My Story 43

The new millennium found us isolated, fearful for our own safety as well as the country's, and fairly hopeless. My applications for rabbinic positions around the world were either getting rejections, or simply being ignored. To make matters worse, rockets were now falling in our area on an almost daily basis. Sima's brother had a job that brought him in contact with many powerful American Orthodox rabbis. One of them was Pesach Lerner, the head of the Young Israel movement at that time. He told Lerner of our predicament, and Lerner said that there would be no problem getting me a position in the U.S. He was expecting my call.  My seventeen-year absence from the American scene caused me to be ignorant of much that had transpired in the interim. For reasons I have described elsewhere, Young Israel, which had been founded as a reaction to the "Old World" ways of the Orthodox leadership, (Mordecai Kaplan, the founder of the Reconstructionist movement, had been a founding figure in Young Israel), had, in the meantime, become part of the Right Wing of Orthodoxy. Sima and I both remember  Young Israels without "mechitzot" (partitions between men and women) and Young Israel social dances. Now, Young Israel was completely aligned with a position to the Right of Yeshivah University, and they were vocal in their disdain for the entire Y.U., OU, and RCA stranglehold on Judaism. What's more, by 2000, they were even denying that Young Israel had ever been anything but Right Wing. I had no idea of any of this. I called Lerner. I told him briefly what we were going through. By not being a member of the Rabbinical Council of America (for which one had to either have ordination from Yeshiva University or have some powerful connections), doors were being slammed in my face. He said "Yeah, they're terrible. Don't worry, we have plenty of positions for you. How big a mechitzah do you need?" I was taken aback by the question. Since the 1950s, the mechitzah had become the very symbol of Orthodoxy, separating it from non-Orhtodox forms of Judaism. Moshe Feinstein had even written an opinion that it was a Biblical requirement (though neither in the Bible, Talmud, RAMBAM, or Shulchan Aruch). Others saw it as an ancient custom, whose violation was a sign of slipping away from halachah. My halachic mentors, both Sepharadic and Hungarian, saw the mechitzah-less synagogue as a problem, but not so much of a problem that a good-intentioned rabbi should not seek a position in such a community. In fact, until about 1980, the placement service of the RCA was putting YU graduates in synagogues without mechitzah, both those that identified as Orthodox and those that identified as Conservative. I told Lerner "I don't care about the height of the mechitzah". "What?!?! Then you are a Conservative rabbi! We"ll both pretend this conversation never took place". He quickly hung up on me. I realize that it is not nice to say, but I will go to my grave cursing Pesach Lerner. I will never grace him with the title "Rabbi".We contacted two powerful rabbis, who had both held high positions in the RCA. They were both old and in failing health. One was Sima's family rabbi, and the other, the rabbi who had taken me under his wing in 1971 in Columbus, Ohio. They were both supportive of me, and contacted the then kingpins in the RCA. A meeting was set up with their Israel representative. The representative gave me much valuable information on the current state of American Orthodoxy. Yes, he said, he could find me a position, but it would take at least three years. I told him that I could not wait that long.  He emailed me with two leads, one in Palm Springs, the other in Pawtucket , Rhode Island. I applied to Palm Springs, but never got the courtesy of a reply. I knew a rabbi in Providence, Rhode Island. He informed me that the Pawtucket community had already hired a rabbi. I understood that I was facing a dead end. I consulted major rabbis, who felt that as my back was against the wall, it would be justified to take a non-Orthodox position. I thought this far-fetched, as I was already considered too Right Wing for most Orthodox congregations. As I checked into the idea, I found that it was not as crazy as it sounded. Most Orthodox congregations were trying to maintain a certain set of standards and traditions. Spirituality was not a consideration.  Since the '80s, many fundamental changes had come into Conservatism, which, by 2000, had brought it from the largest of the movements in America, to the smallest. Conservative rabbis were of insufficient numbers, and were priced out of the reach of smaller congregations. Many were hiring Orthodox or Reform rabbis, or even those with bogus credentials. Perhaps I COULD find a place open enough to listen to my message. I began sending resumes. I  lined up four interviews. Sima and I set out on a two-week trip to the States (Sima had not been back since our 1984 move, I had been back only once, for a week, in 1992, visiting my Mother before her death). We knew that our survival hinged on the results of this trip. Tearfully, we embarked. We put our family in the charge of our eldest son, Nachman, who was all of twenty-two. My brother-in-law graciously allowed us to use his home as our base of operation. Our kids back in Shoqeda emailed us messages of encouragement. These two weeks would determine our survival. We prayed, We cried. We hoped. Of the four interviews, one looked promising. It was in Island Park, New York; a small Long Island community. But nothing was definite. We returned to Israel, not sure if salvation was on its way, or whether we had gambled our last money in vain. We got back to Shoqeda two days before the Shavu'ot holiday. Circumstances developed that meant that we had to get out of Israel fast. We would not have the luxury .of a month or two to see how things developed. I was back in the U.S. a week later, Sima came a week after that. As the events of those days are still very painful for me and my family, I will leave out the details. Suffice it to say that everything came caving in on us, and we had to go into an uncertain future.

