Rabbi Joel Lehrfield
 
The Rabbi's Study
April, 2002

The edition of this Bulletin falls in the period when we celebrate Israel Independence Day. For me, Israel Independence Day is a supremely religious Holyday. It is, for me, a mark of Hashem's goodness to the Jewish people at its most tragic moment. The fact that it falls so close to Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day) bears witness to the symbolic connection between these two events that mark the fall and the rise of our people.

All of you know that I am a passionate Zionist, and my Zionism is rooted in my understanding of the Tanach. It makes my blood boil when I hear Geraldo Rivera proclaim, on cable news, that he is a committed Zionist who cannot accept these ancient Biblical beliefs. Were it not for these ancient Biblical beliefs, there would be no Zion (Israel) today.
Appropo for most of us, the old 'Life' magazine motto, "a picture is worth a thousand words," is even truer today than it was in the heyday of 'Life's' popularity. I've always felt that one of the few connections that binds Jews today is Israel, and those who have not had the opportunity, will, or desire to visit Israel, miss that passionate connection between themselves and this glorious land. It is for this reason, that I've always suggested that one of the truly life-shaping events we can give our children, is to permit them to spend some time in Israel. I know that what we hear and read is very scary, and we all pray for days of peace when one can walk anywhere in the Holyland without fear. I know how difficult it is for parents to permit their children to travel and study in these times. I also know that it requires courage and faith, and I say to those parents whose children will be traveling to Israel, either as part of a special excursion or over the course of a year's special study program, that the year be well-spent and I pray with them that all return safely.


Two of the young people of the congregation, Matthew Gore, son of Leslie & Michael Gore, and Anna Firfer, daughter of Faina & Michael Firfer, both college students, participated in the "Birthright Israel" program. This is a program aimed at college students who have never been to Israel. Their remarks to me were heartwarming, and I hope they will be for you, too.
ANNA FIRFER
 
This December I went to Israel, where my heart lies, my home. I went to Israel with the Birthright Israel Hillel trip. I left Chicago with six other people who were on the trip with me. The seven of us had two things in common, we are Jewish and we all felt like we were going home. Which we found to be true when we got off the plane, all of us had tears in our eyes of happiness. The second that I stepped on to the ground in Israel, I had a warm feeling come over me and the most comfortable feeling in my heart.

The first place I stayed at in Israel was in the Golan Heights. The Golan Heights are one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen in my life. When looking at the Golan Heights for the first time, I started to say to my roommate, "that's why I know…" as she finished for me, "there is a G-d, what else can make something so beautiful." Being in Israel there was a feeling of a higher power with me at all times that I never felt anywhere else. I traveled all over northern Israel and then we went to Jerusalem.

In Jerusalem, the presence of G-d was in my heart and the most comfortable feeling of belonging was upon me and I knew that's where I belonged. Jerusalem is the most beautiful city in the world and I felt at home there. But the most 'at home' and truly happy I felt was at the Kotel. I was not the only one who felt this way. At the Kotel the whole Hillel group that I was with felt the same way. We all felt a closeness to G-d and we all had tears of happiness. I loved being in Jerusalem. In Jerusalem I felt the most safe and truly at home. But I only got to travel in Jerusalem for three days, then I traveled to southern Israel.
In southern Israel, I got to see Masada and the Dead Sea, which was so much fun; then I went to Tel Aviv. In the Independence Hall of Tel Aviv, the curator told our group, "since you all are Jews, when you stepped into Israel you became Israeli."

Which was the best thing that I heard and I'm glad that I heard it at the end of my trip. For at that point, I didn't want to leave Israel. At that point, what I felt like - my feelings and what I knew to be true all came together, and then I knew that Israel is my true home and where my heart belongs.
MATTHEW GORE
Trying to experience all of Israel in ten days is about as hard as trying to capture the essence of those amazing ten days on paper. But I will do my best.
Before I left on Birthright Israel, I was excited. I was excited to travel, to meet new people, and to get away. But I had no idea what lay in store. A trip to Israel, as I found out, is not a vacation. Whether or not you expect it to be or even want it to be, a trip to Israel is a powerful bombardment of the senses and the soul. From the very beginning, something is different.
The cabin erupted in applause and song when our plane touched down, pulling me out of a ten-hour daze. Quite different from a landing in New York, where the only thing to be heard is some colorful east-coast insult regarding the pilot's landing abilities. The first thing I noticed off the plane was how genuinely happy the Israelis were to see us, not only those in our party, but ones that passed us in the airport and on the street; anywhere, anytime, they would thank us. We didn't understand at first, but after a while it became clear. The fright of the world is hurting them nearly as much as the actions of their neighbors; as they are shot at and bombed, their economy is also being strangled.
While I was being interrogated by the friendly staff of El Al, the man asked me what I looked forward to seeing. Under pressure and on the spot, I couldn't think of anything unique so I said, "the Wall." He said to me, "The Wall? What for? I've been there many times. It's just a big wall!"
It was anything but. At about 11:50 PM, we arrived at the Western Wall of the Second Temple. I was dirty. I was hungry; I was jet lagged, and then suddenly, I was nothing. Basking in the glow of spotlights, the wall captured the stage from all - both all the modern trappings around it and my senses as well. I felt as if I was viewing the Temple in its prime during the twilight of a cool evening. I had expected it to be a powerful sight for the sheer wonder that it still stood, and it was, but that was dwarfed by the spirituality of the place. It was a feeling, hardly describable, that would be surfacing a lot over the next ten days.
The Western Wall is an almost abstract piece of the past. However, Masada is there to be experienced. You can climb it, traverse it, and explore it. So at 4:30 am, we roused ourselves and did just that. I didn't understand why it was necessary to be doing this so early. A sunrise is a sunrise, right? Not on Masada, as I found out. But first there was the whole issue of climbing the mountain. There in the dark of the morning, my initial impulse to run up the mountain quickly faded when I realized it was a …well, a mountain. So I just started trekking at whatever pace the rock would let me, and along we went. And as we climbed, so did the sun, yet still behind the silhouetted mountains of Jordan. With each step, the sky grew brighter, until finally we reached the peak. As the plateau spread out before me, the first sight I saw was the Israeli flag flying in front of the boiling colors of the sunrise. It was a statement to me: this is our land.

