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Holy Word, Holy People: Poems from Jerusalem

By Rabbi Mark Greenspan

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Holy Words, Holy Land, Holy People What makes Israel special and holy for me is the combination of language, land, and people. As I wander the streets of Jerusalem and travel about the land, I find myself breathing in the vibrant culture and reading everything I can: billboard advertisements, the names of stores, poster announcing various gatherings (and even the occasional death) and even the words on the side of a passing truck. They are all holy for me as are the people who converse in this sacred language. Nothing is more sacred than the babble of a preschooler talking to her parents. I don’t always understand them but the sounds of the words give me hope and inspire wonder. Prayer becomes life and life become prayer wherever I go, and I find myself quietly uttering the words that I see with each new vision. For me, one of the most sacred places in the land of Israel is not the Western Wall but the home of Eliezer Ben Yehudah, the father of Modern Hebrew, on Ethiopia Street just off in downtown Jerusalem. Ben Yehudah singlehandedly turned the language of the Bible, the prayer book and the sages into a modern language, creating the first Modern Hebrew dictionary and raising the first Hebrew speaking child. These poems are a picture album of my recent stay in Israel. They are dedicated to Ben Yehudah. I continue to be a student of Hebrew, using my time in Jerusalem to immerse myself in the language of my tradition, even though my natural language of discourse is English. It is easy to become overwhelmed by the challenges of a modern Jewish homeland – too often we overlook the daily miracles of life in Israel and what has been accomplished over the past sixty three years. I am sending these poems out on the eve of Tisha B’Av as a reminder that we should celebrate the miracles of a modern homeland and not mourn the destruction of our Temple two millennia ago. Mark Greenspan

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Rimon1 Across the street From our Jerusalem home A pomegranate tree grows, On a corner busy with the Come-and-go life of Jerusalem. Its fruit is small and green, Crowned with royalty To remind me that we are in David’s city. This fruit will continue growing while I’m here. But I will not be present to witness its full glory, Or to pick its fruit And count its seeds Like the stars in the sky. 1

Rimon – Pomegranate. It is one of the seven fruits on the land of Israel (Deuteronomy ). According to Jewish tradition, a pomegranate has 613 commandments, like the number of commandments in the Torah.

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Shomer Yisrael2 We stood on line patiently waiting To use the ATM. Just feet away sat a young Hasid, Peyot as long as dreadlocks, And a look suggesting That this was not the life into which he was born. He played soulful music in honor of The approaching Sabbath Queen. Shekels in his guitar case and a sign: “Money for needy families” (maybe him). A door opened. The security guard came out With a glass of water, Uninvited and unrequested, For the fervent artist. He stood attentively beside the young musician As he drank, prefacing his first sip with a blessing. Surely others perform acts of kindness And there are good people everywhere. Some might say that kindness is too often lacking, That we could teach them western manners; 2

Literally “guardian of Israel.” One of the prayers recited as part of the daily morning service begins Guardian of Israel, guard the remnant of Israel, do not allow Israel to disappear, who chant “Shema Yisrael>”

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I beg to differ. This is a place Where even a security guard understands That he is a “guardian of Israel.”

Hatul3 These cats must have followed us out of Egypt. They’re everywhere, Suspiciously staring us down And underfoot As we invade their turf. There is an attitude: Live and let live. They have signed accords With the local residents who Provide them with scraps and leftovers On their balconies. In return, they provide mystery and charm; Just don’t try to pet them.

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Hebrew for cat

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Lashon HaKodesh4 This is a holy language. God created the world with it. It is the language of scholars, The discourse of poets and piety, But I find it on the cereal box I open each morning. It is inscribed on the signposts of my street And on every gate. When I greet strangers with holy words, boker ohr5, And order falafel with the language Of Moses and King David, The boundary between the Sacred and ordinary becomes porous So that I am not sure when I am praying And when I am simply living. I write in the profane language of exile But dream in the holy language of my people. If you want to know, Words make this a holy land.

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Hebrew for Holy language. Hebrew is often referred to as a ‘holy language’ because of its association with the Bible and prayer book. Haredi Jews, ultra-orthodox Jews, choose to speak Yiddish because they believe Hebrew is too holy to be used for mundane secular pursuits. 5 The common response to boker tov, good morning, is boker ohr – morning light!

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Mip’nei Seiva6 It’s a modest little sign That appears in the front of the bus. A reminder of who we are, Who we’re supposed to be. And if you forget , Someone close by will reminder you To vacate your seat for someone older

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In Leviticus 19:32 we find the commandment to honor the elderly mip’nei seivah takum v’hadarta p’nei zaken, v’yaretz mei’elohekha ani adoani, “You shall rise before the white headed and show reverese to the elder; you shall fear your God; I am the Lord.”

