Salute to Israel

Last Sunday was the annual Salute to Israel Parade in New York. Jewish students and others marched up Fifth Avenue amid song, dance, floats and general rejoicing. Forgotten for a moment were all Israel's troubles and all the infighting within the Jewish community here, as we came together k'ish ehad b'lev ehad (well, almost) to celebrate Israel's 62nd birthday.











Friends of the Israel Defense Forces



















Israel to the Rescue - Showcasing humanitarian aid provided by Israel to disaster victims the world over

Hang 'em high - The usual traitors from Neturei Karta were there along with their Arab and leftist camp followers.







I have been at this parade in various capacities almost since its inception. While in high school, I marched either with my school or with Bnei Akiva. In the 1970s the parade was arranged by the American Zionist Youth Foundation, and I was among the college and graduate students serving as volunteer marshals. Later on the American Zionist Youth Foundation dropped its sponsorship in a spat over participation by Beth Simchat Torah, New York's gay and lesbian synagogue. That synagogue remains excluded after Orthodox groups threatened to withdraw if Beth Simchat Torah was there, and sponsorship of the parade passed to an ad hoc "Israel Tribute Committee." After decades of amateurism including groups stepping off hours after their scheduled time, the committee last year hired a professional "event organizer," and everything went off without a hitch. This year the Jewish Community Relations Council (JCRC) took over the parade, and again it was professionally run. I kind of miss the spontaneity of its student-run days, but in today's security and budget climate "fashionably late" is no longer viable. I would like to see Beth Simchat Torah somehow included, perhaps among the other Reform synagogues without being identified as gay and lesbian. We Orthodox always marched with all kinds of avaryanim (transgressors) and never "checked tzitzit;" why should gay Jews be an exception?
May we all live and be well, and may next year's parade be even grander.

A Tale of Two Levi Yitzhaks

Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev - The famous "defense attorney for Israel" who lived in the 18th century and might have been an ancestor of the Lubavitcher Rebbe זצ''ל , whose father bore the same name. One of many stories about him is set on Erev Pesah. He is said to have disguised himself as a merchant, visited a diamond smuggler in the morning and negotiated a deal for the purchase of diamonds. In the afternoon he disguised himself as a beggar and knocked on the door of one Jewish house after another. When the door opened the rabbi would stick his hand out and ask for a piece of bread. The response was always the same: Bread? Have you gone mad? It's afternoon on Erev Pesah and I'm supposed to have bread? After a while, Levi Yitzhak exclaimed: God, look at your children! The Tsar has an army. The Tsar has police. The Tsar has a border patrol. The Tsar says you can't bring diamonds into the country. I can get all the diamonds I want. You have no army, no police, no border patrol. All you have is a few words in your Torah: No hametz in the house after noon on Erev Pesah. Comes the appointed time - and not a crumb can be found in any Jewish home. Does a people like that not deserve to be redeemed?

Levi Yitzhak Rosenbaum - Early 21st century America. Arrested for trafficking in human kidneys, buying them from desperately poor Israelis for $10,000 apiece and flipping them to desperately sick Americans for $160,000. Allegedly caught on tape boasting that he had been doing this for ten years. Causes unparalleled shame and embarrassment to observant Jews and massive hillul Hashem.

The first Levi Yitzhak lived in a culture of poverty and anti-Semitic persecution. The second lives in the wealthiest Jewish community ever, where the law protects our religious practice and we are equal to anyone else in the country. Could it be that for all the material success and religious freedom we have here, our values and priorities are all screwed up?

Runs With the Sun

Several years ago I took an education course in Brooklyn College with the goal of impoving my teaching skills. The professor had each of us pick an "Indian name" on the model of "Dances with Wolves" and explain it to the class. The exercise made me "think outside the box": not all cultures make us prisoners of the names our parents pick for us. Not that I ever had a problem with my Hebrew name, but many of us, girls in particular, are saddled with Yiddish names we would just as soon be rid of. Many such girls, upon reaching adulthood, adopt a Hebrew name. They often encounter opprobrium from the community, and might even experience halakhic problems when documents such as a ketubah or, God forbid, a get, which require the person's name, need to be drawn up. Several Native American cultures require boys about the time of puberty to go off alone on a "vision quest" or journey of self-discovery, and return with the name by which he would thenceforth be known.

