Our chartered van, driven by a Chabadnik with a “The Rebbe is Messiah” sticker on the dashboard, drops us off in a parking lot just south of Kiryat Shmona with access to the Israel National Trail. There are eleven of us total, allowing us to have our own minion out in the middle of the forest, wherever we were. The van drives off and we do our last preparations before hiking off, including last organization of our packs; refilling our water bottles, and eating our bagged pickles. Moshe gathers the gang for the final pep talk, and asks me to do he final send-off.

Hands in the middle, I say. On the count to three, say … I search my mind for a good team name, and I think back to our couple pre-Trip meetings. The question of how many tents to pack came up a few times, with the Pierce brothers preferring not to take the extra weight, myself unsure if I wanted them, but Moshe completely adamant on the matter. Hiking here the previous year, Moshe had run-ins with wild boars, and Moshe hates wild boars. He hates them up, and his zealous anti-boar rhetoric became a running joke. Hands in the middle, I say, On the count to three, Wild Boars. ONE. TWO. THREE … WILD BOARS!

And with that the Wild Boars hit the trails for a 6-day 40k hike through the Galilee, across the North of Israel.

*****

After our first couple hours hiking, and as we scale our first steep up-hill stretch, we find an ideal lunch break location: beautiful hill, shaded, rocks for sitting, etc. Greeting us on the top was a bull, a muscular and stoic bull perched on top a rock, and not shy to moo. A real live cow, in the wild. This is incredible to us; those with cameras (myself included) take pictures preserving in our memories this marvelous beast in his environment. We wouldn’t be so enamored with cows later on.

That lunch, Zvi introduced a tremendous chiddish to the group: Ten-Minute Smoked Tuna. He opened his can of tuna without draining any of the vegetable oil, stacked a few slices of toilet paper over the can, leaving the corners dry and the middle soaked in the oil, and he lit the baby on fire. We watched in awe as the entire can was soon enveloped in flames, wondering if Zvi truly knew what he was doing. He laughed off his doubters, let the fire burn off all the oil, scraped off the thin layer of toilet paper ash, and had himself a delicious hot meal. Each of us packed 3-4 meals worth of tuna, so for future meals we too had ourselves Zvi Specials. Until then, however, we toiled in basic tuna and mayo.

After lunch and Minchah we trek on, and we are able to put in a good couple hours of quality hiking. Soon the day drifts into evening and we continue on the path keeping an eye out for potential camp spots. The immediate terrain will not do as our path takes us through barbed wire fences boxing out cow pastures. We see one cow on our path, and apparently frightened, the cow jumps over the barbed wire to evade us, only his hind leg does not make it over. The cow kicks as hard as he can, but cannot free himself. He kicks harder, and then again, finally breaking out. The cow did not outwardly express any pain, but this is a huge beast and that was mamish barbed wire. We are all a little spooked that we drove a cow to do such a thing.

The cows would have their revenge.

Twenty feet in front of us sat an entire pack of bulls, completely blocking our path and looking very agitated. A chorus of moo’s surround us, only these are not expressionless farmhouse grunts, but rather “we have strength in numbers” territorial grunts, and they are hailing from every direction, communicating with one another, plotting a course of action to deal with us intruders. These white boys will not pass.

What on earth do we do? Moshe thinks we should trek on. Eytan says turn around, but as we look behind, behold two cows are standing on the path, completely boxing us in. There will be no turning around. The cows stare at us unflinchingly and furiously, their huge muscles tensing up. The moo’s drown out everything else.

We compose ourselves. While the cows block our path, there is a dead end path to the right, leading to a jumpable fence into a cow pen. We will go there. Yitz instructs us to be quiet, to walk slowly, and most importantly to stay close together and appear as big as possible together. We move slowly, tepidly, our breaths louder than we’d like. We make it to the gate, and the first of us climbs over, and then the next. The cows follow us, and trap us into this substantially smaller space. Now we really must climb over. One of the guys accidentally knocks over the fence, making it easier to cross, but potentially easier for the cows if they so chose. They ultimately do not, and we walk past many baby cows (potential angry mom cows don’t notice us), hop another fence, and find ourselves on the trail. Baruch Hashem

*****

The Israel National Trail starts all the way in the North along the Lebanon border and runs the entire length of the country, zigzagging all the way South through the Negev desert and down to Eilat. As such, the Trail covers everything from the Forests of the north to the parched Judean Mountains that roast in the desert heat. Some hike the entirety of the trail over the course of several months. We had only six days, yet even within our relatively short distance, we saw all kinds of different terrains.

We would pass through long prairie fields overgrown with golden ragweed and thorny flowers. We walked through dense forests, and through canyons. We threw Frisbee around lush green hills, with Arab sheepherders watching over large flocks.

Our only real objective the first three days is that we knew we had to make it to Meron by Friday afternoon, in time for Shabbat.

*****

Meron

With the permission of the shul, we pitched our tents in a yard next to the shul playground. Part of me had wondered whether we could get invited into a family’s home for Shabbat (this would be easy in Jerusalem), but as we entered the city, it looked more and more like we would be on our own. As far as food was concerned, however, we had a stroke of luck: it happened that in Meron, the Yad Ezra soup kitchen provides Friday night, Saturday afternoon, and Saturday evening Shabbat meals on a monthly basis. We arrived for the Shabbas preceding Rosh Chodesh, so we happened to stumble upon free (and surprisingly high quality) meals for all Shabbas with 400 of our closest Hassidic friends.

Overall, Meron (from my limited perspective of the place) seems to be a place bursting with contradictions. On one hand, it is an ancient city best known for housing the Kevar of Shimon Bar Yochai, the man who redacted the Zohar (or what you might know as Kabbalah) while hiding in a cave from the Romans for 12 years. It is said of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai that he had the same neshama as Moses himself; the former gave the world the hidden Torah while the latter gave over the written and oral Torahs. Yet this ancient sanctuary is just up the hill from what looks like a modern suburban-Phoenix-looking city, with little one-level houses complete with fenced-in front yards and palm trees. The Kevar attracts the most pious of visitors, including throngs of Hassidic and ultra-Orthodox, compared to the modern Zionist residents. Depending where you are in the city, you are either standing in an American-esque modern Israel, or you are in 1800’s Lithuania. There did not seem to be much middle ground.

The tension between modern Meron and the ultra-religious presence rose to the surface during Shabbat dinner at Yad Ezra. The 400-person cafeteria was crowded and hectic, but it was an overall nice meal with lots of singing coming from different parts of the room at any given time. As the evening was ending, a fight broke out in the corner. All the men stood up and crowded around, watching what turned out to be some punk rebellious local teenage gang picking a fight with another. It was hard for me to see over the religious spectators, many of whom stood upon the tables in curiosity to get a better view. We were finished with our meal, so we evacuated; the fight followed us outside. At this point the belligerent temper-throwing teens were in a shouting match with the religious. This was all very disturbing to see. One of the kids threw rocks. Another stormed past with a glass bottle in hand, threatening to strike. When he stormed past me, I had half a mind to tackle him myself before he could do anything truly dire. I saw the look in his face and he was truly exasperated. It was all a very big shame.

