Three Dreams, One Destiny

 

“Joseph was the great dreamer of the Torah, and his dreams for the most part came true. But not in a way he or anyone else could have anticipated.” - Rabbi Lord  Jonathan Sacks

Dreams are one of the main themes in recent Parashot. Parashat Vayetze narrates Yaakov's dream at Bet-El. This week’s Parashat Vayeshev, recounts two dreams experienced by Yoseph, Yaakov’s favourite son. Before delving further into the significance of these dreams and the connection between them, it is important to understand them in the context of the time and place in which they occurred.

Dreams, in general, have held a consistent and powerful place in human civilization—from politics and prophecy to psychology and art. Across cultures and eras, they were rarely seen as random inner noise; rather, they were treated as messages, omens, or revelations that could redirect nations and reshape lives.

In the Ancient Near East, the cradle of Jewish civilization, dreams were commonly understood as royal legitimation. Mesopotamian rulers recorded nocturnal visions as proof of divine endorsement, elevating the king to semi-divine status and rendering political authority sacred. Egyptian dream manuals, discovered in the Chester Beatty Papyrus, treated dreams as coded celestial messages decipherable by specialists of the court. Their purpose was not moral formation but statecraft, empire stability, and royal self-preservation. 

Against this backdrop, the dreams of Yaakov and Yoseph invert the entire cultural logic. Unlike Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia where dreams enthroned power, in the Torah, dreams serve a purpose. While the ancient world used dreams to elevate man to the gods, the Torah uses dreams to anchor man to G-d. (John Walton, Ancient Near Eastern Thought and the Old Testament, 2006).

Yaakov does not become king by dreaming, nor does Yoseph become divine by interpretation. Instead, their dreams deepen covenantal obligation. We encounter their dreams which, in the words of Sacks, “came true,” yet “not in a way, the dreamers themselves, or anyone else could have anticipated.” (Covenant and Conversation Studies in Spirituality, Mikketz).

The dream that greets Yaakov at Bet-El and the two dreams that shape Yoseph’s destiny, according to some Jewish scholars, are not isolated mystical events but stages of a single unfolding covenant.

Though scholars such as, Rash"i and Sforno do not explicitly connect the dream narratives of father and son (Yaakov’s ladder in Bresheet 28:12-15) and Yoseph’s dreams of the sheaves bowing, in Bresheet 37:7 and the celestial bodies submitting, in 37:9), in any explicit comment, they create a conceptual bridge, indirectly, through one key motif, movement from revelation of choseness to its realization. Yaakov’s vision of the ladder reveals a cosmos in which heaven descends to earth, affirming divine presence, protection, and promise. The sheaves and the celestial bodies, in Yoseph’s dreams, mark not only his personal ascent but the historical movement of Yisrael into exile and eventual redemption. Yaakov dreams of Divine protection “I am with you, I will protect you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land… (Bresheet 28:15).” Yoseph’s dreams set in motion the events that fulfill that protection, physical, economical and spiritual. Yaakov dreams the Covenant, Yoseph dreams its implementation in human history. 

The one place, however, where Rash”i comes close to implicitly linking Yoseph’s dreams to his father’s own ladder experience is found in chapter 37. There (37:11) Yoseph tells his dream to his father. Rash”i notes that Yaakov “guards the matter.” Rash”i  bases his assertion on Midrash Bresheet Rabbah 84:12 which interprets this verse as, “Yaakov waits expectancy to see its fulfillment. In other words, Yaakov who once dreamed of his destiny recognizes a true dream when one is narrated.

Some modern scholars such as Robert Alter (The Art of Biblical Narrative,1981) explicitly connect Yaakov’s dream to Yoseph’s two dreams in our Parashah. He refers to Yaakov’s dream as a vision of space and speaks of a  (spiritual → earthly). Yoseph’s dreams, on the other hand, are a “horizontal axis of human power and family structure” strewn with socio-political symbolism (Yisrael → Nations).

Alter’s terminology is reinforced albeit implicitly, in interpretive trajectory, by Rabbi Sacks. Sacks describes Yaakov’s encounter “vayifga ba’Makom”*(Bresheet 28:11) as a moment of transcendent revelation and covenant renewal, i.e. a “vertical” moment of Divine-human communication.

In his essay, “Three Approaches to Dreams (Miketz” Covenant & Conversation), Sacks notes that in addition to the gift of dreams, the gift of their interpretation, Yoseph was also endowed with the ability to implement them, as we is evident in the next Parashah. There, Sacks sees his dreams as the start of a trajectory of political, economic and social leadership, dreams that lead to action, administration and implementation on earth (Yisrael → nations, horizontal).

The ladder at Bet-El affirms not dominion but a moral and spiritual duty. G-d descends not to enthrone Yaakov but to bind him to mission. Yoseph’s twin dreams of sheaves and stars do not coronate him in the mythic fashion of the Ancient Near East. They conscript him into service—feeding nations, sustaining his family, and ushering Israel into its first experience of exile. 

The three dreams are forged into a single symphony where destiny is spoken, first to the father, and then enacted through the son.

Shabbat Shalom and Channukah Sameach, Am Yisrael and Fellow Jews.

*“He came upon a place,” in Hebrew vayifga ba-makom, also means an unexpected encounter. Later, in rabbinic Hebrew, the word ha-Makom, “the Place,” came to mean “G-d.” Hence in a poetic way the phrase vayifga ba-makom could be read as, “Jacob happened on (had an unexpected encounter with) G-d.”  “How the Light Gets In” (in Covenant & Conversation, Parashat Vayetze)

Angel, Man, or G-d, Who Was Yaakov’s Adversary at Yabbok?

