.” (Khaled Abu Toameh for the Jerusalem Post)
Another example was reported in Haaretz on February 20 (unfortunately, there does not appear to be an accessible link). Prof. Ali Dogramaci, a member of one of Turkey’s wealthiest and prestigious families, offered $850 million to build a medical campus—children’s hospital, outpatient clinic, a hotel to accommodate Palestinian families, and housing and shops for Jewish, Palestinian and foreign professionals who would staff the facilities—on the Israeli side of the Green Line at the Jalameh crossing. After two years of discussions, including the Prime Minister, senior officials, and ambassadors, the plan has apparently been nixed by the IDF over security concerns.
At some profound, core level, there must be shared interests that go deeper than political appearances and ostensible and admittedly palpable security concerns. If allowed to go forward, these activities—concerts by children, shared medical campus—might actually allow people in this troubled region to realize that what they have in common may be more rewarding and fulfilling than the hatreds that tear them apart.
Blessings
March 28, 2009
In Judaism, there are blessings upon blessings to underscore our intentionality toward the gift of life. There are blessings for shrubs and trees, the fragrance of fruit, plants and herbs, the budding of a fruit tree, and on an on. My previous visits to Israel have been during the summer or fall, with the heat and the dry, hazy, unchanging earth tones. Being in Israel in the spring for the first time allows me to experience the miraculous unfolding of this season, each day is different in color, fragrance, and feel in the air. I came upon this poem by Shin Shalom, an Israeli poet, who was born in Poland in 1904, and died in Israel in 1990.
On the fifteenth of Shevat,
When the spring comes,
An angel descends, ledger in hand.
And enters each bud, each twig, each tree
And all our garden flowers.
From town to town, from village to village
He makes his winged way.
Searching the valleys, inspecting the hills,
Flying over the desert.
And returns to heaven.
And when the ledger will be full
Of trees and blossoms and shrubs,
When the desert is turned into a meadow
And all our land is a watered garden,
The Messiah will appear.
In Judaism, there are blessings upon blessings to underscore our intentionality toward the gift of life. There are blessings for shrubs and trees, the fragrance of fruit, plants and herbs, the budding of a fruit tree, and on an on. My previous visits to Israel have been during the summer or fall, with the heat and the dry, hazy, unchanging earth tones. Being in Israel in the spring for the first time allows me to experience the miraculous unfolding of this season, each day is different in color, fragrance, and feel in the air. I came upon this poem by Shin Shalom, an Israeli poet, who was born in Poland in 1904, and died in Israel in 1990.
On the fifteenth of Shevat,
When the spring comes,
An angel descends, ledger in hand.
And enters each bud, each twig, each tree
And all our garden flowers.
From town to town, from village to village
He makes his winged way.
Searching the valleys, inspecting the hills,
Flying over the desert.
And returns to heaven.
And when the ledger will be full
Of trees and blossoms and shrubs,
When the desert is turned into a meadow
And all our land is a watered garden,
The Messiah will appear.
Leading a Jewish Life
Daniel Pekarsky is in Jerusalem this spring to teach at the Mandel Leadership Institute, so we had the opportunity to catch up over coffee on Emek Refaim. He is the son of Nell Pekarsky z’’l, first cousin to my father and a dear mentor to me on leading and living a Jewish life. I was blessed to spend many magical Shabbats and holidays at her apartment during my 7 years in Chicago. For some reason, when we first arrived in January, I thought Dan, his wife Stephanie and son Zach, might be in Israel. In another one of those uncanny connections, as I was about to write to Dan at his Wisconsin address, I received a broadcast message announcing that they were in Jerusalem. The world does seem to revolve around Jerusalem.
From Emek Refaim, Linda and I headed to the home of Esther and Carmi, who have recently returned to live in Jerusalem after 20 years as neighbors of the Frankels in Los Angeles. I am sure that Linda will have much to say about our warm and welcoming visit to the home of this Orthodox family. Just briefly, the boys, really young men, study in yeshiva. When asked what the next step was, they said that when they get married, they go to a different type of school, because there is so much to learn. It’s not clear if employment is in the picture, a seeming paradox, because Carmi, the father, is a very talented engineer who earned a comfortable income working on digital instruments in LA. Rivital, the only daughter, now nearly 30, did receive training as a teacher and indeed was employed as one, until the birth of her first and now second daughter, Miriam Sarah and Frady.
From Emek Refaim, Linda and I headed to the home of Esther and Carmi, who have recently returned to live in Jerusalem after 20 years as neighbors of the Frankels in Los Angeles. I am sure that Linda will have much to say about our warm and welcoming visit to the home of this Orthodox family. Just briefly, the boys, really young men, study in yeshiva. When asked what the next step was, they said that when they get married, they go to a different type of school, because there is so much to learn. It’s not clear if employment is in the picture, a seeming paradox, because Carmi, the father, is a very talented engineer who earned a comfortable income working on digital instruments in LA. Rivital, the only daughter, now nearly 30, did receive training as a teacher and indeed was employed as one, until the birth of her first and now second daughter, Miriam Sarah and Frady.
