Bil’am is moved, either by God, or by his deepest heart, to see and declare the beauty in these people, these refugees; represented in the simplicity and honesty of their tents – homes built mostly of hope, carried close to their skins.
Read moreIn the Mosque: How Good, How Pleasant
On my way there it occurred to me that I hadn't thought through the question of whether I would participate in any of the prayer or just be an observer. Would I get down? When I'm in a church, I sit respectfully, I listen for points of connection, but I never kneel. But that's different - in a church it is either an image of Jesus or a symbol representing his divinity that is the thing people are kneeling before. That is a way of understanding God that I cannot share.
Read moreCity of Stone and Flowers
I'm always at a loss for where I stand in Jerusalem, and not just geographically. I don't know how to represent myself. I'm an American Jewish tourist, but I mostly shy away from American Jewish tourists for internalized Anti-Semitic reasons that I have yet to fully own. My Hebrew is fluent and I have a smattering of Arabic, so I prefer to be taken for an unidentifiable foreigner when possible, an international secret agent rather than someone for whom Israel was the next logical step after summer camp.
Read moreRevenge, Anger and the End of Wisdom
Today Israeli forces are launching ground attacks along the borders of Gaza, in response, of course, to the Palestinian missiles flying toward Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, those in retaliation for offensives that were themselves in response to the murder of three Jewish boys. Which, in someone's mind, was revenge for something before that, which was itself revenge, and back and back and back. Ping pong ping pong ping.
Read moreParashat Balak - a Tale of Two Cities
Shabbat is drawing close and I am in Tel Aviv, a concrete and steel-sheathed modern city offering a nearly Viennese gemütlichkeit to its population. Cafés and boutiques abound; you have to look hard now to notice the stone memorials listing the names of coffee-sippers of ten or fifteen years ago, blown up with the cafés that hosted them. In the years since, the people of Tel Aviv have persevered. They've endured explosions and sealed rooms and assassinations. A slice of cake and a cappuccino is, for them, not devoid of a certain defiance.
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