I picked as my Indian name, "Runs With the Sun." I explained to the class how I love the feel of the sun on my strong shoulders when I run in summertime, how John Denver's song "Sunshine on My Shoulders Makes Me Happy" resonates powerfully with me. Unlike most runners, I acclimatize to heat easily. The sunshine and the sweat it induces put me in touch with my physical self, a part of my being long neglected in our culture. I feel connected with an earlier time in our history, when we were strong and vital, when we were not ashamed of working in the fields (ve'asafta deganekha), when we were "normal." In these topsy-turvy times men are encouraged to "get in touch with their feminine side." Not me. We've been doing that for far too long. Running with the sun, I am in touch with my essential, robust maleness, and that is when I feel closest to God. And when I finish running and take a shower, well, ha-meivin yavin.







I am RUNS WITH THE SUN - At the Staten Island Half Marathon in 2007













I am reminded of that classroom exercise today because we recited Birkat Ha-hama, the Blessing of the Sun, recited every 28 years. Once in a generation we have the opportunity to thank God for the wonderful gift He gave us in that yellow orb, that medium size star somewhere on the fringes of a mediocre galaxy. How it is just the right distance from earth for life, and ultimately humankind, to flourish. How its light is mostly in that middle portion of the electromagnetic spectrum to be captured by plants and transformed into energy that I can use to make me feel so powerful and energetic. The shorter wavelengths are so energetic that they destroy DNA; the longer ones lack sufficient energy to be used in photosynthesis. Of course, it works the other way around too; living things evolved to make use of the resources that are available. Those of a mystical bent will rhapsodize about the sun being in the exact position it was when God "hung it in the sky" at the beginning of time. There's nothing wrong with mysticism as long as it doesn't ask us to deny observable reality; Rav Kook was a mystic. But this dyed-in-the-wool scientist was always put off by mystical speculation. I prefer to find God in what I can explain, not in what I cannot.

A ritual performed once in a generation inevitably engenders stock taking. Where was I 28 years ago? What have I accomplished in the intervening time? Where do I hope to be 28 years from now? Has our community gotten stronger or weaker? What do the next 28 years hold in store? Last time we recited Birkat Ha-hama, in 1981, Ronald Reagan had just assumed the Presidency. We were experiencing hard times economically, but Reagan assured us that things will be better; he talked of Morning in America. There was no Internet, no personal computers, we typed everything from letters to doctoral theses on electric typewriters and either covered up our mistakes with unsightly white fluid or retyped the whole page. The Cold War was raging; half of Europe was held in slavery to the Soviet Union, and Soviet Jews were not allowed to leave the country (neither was anybody else). Nuclear holocaust topped our list of fears. Reagan called the Soviet Union what it was: an evil empire. He was derided by the liberal press and the "intelligentsia," but calling a spade a spade was the first step in dealing with it. He dedicated his presidency to winning the Cold War, and when he left office the evil empire was teetering. A year later the Berlin Wall would come tumbling down and Eastern Europe would be free. Two years later the Soviet Union itself collapsed. I had gotten married two years prior, in 1979, my children had not been born yet, and I had yet to purchase the home where I now live. I was still working on my Ph.D. in biology. Giants like R. Moshe Feinstein, R. Zvi Yehuda Kook and the Lubavitcher Rebbe were still with us. R. Slifkin was a baby, but "his" ideas were so mainstream that no one bothered writing about them. We did not have all the craziness that plagues our community today. My running times were at their peak and the highlight of my year was the New York City Marathon, when I would tour the five boroughs in a singlet with the Israeli flag across the chest. 28 years and two knee surgeries later, my running times are nowhere near what they used to be. I have to be grateful that, to my doctors' surprise, I am able to run at all. In the community, all sorts of lawlessness run rampant; the thinking seems to be that it's okay to lie, cheat and steal as long as you don't get caught. Young men who work and earn an honest living are Grade B on the marriage market. Relative birth rates over a generation resulted in the haredi lunatic fringe taking over the community and pushing the rest of us to the fringe. An anti-intellectual and anti-scientific mindset became the norm. The community seems to be following senile "leaders" over a precipice, not knowing or caring that their present lifestyle is unsustainable.
What will the future be? Next time we gather for Birkat Ha-hama will be 5797, or 2037 on the civil calendar. Holocaust survivors will have all died out, as will World War II veterans. Germany and Eastern Europe will no longer have living perpetrators; will that change how we view those countries? What new inventions will transform the lives of our children and grandchildren, as computers and the Internet transformed ours? Will I be able to gather with others for the ritual at all? I will be 84 years old if I live that long. Will I be institutionalized, unable to care for myself, eating what others want me to eat, lying in my own filth until others decide to clean me? As a teenager, I saw my father caring for his father who had Alzheimer's disease, and I knew in the marrow of my bones that that kind of life is not for me. I long ago stopped asking for long life when we bentsch Rosh Hodesh, having seen long life turn into a curse. My peregrinations on the planet lead me to believe that many others share that view, though not as much in the frum community. Will science come up with replacements for cartilage and synovial fluid so that we don't lose mobility? Will it come up with a way to stop the loss of muscle mass so we can get old without getting weak? Will my children, now 23 and 26, be married with children of their own, or will they find their fulfillment elsewhere? Will we as a community pull back from the cliff in time, or dwindle into an Amish-like existence, irrelevant to the rest of society and with most of our young dropping out? Will there be a strong "normal" Orthodox or Conservative movement for them to drop into, or will they simply be lost to Judaism? Or will Mashiach have come and redeemed us and the world?