My Story 42

My total time in Israel was seventeen years; fourteen in Beit El, and three in Shoqeda. Hope had turned to despair, both on a personal and national level. Until moving to Shoqeda, I had never owned a car in Israel; travelling around the country in buses and hitches, which the Israelis call "trempim". Shoqeda, however, was so isolated, that a car was a necessity. Cars are very expensive in Israel. But the Jerusalem Post had been running a series (I can only speculate on who was taking bribes) about a type of car called a "Skoda". They were made in what was then Czechoslovakia. The word "Skoda" in Czech means "smile". In Russian it means "a joke", which was more apropos. They had a bad reputation, but the Post was saying that they are great cars, made since 1990 of Volkswagen parts, for a fraction of the cost of a Volkswagen. I understand that they are now good cars, but the assertion of the Post was false. I had my used Skoda checked and passed by a mechanic, but to no avail. Every time we drove to Jerusalem, the engine head burned out. Expensive repairs were needed every two or three weeks. The money from the sale of our home in Beit El was dwindling fast. I was no longer able to make my monthly trips to Tsfat or Tiberias for prayer at my beloved holy places. Access to Jerusalem was by means of vans, operating illegally as buses. There were two companies running these vans, each trying to put the other out of business. We were frequently stopped by police, which we understood was as a result of bribes from the competing company. As previously mentioned, I was, at that time, working in Jerusalem for a few hours, three days a week. There was a man, somewhat younger than myself, who took the same van at the same time. He was an American Sephardi. His family background was Syrian, while his wife was Egyptian. His name was Joey. A close friendship blossomed between us. We shared our horror stories about life in Israel. He worked at a tourist shop in Jerusalem. He was very upset at the fact that Christian Evangelicals were constantly approaching him, urging him to commit acts of violence against Arabs, in order to hasten the fulfillment of prophecies. He was incensed at the shabby treatment of Sepharadim. He also was angry at Israeli attitudes towards Arabs. He felt that  racism, and a false sense of superiority, permeated Israeli society. Even the Left, which favored a Palestinian State, merely wanted them to live and prosper...in their own country, separate from us. We discussed these issues at length,during our hour and a half commute. I didn't agree with all of his points, but we shared the feeling that Israel was not the place in which we wanted our children to be brought up. Three years later, the day before I left Israel, he said that he needed to talk to me urgently. I told him that I could not, as I was preparing for a speedy exit that night. I will always have feelings of regret and guilt over not being able to speak with him. He was "leaving" through a different route. A few days later, he converted, with his family, to Islam, moved to the Muslim Quarter of Jerusalem, and became active in Hamas. Shortly afterward, he returned to the U.S., and was put in prison for conspiracy to commit terrorism. He is now known as Yusuf Khattab. You can see his hate-filled videos on YouTube.With our funds rapidly dissipating, I saw that we could not remain. I became clinically depressed. We appealed to our regional social services office. We were told that no help would be forthcoming, as we were the richest people in the area. "But I'm down to my last $10,000, and that is going at the rate of $1,000/month!" The social worker said "there is not a single person in this area who is not at least $100,000 in debt. You are rich." Our oldest son got a decent job as a graphic artist with the Maariv newspaper. That was a wonderful boon, but could not sustain the family long term.  At the urging of the local social worker, we took a year to concentrate on how to find a position abroad, where my talents would be appreciated and utilized. I did have an offer from a rural Indian community, but Sima was not anxious to draw water from a river and be paid in chickens. I applied for rabbinic positions in Finland, England, Ireland, Scotland, Estonia, Venezuela, South Africa, Canada, and France. But it was too late. I was fifty years old. Everyone wants rabbis who are young and dynamic. My connections were gone. In many cases, they were actually deceased. I was a nobody, betraying the Jewish people by wanting to leave Israel. I was told by the "powers that be" in numerous communities "we are here to help people emigrate to Israel, not the opposite." Some even scolded me over the phone; especially the South Africans.I understood that I would need to go in a different direction.

