Am Yisrael: a nation, a people, a heritage.

The contemporary definition
Made possible by sheer volition
Differs drastically from long ago
The Jewish people having long since grown.

As worldly complications and the passage of time
Spread Am Yisrael far and wide
There was born a new paradigm
Jews and gentiles side by side.

With the creation of the Jewish state
Established in 1948
Mounting tensions rose and fell
Revolving around Eretz Yisrael1.

What it meant then, to be a part of the whole
Passed all the way down since Abraham of old
A people united under Moshe Rabbeinu2
Who told us to worship one God, Aleinu3.

Nowadays, for Jews in the diaspora
Israel has become their source of pride
Standing up tall as they read from the Torah
Never again to run or hide.

After two thousand years of painful endurance
In my heart I know at least
Am Yisrael will never fall
The iron dwarf of the Middle East.

That is what it means
To be a member of the Hebrews
Pay no heed to blood or genes
For if you truly believe in a nation of Jews
Then you're part of Am Yisrael to me.

1:The land of Israel

2: Moses our teacher
3: It is our duty

I belong to Temple Sinai in Washington DC. Sinai is a reform congregation, but all-accepting. It provides various programs, opportunities, jobs, and classes to youth and adults alike, and is very involved with Israel. There is always a seminar or conference of some sort going on in the social hall, and the two prayer spaces offer different types of services every week.

There is also a religious Sunday school, which I have the pleasure of working at. I have taught 2nd and 3rd graders for the past 3 years every Sunday, working as a teacher's assistant and lesson planner, and I have come to love my job. Throughout the day we learn about morals of the Torah, go to music class, do a group activity pertaining to the day's Torah story, say the blessings for challah and grape juice, and have a discussion or read a story at the end. This is how I stay connected and give back to my Jewish community. I opted out of our temple's youth group after one year, and did not connect to any program until religious school was recommended to me. I had done it as a child, and it was time to reverse the roles and teach, but along the way I have learned more than I could have imagined.

Hiking from sea to sea was my absolute favorite trip on EIE. Starting at the Kinneret with a hike through a river, and ending 4 days later with a dip in the Mediterranean was one of the most satisfying feelings I have ever felt. The hiking was extraordinary, the views incredible. Biking on the last day was a relief to all the walking, and the feel of the wind on my face all the way to the sea was inexplicable. It took my mind off the fact that I have less than a month left here. Yam el Yam was a success, and now I am ready to make the most out of what feels like no time at all.

"A woman belongs on the bimah just as much as an orange belongs on the seder plate". This phrase has been circulating throughout my family for years, and I never knew the origin. I assumed that it had come from a Jewish women's rights activist, advocating for the acceptance of women in modern Judaism. Instead, I found that its original meaning had become subverted, intended to be symbolic of gay and lesbian Jews, widows, orphans, and adopted Jews, who sometimes feel ostracized by the community. While I am still in favor of the woman on the bimah analogy, this new information adds much greater weight to the significance of the out-of-place orange, and from this point forward it carries new weight for me.

http://forward.com/opinion/172959/an-orange-on-plate-for-women-and-spit-out-seeds/

Yesterday on our tiyul to Ammunition Hill, we learned of the intrepid soldiers of the Six Day War who liberated Jerusalem of Jordanian occupation and rid the city of its dividing walls. During those same six days, we spoke of the gamble of the Air Force, in which the entirety of Israel's flying capability flew silently to their approaching enemies' bases of operation and destroyed their runways, virtually ending the war. As a result of the IDF's courageous endeavors, Israel captured Yehuda and Shomron (the West Bank) from Jordan, the Gaza strip from Egypt, and the Golan heights from Syria.

A select soldier's story specifically mentioned the abrupt crying of his commander when he realized they had taken back Jerusalem. A hard man, unknown to emotion, with tears running down his face as he looked out on the city that had been captive for so many years. Even though I feel no strong connection to Jerusalem, just the thought of such a reaction was powerful, and made me wish to be able to love on that level. Despite this, when I look out over Jerusalem, it never ceases to be awe-inspiring. I realize now why so many take the following to heart: "If I forget thee Oh Jerusalem, let my right hand lose its cunning..."

Israel has always felt like a nation to me, not a religious state. Living in Tel Aviv, I barely noticed the Jewish influence, as the bustling city life and lazy beach days gave little impression of religious activities. Per day, I would see on average zero to one Haredi, or even Orthodox people on the street. It was my secular home, and I loved it.

It is only now, learning about current events and living next to Jerusalem, that the full force of the ultra-Orthodox campaign has reached my ears and become obvious. Even more recently however, is talk of the fall of this "rabbinical hegemony". More or less, this term describes the religious parties' influence in modern Israel, from mikvah building restrictions to Knesset laws. But with the rise of secular Israelis and people living their daily lives without the help of the ultra-Orthodox, this independence has led to far less reliance on religion, and is turning Israel away from the rabbinate's dominion.

