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‘An expanded mind and open heart’

 
 
 

This summer I spent four weeks touring the Balkans with 10 other Jewish students and 11 Palestinians from across the United States through an organization called Abraham's Vision. Serbia, Kosovo, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, and Montenegro were all on the itinerary. The mission of the organization is to bring American Jews and American Palestinians (and some from Palestine who attend universities in the United States) together to compare the conflict that occurred between nations of the former Yugoslavia in the 1990s with the ongoing Israeli-Palestinian conflict.


The group gathered at a children's camp outside Sarajevo. Photos courtesy of Avi Smolen

Nothing could have prepared me for this experience. The countries that I imagined as Third World in fact had electricity, potable water, mass transit, universities, and modern shops. The bullet holes still visible in most buildings, however, betrayed the normality of the environment. Through exploring the war, learning about the ethno-nationalism that was the cause of much of the fighting, we were able to understand these bullet holes. We explored the relation between religion and conflict, as each of the major players in the Balkans is correlated with a religion: Croatia with Catholicism, Serbia with Eastern Orthodoxy, and Bosnia with Islam. Though religion can be a dividing factor, in these mostly secular societies, it was much less of a factor than the nationalism that accompanied identities of Serb, Croat, and Bosniak (the term for Bosnian Muslim). Whether born to Serbian parents in Serbia or Croatia, the child would still have a Serb identity, quite different from the nationalism in the United States, where if you are born here, you are American.

The comparisons that we were able to make between the Balkans and Israel-Palestine were much stronger than I would have imagined. The question arose concerning whether Zionism as a form of nationalism is a destructive force, as nationalism was in the Balkans, and whether Palestinian nationalism is any different. We also explored the question of religion: Is there animosity towards Israel in the Muslim-dominated Arab world because it is a Jewish state, or because it is a state that allegedly oppresses Palestinians?

Between touring tour host cities such as Belgrade, Sarajevo, and Dubrovnik, and speaking with academics and leaders of non-governmental organizations, we had time for discussion about these issues and the many others that arose from those conversations. We spoke about the need for a Jewish state — whether it arose from fears of a second Holocaust and if that was legitimate, or whether it was more of a nationalism steeped in language, culture, and religious practice. We spoke about the use of violence and the word terrorism, a term that can describe the acts of a state and its military as well as those committed by independent fighters. We discussed the role that language plays in the conflict — whether using the Hebrew term Yom Ha'Atzmaut or the Arabic, Nakba, to describe the events leading up to Israel's independence in 1948.

Besides discussing these questions and hearing from local experts, we were also able to explore the meat-heavy cuisine, cigarette-clouded nightlife, and the ease with which proprietors of tourist shops took our money. We explored churches, mosques, and even synagogues, of which there were a surprising number, most of them having been established by Sephardic Jews after the Spanish expulsion in 149'. I also learned that nearly 90 percent of Jews in the Balkans were killed in the Holocaust, a profoundly sad fact that can be felt today when visiting the sparsely attended synagogues of centuries past. Throughout our experiences we learned about culture in the Balkans: Tap water is not served in restaurants, street signs are few and far between, and there is much nostalgia for life under the rule of the "benevolent" dictator Tito. Most striking is the distance at which each ethnic group holds the others. As the conflict in the '90s ended, there was much movement within and between states. Many Serbs left Bosnia for Serbia and many Croats returned to their native land, while within states, members of different ethnic groups split cities and regions — Bosniaks to one side, Serbs to another, as happened in the other former Yugoslavian states. Many of the NGOs we visited were responding to this by working to arrange encounters between ethnic groups, because in such a divided society, it is too easy for one group to become an unknown "other" to a second. Similar projects are under way in Israel and Palestine, as most Israelis and Palestinians never interact with each other.

While discussing these issues and learning about the conditions in the Balkans, we were also able to learn about each other. I heard the Palestinian narrative of oppression and struggle for the first time, and some of my Palestinian counterparts similarly heard my American Jewish narrative of Israel as my homeland and a safe haven. We also learned about each other's religious practices: observing Shabbat, halal and kashrut rules, the structure of a Christian worship service, and the five daily prayers required of Muslims. Most importantly, we learned to remove each other's labels and see each other as human, no matter whether our grandparents were born in Israel, Palestine, Eastern Europe, or elsewhere. As with all good trips, I have returned more confused than when I left, but with an expanded mind and an open heart.