My Story 41

After Netanyahu's election in 1996, and his subsequent betrayal of his voters, I, like hundreds of thousands of others, was deeply disappointed. Beyond that, living in a Kookian community, where nearly everyone regarded him as the Divine Right King of Israel, I shuddered at the bizarre display of cognitive dissonance. Bibi's concessions to Arafat, met with more and more terror, did not bode well for the future.I again pleaded with Sima to consider leaving the country, but her faith was great that it would all soon change for the better. After resigning as rabbi of Tappuah, and suffering from continued government harassment, as well as the censure of my neighbors for my "lack of faith in the Redemption", I knew I must, at the very least, leave Yehudah and Shomron. I had stopped attending public functions, and spoke freely with no one. I limited my activities to teaching my sofer courses, which were very popular. My courses were being organized by various groups and corporations, so I only received 10% of the $700 tuition per student, which provided me with a meager income. I attempted to organize classes on my own, but I encountered the problem of many bad checks. At this point, a young Moroccan rabbi suggested that I move into his community, where housing was cheap. Sima and I decided that we would make the move, leaving our house in Beit El vacant for a while, until we could see in what direction the country was heading. In 1998, we packed our belongings and moved to the tiny agricultural community of Shoqeda.  It was a different Israel. People had chickens, goats, crops; especially peppers and citrus fruit. It had been established in 1960, as a home for immigrants from southern Morocco's Atlas Mountains. Homes had been built for them, and they were sent to work in nearby farming communities. Soon, they petitioned, and got help from the government in the form of their own farmland. The community was right on the border of Gaza, which had been quiet for years. The surrounding communities were likewise ethnic; Moroccan, Tunisian, Yemenite. Larger communities were a bit more diverse, with many Ashkenazim, as well as recent arrivals from the former Soviet Union. There was little contact between the groups. The Moroccans warned me not to associate with or trust the Tunisians, and the Tunisians warned me against the Moroccans. I told them that in Beit El, I knew a man who was Tunisian, but married to a Moroccan. They assured me that I must be mistaken, as this was quite impossible. The houses that were built in the '60s, belonged to a generation older than myself. They were strictly pious, but their kids were not. The younger generation moved away, but maintained a strong sense of tradition and family. It is hard to picture the tremendous sense of continuity these people had. Each home had an igloo-shaped stone oven in the front yard. Every Friday, pre-dawn, the women would fire up these ovens with wood, and bake the most incredibly delicious bread, called Frena. These were used for Shabbat and Holiday meals, the Germanic braided "Challah" being unknown among them. They allowed Sima to join in, on the condition that she not touch the ovens, which each woman saw as her most prized possession. As the older generation died off, their houses usually fell into total disrepair. There were a number of such ruins in the community. A few were rented out by their kids before the houses fell apart. The rent was very cheap (we paid $140/month for a large house), as few wanted to live in such a backwater. A man in Beer Sheva, who had, at one time, taken my course, offered to organize my classes.For a while, everything looked positive. This could be my new direction, far from the political storm.Then, the Ministry of Labor, which had always offered retraining courses, began to give training in scribal arts. Their course was nowhere near as comprehensive as mine, but it had a distinct advantage; students were paid, instead of having to pay. This wiped me out financially. My "benefactor" in Beer Sheva then emigrated to Venezuela. When Bibi signed the Wye agreements, I saw the writing on the wall for the "territories". I sold my house in Beit El, the house I had built with so much pain and suffering, the only house I would ever own. We lived off the proceeds for the next three years. I traveled three times a week to a store in Jerusalem that sold religious goods, owned by the Beit El tefillin factory, where I would check tefillin and mezuzot. I never had very good eyesight, and what I had was fading. The exacting checking of the minuscule writing was a major strain on my eyes, so I could only do a few hours at a time. At least, it got me out of the house, where I was becoming more and more despondent. In 2000, the "Second Intifada" began. Actually, the first had never ended. The terror was simply put on a low burner. But a visit from Ariel Sharon to the Temple Mount sparked violent protests, which also reached Gaza. Quiet, bucolic Shoqeda and its neighboring towns, became targets for rockets fired from Gaza. (some of the terror tunnels actually came up into Shoqeda, but that was years later). On top of that, the Israeli Supreme Court issued a ruling that all the homes built for North African immigrants in the '50s and '60s, would be confiscated by the government if the original families were no longer living in them.That meant we would soon lose our rented house. During Sukkot of 2000, we were sitting in our sukkah when we heard a boom. A school bus had blown up nearby. Sima said: "How many times can my heart be broken? Let's go". We went to see the local Social Worker. She told us that we didn't belong in Israel. She expressed rage that good, talented people like us had been seduced to come to this madhouse. (Would that the aliyah people could be so honest!) It's time to look for work abroad. We began exploring possibilities.