The return from Poland at the ungodly hours of dawn last week proved a hard, but relieving day. After the intensive, jam-packed week filled with talk of Jewish life and death in Europe, returning to daily Kibbutz Tzuba life with school the next day seemed like a culture shock. Back into the swing of things so soon. It was such a change in the mood from the past somber week that it almost felt surreal. But in any case, it felt amazing to be back in the Promised Land, away from the ugliness and depressive grim taste of a country filled with a connotation of evil for the Jews. As life resumed in the present, I was content with being a Jew in Israel.

The Evolution of the Torah

Since the moment God bequeathed the written law to Moses, the leader of the Jewish people, on top of Mount Sinai, the Torah has been the epicenter of the Jewish faith, specifying Halacha (Jewish law) and facilitating the struggles of quotidian Am Yisrael (the Jewish people). As the years went by, Torah SheBichtav (the written Torah) began to be interpreted by Am Yisrael in order to adapt to the times and the societies in which they lived—this became known as the Torah SheBaalPeh (oral Torah). Both aspects of Torah are essential to the continuation of Am Yisrael, each one enabling the other to survive, the unchanging Torah SheBichtav and the perpetually growing Torah SheBaalPeh combining to shape Jewish life into a modern, yet traditional culture.

About 1500 years after Moses was given the written Torah, Am Yisrael began to organize the Torah SheBaalPeh, which was accumulating over centuries into a collection of commentary: the Mishnah. This was a result of the vast amount of oral tradition needing to be passed down, the inability to pass it down orally, and the fear of oral law being extinguished in the case of a disaster—such as the failed Bar Kochba revolts, in which nearly all of the Jews in the area known as Judah were murdered. The result of writing down the oral Torah was that Am Yisrael came to take the commentary as Halacha, the benefits of this being the adaptation to modern society that the interpretations enabled. As time went on however, the belief in oral law became so prominent, that it began to take over authority from Torah SheBichtav, a scenario never meant to occur.

The written Torah was always supposed to take precedence over any other forms of commentary. The Mishnah was merely exposition from the rabbis on the Torah, with the real authority stemming directly from the scripture itself, given to Am Yisrael by God. The modern Reform Movement has taken Torah SheBaalPeh to a whole new level of importance, relying in most cases only on contemporary interpretations of the Torah. While beneficial in the fact that this creates a tolerance in the Jewish community, it also ignores our deep historical roots; Jews are people of the book, and the Torah contains rules that have governed Am Yisrael for millennia. For the Reform Movement to forsake these commandments now, the repercussions of such a drastic action could lead to far worse things than not following Halacha, in terms of being ostracized by the remainder of Jewry.

            It is essential as Jews to keep in our hearts Torah SheBichtav, our connection to the Israelites of the past, our forefathers. However, many aspects of the written Torah are no longer applicable in the slightest to modern day, begging the introduction of oral law into society. But cautious steps must be taken. To fully turn to Torah SheBaalPeh would mean disregarding its original basis, and as Jews we cannot resort to that. Instead we must utilize both, weave each of them into our lives so that we live in the present, but never forget our past.

Challah baking... who would've thought that such a simple thing could cause such a large debate? The issue of women being thought of as the bakers brings about an interesting scenario. Usually the roles are reversed, and it is the women who are frowned upon by society to step into a "men's line of work". However, to put aside the issue of gender discrimination and bias, challah baking is a Jewish custom, and while society should be open to any Jew practicing it, it has singled out only the women to be eligible. This should not be a gender issue, it should not be one at all, which is exactly the argument of many Jewish men who bake challah. Even gentiles are welcome to take part in this custom, and while it may not be as meaningful to them, they can still bake delicious bread, and withholding that would be depriving the rest of the world of a delicacy.

For the whole article, see below:
http://www.tabletmag.com/jewish-life-and-religion/198163/challah-and-the-men-who-bake-it

The weekend was full of nostalgia. After spending two nights back in the city where I had lived for half a year in 6th grade, every glance brought a moment of déjà vu or a recollection of what once had been and now has changed. Sarona market reminded me of distinct memories walking through Shuk HaNemal on the Tayelet, and just the sight of Shuk HaCarmel revived distant memories of spices and fruits wafting from the stands of the multitude of merchants. Walking down Tel Baruch beach and exploring Nachalat Binyamin, I took strange comfort in the fact that they were just as I remembered them.