Jewish Agency for Israel
March 26, 2009
JAFI was created in 1929 in order to build a Jewish state. The agency basically developed a shadow government during the time of the British mandate after WW I. After the declaration of the State of Israel in 1948, many of the units of the Jewish Agency became the ministries for the new state. The Jewish Agency became the Jewish Agency for Israel. The primary focus of this newly named entity during the early, turbulent years of the state was to manage the absorption of hundreds of thousands of Jews: Holocaust survivors, from the ravages of war-torn Europe, and, Middle Eastern Jews expelled from Israel’s neighbors after independence. Over time, JAFI added Zionist/Israel education--building the idea of Jewish peoplehood with Israel at its center--to its mission, and a broader view of absorption that now includes programs for at-risk children and youth. JAFI is one of the two main partners (the other is the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee) of UJC, which means that these two organizations are the primary recipients of the overseas dollars raised by the annual campaigns of Jewish federations. In 2008, JAFI received about $135 million and JDC about $40 million from the campaign. To put these figures in perspective, some estimate overseas foundation and philanthropic support for Israel to be as high as $1.5 billion, so that the UCJ contributions to these two partners represent a significant, but ultimately a minority fraction, of the dollars flowing into Israeli nonprofits, like the New Israel Fund, Hadassah Medical Center, Orthodox yeshivas and on and on. To add further perspective, the Gross Domestic Product of Israel is upwards of $160 billion, so that the historical context for philanthropic relationships with Israel has changed, indeed transformed, dramatically from that of a poor, struggling nation-building effort, to a middle income country on the threshold of becoming one of the top countries economically and socially.
JAFI, justifiably proud of its fundamental role in establishing the State of Israel and assuring its early survival, faces several challenges that can be summarized into two categories—political and financial. The governance of JAFI seems to be a remnant of its early role. Half of its Board of Directors are representatives of Zionist organizations, such as Hadassah, that clearly played a major in the building of the state. It’s not clear how this composition contributes to effective governance today. In recent years, however, Israeli philanthropists, have joined the Board and are playing a growing role, as they should. A second, and to me troubling, aspect of JAFI’s governance is the official relationship with the government of Israel, such that JAFI is not really an NGO (non-governmental organization) and not really a government ministry. This relationship stems from the early years. This link is further complicated by the fact that the Executive Director of JAFI is approved, if not actually appointed, by the Prime Minister. While it is not supposed to be a political appointment, the most recent Executive Director, Zeev Bielski, stepped down in February after he was elected to the Knesset and the position has remained vacant because of the jockeying that has been going on in the creation of the new government. In history that is shared by individuals across the agency and political spectrum, about 8 years ago when there was serious discussion of necessary major restructuring and cuts in funding for the Jewish Agency, the then Prime Minister, Ariel Sharon, stepped in to prevent those likely productive changes from taking place. Is JAFI a government ministry? Is it a nonprofit organization? The answers to those questions are important to guide strategic thinking about it.
The financial challenges that JAFI faces, in its traditional role as a major UJC partner, stem from globalization. Just as capital, jobs, education and other resources are now part of a global, electronically-linked, complicated nexus, so is the world of fundraising. Donors can learn about needs all over the world and recipient organizations have access to donors all over the world. Many of you are familiar with the moving scene in the movie Exodus when the characters are following the U.N. vote on partition on 1947. People were huddled around short wave radios or telegraph machines; all the information was funneled through very limited distribution sources. It’s a new world. How many of us receive regular emails from Ruth Messenger of the American Jewish World Service, soliciting support? How many contributed electronically to the $600 million that Obama raised for his campaign? In addition to a global “market” both for donors and recipients, donors have become much more strategic in meeting their own interests, in part because of this newly described global capacity for information. Instead of contributing to a pool of funds and accepting that an entity such as the JAFI would make the strategic choices, many donors want to make those choices themselves. Donors have the capacity to create their own partnerships with other donors and with recipient nonprofits/NGOs. As we have each heard in many different contexts, “it’s not our grandmothers’ world any more.” Every organization has to be clear in its mission, effective in communicating that mission, and provide assurance that the needs of individual donors are addressed. Think Netflix as the model for tzedakah! Politics aside, this sentiment is what the New Israel Fund tapped into 30 years ago when it became probably the first entity to challenge the monopoly on fundraising and more importantly allocation of those funds in Israel. This sentiment must have guided Partnership 2000 of the UJC when the national system began to promote partnerships between individual communities in the U.S. and Canada and individual communities in Israel to address needs of mutual interest to the donor and recipient communities. None of this is to say that JAFI and JDC are not important organizations with the potential to enhance the fabric of life in Israel, but there are many, many new neighbors/partners and many ways for them to connect in the fundraising world of the 21st century. In a later post, I am going to address challenges that arise from “globalized” tzedakah.