I wish all my readers a happy and kosher Pesah.

We work and they work. . . .

This morning I attended the traditional siyum for firstborn males. We are supposed to fast the day before Pesah in commemmoration of God sparing us when he struck down all Egyptian human and animal firstborn males in the final plague. Attending a siyum, when a tractate of Talmud is finished, and partaking of the se'udat mitzva, the festive meal marking this happy occasion, absolves us of the obligation to fast.
The rabbinic intern at Kingsway Jewish Center in Brooklyn expounded on the final paragraph in Masekhet Megilla, then read the traditional prayer that says in part: We work and they [those who do not study Torah] work; we work and receive a reward, they work and do not receive a reward. We run and they run; we run to eternal life and they run to the pit. . . .

A while ago I stumbled on a gay-oriented sport site featuring a photo they call "Leather Fighter." Brooklyn has its own favorite son, boxer Dmitry Salita, who happens to be an observant Jew. He davens in a Habad shul in the Midwood section. He refuses to fight on Shabbat, forfeiting paydays from popular Friday night fights. As he puts it, "Anyone who wants a whupping from me has to wait till after sundown [on Saturday]."









Dmitry may look like a wimpy Jewish kid, but don't mess with him. His right arm is naturally strong. His left is fortified with tefilin.









Salita pursues an opponent that he has
cornered up against the ropes


We wear black leather and they wear black leather. . . .

Ashreinu.

Man proposes. . . .

From reading the papers and hearing the news accounts, one gets the impression that we are living in a time of great anxiety regarding the future of Israel. In fact, anxiety has surrounded the State since its inception, with the possible exception of the time immediately following the Six Day War in 1967. When the British were about to leave in 1948, and the surrounding Arab armies were gearing up for war, all the experts advised against declaring independence. There was no way, they said, that the tiny state-to-be could hold out against such overwhelming force. At the insistence of David Ben-Gurion, who would become the State’s first prime minster, independence was declared. As predicted, seven Arab states declared war the following day and invaded the new State of Israel. Again, the experts advised withdrawing to a tight defense line along the coast between Tel-Aviv and Haifa. There was no hope, they said, of the joke of a state granted by the United Nations partition plan prevailing. They were right about the partition borders being a bad joke. They were right about the plans of our enemies, but God and Ben-Gurion had other plans. Every town, every settlement was to be defended. Not only did the State prevail; it expanded. The Etzion Bloc and the Jewish Quarter of the Old City of Jerusalem were lost for nineteen years, but Israel fought its enemies to an armistice on all fronts, an armistice that held for nineteen years while Israel grew economically and absorbed the Jews expelled from Arab countries with little but the clothes on their backs – no sixty-year refugee problem there.