The rest of the city however was an eye opener to me. I had not been aware enough when I was 11 years old to perceive what life was like for many Tel Aviv residents, I had merely turned an innocent eye. Especially two days after the Tayelet stabbings, I kept a watchful gaze on my surroundings. It was a much different feeling from the warmth and safety radiating from every Israeli that walked by me five years ago. Now there was an air of mistrust and caution that suffocated the warm sea breeze and settled over the land of Israel.

The Babylonian Talmud, the version of Tanakh, Mishnah, and Gemarrah commentary that is most well known today is influenced by many outside sources, including Roman traditions that found their way into the lives of our rabbis of old. Compared to the Jerusalem Talmud, the one created and redacted in Babylon contains laws of how to live as a minority—a tool essential to the Jewish people after the genocide of the Bar Kochba revolts in Judea. The Jerusalem Talmud is not as applicable to Jewish life after this time because it was made in a city where Jews had been the minority for many, many years.

A book by Richard Kalmin, Migrating Tales, contains historical evidence of the Talmud's creation, and the stories behind the narrative's travel and migration. The book accentuates the subtle details of historical times: for example how the rabbis acted as the leaders of the Jewish community, even though it is likely that there were other, more important political figures in power. Additionally, living in the midst of the Roman empire, it is no surprise that tradition and culture assimilated very fast into cultures, and that Rome became a melting pot of civilizations—many of which ceased to exist as a separate entity from Rome. It is miraculous that within these confines, a minuscule percentage of the population, being influenced by hellenism, Christianity, paganism, and other regional cultures, that we managed to stay our own nation of Israel, and that our teachings have survived to this very day.

http://marginalia.lareviewofbooks.org/here-there-and-everywhere-by-amit-gvaryahu/

Back in the swing of things after Gadna—the army experience at Sde Boker base that gave off such a surreal impression—spending a full week back in Kibbutz Tzuba seemed taken for granted. Reflecting on the short but sweet trip, the long and harsh seeming days at the beginning, and the ironically melancholy ending, I came to appreciate the freedom in our everyday lives. I can still remember the rigidly timed mornings, standing at attention in perfect form, running in two lines for ten seconds, and the air of respect that was present around the commanders. While shooting a military-grade M16 automatic assault rifle, I was intrigued, but the real fun came the following day when we had a field training exercise: covering our faces with mud, learning different variations of army crawling, doing the knife-walk, and working together as a team—I was totally immersed. As the buses pulled up the next morning to take us back to reality, I was relieved to be rid of the rigorous lifestyle, but as I now sit here in nostalgia, the stagnant air that is devoid of training camp bustle emanates indifference and does not fill me with the same appreciation for life that was present at Gadna.

The tomb of Ezra the Prophet—turned shrine by religious Iraqis—is a tangible example of Muslim and Jewish harmony in the midst of the Middle East's warring ways. Islam and Judaism are both monotheistic religions, their vast differences being contrasted with their similar central focus: " There has been so much war and strife between the two, but are they truly that different? Both hail Ezra as a quintessential historical figure, and many Iraqi sources are open to Jews visiting Ezra's tomb. Various Muslim Iraqi citizens have recounted fond memories of their Jewish neighbors prior to their exodus from Iraq, and tell the press they would be open to their return.

On the other side of the spectrum, the former Iraqi Jews felt unsafe in their homes—and for good reasons too. When they fled Iraq, their homes were left in their names, and many Iraqis wait for their Jewish neighbors to come home. While Jews and Muslims alike regard Ezra as an important prophet from their past, most Jewish symbols or signs showing their connection to Ezra have been stripped away from his tomb, leaving only a few subtle reminders of Judaism. The tomb remains a Jewish and Muslim holy place, but because of its location, the Jewish side of those coming to pay Ezra their respects or pray has dwindled to a negligible percentage when compared to Muslims. And so Ezra lives on in our memory.

From the highest point of Masada, looking out at what remained of the Roman siege camps, I could almost taste the fear of what they thought themselves to be—the last true Jews. Running from their counterparts' greed and ambition, their only thought was to survive and to carry on the Jewish culture that the others had corrupted. The camps and siege ramp were the most prominent instigators of these feelings. They instilled in me such a sense of reality that the talk of war, rebellion, exile, and a Jewish state stemming from Jewish History class was true that it became almost overwhelming to think about, and the only thing that brought me back to reality was Aaron passing out dates to the class.

