Ambiguities

We're in small bus, tearing our way towards Nazareth via Haifa. The day began with our departure from Tel Aviv. I've enjoyed this city, with its high energy level. But there's also ongoing large construction everywhere, as the city limits continue to expand and traffic congestion presages future urban challenges. Along today's route, terrain is rocky. Villages and small towns peek out between the hills and atop its ridges. Out of nowhere, and seemingly out of place, emerge small industrial centers; tall buildings hosting the Israeli headquarters of Intel, IBM and Google, among many others. Am I climbing Mount Carmel or entering the Silicon Valley? I feel like I'm between two worlds.

Israel is a country defined by its ambiguities. Down one side of the street Jews and Arabs of both genders demurely walk, garbed in the strictest of religious attire. Up the other side caper similarly youthful men and women out of another era: ours. Although most of the Israeli population supports efforts to secure a strong Jewish state, a vocal and influential minority would prefer that Israel not exist at all, and consults publicly with Arab opposition. Most of the country's Jews are secular and moderately observant, as contrasted to the Ultra-Orthodox, whose rigid adherence to tradition brooks no deviation from the Law.

Nothing brought this into focus more than two lengthy conversations within a 24-hour period with very different representatives of Jewish Orthodoxy.

MY WAY, OR THE HIGHWAY
Dinner last night was in the dining room of the yeshiva (place of learning) of the Jewish Orthodox Community of B'nei Brak, outside of Tel Aviv. After a tasty traditional meal of cholent, a stew slow-cooked for twelve hours that's typically reserved to conclude Shabbat, we interacted with a representative of the student body. The philosophy I anticipated was the philosophy delivered, but I had never been exposed to this line of fundamentalist absolutism and found the experience more than a little disturbing. This encounter wasn't designed to be confrontational, and no one in the group, Jew and Gentile alike, was judgmental. But my impression, reinforced throughout the evening, was that this 19-year-old had been brainwashed into espousing facets of an almost cultish religion. He challenged us repeatedly to ask the hard questions. His answers, however, were repeatedly out of the same playbook, prefaced by "Well, the Rabbis explain ..." None of his comments dispelled the impression that a fundamentalist, of any religion or political bent, has an interpretation that completely justifies his definition of reality. There's no argument necessary; it's the law. As we departed the yeshiva, I privately inquired why he did not begin the meal with a "hamotzie," the traditional blessing over bread. He confided that it would have been inappropriate, as there were non-Jews present. Unstated, of course, was his perception that no one in the room, save his community members, was in any way Jewish, as even those who profess to observe the religion in a less than Ultra-Orthodox fashion are not adherents of the true religion.

ORTHODOXY ON A COMMUNE
Today lunch, and a relaxing afternoon, were spent with a family on an agricultural commune in Galilee. Here, we experienced a different view regarding religious observance. But first, a word about a commune vs. a kibbutz. The latter is a socialist construct, where everyone shares work on the community's projects and its products. The commune is a structure of individual farms (or other endeavors), each privately owned, but where neighbors interact as a community regarding common needs and defense. (More like our pioneer communities in America.) I was surprised to learn that kibbutzim never exceeded 3-4% of the Israeli economy; communes were more the norm. I guess kibbutzim had better PR. In any case, we began the meal by preparing our own focaccia bread and toppings from scratch (up to our elbows in flour, but pleased with the results).




Following a lunch of very fresh foods, we conversed with our host, whose farm harvests around 1,000 olive trees. An observant Jew (Orthodoxy is the only sect in Israel), his family encouraged him to travel extensively, and he graduated from Stanford. Yet, he returned to work and ultimately manage the third-generation business. His take on observant Orthodox Judaism was considerably more open than those at the yeshiva. Working to support his family (as opposed to participating in continual adult studies), completing compulsory military service and contributing to sustain the state were part of his lifestyle, although these are all refuted by Ultra-Orthodoxy. I was more comfortable with his acceptance of Judaism in the varied forms practiced in the U.S.

This dichotomy of religious belief will be prominent in upcoming experiences at the center of Orthodoxy: Jerusalem.

Next: Caesarea and the Crusader city of Akko.