Now the experts are at it again. From the United Nations, Europe, Russia, and President Obama's administration, the voices are unanimous. Israel must negotiate with terrorists irrevocably committed to its destruction. A "two-state solution" is inevitable. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton assures the Arab world that the United States will energetically promote a two-state solution. This is the same Clinton who kissed Mrs. Yassir Arafat after the latter had accused Israel of deliberately infecting Arab children with Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV). Not a word of protest from Mrs. Clinton. The same administration proposes nearly a billion dollars in aid to rebuild Gaza, never mind that the money will go, like all money given to Hamas or the Palestinian Authority, into the pockets of corrupt officials or to bankroll terror attacks.

It should not surprise us that the nations of the world are ready to install a terror state on Israel's border. They foolishly think that by throwing Israel to the wolves they will save themselves. Sacrifice the Little Satan and the terrorists will turn away from the Great Satan. But even among Israelis there is an air of resignation and inevitability. Foreign Minister-designate Avigdor Lieberman of the nationalist Yisrael Beiteinu party supports a "Palestinian" State and, incredibly, is prepared to trade Arab-populated land in pre-1967 Israel to such a state in "exchange" for Israeli settlements beyond the "Green Line."

There is one ray of light illuminating the darkness. Purim (14 Adar) is the yahrzeit of Ha-rav Zvi Yehuda Hakohen Kook זצ''ל, son of the first Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi, Avraham Yitzhak Hakohen Kook. Shortly after I came back from Israel in 1974, I saw a wall poster in Boro Park (!) written by him. It was headed, in big bold Hebrew letters, "Lo taguru," – Do not be afraid. Having graduated Yeshivah of Flatbush, where all Jewish subjects are taught in Hebrew, I drank its contents in thirstily and had no trouble understanding it. The Rav's son proclaimed that none of the "territories" may be given away. Not a grain of sand. Not because it would be strategically foolish, though it would be. Not because our enemies would interpret any "concession" as a sign of weakness and act accordingly, though they would. Eretz Yisrael is God's land and it is assur – forbidden by the Torah – to give any of it to Gentiles once it comes into our possession. We were to proclaim that message to other Jews and to the world – urbi et orbi – unapologetically and without fear. I later learned that the Lubavitcher Rebbe זצ''ל said much the same thing to anyone who would listen. Later still, after studying the philosophy of Rav Kook on my own, I learned of the drasha given by R. Zvi Yehuda on Yom Ha-atzmaut of 5727 (1967), where he lamented the Israeli people's resignation to the loss of so much of Eretz Yisrael. Only three weeks later that drasha would be looked back on in wonder, for on the day after the hag the run-up to the Six Day War began. The Arabs had their plans – drive the Jews into the sea. The world had its plans – sit back and leave Israel to its fate. The entire Jewish world was fearful; Israel would be outmanned and outgunned, as always. But God had His plans. On that day, when the enemies of the Jews had hoped to defeat them, it was turned around, and the Jews defeated their enemies – whenever I read the Megilla and come to that pasuk, I think of 26 Iyar 5727, the first of those fateful days. Wars are supposed to take years; the one in which the United States is currently engaged has been dragging on for eight. This war took all of six days. Mi shama ka-zot – who ever heard of anything like it? When it was over, Israel had quadrupled in size and Hevron, Shekhem, Yeriho, all the places whose absence from the State R. Zvi Yehuda lamented, were in Jewish hands for the first time in 2000 years. The world stood dumbfounded. The Jews had light, joy, gladness and honor – until one faithless government after another squandered what should have been the run-up to the final ge'ula.

So, lo taguru. Do not be afraid. President Obama, Secretary Clinton, the United States, the autocrats in the Kremkin, the Arab oil barons, - what they say does not matter. They only think they're in charge. We are to heed the One who really is in charge. Shine the light of R. Zvi Yehuda Kook first on our own people, then on the world. Let it chase away the darkness. There is no occupation. Eretz Yisrael – all of it – is ours. Irrevocably ours. Not by the generosity of the nations but from the Hand of God. You do not occupy your own territory. You do not annex your own territory. You settle it, build it and make it flourish. The world's two-state solution is really a three-state solution. There already is a "Palestinian" state. It's called Jordan and it sits on 80% of mandatory Palestine. Golda Meir was right; there is room for only one state between the river and the sea, and that state is the Jewish State of Israel. If the Arabs there wish to be citizens of Jordan, that can be worked out. If they want to rename Jordan Palestine, we won't stand in their way. If America wants to pour a billion dollars down a rat hole, let it pour the money on AIG and Citigroup. But Eretz Yisrael is not up for sale, barter or exchange. It is ours and ours forever. We have the Word of God on it, and we can take that to the bank. The banks have been lending money lately on a whole lot less.