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Korban7 Two grave stones stand At the entrance to the museum For Moshe and Meir. They were only boys Burning with idealism. Trapped in the shadow of the Shoah8, Uncertain if our people would have a future. In death, they were one, Brothers who took their lives. Were they a korban or a casualty? Can we judge them? They offend us and Make us proud simultaneously. I look into the chamber Where their lives ended And wonder what I would do, So reasonable and thoughtful In my comfortable world, Living in a world with far too many Who would rather forfeit life than compromise. They fought for survival What would I do?

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Often translated as sacrifice; it is also used for those who sanctify the name of God in martyrdom to their faith. Moshe Barazani and Meir Fienstein, members of Etzel and Lechi, died together on April 27, 1947 in the Jerusalem prison of the mandate after being condemned to death by hanging for their involvement in terrorist activities against the British mandate government. On the evening prior to their execution the two young men ended their own lives with a makeshift grenade after singing Adon Olam and Hatikvah, and embracing one another with the grenade between them. They had planned to use the grenade the following day to kill as many British soldiers along with themselves prior to their execution. When Rabbi Goldman offered to come be with them the next morning (not knowing their plan,) they chose to commit suicide in their cell and not risk injuring the Rabbi. The room in which they died is part of the Museum of the Underground Prisoners in the center of Jerusalem. Barazani and Feinstein are not buried at the Museum but on Mount of Olives. Their original gravestones were moved to the museum after Israel exchanged them for a military grave markers. 8 Shoah is the Hebrew term for the Holocaust.

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Sefer9 Open the book And walk the pages of Jerusalem; Study its words carefully Searching the commentaries for Hidden meaning. Each stone is a word; Each building, a verse; Each chapter, a neighborhood. Generations have written their story Into its text, lovingly, Placing a finger on the word And feeling its mystery. From the street I see apartments weighed down by holy books Not knowing that the real book is alive, Here on the corner.

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Sefer is a book; plural, sefarim.

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Birkat Kohanim10 They stand before the gathering With words of blessing. Like Moses, they’re barefoot Feeling the holy ground beneath them. Like Aaron, their father, they chant Sacred words, borrowed from Scripture, As we hide our eyes in fear and love. Just days ago I stood awe-struck Before a small strip of silver, Carrying the ages, Containing these same words Not knowing whether to hide my eyes Or to offer my own blessing For our age old tradition.

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The Priestly Blessing, taken from Numbers 6:24-26, is part of the daily liturgy in the Jewish tradition. In the land of Israel it is customary to call on those people of priestly decent to recite this passage word by word while the congregation lowers their eyes or covers their heads with their Tallit. The priests raise their hands while reciting the blessing in the same fashion as Mr. Spock of Star Trek fame – who also happens to be a Kohen, a Jew of priestly decent. The priestly blessing is the oldest piece of biblical text found outside the Bible. It was discovered in a burial cave near Jerusalem inscribed on a silver amulet. The item can be seen at the Israel Museum.

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Vitzhnitz11 Here in the City of David People stand in the footsteps of David and Jeremiah. They wade through generations That long ago lived here. Among the many were girls, Beis Yaakov, Dressed in uniforms of maroon and pink, Long sleeved and modest on this warm, warm, day. Their language was not mine Or that of the others who came here. “Where are you from,” we asked. “Vitzhnitz,” they answered. Not Eretz Yisrael or Jerusalem, Or B’nai Brak, where they lived. Vitzhnitz was their spiritual home. And only by chance Were they here, In a land of pioneers and dreamers.

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Vitznitz is the name of a town in the Ukraine and the home of a Hasidic Dynasty which now makes its home in B’nai Brak and Monsey, New York. Beis Yaakov (house of Jacob) is the term commonly used for the schools set up for orthodox girls

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Brit In honor of Naveh Yedidyah Jospe

1 Like Abraham and Sarah, They brought him to the knife Prepared to shed his blood But give him life. So many years later This ancient rite Is no less poignant, Reminding us of promises and hope. 2 We gathered to share Shabbat But there is something more that we witness. There is privilege in our presence this day As we celebrate two covenants, One with time and one in flesh. We’re reminded that we’re more than a family, That joy is measured by the pain we share

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And the history we celebrate. 3 For me, a brit never had such consequences. Standing aside, I let the moyel do his work But here, I’m drawn in To a circle of love and terror As I measure the trajectory of this child’s life. From infancy to his school years To the day he’s inducted into Tzahal To serve our people’s future. 4 Together we sing: “May the One who redeemed Me from misfortune Bless these children May God place His name upon them And the names of our ancestors, Abraham and Isaac, Causing them grow into the multitude In midst of the land. (Genesis 48:16)

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Shekhinah - Shekhunah12 In honor of the residents of Kiryat Shmuel, a neighborhood of central Jerusalem

The Shekhinah dwells in my neighborhood, Not by some ancient wall Inhabited by caftaned men Who question my lineage. It is a neighborhood of apartments and shops Where you can buy flowers At the grocery store on Erev Shabbat. It is the place where the echoes of war Can still be heard – the struggle to create a state. It is a place where the elders Hold court at the local café, Accompanied by caretakers, Telling stories of Israel’s birth. The Shekhinah dwells in my neighborhood. Reb Shmuel Salant accompanied her. He left this world Long before his neighborhood was born. Here on the hill top, they built her a dwelling place 12

Shekhinah is the term for the feminine aspect of the divine; also the term for God’s imminent presence. It is taken from the root Sh-kh-n which means, “to dwell.” It is also the root of the word shekhunah, neighborhood. In the Torah, Mishkan, also from this root, is the term for the tabernacle, the dwelling place of God.