I felt it too, though. Davening at the Kevar for Shacharit on Saturday, I found myself in a hot and crowded-to-capacity room, surrounded by men pacing about and bumping into one another. Men wore a dazed look, completely transfixed on the Torah service to the exclusion of basic social decorum. I couldn’t get out soon enough. That service disturbed me on a number of levels. I felt horrible for being so critical towards them, but something inside of me couldn’t handle it and for a fleeting second, I was one of those rebellious teens, lashing out in a rage. Here I am studying in Jerusalem in yeshiva for the year, learning the ins and outs of the Orthodox world, and yet this service could still affect me thus. Is this the world into which I am trying to fit?

Moshe helped me straighten these thoughts out. He told me underneath all my feelings over there was the basic tension that all of us Baal Tshuva feel, navigating between two opposing worlds, worlds in which we simultaneously do and do not completely identify, and striking to seek that perfect balance.

And at that point I appreciated the extent to which us Wild Boars had struck that balance, and it really was beautiful. Here we were, eleven guys experiencing the land of Israel first hand, speaking of Torah as we hiked, wrapping tefillin among cows and wildflowers, praying under open skies on top of the hilltops. Just eleven well-balanced guys hiking the country and searching for truth.

And with that, we left Meron behind.

*****

The Climb

The Sunday we left Meron was to be our last long day of hiking, and it is a beautiful one, albeit challenging. As the end of the day neared, we need to decide where to settle for our last night. Yitz says there is a good campsite ahead, but it’s a bit off the trail. We’re only about thirty minutes away tops; for the first time this trip we’ll be able to set up camp early enough to set up tents and collect fire wood before sun sets. Jamie decides to lead us through a mostly-dried river bed consisting of large round rocks rising above mud and puddles with branches, vines, and chutes creating a complete canopy upon us, and sticking out in our path. It looks like a Vietnam jungle in there.

This is a difficult walk outright, but I am the bearer of a freshly sprained ankle. I don’t know where I hurt it initially, but playing Ultimate Frisbee in hiking boots may not have offered the right ankle support, and I was struggling today. Walking on level ground was more or less fine, but the bulk of the day was climbing up and down large rock formations. It was beautiful, and under most circumstances I would have loved it, but my ankle was too tender to keep pace with everybody. I was laboring hard then, and now all the more so as I am faced with this impossible river walk. They know I’ve been struggling. Why would they take this route?

We walk in this riverbed, trying to balance upon rocks to avoid the water and mud, too focused on not falling to converse and frustration building. I take pleasure in seeing one of the guys in front of me fall as this will validate any future plunges I myself will take, but of course I quickly scorn my thought process. The walk goes on: 10 minutes, 20 minutes, 25, and so on.

Perhaps out of necessity, I have a change of attitude, and I keep telling myself to just take it one step at a time. Just one step at a time. I grab onto branches and use them to brace my steps, for leverage as I maneuver forward, and all the sudden I am truly grateful for that branch hanging just so. One step at a time, one obstacle at a time. Every step is a new maneuver, a new challenge.

At about this point, Jamie (who is all the way in the front) is apparently worried that this river will never end, and daylight is in short supply, so he makes the executive decision to start heading up the canyon walls. As I approach, I look up to see what we are up against and it is daunting: an 800 steep slope higher than the eye can see, full with 8 foot tall thorny plants greeting us at every step. We are losing sunlight by the minute, so there is no choice but to climb, bum ankle and 50 pound pack be damned.

I climb up on all 4’s, clutching at whatever plant reaches my searching palms first with no regard to the thorns that stab. I exert myself completely for 30-60 second stretches, stopping only to catch my breath and gather my bearings before trucking on. When the dirt under my feet gives way, my fistful of thorns keep me standing; I’ll stand, look up to see how much farther to go, and seeing that the horizon is not yet in site, I move forward.

Every step I take is a small miracle. Every branch I clutch, every rock I grab, is a helping hand. Every bit of adrenaline running through me to numb my ankle is an outright blessing. As we soon as see the tops of trees sneaking into our view, we know the end is near, and that our strength will have lasted the whole way through. We scale what must have been a mile high canyon, and we are alive and we are well. We find a spot on top to drop our bags and to lie ourselves down and soak in the moment before its time to move on. I recline on my pack, watch how the lights from a nearby city cast the wild flowers into silhouette and I feel the night winds blow.

Thanks to a quick scouting job by Moshe, Danny, and Alex Pierce, we find vacant farmland close by to pitch our tents and to rest our weary bodies. The night masked the glorious landscape in which we stayed. We woke the following morning to a vast expanse of rolling hills and rocky cliff sides. That, and cows.

*****

If the climb was the climax of the trip, all that we needed to put the icing on the cake was to make it to the Kinneret, the fresh water lake that was to serve as our finish line. We walk through horse farms, banana tree orchards, and a Kibbutz, but we finally made it. The water was freezing.

Mike Zharnest mentions that if you remove all clothes and dip into the water three times, this will serve to remove touma (spiritual impurity). I’m all about removing the touma, as are all the Wild Boars, and so I did so. We spent the day lounging by the water before it was time to catch a bus from Tiberias and fall pass out on the ride back home.

Black relays that he heard a woman once say “If it weren’t for my horse, I wouldn’t have spent that year in college.” He says if you stop and actually think about it, you will have an aneurysm.

My Gemara today is an aneurysm-inducing Gemara.

If man says “Be married to me from now and after 30 days,” and another man comes before 3o days, she is married and not married.

Rav and Shmuel argue on this.

Rav holds that the man was either holding that the man meant the marraige to be conditional after 30 days (“provided that 30 days pass, you will be retroactively married to me from today” … called a Tanai) or a retraction (“I take back what I said about being married to you today. I really want to marry you 30 days from today” … called a Chazara). If the man meant Tanai, and the second man married her, then after 30 days the first marriage will have retroactively taken place and the second never happened; if the man meant Chazara, and the second man married her, then his marriage takes effect. Rav cannot be sure which case was intended with the language “From now and after 30 days,” so it is suffik (in a permanent state of doubt).

Shmuel holds that it can only be a Tanai. The marraige is in a suffik status from the time man #2 marries her through Day 30. Come Day 30, the first marriage takes effect and the second immediately ceases to have ever taken place.

This is all easy enough. Rav and Shmeul both have sources from past sages to support their positions; a similar case was argued between the Chuchumim and Rebbe in the matter of Get (divorce): if a man says to his wife “be divorced from me from today and after my death,” the Chuchumim holds this is a suffik Get and Rebbe says it is a functional Tanai. Fine. Rav and Shmuel can agree to disagree.