Mumbai

You that are sleeping: Wake Up!



The butchers of New York, Washington, London, Madrid, Bali, ad nauseam haven't gone to sleep. They still plot our destruction. And now they added another venue to their butcheries - Mumbai. They were not Islamic zealots looking to extirpate idol worship; India has millions of idol-worshiping Hindus but they were not targeted. These butchers, like those before, were Islamic fascists looking for Westerners. Americans, Britons and Israelis, Jews and Christians, were specifically targeted. Hostages were tortured before being killed. And we blithely go our merry way.

Mumbai was not the work of an amateur, or even a group of amateurs. It consisted of at least ten separate but coordinated and meticulously well-planned attacks. The terrorists knew their way around the hotels better than the security forces did. Plots like these are not hatched overnight. Over seven years after 9/11, and still Western intelligence had no inkling of the plot in time to stop it. What in blazes is the matter with us?

The just-concluded election campaign provided us with a perfect opportunity to hold both candidates' feet to the fire on what they intend to do about terrorism, but they did not address the issue adequately and we did not make them. So now I have this to say to the President-elect:

The barbarians are at the gates. We don't give a hoot about General Motors. If it can't make cars that Americans want to buy and turn a profit, let it go under. That's how free markets work. Ditto with Citigroup. Enough taxpayers' money down the drain. Tell us how you propose to deal with the barbarians.

Of walls in Berlin and down Eastern Parkway

One evening in November 1989, my wife asked me to come to the TV; the Berlin Wall was being torn down. For those who don't remember the Cold War, the Communists ym"sh in 1961 erected a wall to keep their miserable slaves in East Berlin from escaping to freedom in West Berlin. That wall, and a Soviet ultimatum to evacuate West Berlin, presented President Kennedy with his first major foreign policy crisis; see here. The wall became the quintessential symbol of evil, Godless Communism, the struggle against which was the defining reality of my generation. I was certain that my wife was pulling my leg; the Berlin Wall would not come down, nor would Communism be conquered, in our lifetime, perhaps not until Mashiah comes. How wrong I was. Euphoric young Germans on both sides joyously tore down that wall with little but chisels and their bare hands. Soon, Communism in Europe would be kaput, and Soviet Jews, for whom we had struggled mightily from the 1960s through the '80s, would pour out of their erstwhile prison to new lives in Israel and the U.S.A.


Being a runner, I trained often in the Brooklyn neighborhood of Crown Heights, shared by Lubavitcher Hasidim and African-Americans. Running down Eastern Parkway, I could not help but notice an invisible wall running the length of the broad avenue in the area where the Jews live. While African-Americans lived on both sides of the divide and crossed it freely, almost all of the Hasidim lived on the south side of Eastern Parkway and hardly ever crossed it northward. It was as if a Berlin Wall ran right down Eastern Parkway; anything north of the Wall was not Crown Heights but Bedford-Stuyvesant, where no Jew who valued his life dared set foot (except for meshugana marathon runners like myself). I often asked myself, if the steel and concrete Berlin Wall, topped with barbed wire, could come down practically overnight, why couldn't an invisible wall down Eastern Parkway come down and all the people there live in peace and enjoy each other's company?

I now work in the area of Crown Heights north of Eastern Parkway and I went out for a run during my lunch hour, as I often do. Running south on Kingston Avenue, I stopped near a large synagogue that had been converted to a church when the Jews left the area and recited Psalm 23 (The Lord is my shepherd. . . . ), and then I noticed a few Hasidim walking north on Kingston Avenue, turning west on Park Place and entering a playground. I too turned onto Park Place to get back to work, and I saw many young Hasidim playing ball and schmoozing on the benches. I flashed a sign and exuberantly shouted out, "Shalom Aleikhem," and they returned "Aleikhem Shalom." A few meters away some black kids were playing ball. It would have been even more beautiful if both groups came together for a high-spirited good time, but hey, Rome wasn't built in a day.