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And named it for the old rabbi Whose blindness did not dull his vision Of this sacred place. Here, each home is a sanctuary. Every street signs sings Her praise. The Shekhinah dwells in my neighborhood. In the eyes of a child, In the footsteps that lead To work and home again, In the song with which we greet each other, In the synagogues and shtieblakh13 where Some come to sing her praise In pizza stand and the poetry Of daily life, so regular And yet, so holy.

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A Shteibel (plural shtiebelakh) is a Yiddish term for a place used for Jewish prayer. It literally means, a small room.

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Street Signs14 1 Rav Charlap took me to the Holy Ari who led me down Azza and from there To a plethora of parshanim15 From Spain and France and beyond. When I quote them I do so in the present tense. They live in these streets And in the people who walk them. It’s here that pioneers and politicians Rub shoulders with sages and prophets, Waiting for the light to change. 2 There are no street numbers in Jerusalem; No first or second street. Anonymity is not acceptable. Each block has a name Every alley honors the deceased, Every neighborhood, a personality all its own. And there, where I walk, A monument recalls the one Whose life was cut short by terror At that very intersection. The only numbers On the streets of Jerusalem are the dates When parents and lovers make their way to the cemetery 14

The streets of Jerusalem (and in the other cities of Israel) are named after people from ancient and contemporary Jewish history and culture: personalities from the Bible and Talmud, Medieval sages, scholars and historians, and Zionist leaders and heroes. Walking the streets of Jerusalem is a virtual history lesson. 15 Hebrew for commentators; it usually refers to the medieval commentators such as Rashi, Ramban, Rashbam, Ibn Ezra and others. All of them have streets named after them in Rehaviah neighborhood of Western Jerusalem.

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And sigh the Kaddish For one so precious They can never be forgotten. 3 Munbaz and Heleni HaMalkah Are still being honored For their generosity generations ago. They live on in street sign Rather than on Yurtzeit plaques. They stand proudly, not far from Zion square, Righteous Gentiles, in a city full of Jews.

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Tel Aviv and Jerusalem Only sixty four kilometers apart, Jerusalem and Tel Aviv are different worlds. Jerusalem, heavy and cumbersome, Weighed down by history and literature, Its residents more earnest, Peering furtively over their shoulders, Convinced that the Messiah is just behind them. Built of stone, Jerusalem is an Escher print, Leaving its visitors disoriented and confused, Attracting visions and madness. Tel Aviv is built on sand, Into which one can sink one’s feet And bake in the sun on a care free beach. In Jerusalem people dig down Searching for hidden secrets Tel Avivians are constantly building up, Higher and higher, reinventing the future. The air in Tel Aviv is hot and damp, Inviting informality. People live in the moment. Jerusalem is a hamsin Permanently preserving the past, But hiding in a haze. These cities are the stuff of myth, Stories on every corner Of struggle and birth. Jerusalem began on a mountain top With a knife and an altar, A father and a son. It has always been a place Of holiness and horror. Tel Aviv was born on a sand dune,

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With an old-new dream, A desire to become a nation Like all others. Yet this is where the rockets fell.

Who says the Messiah Will descend Mount of Olives, Entering the Golden Gate, Blocked by those fearful That our myths might be, In the end, true? Maybe he’ll descend From the Azrieli Center16 Making his way up Highway One On his way to Jerusalem?

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Azrieli Center is a complex of skyscrapers in Tel Aviv. At the base of the center lies a large shopping mall. The center was originally designed by Israeli-American architect Eli Attia, and after he fell out with the developer of the center David Azrieli, completion of the design was passed on to the Tel Aviv firm of Moore Yaski Sivan Architects. The three sky scrapers are elemental in shape: circular, square and triangular. The buildings are found next to the Ayalon Highway which in turn leads to Highway One that ascends to Jerusalem.

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Menachem Av17 There is no comfort in Av As I stand here on the shore Pining for the city I have just left. There, there is no reason To mourn the destruction As the city grows from day to day And people joyously walk the streets of Jerusalem On Shabbat afternoon. But here, where I have chosen A self-imposed exile, I mourn the distance between My soul and my heart.

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Av is the Hebrew month of the year that occurs in the middle of the summer. It is definitely the darkest month of the year when we commemorate the destruction of both the First and the Second Temple as well as other national catastrophes of the Jewish people. The nine days leading up to Tisha B’Av are a time of mourning when Jews refraining from eating meat, attending joyous occasions and listening to music. It is sometimes referred to as Menachem Av, literally “the Comforter of Av,” possibly as a reference to the fact that in this dark and mournful month only God can comfort the Jewish people.