Not thirty minutes after we reached the top, the sun launched itself into the sky, and I knew why I was here for its rise. As the sun began to paint the ruins and the surrounding mountains, we explored the compound. It was quite an experience. The hours flew by as we ducked into cisterns, screamed in unison at the nearby mountains to hear it echo back, and sat in the very first synagogue built after the destruction of the second Temple to hear the tale of Masada and discuss what it meant to us.
The snake path up, while famous, was too easy and modern for my taste. The chiseled steps and the wooden planks took away from the adventure I was looking for, but not to worry; I definitely got it on the way down. Instead of going from where we came, we started the trek down from the summit the same way the Romans came up a long, steep hike that completely encircled the mountain. As the hot, January sun of the desert beat down upon our necks, we picked our way down the precarious slope. This was the hike I had been looking for; the only sound louder than the complaints of the least outdoor-inclined group was the roar of a trio of F-16 fighter jets training from a nearby base. We ambled past ancient encampments where Roman soldiers (think: Russell Crowe in full gear) lived as they lay siege, and along the wall they built around the entire mountain to keep anyone from escaping. By the time we reached the base, we were hot, sweaty, and tired. Good thing the Dead Sea was right next door.
The lowest point on Earth. I tried to imagine what that meant as I stood on the shore. Everywhere, in the whole world, was above me. That strange thought was soon cast aside by the even stranger phenomenon of floating in the Dead Sea. I pitied those of our group who decided the water was too cold and didn't come in; I'll take the Dead Sea in January over Lake Michigan in June any day.
There's no way to cap off a day in the desert better, I found, than with a camel ride over its wavy sand dunes. Unless of course, that camel were to belch, roar, for lack of a better term, put its head near you, or even look at you slant-eyed, really, because they are big, nasty animals. On the other hand, a nice, handsome, American steed wouldn't make it half a day in the Negev. I, however, felt right at home. To me the landscape was anything but drab. The chalky yellow of the ground perfectly contrasted the deep blue sky, and I could see the beauty of the desert. Now I understood the Israeli drive to break the ground into submission, and cause life to spring forth.
We left the Negev and headed back north. One night, we stayed at a kibbutz on the Kinneret. Bad weather was called for, and snow, yes, snow, was predicted to fall at just the wrong time to block the road to Tzfat. As foreseen, in the morning we could see a horribly nasty storm approaching. And it was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. That was another thing that struck me about the land of Israel; it is as inspiring a place under a bright blue sky as it is under the meanest of clouds. As if to acknowledge that fact, a rainbow appeared in the midst of the mist. The whole rainbow was there; over the rainbow was no longer a song, just a glance over the shoulder. For the first time ever, I saw both ends of a rainbow. I don't know why that stuck with me, but it added to the surreal look the Kinneret had, shrouded in fog as if it were some mystical isle.
I will end my tale just as our journey did, with a trip to Mount Herzel, the military cemetery. It was cold and at times there was driving rain. Melting snow created puddles to soak our feet and a brisk wind topped it off, chilling us to the bone. I stood there, and thought to myself, there could not be a more appropriate way to experience such a place. As we dragged our hearts past the graves, and heard the stories of a few of those who were buried, the coldness and wetness heightened my senses and gave me a profound and even physical sense of being alive, and how those I stood among were not. Here you could not forget, could not look the other way, could not do anything but know that these people, many of them my age, gave their lives for this land.
Not for abstract ideals, important yet intangible, as our wars are fought now, but for the very ground I stood on, for their homes, for their families, for their friends, for me. I thanked them from the bottom of my heart.
Even with such pain as our last stop, the experience at Mount Herzel did not mar the glow with which the rest of Israel had left me. Rather, it made it all the more meaningful. I wanted to stay longer, a day, a week, forever. When you combine the excitement of travel and culture with a land that has so much meaning and depth to it, it is irresistible. As soon as we got home, violence erupted. You're lucky, my friends said. They couldn't believe I had actually gone ahead and went in the first place; they thought I was insane. And yet, the friends that I made who live in Israel, they don't have that choice. It's their home. And what my friends back home didn't really understand was, it's mine too.

 

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