Rebbe Yochanon provides the “if it weren’t for my horse…” position.

Comes Rebbe Yochanon and says the case of the marriage “from now and after 30 days” is neither Tanai nor Chazara. Rebbe Yochanon says it is in fact a marriage that takes a full 30 days to enact. On Day 1, 1/30th of her is married, on Day 2, 2/30ths, and so on. If a second man wants to marry her on day 2, only 1/30th of her is married, so he can come in and marry her.

100 men can come in and marry her. Or more.

Rebbe Yochanon describes his position by comparing it to a bricklayer building a wall. A man will not lay one brick directly on top of another, because the row will fall over, and will knock others down, too. He will overlap each brick such that part of each brick is resting on two others. When he does this, he pushes bricks out to the periphery, and creates an empty space for another man to lay bricks. This happens indefinitely, allowing for my bricklayers to lay more bricks. Until the wall is finished, there will always be more empty space to lay more bricks. This is like a 100 men being able to marry a woman before her time-elongated marriage is finalized.

Do not try to understand this. You will have a brain aneurysm.

Just know that if you plan on making kiddushin with a woman, it is best to be concise. And know that the sages describe marriage as a brick wall.

_____

Watch Lewis Black tell over “If it weren’t for my Horse ...”

My roommates and neighbors all knew about this. As they would be getting ready for Shabbos, they would hear me through the walls as I stood on the balcony and wished her a Happy Shabbat loud enough to reach her failing ears. As I would walk back inside, they would ask how Aunt Helen was doing. Surprised, I would ask how they knew with whom I was speaking. They would then mimic my voice, booming “HELLO AUNT HELEN!! …”

On Fridays I called Aunt Helen. I forget when I started, but it was probably a few weeks into my year here. I knew how long her days were; as she lost her mobility, she would still have books, crossword puzzles, emails, and television to keep her occupied, but time robbed her of eyesight recently, too. Calling her is the least I can do, I figured, and though I was inconsistent about it initially, it soon became a part of my Friday evening routine. I would tell her about my week. She would ask if I was coming over for Shabbos. I would tell her that I would try to visit soon. She would tell me she’s glad I am enjoying the year, and would thank me for calling.

It’s Friday today, but I cannot call Aunt Helen today.

Two Fridays ago I was in the middle of a camping trip up north with 11 of the guys. We arrived in Marron, where we would pitch a tent and spend Shabbos. I called Aunt Helens apartment and she didn’t answer. This is unusual, but I could think of reasons for this. I called again 30 minutes later and again, no answer. She is probably downstairs with the Coopers eating dinner, so I will not interrupt again. Being up north, I missed a voicemail from Anita saying that her mother had developed pneumonia and was in the hospital, should I be able to visit.

It would be a full week before I found this out, though. I called Anita the following Friday morning to see if I could return some camping gear I had borrowed for the trip. She said she would be available, and that I would be able to visit Aunt Helen, though she may not be up for it. Anita asked if I had gotten her voicemail and I told her I hadn’t. I soon came over and saw a gravely weakened woman who had trouble breathing, trouble speaking, and trouble staying awake. I was unsure whether she knew I was there.

This was a far cry for the Aunt Helen I got to know again this year. She often complained that she was not the same as she was when I last saw her, and she was ashamed of that, but thank God she still had a sharp mind, and that she did. I would ask her about growing up and she would tell me about her parents, and the store they ran in Depression-era Detroit. She remembered volunteering for the Jewish National Fund, collect tzedukah to go towards a potential Jewish state, and about feeling guilty about not doing more during World War II. She was an art teacher and several times related just how much she loved her students.

Anita bust out dozens of old photos at the Shiva. There were photo albums of Helen as a little girl with her sister Essie (my Grandma); pictures of a young adult Helen with her mother; pictures of her and Irv as a newly wed couple, of birthday parties the two of them held for a young Anita, and of the them visiting an older Anita following her move to Israel. There were pictures of the old house in Syracuse, and some from particular vacations, and entire albums of her entering into grandparenthood.

A few months back I mentioned to Aunt Helen how I had gotten in trouble at the yeshiva for sketching a number of the rabbis during class. She expressed interest in a sketch, and so I drew one up. I thought it would be nice to post that below.

Aunt Helen and Portrait

Aunt Helen and Eric

Several weeks ago Brett mentioned to me there was a man I really ought to call. He described this man who, born Jewish, spent some 20 years as a Guru, meditating for 23-hour-a-day-sessions in Ashrams throughout India for several years before becoming The Central Park Guru of the late 1970s. Over the last 20 plus years, he has become a Frum Jew living in the Old City, and he likes young Yeshiva guys as Shabbat guests. With that, Brett gave me Gil Locks’ number.

I put off calling Gil for several weeks for varying reasons. For example, if it were already midweek, I figured it was probably too late to ask for plans. Or if there was bad weather earlier in the week, I figured it would be a bad week to have to walk an hour and a half back from the Old City to Har Nof. Ultimately though, if I’m being honest with myself, I was probably more intimidated than anything else. This is the Central Park Guru we’re talking.

Plus, Brett did no small part in building up the Guru’s reputation. Brett intimates that the dinner will be intense. Gil sets strict rules for his table. You are only allowed to talk Torah, or Jewish spirituality. All speech and actions must be directed toward this; any unnecessary movements will be chastised. As soon as questions run out, dinner is over and you have to leave.

I mentioned my intentions of calling Gil up to the guys here on few occasions, and sure enough they too had heard stories and half-truths. Dan Menasha is interested, and the two of us make plans to go. I reach Gill on the phone not truly knowing how I expected his voice to sound. He has a muffled voice, and he is very direct.

“OK. Dinner starts at 6:30. Do you know your way around the Old City?”

“No, but I can figure-”

“I live at 24 Chabad. Do you know Chabad Street?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find”

“No. You’ll get lost around the city and turn up an hour late. I start directly at 6:30.”

“OK I’ll-“

“Meet me at the Kotel for Davening. Ask anyone for Gil. They’ll point you my way.”

And it was settled. Dan and take the bus down to the Old City. Despite living the last four months in Jerusalem, its easy to forget precisely where we are: this is the spiritual center of the entire world, behind the Kotel is the spot of the holiest of the holies. This is the cite where Abraham took Isaac to sacrifice him. This is the holiest of the holies, and it is in my backyard. The bus ride is long and completely stuffed; Dan and I try and think of topics to bring up to Gil. After an hour or so we see the walls of the Old City through the windows and for me it is awe-inspiring.

