Shabbat Shalom, BAI!
This week saw an auspicious marking of Jerusalem Day, the day in June 1967 that saw Tzahal, the Israel Defense Force (IDF) defeat the Jordanian army in bloody battle and reunite the Western and Eastern parts of the city and bring Jewish sovereignty over the Western Wall and the Dome of the Rock, Al Aqsa where the ancient Temple stood until its destruction in 70 CE.
It was a day that transformed the Middle East and the world, and we are all still feeling the reverberations of that event all these decades later. Israel’s conquests in the 1967 war and in particular their conquest of East Jerusalem and the entire West Bank [of the Jordan river], controlled by Jordan since 1948, continues to be a source of unending controversy, heartbreak and the asking of profound question:
What happens when a transcendent event such as this, one that had until June 1967, been uniquely reserved for a “Messianic Era” yet to come, coincides with a real event in history, when the mixing of Religious Judaism with the business of being a Nation State are and continue to be inexorably and irrevocably linked together?
For me, it strikes at the root of what the meaning of the world “Holy” is. Can a city be holy? A land? A people? And if so, how does that change our relationship to that city, land and people? How do others see us? How do we see ourselves?
These are the questions that I continue to wrestle with this week, as some celebrate and rejoice in the reunification of Jerusalem while other mourn and curse this same event. Our prayers challenge us all to endure, to remain resilient, and to never stop hoping, praying and then acting for peace, for, as our daily prayers plead, for a “new light to shine on Zion, Or Hadash Al Tzion Tair”.
My dear friend and BAI’s former Rabbi, Michael Bernstein, posted two poems by the Israeli Poet Laureate, Yehuda Amichai whose poems about Jerusalem captured him and for me, the unique tragic beauty of this city and perhaps of the people who inhabit it, whether they live there or like many of us, hold Jerusalem as a beacon of hope. Rabbi Bernstein’s words and Amichai’s poems are listed below:
Rabbi Bernstein shares:
“I can never think of Jerusalem, at least not about Jerusalem, without the poetry of Yehuda Amichai. Amichai, recognized as a Poet Laureate of the Israeli experience, built one poem on top of another, letting them support each other like the uneven stones of his beloved city.
Jerusalem was for him a port city launching and docking houses of worship like ships with tall masts. Jerusalem spins like a carousel, displays clothing on its lines like flags, reclines like a lover welcoming her suitors.
Each of these and the multitude of images Amichai carved into his Jerusalem stone have in common a desire to find a new crease, to expose a different facet, and make sure nothing fits together too neatly.
The two pieces of Jerusalem, for Amichai are never just a geographical jigsaw puzzle that fits together. And her oneness is never something unbroken. She balances on a knife point as the Hebrew word Echad, One, is also Chad, honed and sharp (“A Touch of Grace”). And she is polyamorous, using different names with different lovers – Yerushalayim, Al Quds, Aelia Capitolina, City of Peace (“Jerusalem 1967”) . And in fact it is Jerusalem’s eternal duality that Amichai celebrates even as he longs to live in a city that is, if not not united, singular (“Why is Jerusalem Always Two”).”
Jerusalem 1967:
The city plays hide-and-seek among her names:
Yerushalayim, al-Quds, Salem, Jeru, Yeru,
Whispering her first name: Yevus, Yevus, Yevus, in the dark.
She weeps with longing: Ælia Capitolina, Ælia, Ælia.
She comes to anyone who calls her at night, alone.
But we know who comes to whom.
העיר משחקת מחבואים בין שמותיה
ירושלים, אל קודס, שלם, ג’רו, ירו,
לוחשת: יבוס, יבוס, יבוס, בחשכה.
בוכה בגעגועים: אליה קפיטולינה, אליה, אליה.
היא באה אל כל אחד הקורא לה
בלילה לבדו. אך אנו יודעים
מי בא אל מי
Touch of Grace
At times Jerusalem is a city of knives,
And even the hopes for peace are sharp enough to slice into
The harsh reality and they become dulled or broken.
The church bells try so hard to ring out calm, round tones,
But they become heavy like a pestle pounding on a mortar,
Heavy, muffled, downtrodding voices. And the cantor
And the muezzin try to sing sweetly
But in the end the sharp wail bursts forth:
O Lord, God of us all, The Lord is One
hone,hone, hone, one
לפעמים ירושלים היא עיר של סכינים
ואפילו התקוות לשלום הן חדות לחתוך במציאות
.הקשה והן נעשות קהות או נשברות
,פעמוני הכנסייה משתדלים כל-כך להשמיע קול רגוע ועגול
,אבל הם נעשים כבדים, כמו עלי שכותש במרגמה
קולות כבדים ועמומים ורומסים. והחזן
והמואזין רוצים להנעים בקולם
:אבל בסוף מתפרצת היללה החדה
,אדוני אלוהי כולנו אדוני אחד
.אחד, חד, חד, חד
Why is Jerusalem Always Two
Why is Jerusalem always a pair, the Upper and the Lower
I want to live in the Jerusalem of the Middle
Without thumping my head on the ceiling
Or hurting my foot on the ground
And why is Jerusalem in the dual form like “pair of hands or feet”
I want to live in just one Jerusal
Because I am not double, I am only I
לָמָּה יְרוּשָלַיִם תָּמִיד שְתַּיִם, שֶל מַעְלָה וְשֶל מַטָּה
וַאֲנִי רוֹצֶה לִחְיוֹת בִּירוּשָלַיִם שֶל אֶמְצַע
בְּלִי לַחְבֹּט אֶת רֹאשִי לְמַעְלָה וּבְלִי לִפְצוֹע אֶת רַגְלַי לְמַטָּה.
וְלָמָּה יְרוּשָלַיִם בְּלָשוֹן זוּגִית כְּמוֹ יָדַיִם וְרַגְלַיִם,
אֲנִי רוֹצֶה לִחְיוֹת רַק בִּירוּשָל אַחַת,
כִּי אֲנִי רַק אֲנִי אֶחָד וְלֹא אנַיםִ
Shabbat Shalom,
Hazzan Harold