JAFI was created in 1929 in order to build a Jewish state. The agency basically developed a shadow government during the time of the British mandate after WW I. After the declaration of the State of Israel in 1948, many of the units of the Jewish Agency became the ministries for the new state. The Jewish Agency became the Jewish Agency for Israel. The primary focus of this newly named entity during the early, turbulent years of the state was to manage the absorption of hundreds of thousands of Jews: Holocaust survivors, from the ravages of war-torn Europe, and, Middle Eastern Jews expelled from Israel’s neighbors after independence. Over time, JAFI added Zionist/Israel education--building the idea of Jewish peoplehood with Israel at its center--to its mission, and a broader view of absorption that now includes programs for at-risk children and youth. JAFI is one of the two main partners (the other is the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee) of UJC, which means that these two organizations are the primary recipients of the overseas dollars raised by the annual campaigns of Jewish federations. In 2008, JAFI received about $135 million and JDC about $40 million from the campaign. To put these figures in perspective, some estimate overseas foundation and philanthropic support for Israel to be as high as $1.5 billion, so that the UCJ contributions to these two partners represent a significant, but ultimately a minority fraction, of the dollars flowing into Israeli nonprofits, like the New Israel Fund, Hadassah Medical Center, Orthodox yeshivas and on and on. To add further perspective, the Gross Domestic Product of Israel is upwards of $160 billion, so that the historical context for philanthropic relationships with Israel has changed, indeed transformed, dramatically from that of a poor, struggling nation-building effort, to a middle income country on the threshold of becoming one of the top countries economically and socially.
JAFI, justifiably proud of its fundamental role in establishing the State of Israel and assuring its early survival, faces several challenges that can be summarized into two categories—political and financial. The governance of JAFI seems to be a remnant of its early role. Half of its Board of Directors are representatives of Zionist organizations, such as Hadassah, that clearly played a major in the building of the state. It’s not clear how this composition contributes to effective governance today. In recent years, however, Israeli philanthropists, have joined the Board and are playing a growing role, as they should. A second, and to me troubling, aspect of JAFI’s governance is the official relationship with the government of Israel, such that JAFI is not really an NGO (non-governmental organization) and not really a government ministry. This relationship stems from the early years. This link is further complicated by the fact that the Executive Director of JAFI is approved, if not actually appointed, by the Prime Minister. While it is not supposed to be a political appointment, the most recent Executive Director, Zeev Bielski, stepped down in February after he was elected to the Knesset and the position has remained vacant because of the jockeying that has been going on in the creation of the new government. In history that is shared by individuals across the agency and political spectrum, about 8 years ago when there was serious discussion of necessary major restructuring and cuts in funding for the Jewish Agency, the then Prime Minister, Ariel Sharon, stepped in to prevent those likely productive changes from taking place. Is JAFI a government ministry? Is it a nonprofit organization? The answers to those questions are important to guide strategic thinking about it.
The financial challenges that JAFI faces, in its traditional role as a major UJC partner, stem from globalization. Just as capital, jobs, education and other resources are now part of a global, electronically-linked, complicated nexus, so is the world of fundraising. Donors can learn about needs all over the world and recipient organizations have access to donors all over the world. Many of you are familiar with the moving scene in the movie Exodus when the characters are following the U.N. vote on partition on 1947. People were huddled around short wave radios or telegraph machines; all the information was funneled through very limited distribution sources. It’s a new world. How many of us receive regular emails from Ruth Messenger of the American Jewish World Service, soliciting support? How many contributed electronically to the $600 million that Obama raised for his campaign? In addition to a global “market” both for donors and recipients, donors have become much more strategic in meeting their own interests, in part because of this newly described global capacity for information. Instead of contributing to a pool of funds and accepting that an entity such as the JAFI would make the strategic choices, many donors want to make those choices themselves. Donors have the capacity to create their own partnerships with other donors and with recipient nonprofits/NGOs. As we have each heard in many different contexts, “it’s not our grandmothers’ world any more.” Every organization has to be clear in its mission, effective in communicating that mission, and provide assurance that the needs of individual donors are addressed. Think Netflix as the model for tzedakah! Politics aside, this sentiment is what the New Israel Fund tapped into 30 years ago when it became probably the first entity to challenge the monopoly on fundraising and more importantly allocation of those funds in Israel. This sentiment must have guided Partnership 2000 of the UJC when the national system began to promote partnerships between individual communities in the U.S. and Canada and individual communities in Israel to address needs of mutual interest to the donor and recipient communities. None of this is to say that JAFI and JDC are not important organizations with the potential to enhance the fabric of life in Israel, but there are many, many new neighbors/partners and many ways for them to connect in the fundraising world of the 21st century. In a later post, I am going to address challenges that arise from “globalized” tzedakah.
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