Dan and I walk up to the Kotel, track down some Sidurim, and start asking people for Gil. Sure enough the third guy I asked pointed me his way. The only pictures I had seen of Gil were those of his youthful Guru days, flowing brown beard with long hair tied into a knot on top of his head. Here now is Gil, long white beard, white paises down to his shoulder. He looks like kind, and blends in with everyone else. Dan and I join his minion. The Kotel fills up with dozens of others, and the noise builds upon itself making it difficult to follow the group. As soon as prayer ends Gil tells his guests to follow close behind, that stragglers would be left behind, and with that, he dashes and weaves through the masses.

Five of us in all follow Gil to his apartment and sit down around the table. Gil makes Kaddish, has us wash our hands (Natilas Yadiyum) and before he makes Hamotzi over the bread (this is a no-talking zone) he quips that he, having not yet washed, can say anything he wants without interruption. He then goes into an opening monologue about how every prayer, custom, and action in Judaism has intrinsic meaning and conveys very particular idea. Why two loaves of Challah? Why dip it in salt? Why cut a shallow cut before reciting Hamotzi? He then spots me sitting with my fingers crossed and admonishes me for doing so. There’s a reason for that, too. Gil lays out the rules of the table and they are exactly as they were rumored to be. Only Torah, and nothing else.

The initial topics were across the board: questions of the true nature of the sin in the Garden of Eden; the hallachah of the mamzir (the bastard child who is permitted only to marry another mamzir); the language of particular prayers (what does it mean when we say “asher kidishanu b’mitzvotah”); and so on. Using classical Socratic method, Gil weaved around this collage of questions, disproving every understanding that those of us with “low-functioning brain power” had held.

Gil was neither tranquil nor meditative as a guru might be, but instead cunning and brutally blunt. When one of the fellow guests mentioned that he did not wear tzi tzis when he slept, Gil exploded “why would you do that?”

“My rabbi told me not to.”

“Who told you not to?!? Or he told you you didn’t have to?”

“My rabbi told me not to wear tzi tzis when I go to sleep.”

“I would run away from that rabbi right now! Don’t sleep in your tzi tzis!?!”

For the rest of the night, whenever this particular guest said something displeasing, Gil would torment the guy about the tzi tzis (“this coming from someone who DOESN’T WEAR HIS TZI TZIS TO BED!?!?!?!?”). I on the other hand got off easy. Gil took a liking to me, not so much because I asked articulate questions (they were not particularly articulate at all) but because I was a good guest: I drank a lot of his wine, asked for seconds on his salads and lasagna, and was largely amused by the conversation that so frustrated our No-Tzi-Tzis-in-Bed friend.

Gil knew where he ultimately wanted the conversation to go, and as he surely does every week, he lead the conversation to the complete oneness of G-d. This is Gil’s big sticking point, and the extent to which he holds this is pretty controversial. Quite simply, there is one G-d, and nothing else. If G-d was not everywhere and everything, then he would by definition be limited, which is impossible. One G-d, and nothing else.

Most rabbis would retort “is G-d in the bathroom?” They hold that no, G-d does not dwell in the bathroom, a place of inherent filth and impurity. The Vilna Goan sees this as an inseparable dichotomy of G-d’s nature, but Gil sees this as hogwash. Of course G-d is in the bathroom. If he’s not, then he’s a limited G-d. I don’t want to go in no bathroom where there’s no G-d!

Gil had several other ways of trying to conceptualize his way of thinking:

-If you have a pie cut into pieces, is it the pieces that make up the pie, or the pie that makes up the pieces?

-If you have a cotton shirt, is it cotton made into a shirt, or a shirt made from cotton?

Or how about this gem:

-If all matter is made up of matter, which is made up of molecules flying in 99% empty space, which themselves are made of atoms flying around in 99% empty space, which themselves are made of quartz flying around in 99% empty space, which themselves are made of glutons flying around in 99% empty space, then what do we have here? We see G-d creating the world from nothing in every moment of every day.

At the root of everything, Gil worries that yeshiva students are too focused on technical Halachah issues, too much on the details, and not enough on the spiritual aspects of Judaism. G-d is awesome, Gil feels, and every chance that we get to perform mitzvahs for Him should be seen as a pleasure.

On our way out, Gil handed me a copy of one of his books and thanked us all graciously for coming (Gil acts tough but really is an old softie inside) and insisted we all come again. Dan and I walk back the hour and a half to Har Nof dissecting Gil and his arguments every step of the way.

Enjoy!

Superbowl Monday

When I was deliberating in my decision to go to Israel, I tried hard to find excuses not to go, and one of the major sticking points was how afraid I was to miss entire seasons of the Detroit Pistons and Lions. Of course missing friends and family factored in as well, but somehow I kept returning to the sports I would be missing overseas.  I soon came to my senses, knowing that I could not plan my life around sports teams, and I am quite sure I have made the right choice on that front.  That said, as the Superbowl came rolling around, I knew I needed to watch the game.

Superbowl Monday in Jerusalem was fun. I say Superbowl Monday as the game did not start until 1:15am Israel time. Still, I was determined to watch my first football game in months, as were 7 others of us. To prep for the night I took two naps earlier in the day to stockpile sleep. We went off to Ben Yehuda Street.

I was rooting for Peyton Manning and the Colts, as opposed to the rest of the bar who had jumped on the New Orleans bandwagon. I have as much a soft spot for New Orleans as anyone else, particularly since having volunteered there last Spring, but I am a football fan first and foremost, and watching Peyton “Best QB of our Generation” Manning cement his legacy against such clowns as Reggie Bush and Jeremy Shockey took precedent.

The early going was very animated. I cheered on the Colts impressive first quarter, and ate some crow as the Saints took over from there. As the night moved forward, though, the night became more of an endurance test to stay awake than anything else. Cheers muffled. Guys snook naps during commercials (which were not the hype-up American commercials), and then during stretches of the game; the waitresses would make their rounds less and less frequently; outside, Ben Yehuda Street was growing quieter and more sparse. My resolve was strong, and I watched as the game drew near to a close.

Matt Robins Sneaking One In

Four Good Looking Guys

The final minutes of the game counted down. Manning interception. Last second drives. Fourth and goal, and incomplete pass. The final seconds count down and I wish to see post game celebrations, but as soon as they could, the bar turned all the lights on, the TVs off, and ushered their annoying football fans out as soon as they could. Exhausted, we make our way back to Har Nof to sneak a couple of hours of sleep before Shacharis.

Shesh Besh with Shoshi

Rikki, the Machon Shlomo cook who doubles as our collective Kurdish Grandmother, frequently has her grandchildren hanging around the kitchen area. Most of these children are toddlers, with 2 year old Leetal being a particularly cute visitor. Some of the guys (Andrew, Danny Solganik) are naturals with little children and have developed their own ways to communicate/play/bond. I usually give big waves and give an exaggerated smile, but alas I do not connect with Leetal (or the other little ones) with quite the same success. Shoshi, however, is a different story.

Shoshi!