Following Jewish history class yesterday, where the issue of intermarriage and continuing the Jewish line arose, a fear settled over me that had to do with the end of the Jewish people. They are a line that had endured for so long and through so much that it just seemed inconceivable that now, in the midst of their prosperity, they would simply cease to exist. The facts were sobering as well. A mere 20% of children with intermarried parents will go on to start a Jewish life. Additionally, while the average reform Jewish family has 0-2 children, the average orthodox Jewish family has around 10. Soon, all that will be left are orthodox Jews, and after that, none at all. Though it won't happen in my lifetime or my children's or even grandchildren's, it is ironic to think on the fact that now, when Am Yisrael is not enduring a time of torment, a time of persecution or war against the Jews, a time of peace and comfort where Jews are leaders in society, the Jewish population is slowly becoming less diverse and plentiful. It does not scare me—"Oh no, what is the world going to do without Jews!" (No.)— it just shocks me that the oldest and longest surviving religion is nearing its final destination, and that my generation sees the end. I am scared that after we are gone, after there are no more Jews to carry on traditions and keep our ethical monotheism alive, the world will portray us in a bad light, spit on our names, stamp us into the dust. Why do I care? I guess the best answer would be "the future holds tentative surprises and apprehension—no one knows what it will look like", but that would still not fully explain this strange and irrational fear I have for the nearing of the end. Time always holds the answer, so time will tell.

Jews are not the same as Israelis. This basic statement at times is only understood by few, leading us to treat them as one and the same. This can be extremely embarrassing if called out on. For this reason alone, the talk of Israel in the US has become more sparse—merely because of the general public's fear of messing up. Jews and Israelis are generally grouped together, though a Jew is not necessarily Israeli and an Israeli is not necessarily Jewish: a vital point to understand. Only in a perfect utopia where the public is perfectly educated can totally factual debate happen or opinion be developed.

This is not the only reason causing diminished talk of Israelis, more specifically the silence ensues when the conversation shifts to Palestinians. In addition to the natural fear of embarrassing oneself, adhering to public opinion is not always the right thing to do... but it can be the easiest. Because of this, many Reform and Conservative (and some Orthodox) rabbis have completely stopped taking positions on the Israel-Palestinian conflict after outrageous and even violent actions followed sermons on the matter. Should rabbis stop trying to involve Israeli politics in their synagogues' Jewish settings, and be obligated to give sermons related to Judaism, or should they continue giving sermons on whatever they please (be it Palestinian-Israeli conflict to rising grape juice prices) because of their right to free speech? Which is more important—the aspect of them that is American, or that of being Jewish?

Walking through the old city of Jerusalem, streets I had seen many times before struck me this time as truly being old, historical, beautiful. I had visited Jerusalem before, but I had never experienced this level of realization until now. Either I was not mature enough then or did not appreciate the wholeness of it. As we toured side streets, alleys, and underground passageways, the ancient walls of the city rose up around me, and I became immersed in history that took place thousands of years ago. I was the onlooker, the outsider, the infiltrator of a holy sanctuary in which I shouldn't belong. To one side, a tourist shop selling shiny chamsas and kippot—the other—ruins of a massive wall that once kept King David safe from the Phillistines. I was walking on the stones of history, in the footsteps of old, Jerusalem's past merging with its present until they became one and the same, almost indistinguishable. After this, I don't think traditional classes will be very meaningful anymore...

When Israel's Iron Dome took effect and the Palestinian terrorists were dissuaded from their bombings, did terrorism in Israel stop? Of course not. They have just discovered new ways to instill pain into our society. The dissatisfaction has spread so far that Palestinians have gone to such desperate measures—to kill our innocent—in order to get their message across to Israel. And Bibi Netanyahu, quietly sitting in his office thinking on the day's events recognizes this, but does he spring to action and create some sort of plan, an agreement, guideline... something? No. Instead, Israel is made to live in fear day and night, never at ease, truly the country surrounded by enemies.

Dafna Meir and Shlomit Krigman, two wonderful Israelis, were added to this list of hate and frustration against their will. They simply happened to be in the wrong places at the wrong times. Israel does not have to sit idly by and watch this happen however. We can take action and force the Palestinians' hands. Perhaps all they want before they leave us alone is their two state solution. And if not this, at least someplace to start. Dafna Meir and Shlomit Krigman will not have died in vain.

Jewish History made me think... What sets us Jews apart? There are many critical questions that we ask ourselves, and often contradict ourselves in the answer process. Judaism has a rough definition because it has no clear beginning, and virtually no exclusion policy; anyone can join if they follow a few basic rules. What then, makes a newly made conservative convert different from a lifelong conservative Jew? Yes, the nuances in praying style and preference, but most importantly, intention sets you apart, and paves the way for your Jewish education.

From the moment we first stepped off the bus after what felt like a week's worth of traveling, I immediately felt like a part of Kibbutz Tzuba. When I realized I would get to enjoy four months in this place, I felt connected once more to Israel, just like the first time when I had lived in Tel-Aviv for half a year. The only difference this time was—besides high school—the fact that I would be with friends instead of family. After the first couple classes, it was a little overwhelming, but then I thought of all the field trips up ahead and all I could think of was fun. Can't wait until we go on the first one.