The following was written in a flood of emotions on our return from Netzer Hazani following Shabbat Mas'ei immediately prior to its pointless destruction. I don't know if anybody reads this blog (if you do, write a talkback here or drop me a line to pithfrompinhas @ gmail) but I have brought it out of deep freeze in response to this week's sad news.
Rabbi Porat zt"l, he of the flashing eyes, unique midot and glorious Hebrew, will always be bound up in my memories of that unforgettable Shabbat. His eyes will flash no more.
Yesterday was the first time in 21 years (abroad) and in 10 years (here in Israel) that we read Mas'ei, the parasha of the 42 journeys of the Israelites in the wilderness, long enough in itself, without the addition of the similarly long parasha of Matot (tribes) which during most years makes it by far the longest Torah reading of any Shabbat in the year. Somehow my late father in law always seemed to be asked to read that week.
So we journeyed south, not quite to Sinai but to Gerar, the region where King Avimelech of the Philistines (not the nasty ones who fought the Israelites for generations but an earlier invader who for some reason had the same name – not unlike the spurious name chosen by the mixture of malcontents who arrived here during the 20th century and invented a peoplehood) put up our forefather Avraham for a time. Now they call it Gush Katif. Some say it was in the area of the Israelite tribe Shimon while others say Shimon didn't have an area of its own and was spread around the area of Judah. Others try to say it was neither, but they tend to be people who never read the Torah. Funny how they would never tell an astrophysicist he was wrong but everybody's an expert on Torah without reading it.
On the last leg of the 85 mile journey (there aren't too many trips that long you could make through populated parts of Israel without having to cross a more or less hostile Arab area, which in this case only occurs at Kefar Darom, a thousands of years old Jewish town destroyed most recently by the Egyptians in 1948 and due to suffer the same fate at the hands of brothers next week) we had to stop seven times to produce evidence that we had obtained electronic visas to visit somebody to whom we had a first-degree family relationship. Some of the youngsters in uniform seemed so nice and innocently interested in our plans that we half expected them to say "have a nice day, and thank you for choosing our junction". Others didn't seem to know what they were there for. All this added about an hour to the journey. Of course they all had their backs to their real enemies.
In Israel we have a game. We don't mention where a bomb falls in case the information may aid the enemy. So I won't tell you where we spent Shabbat even though I know full well that any spook reading this will have zero problem working it out.
So we arrived. We had quite a surprise in store for us. After reading of these sprawling mansions occupied by the parasitic "settlers" we were quite unprepared to discover the size of the house that a new family of three had opened for an unlimited time to five strangers since the house the newcomers had arranged to live in (with official permission) turned out to be only in the planning stage. Two modest bedrooms, one toilet, one bathroom and everything else in a room that could only be described as pleasantly petite. But all with exquisite, but thrifty, taste. Across the road lived a well known public figure who could surely have afforded so much more, but was living with his family in an identical place. And the public shelter was itself home to two very large haredi families. So how did the nine of us visitors squeeze in? Well, three were put up by neighbors, another three decided after all to visit friends in a different part of the Gush and the rest actually replaced the hosts, who conveniently decided to spend Shabbat with their folks in another town in the area. Because unlike the kibbutzim and 'most everywhere else where "Wandering Jews" live, here they put down roots. It seems that few young people have left the area where they grew up. And this despite the continuous uncertainty, government and press led propaganda, and 15,000 (FIFTEEN THOUSAND) attacks (including 6,000 rockets and mortar shells) in the last few years, that's nearly a pair for every man, woman and child… I am happy to report that we only heard one, distant, boom. Thank G-d most either miss their target or fail to explode, even though one "success" is too many.
Oh, and the weather. Did I mention the weather? The sizzling humidity that makes the shower seem hardly worth using. And people manage without airconditioning. Nu, what's the beach for? Oh, the jellyfish. Well, at least they seemed to have departed when we took the grandkids for a dip before sundown. Living just far enough from the coast to make the trip without a car problematic (buses don't seem to be something they have provided), they had not seen the sea at close quarters since they arrived.
And so began the Sabbath. And these people are Jews? You must be mistaken. Where else would you find them all going to a single synagogue?? No Ashkenazim, Sephardim, Yemenites, Haredim, Zionists, Toraniim, Modernists, they all do their thing together! They never heard the one about the Jew shipwrecked on a desert island who built a schul for himself and another one he wouldn't be seen dead in. At first it was standing room only but gradually chairs appeared in the aisles, chairs on the patio, chairs in the study hall, more and more people. Probably two for every person the place was built for. And then the stirring lesson from a student leader of my generation whose name continues after so many years to draw rapt attention from those young today. Singing the music of the late Rabbi Carlebach, dancing oblivious of the late hour and the heat, and then the swell of people outside. So many, many people in such a small town. It looked like a demonstration without the buses and the TV cameras. Maybe a thousand or more men, women and children of all ages, all radiant with the Sabbath joy. All in this little place they have nicknamed "eternity". Where everybody surrendered their guns in case they should be called violent and all rely on the armor of prayer and psalm.
I could go on. But let’s fast forward to the time we had to say au revoir. We looked for reasons to stay on and found them with no trouble. But exams beckon, there is work to do, we have a wedding to make, we must content ourselves with the amazing strength we drew from these people and return to the metropolis. On the return journey, facing the enemy this time, they only stopped us once, where we had to surrender our "virtual" visas and confirm, yes, one-year old Reut has indeed returned with us, she is sleeping in the back, what, you think we left her there to fight against the riot police?
We reach "civilization" after midnight and the car, ominously, refuses to enter the city. Half an hour later a technician arrives and we continue home. The next day at work we discover that a gang of leftist thugs sporting teeshirts of "noar meretz" tried to attack youngsters working on Friday at the offices of the "Yesha Council", representatives of the heroes we left behind, based in our office block. Oh how they would love their force to be met with force, but instead it is with love, smiles, flowers and candy and it enrages them. It takes a solid phalanx of brawny no nonsense employees of the French call center to scatter them, yelling obscenities as they retreat. At least this time they didn't bring feces to dump at the doorway.
I have come to a decision. I am 56 years old and have always believed in democracy. Basta*. I place on record that I am no longer prepared to defend to the death anybody's right to destroy my country. I will no longer support my Government right or wrong.
*Enough (Spanish)
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