Shoshi is Rikki’s 7-year old granddaughter. Initially our interactions were limited to me shouting “Shoshi!” and Shoshi hiding behind Rikki, but Shoshi soon figured out that I draw pretty decent portraits, and she soon became my model. This past week I took to teaching Shoshi some Shesh Besh.

A quick aside on Shesh Besh (backgammon). Shesh Besh is rampant at Machon Shlomo. We have two Shesh sets, and every night there will be some heavy competition. I routinely play a good 5 or 6 games a night, which severely restricts my nighttime Gemara learning (sorry to disappoint). I’m not going to lie: I am probably the best player in the entire yeshiva. I dominate the Shesh Besh.

Two of My Victims

I figured it would be fun to teach Shoshi some Shesh Besh, but I underestimated just how hard it would be to explain basic concepts of the game without knowing the Hebrew for “You move Counterclockwise, and I move Clockwise,” or “Double your Pieces up so that I can’t Jump it” or “Doubles means you actually quadruple the Dice.” Instead, my Hebrew is limited to counting from 1-6 and saying “Zeh Poe” (“this here”). Yet by augmenting this Hebrew with a series of hand motions and frequent nodding and shaking of my head, we got the fundamentals down. Shoshi is a bright girl and caught on pretty quickly.

Shoshi won the first game that we completed.

A Mazel Tov and a Farewell

This past Monday we lost a good one. We bid Gary adieu and sent him off in the taxi to the airport. He flew back to Miami, and will be getting married the first week of March.

The past week was filled with Gary-related events. Last Shabbat Gary had a special Kiddush following Saturday morning Shacharis. Tuesday Rikki made a special Steak and (Kosher) Sausage lunch. Thursday night eight of us (including Gary) took a long night-hike to our campsite, struck up the bonfire, barbecued some big time dinner, and pulled out some L’Chaims. This past Saturday was an In-Yeshiva Shabbat, with a homemade Cholent prepared by none other than Gary (and Dan Manasha).

Its sad to see Gary go, but how fantastic it is for him to start the next phase of his life, to start building a home his own. Its funny how much thoughts of marriage and families sparks up in yeshiva, and its not just from studying Kedushin for months at a time. There is something exciting about seeing second year guys sneaking out in suit-and-ties, discreetly making their way to their dates. You see young couples, and young children everywhere, and you see that it is a beautiful life.

I gave Gary a toast during his last Shabbat. I was not as close with him as others at the Yeshiva, and I wasn’t present during many of his moments of great personal growth, but I told him flat out how much I admired him and how excited I was for him. He gave me a big hug and said he would give me a brucha on his wedding day that I would follow in his footsteps in due time.

So best of luck Gary, and enjoy your last group shots at Machon Shlomo.

Group Huddle

Group w/ Gary

Yuriy sat me down a few weeks back and mentioned how he and the other second years have taken note of how well I was doing. He gave me a glorious speech saying how it was time for me to step up and take a leadership role in the Mahcon Shlomo community, how it was time to take the next leap forward. I am all in, I say. Anything I can do to help the Yeshiva. Just give me the chance.

And he put me on Towel Duty.

In truth I was and am very flattered to be held in such high regard, even if it is Towel Duty. There are eight towels (6 bathrooms, 2 kitchens) in the Yeshiva that need to be constantly replaced and cleaned. Its not so bad; replace the towels, say, twice a week, and do 1-2 loads of laundry a week. I can do that.

And I am doing that right now. With load one in the dryer and load two in the washer, I have time to update the last week in Jerusalem.

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Wednesday got hectic during Rabbi Gershenfeld’s Torah sheer. Rabbi Gershenfeld received word that a potential donor wanted to see the yeshiva in 5-10 minutes. This particular donor has a spot on the Forbes Richest Americans list, so reading the blessings that Jacob passes to his sons in Parshas Vayechi had to wait. Those of us wearing sweatshirts and flip-flops ran downstairs to put on button-down shirts and close-toed shoes; those already appropriately dressed ran to straighten up the Beis Midrash. We hurry back to our seats, prepared at any moment to appear deep in discussion should our billionaire guest make an appearance.

It was a false alarm from my perspective. Rabbi Gershenfeld did meet with the donor, as did two of our more impressive students, but he was not to step foot in our classroom.

This was a week that we were already very crunched for time; Sunday was a fast day (Tenth of Tevet, to mourn the following three events: the Translation of the Torah into Greek; the death of Ezra; the Babylonian Siege of the First Temple) and was henceforth a halfday; Thursday was off as part of our New Years vacation. What is generally a 5-day week to learn the week’s parsha was condensed into just 2.

On a positive note, we have officially finished the book of Beresheis (Genesis). Next up: time for Moses to take charge.

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Thursday and Sunday, instead of daytrips, we spent our vacation time playing hours of basketball. Tough games of basketball. Seeing as though my jumpshot and ball-handling skills are completely non-existent, I spend the game banging around in the post and throwing elbows. Then again, nearly all of us buchars (except for Jamie, who dominates out there) are completely unskilled and capable only of banging around and throwing elbows, so we’re pretty evenly matched.

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Saw my first two movies in Israel

Movie One: Avatar

In the evening of the aforementioned Sunday (the Fast day), two of us took a cab out to Talpyot to see Avatar. Talpyot is 45 mins away by cab, and it is the only place in Jerusalem playing the movie. We tried to make the 6:45 showing but it is sold out. The 8:30 showing is almost sold out. We haven’t made it this far to turn around, so we bite the bullet and wait around.

When we enter the theater, it is maybe a 200 person theater … very small. The first trailer they show was for Toy Story 3, but it is dubbed in Hebrew. This is potentially terrifying: maybe Avatar, too, is dubbed in Hebrew. The next trailer subtitled in Hebrew. Avatar could go either way. When Avatar began with glorious English dialogue, it was sweet relief. The one problem: regardless of what language is spoken on the screen, there will only be Hebrew subtitles; hence, when the Na’vi Aliens speak their language, I had to infer what there were saying. This was not hard to do, as underneath the stunning visuals, Avatar really is a very generic and clichéd movie.

Movie Two: A Serious Man

A Serious Man was showing exclusively in the German Colony, so again, a 45 minute drive is required to get out there. Five of us went during Motzei Shabbas (Saturday Night).

Flat out, this movie is a masterpiece. The Coen brothers have been the best in the business for some time now with such movies as Fargo, The Big Lebowski, and No Country for Old Men to their credit. A Serious Man is by far their most personal movie as they recreate their 1970s Jewish Midwestern Suburban upbringing, and they nail it.  The movie is not autobiographical by any stretch, but rather a brilliant and darkly funny retelling of the Book of Job in which the Coen brothers simultaneously explore immense moral dilemmas while exploring their thoughts on Judaism and God. Extremely smart, and also very funny.