To learn more about Abraham's Vision, go to http://www.abrahamsvision.org

 

 

 
 
 
 
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The street as theater: Footloose in Jerusalem

Street signs in Jerusalem. From "Jerusalem: Step by Step"

I take little for granted when I walk the streets of Jerusalem. Despite frequent visits in years past, the opportunity I shared with my wife and three children a few years back had me regularly taking to the city's famed streets and alleyways. On those many occasions when I crossed the town by foot, I was easily taken in by my surroundings. I could easily find fault in the degree of debris and the sense of discard and wasteful abandon that the public visits upon the capital city's poor pavement. Writ large in the daily dust and dirt is a lack of concern given to environmental care and esthetic issues. Still, I would find a sea of new sights and delights that I navigated and explored with my children en route to their schools each day.

 

What’s in a name?

Getting pregnant was the easy part. Giving birth was simple, too, compared with the onerous task of choosing a name for my yet-to-be-born son.

Like many women, I had picked out my children’s names long before I even met the man I would marry. According to my plan I would have two children: Gabriel, a name I chose because nearly every Gabe I knew was attractive, and Neshama, which means “spirit” or “soul” in Hebrew, because I thought it was beautiful.

 

O Jerusalem

10 months in the holy city

I stare through the window as the taxi tumbles on, swallowing the deserted highways whole, bringing me inches from parting. I stare at the unfolding sky, brighter-than-life stars, not-quite-green trees, whispering to myself, “Remember. Don’t you dare let these images wash away.”

After ten months of study in Israel, I prepare to leave, not knowing when I’ll be back again. As the plane hurtles into the sky, I will these final glimpses of Israel to imprint onto my heart and tide me over until my return to Israel, and ultimately, to Jerusalem.

I set off for Israel in August, accompanied by a year’s supply of toothpaste, American peanut butter, and three-pronged loose-leaf paper. “Are you sure there isn’t anything you can leave behind?” I nodded solemnly at the airport personnel while opening my wallet to pay the three-figure overweight charge.

 

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Tel Aviv at 100: from a shell lottery to a modern city

Tel Aviv is at first glance a city similar to many other metropolitan cities. It is a center for finance and business, a focus of fashion and youth. It has urban poverty in its south and affluent neighborhoods in the north. Yet it has neither the ancient, historical roots of neighboring Yafo/Jaffa or the holiness and mystique of Yerushalayim / Jerusalem. And yet still it has a certain something….

Tel Aviv can trace its roots to April 11, 1909. A housing association, Achuzat Bayit, had been formed in 1906 in order to realize the idea of building a “Jewish garden city” outside the noisy and crowded city of Yafo. Akiva Arieh Weiss was elected chairman of the association and he arranged a lottery with white and grey seashells in order to fairly allocate lots in the new city. The 60 original families met during Pesach 5669 for the shell lottery and the first houses were completed by the end of the year.

 

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10 months in the holy city
image
Nighttime picnic in the forest near Efrat

I stare through the window as the taxi tumbles on, swallowing the deserted highways whole, bringing me inches from parting. I stare at the unfolding sky, brighter-than-life stars, not-quite-green trees, whispering to myself, “Remember. Don’t you dare let these images wash away.”

After ten months of study in Israel, I prepare to leave, not knowing when I’ll be back again. As the plane hurtles into the sky, I will these final glimpses of Israel to imprint onto my heart and tide me over until my return to Israel, and ultimately, to Jerusalem.

I set off for Israel in August, accompanied by a year’s supply of toothpaste, American peanut butter, and three-pronged loose-leaf paper. “Are you sure there isn’t anything you can leave behind?” I nodded solemnly at the airport personnel while opening my wallet to pay the three-figure overweight charge.

 

Fasting at Tisha B’Av can stir hunger for giving

At Tisha B’Av this year, think of fasting as a tzedakah stimulus plan. By observing this day of mourning, by not eating, our hunger can stimulate us to look beyond our own tables. Coming in the middle of summer, amid barbecues, picnics, and trips to the ballpark, the day dedicated each year to the historic loss of Jerusalem and other Jewish calamities can be one of spiritual recovery.

You just need a little change.

For the last couple of years I have partially fasted, not noshing from sundown until noon the next day, skipping breakfast as a kind of warm-up for Yom Kippur, convincing myself it’s the thought that counts.

 
 
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