My Story 40

After my "run-in" with the law, I pinned great hopes on Netanyahu to lead Israel in a different direction. My hopes were soon dashed. Harassment from the authorities continued unabated. Netanyahu would take a brave stance, quickly followed by a reversal of that stance, followed by a situation worse than had existed before. This pattern has continued unabated. Soon after his election, he authorized the opening of the recently discovered Hasmonean tunnels under the Kotel area. The Palestinian Authority spread reports that these tunnels were actually meant to destabilize and destroy the Al Aksa Mosque. Riots ensued. At that time, there were joint patrols with Israeli and Palestinian forces. The Palestinian "partners" opened fire on their Israeli "partners". Bibi took a firm stance; closing the tunnels and giving the PA more parts of Hebron than even Rabin had proposed. The "Peace Process" was back on track. He attended the disastrous Wye River conference, in which Israel agreed to further withdrawals from parts of the Shomron. Bibi gave these redeployments the euphemistic term "beats" (pe'imot). Few were fooled by this terminology. Bibi assumed that the Right was in his pocket, and he didn't need to concern himself with them. This was a fatal error in judgment. In the 1999 elections. he lost by a wide margin to Ehud Barak. Bibi's erratic behavior had alienated Right and Left alike. Barak had been a distinguished military leader, but with an albatross around his neck. In 1992, he had been in charge of a top-secret military exercise, rumored to be in preparation for an Israeli raid on Sadam Hussein's palace, in retaliation for the 39 missiles that landed in Israel during the 1991 Gulf War. Something went very wrong, and Israeli artillery shells landed on our own troops. Five were killed, many others wounded. Barak stood on a hilltop, saw what happened, called for help on his cellphone, and took off in his helicopter. This soon became public. Barak was severely criticized in the media for not staying to help, or at least flying the wounded to hospital.. A quick military review acquitted him of all wrongdoing. The result was a great loss of faith in the military on the part of the citizenry. Barak was henceforth dubbed "Ehud Barach" (Ehud Fled). After he was elected PM, he asked the courts to review the case. They said that there was insufficient evidence to say that he had committed a crime. He publicly announced that he had now been exonerated, which was clearly not true. His approval rating was all of 3%. But then came the bombshell. He had proposed new peace terms to Arafat, which included nearly the entire Old City of Jerusalem, except for the few square blocks that make up the Jewish Quarter. The public was shocked, There was a wide consensus that Jerusalem would always remain the undivided capital of Israel. At a Jerusalem Day commemoration, the speakers denounced him to his face , while his wife wept. Shortly thereafter, Arafat gave his emphatic answer. "NO! All or nothing!" Barak was finished. He resigned as PM, but stayed in politics. He has several times attempted a return to power, but was greeted with derision. He was later under investigation for receiving a huge corporate grant for "research". As he was never considered a scholar, this has been widely suspected to be a political payoff of some sort. He has also been implicated in the Epstein scandal. After resigning as PM, he called for new elections, only two years into his term. Israel's supposedly ultra-hawkish, ultra-nationalistic military hero, Ariel Sharon, amazingly came to power, only to fail miserably. His first "heroic" act, was to declare a one-sided cease-fire. Eventually, he abandoned the Jews living in Gaza, and presented Gaza as a gift to the Arabs. At this point, I lost my faith in Israel's ability, or even desire, to survive. We are now seeing the results of his treachery. As I shall describe in my next post, I tried my best to get into a different framework that would allow me to stay in the Holy Land, but avoid politics. That will be the next part of my story.