Sadly, of the 4 other guys with whom I saw the movie, 2 of them fell asleep for the second half of the movie, and the other 2 simply didn’t connect with the movie on my level. I came home from the movie unable to discuss and revel within the glory of the movie. Rough.

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New Years was low key for us. Some wanted to go out and see Avatar, but I had already done so and was not interested. Instead, New Years was spent around a couple six packs and poker night. I threw the iPod on and forced some bluegrass on the other guys before putting on Bruce Springsteen. Generally New Years is a good excuse to reflect on the past year; this year it means reflecting over the decade. When the 2000s began, I was preparing for my Bar Mitzvah. Ten years later: a college graduate studying in Jerusalem. 2020? Should be interesting.

And on that note, I have towels to do. Til next time …

The word consists of two parts: the word חנו (“We Rest”) and the letters כ and ה, which have the combined numerical value of 25 (each letter has a numerical value such that words and phrases will themselves have numerical value and significance; this is called Gematria). Chanukah begins on the 25^th day of Kislev to commemorate the day on which the Jews defeated the Greeks.

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As a child I always remember the Jewish calendar essentially revolving around Chanukah. Just as the country was celebrating Christmas, the Jews had Chanukah, and while Christmas may have had more television specials, Chanukah more than held its own. On a cultural level, Chanukah is a goldmine: dreidels, gelt, menorahs, latkes … and presents. Eight nights of presents.

To be very honest, the weeks leading up to Chanukah filled me with trepidation in place of the eager anticipation of years past. All the outward benefits of the holiday I had enjoyed (presents, family, dreidels, presents …) were to be lacking; conversely, Chanukah merited mountains of extra davening everyday, for eight days, and whereas I may be in a good place with my personal davening, I am not on a level to outwardly welcome 30-60 minutes of additional prayer on a daily basis.

The yeshiva set up a place in the cafeteria for everybody to light menorahs together, and this promised to be an exciting element of the holiday. At Machon Shlomo, the convention is to use oil menorahs, so the guys uniformly went over to the Yesh Supermarket and picked up 20 sheckel menorahs and a bunch of olive oil. For me, this provided a bit of a comic scene, as I would attempt to bring the bottle of olive oil down to the menorah to pour, but the bottle was too full to bring down to the level of the menorah, so I had to pick the menorah up to pour, but the oil came out too fast, and the little glass oil-receptacles on the menorah were too small … and so on. Night One, and I’m already making a mess.

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On the topic of lighting candles, here was an interesting bit that I learned at the weekly visit to the Kollel*.

*Machon Shlomo partners with a Kollel in Ezras Torah such that every Friday, we get to learn one-on-one with bucharim who get paid to learn at the Kollel.

What is the mitzvah associated with Chanukah, the Gemara asks in Tractate Shabbos. The answer: one man from a household must light one candle each night. The Gemara follows this up with another question: how would one M’Hadrin this mitzvah? This is to say, how would one glorify this mitzvah? If each person within a household would light one candle every night for the duration of the holiday, the overall effect would be that much greater.

And if one wanted to M’Hadrin the mitzvah to even a greater extent? Here, there is a machlokis (argument) in which the Gemara provides two answers.

The House of Hillel holds that the ultimate M’Hadrin of this mitzvah would be to add candles in ascending order every night (1 candle the first day, 2 the second …); the House of Shemai holds that one would have to start with 8 candles on the first day, and take one away each day. Both opinions are equally valid, but in practice, Hillel won out.

To all this I would pose the following question: how is it that the most secular of Jews have come to perform the mitzvah of lighting Chanukah candles in its most glorified form when more basic mitzvahs are frequently disregarded?

Simple answer: it is simply the tradition to do so. Bigger idea: the most glorified form of the mitzvah was the version passed down from generation to generation because of the supreme significance the Jewish victory over the Greeks holds.

The Greeks sought to de-sanctify the Jewish people. They wanted to eradicate (or, in yiddishkeite terminology, “extinguish the light of”) the Torah. They filled the Temple with idols, forced all brides to lay with Greek leaders before consecrating their own marriages. In every capacity of life that Judaism gave a guiding light, the Greeks sought to bring darkness.

That the Jews rebelled against, and defeated, a mightier Greek entity is not simply a military victory. It was nothing short of securing a Jewish future, of re-establishing the covenant between the Jewish people and G-d himself. Hence, everybody who celebrates Chanukah shall celebrate in the most glorified way.

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For me personally, how was Chanukah week different from all other weeks?

Saturday night I walked from Har Nof to the Western Wall, and I paid my respects over there. (I am still amazed … I am in walking distance of the Western Wall)

The yeshiva still held a (nearly) full day of classes every day, but Gemara classes reviewed instead of going over new material, Rabbi Gershenfeld’s class was cut short for candle lighting, and evening tutoring was canceled. It was a laid back week, and so this was a nice change.

Monday night the entire Yeshiva was invited to the home of Rebbetzin Rosenberg, the mother-in-law of both our Rosh Yeshivas (Rabbis Gershenfeld and Auerbach married sisters). What ensued was 30 guys, 5 courses, dozens of niggins (songs) in one room. Fun times all around.

On Tuesday night Rabbi Parker’s daughter got married and his Gemara class was invited to the Chupa. I got to attend only my second wedding, and my first Jewish (let alone Haredi) wedding at that. It was very festive. There was a machetza separating the dancing between men and women. The newly-weds looked truly blissful for the duration of the night.

Thusday night a visit to my cousins, the Coopers, in East Talpyot.

Thursday and Friday, Chanukah fell on Rosh Chodesh, the beginning of the new month. Both Chanukah and Rosh Chodesh require extra prayers and Torah services, leading to the two longest non-Festival days of davening all year.

Now, I suppose the wedding wasn’t specifically a Chanukah event, but nonetheless, it fit in with the week of Simchah.

*****

A fascinating sheer that shows Chanukah within a more divine context, courtesy of Rabbi Auerbach.

The opening lines of the Torah (within Parshas Beresheis) go into detail regarding the creation of the universe. When analyzed on a deeper level, the very plight of the Jewish people is contained within these words, including the experience of the Jews against the Greeks.

As Torah describes, darkness is created before light is formed. The Torah explicitly uses 4 separate words to describe the darkness that sits upon the Earth’s surface (mind you, just one of these words would have sufficed). Several rabbis point out that these 4 words directly coincide (conceptually and chronologically) with the 4 dark periods in Jewish History:

ותוה = Void——————-The Babylonian Exile (Destruction of the First Temple)

The Babylonians wanted primarily to destroy the Jewish Kingdom, but allowed Jewish culture to thrive in Babylonia (The Talmud Bavli was written here). Still, the Jews were removed from the land of Israel: a deep void.

והוב = Chaos————–Attempted Physical Destruction in Persia (The Purim Story)

In the period of the Babylonian Exile, the Jews in Persia where nearly exterminated, a time of immense chaos set off by Haman.

חושך = Darkness———–Attempted Spiritual Destruction by the Greeks (The Chanukah Story)

After the Jews rebuilt the Temple, and some 200 years before the second Temple destruction, they had to deal with the Greek threat. The Greeks did not wish physical harm to the Jews, but rather demanded the Jews extinguish the light of the Torah, that they adopt the Greek Gods, assimilate into the larger Greek people, and essentially cease being Jews.

תהום = Abyss—————The Roman Exile (Destruction of the Second Temple)

The Romans took over Jerusalem, destroyed the Temple, and sent the Jews into worldwide Diaspora. It is considered an abyss as it is by far the most long-lasting of the dark periods. Today, the Jews are still living in the Roman Exile; from the Crusades to the Inquisition through the Pogroms and the Holocaust, this all happened within the Roman Exile.

Amazing that the very plight of the Jewish people is drawn out within the very first chapter of Genesis.

And for those who are counting: What is the 25^th word of the Torah?

אור = Light

*****

And there we go. A week of rest, a week of learning. A week of Simcha. A week of Chanukah.

And the prayers weren’t even so bad after all.

The 4-in-1 Pen. Genius.

The last time I checked, a pen like this was a gimmick that would amuse little children. Let me go on the record that I vouch for the 4-in-1 Pen whole-heartedly.

Before picking my own copy of Tractate Kedushin, I used a loner copy and was unable to write in the margins vocabulary words I did not know, and I fell behind. Upon picking up a copy of my own, I found using a black pen to be too limiting: what if I needed to write in a vocabulary word or a note in between pre-existing notes? It would get too messy and claustrophobic. I was distressed.

The 4-in-1 Pen came to the rescue. At a hefty price of 12 Shekels, it was an investment, but one that has paid off in full. Now I can write in Black, Blue, Red, AND Green. Imagine the possibilities! The 4-in-1 Pen allowed me to turn this:

into this:

Now reading Aramaic is easy! I can’t carry on conversations with Israelis, but I am building up a tremendous vocabulary matters pertaining to Marriage, Maid Servants, and Slaves. Note how the use of the different color ink. The colors stand out, making order out of the chaotic. It’s a beautiful thing.

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Now might be a good time to describe how the Talmud is set up. The Mishnah is the actual oral law that is derived from the Written Torah; the Gemara analyzes the Mishnah in great depth, asking questions, issuing challenges, presenting conflicting opinions, and ultimately resolving all the above in order to gain absolute clarity on terms and ideas. Mishnahs and Gemaras are found in the middle column of a given page.

The columns that face the inside of the book (closer to the binding) are the commentaries of Rashi, the medieval French Rabbi who wrote the consummate commentaries of all of Talmud and Torah. The commentaries to the outer corners of a given page are Tosafos, a series of commentators (which include two of Rashi’s grandchildren).

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This may not have been much of an update, but its the best I get for now. Besides, now you know what a page of Gemara looks like. Stay tuned for more eh.

OK, maybe I am the only one on that level. Regardless, the following exchange took place:

“When did it get so cold?”
“Well it is December …”

December!?! When did that happen?!?

I legitimately have no concept of time when I am here. This first became fully evident when Halloween came and went without almost know realization. Halloween happens to be that holiday that shall not be mentioned as it is a Pagan celebration, and Torah Jews tend not to subscribe to idol worship. Halloween this year fell on a Saturday, and Jerusalem was in full Shabbat-mode. A few of us were playing chess and reading on a park bench outside when someone looked at their watch and noticed the date was the 31st. And that was that.

Thanksgiving crept up on us as well. It was a shame to miss the annual Rosenbloom Thanksgiving dinner, especially when hearing that I was the only of the cousins (most of whom are now spread out across the country) to be absent. However, I had an invitation to join in on an “ex-Patriots Thanksgiving” dinner with my cousins, the Coopers. I skipped out from class, hopped the bus to East Talpyot, Jerusalem, and joined around an entire apartment’s worth of family and family friends eating Turkey, stuffing, and the whole she-bang. The rest of the yeshiva stayed put, and the Yeshiva continued to function.

It’s not just holidays either. When I catch up with friends back home, it is a surreal feeling to hear about Midterms and how the Fall Semester is gearing for the final stretch. I feel as though I was just on campus, and for this academic year to be approaching the halfway point is truly bizarre.

But hey, time moves forward, and I have definitely decided to spend my year embarking on my own personal journey. I would go as far as to say that there is something very refreshing about removing myself from the basic day-to-day world in which I lived, to remove my self from my circumstances for another outlook on life. Last year I was focused on writing papers and making sure I had plans to go out during the weekends; in place of a senior thesis, I devoted much of my time and thoughts to writing a screenplay. In a sense I accomplished much, yet I felt highly unproductive. I received a degree from a prestigious university with little idea what to do with it. In a sense, my college career was nothing more than doing what was laid out for me, and putting up little resistance along the way.

Ultimately this is the biggest reason to spend the year in yeshiva: I have some serious life-evaluation that is long overdue, something that I realistically would not be capable of doing in Farmington Hills, or in Ann Arbor. As I saw it, a year of learning in Jerusalem promised a step in the right direction, and two months in, I feel confident in the decision.

When we first meet Abraham (actually, he is not yet Abraham, but Abram), G-d tells him “Lech Lecha,” (Go for Yourself) to the land of Israel. Specifically, the text writes:

Go for yourself from your land, from your birthplace, and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you.
Genesis 12/1

Lech Lecha. Go for yourself. Abraham is a righteous man and fit for the job G-d has in mind, but when he says “Go for yourself,” he is saying something truly interesting: by embarking on this journey, you yourself will benefit and grow.

The nature of picking up and going to Israel resonates strongly of these opening words of Parshas Lech Lecha. It is difficult to leave “my land, my birthplace, my father’s house” (particularly when Thanksgiving weekend passes through), just as it is bizarre to think that the seasons are changing back home without me realizing it, but this is a year for myself. Lech Lecha.

It’s December now, and for all I know it may already be snowing back in Michigan. Christmas advertisements might occupy store windows and newspaper circulars (that is, if there are still newspapers). The Detroit Lions are ready to call it a season, and students are gearing up for Finals. New years will come in time, and after that, Valentines Day, and so on. All the while, know I’ll be doing my best to keep up with it all.

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As promised, here is a picture of the view behind the Yeshiva. Be sure to click on it to expand it. And what I said above about the gunfire is true, by the way. There is a police firing range within a few miles of our building.

Five of us wake up to make the trip, adrenaline and the morning cold warding off sleepiness. We are the first to arrive at the bus stop; a frail religious woman arrives soon after and asks that we include Asaf Ramon in our prayers. A middle-aged man comes and, upon hearing our conversation, asks that we not support the Egyptian tourist industry (he uses more assertive language than this). It is just the seven of us, and nobody else, awake at this hour.

And around the corner comes the bus we have been waiting for, complete with bullet-proof windows.

We are going to Hebron.

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The parsha (torah portion) Chayei Sarah (Life of Sarah) begins, ironically, with the news of her death:

Sarah’s lifetime was one hundred years, and twenty ears, and seven years; the years of         Sarah’s life. Sarah died in Kiriath-arba which is Hebron in the land of Canaan

With this news, Abraham travels from Beer-Sheba to Hebron to “eulogize … and bewail” Sarah, and ultimately find the suitable burial spot for her.  Abraham goes to the leaders of the city (“The Children of Chet”) who refer him to Ephron. Abraham and Ephron engage in conversations over a particular plot of land with a very specific cave: The Cave of Machpeleh, which consisted of upper and lower floors and was the resting place of Adam and Eve.

The Torah goes into detail regarding the negotiations between Abraham and Ephron: Ephron offers (disingenuously) the field at no cost, Abraham insists on paying (N’Tati Kesef Ha-Shday “I have given the money of the field,” Koch Mi-Meni! “Take from me”). Ephron acquiesces, and then offers an exorbitant price for the fields (400 “large shekalim”). Abraham pays the asking price, and the caves go on to serve as the resting place for all of the Avos  (Patriarchs …  Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Leah. Rachel, who was also married to Jacob, is buried between Jerusalem and Bethlehem).

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In accordance with the reading of Chayei Sarah many Jews travel to Hebron in this week to pray, or to even spend a Shabbat. Built on top of the original Cave of Machpelech is a very large mosque with a section designated as a shul for Jewish visitors. While there are buses that will go year round, such travel really is uncommon; Hebron is an (almost) entirely Arab city, and a violent one at that. To take a bus that drops you off right in front of the compound is easy enough, taking a stroll through the city is highly inadvisable.

Our bus makes a quick (and for me, unexpected) pit stop at Kevar Rachel (“Rachel’s Tomb”) which, as I mentioned, is near Bethlehem. We were given precisely 15 minutes to go inside, pay respects at the Kevar (which is not specifically a tomb, but rather a decorative monument (or Cenotaph) around which a sanctuary is arranged.  Around me, men are deeply entrenched in prayer or psalms, much more than I am capable of.

Kevar Rachel

Back on the bus we have another 30 minutes of driving before reaching Hebron. I fight my impulse to sleep in favor of watching the sun rise over the rocky horizon, mixing shades of orange to the mauve and blue rocky landscape.

We get off the bus to be greeted by a blue sky, a lawn of stark green grass (almost entirely lacking in Jerusalem) and this awesomely large structure. Whereas the city is a hodgepodge of dirty streets and mismatched buildings built into a very beautiful hilly land, the Mosque/Shul/”Enclosure of the Cave of the Patriarchs” is a grand Herodian building made with the same thick Jerusalem Stone that distinguishes the Old City and the Temple Mount.

Inside the scene is much like that from Kevar Rachel, albeit proportionately bigger, with several batei k’nesset (“sanctuaries”) organized around the multiple Kevarim of the respective patriarchs. Each Kevar is ornately colored, looking more like Mexican Dia de la Muerta-type designs than Jewish artifact. Specifically, we took part in Shacharis services outside of Abraham’s Kevar. Interestingly, every one of the Avos except for Isaac is accessible in the Shul; the Arabs, for lack of a better word, shotgunned Isaac for themselves. This makes sense if you think about it: whereas Abraham was a man of Chesed (kindness/giving), Isaac personified strict Din (justice) in his lifetime. While Judaism is rooted in the idea of a G-d who personifies equal parts Chesed and Din, Islam understands Allah as almost entirely Din (you see how Jews and Muslims may have fundamentally different outlooks on life).

Praying near Abraham

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Those Jews who make the (sometimes annual) pilgrimages to Hebron in spite of the Arab threat do so because Hebron is arguably the second holiest site in all Judaism, a sight in which there exists a connection between the spiritual and physical worlds. This spiritual connectivity predates Abraham; he wanted to purchase a burial plot in Hebron because of this connectivity. It was not merely the fact that Adam and Eve are buried here that gives it this holiness; conversely, Adam and Eve wind up here precisely because, as the sages explain, there exists sort of a portal between the physical world and the Gan Eden (the Garden of Eden …  the World to Come).

While I’m all in favor of the spiritual element of all this, I wouldn’t say that was my primary attraction to visiting Hebron. On a surface level, I was probably more excited by the “when else can we ever go to Hebron” angle of it. There’s a thrill in going to Hebron knowing that it’s way too dangerous to go there on just any day.

But there is another element: the purchase of Shday Ephron (the Fields of Ephron) by Abraham plays a large role in the Talmud we have been studying this year. Our tractate of Gemara, Kedushin, covers the Kedushin stage of marriage (some context: under Jewish law, there are two stages of marriage: Kedushin/Arison and N’Suin. Kedushin describes the process by which the man “acquires” the woman into his rashoush, or domain).

In what ways can a man acquire a woman? Through Kesef ($), Shtar (contract), and Biya (relations). How do we know that Kesef works for Kedushin?

Shday Ephron.

During the negotiations, Abraham says “N’Tati Kesef Ha-Shday (I have given the money of the field) Koch Mi-Meni! (Take from me).” Koch Mi-Meni is repetitive; there is very specific meaning behind this seemingly redundant clause.

It turns out that the Gemara uses the above phrase Koch Mi-Meni (in which Koch refers to an acquisition using money) in conjunction with another phrase Key Ekoch Eish Eisha (when a man takes a woman; Ekoch referring to marrying a woman), and by cross-comparing the two usages of the same verb (a process called gevera sheva) to deduce that one of the means by which a man may make kinyon (officially marry) with a woman is by using money to facilitate her transition into his rashoush (domain).

Today, this idea is most commonly seen in the fact that a man presents a woman with a wedding ring, which, by having the value of money, acts as Kesef.  Gemara and Torah and real life coming together … it’s a beautiful thing.

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We davened Shacharis at Hebron, took a long look around, and returned to the bus lest we be stranded in Hebron.  That we davened in the second holiest site in Judaism, that we stood in the very presence of the Patriarchs and the Matriarchs, none of this was lost on me. In my mind, I appreciated just how interesting this place was.

Did I, like some one of my fellow buchars on the trip, feel a heightened level of spirituality by being there? Did I feel as though I was “walking on air.” Regretfully, I was not able to feel anything of the nature. Desiring a spiritual element in everyday life is not sufficient to actually gaining spiritual fulfillment, and Hebron served as a bit of a reminder of just that. Nonetheless, I fell asleep a very content buchar on the busride back to Jerusalem.

Me (eyes closed) and Hebron