 

"And Yaakov was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn" Bresheet 32: 25

The identity of the being Yaakov wrestles with, in Bresheet, 32:25-33 Parashat Vayishlach, is one of the most discussed passages in Torah literature. The account is haunted by ambiguity and has engaged the attention of many scholars.

According to Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks,"Yakkov, himself, had no doubt. It was G-d." Sacks bases his assertin on verse 32 where Yaakov says, "'I saw G-d face to face.'" Yaakov truly believes that he has seen G-d and names the place of the encounter Peniel (face of G-d).

A reader unacquainted with Jewish theology might erroneously conclude, from the verse above, that Yaakov has indeed wrestled with G-d. Yet, Judaism affirms that G-d possesses neither body nor form and rejects any notion of a physical struggle with G-d’s essence. Furthermore, Jewish belief poignatly states that no one can see G-d and live. The foundation of this belief can be found in Shemot (Exodus) 33:20 where G-d says to Moshe, "You cannot see My face, for no human can see Me and live." That also explains why Yaakov is grateful that, following what he believes he has just experienced, his "soul was preserved." (verse 32).  

How, then, have Jewish thinkers resolved the vagueness surrounding this episode?

Most classical commentators say Yaakov wrestled with an angelic being (Malach) which in the Jewish theology simply means “a messenger.” The “man,” many assert, is a Malach whose presence is an epiphany of G-d.

Rash”i (Mikraot Gedolot), Midrash Bresheet Rabbah (77:3) and Pirkei d’Rabbi Eliezer 37 say explicitly that it was the guardian angel of Esav (sar shel Esav). The struggle, as they see it, symbolizes Yaakov’s lifelong conflict with Esav and what the latter represents. They treat the fight as a manifestation of the metaphysical conflict between the descendants of Yaakov and Esav. 

Ramba”n (Ramba”n Al HaTorah- Mossad HaRav Kook Edition Volume 1 p. 409-412), like many other commentators, believes that the “man” was a Malach since angles can and do appear in physical, tangible forms. According to him, it was a real event, not a dream or vision. 

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, unlike other interpreters, focuses on the exhanges between Yaakov and his adversary, outlined in verse 30, where Yaakov asked, "Now tell me your name," and he [the man] said, "Why is it that you ask for my name?" For Hirsch, the unnamed opponent symbolizes every struggle a human faces, their every fear, every uncertainty and every moral confrontation. If the adversary had a name, Hirsch believes, the story would be about that opponent. By withholding a name, the story becomes universal: every Jew is Yaakov and every challenge is a nameless wrestler (Samson Raphael Hirsch, The Pentateuch: Translation and Commentary Bereishit, pp. ~563–567).

Modern commentators such as Nechama Leibowitz and Martin Buber, see the “man” as Yaakov’s inner self struggling with his guilt about Esav, his strife to shift from the position of Yaakov, the supplanter, who ousts his rival, to Yisrael, the one who ”wrestles with G-d and prevails” and his fear of the upcoming encounter with Esav. (Nehama Leibowitz, Studies in Bereshit (Jerusalem: World Zionist Organization / E. Feldheim), Parashat Vayishlaḥ, pp. 345–347, Martin Buber, On the Bible: Eighteen Studies, “Jacob and Esau,” pp. 58–70). These interpretations may support the contention that the Torah deliberately witholds the name of the wrestler. If Yaakov were told the name, the struggle would become external rather than internal and existential.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks offers an interesting angle to the identity of Yaakov’s adversary. He notes that the ambiguity is by design. Yaakov’s opponent, he believes, may be a “man,” “angel,” “G-d” or a symbolic figure. What matters more than the identity is the meaning of the struggle, asserts Sacks, is what Yaakov becomes through it. Yaakov transforms into Yisrael and emerges as stronger, more confident, triumphant and, above all, one who holds the promise of eternity.

Am Yisrael Chai and the Eternity of Yisrael Shall Never Lie.

Shabbat Shalom

The Blast of the Trumpets

 

“When you go into battle in your own land against an aggressor who is attacking you, sound the blast of the trumpets” - Bamidbar (Numbers) 10:9

 

Last week’s Parashah, “Be’haalotcha,” dwells on preparing Am Yisrael for their journey through the desert on their way to Eretz Yisrael. It also focuses on topics surrounding the Mishkan (Tabernacle), the rituals affiliated with it, preparing the Levites for their tasks in it and the rites linked to the golden Menorah.

As part of it, Moshe is directed by G-d to create two silver trumpets which are intended for his use only. “Make yourself two trumpets of solid silver” Bamidbar (Numbers) 10:2. The aim of this essay is to address this decree and some of its functions.

This commandment has engaged our Jewish scholars over the ages. One of the questions raised by the Rabbis in Midrash Bamidbar Raba,16, is, what is the purpose of the superfluous “yourself?” The answer that Midrash provides is that these, unlike horns, which were commonly used for the same purposes, trumpets were used to welcome kings. The silver trumpets were a symbol of authority. Moshe, as implied here, is to be treated as “a king” since he is unique in the sense that he is the direct messenger of G-d and the unique prophet. These trumpets were archived during Moshe’s lifetime.

Later, as Scriptures tell us, during the times of Beit Hamikdash, trumpets were used, however, only the Priests were in charge blowing them.

Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson suggests that a “beautiful trumpet, even in the midst of producing music, does not draw attention to itself. It is the music it produces, not the horn, which people focus on.” Rabbi Artson further quotes the sages who assert that by sounding the trumpets, we focus attention on G-d in whose service we delight. Our music, according to them, is the sacred deeds we perform while still living.

Another question that preoccupied the Rabbis was the specific directive regarding the use of silver, as opposed to gold or brass, two other metals used in the construction of the Mishkan and its vessels.

 Midrash (Bresheet Raba, 12, 5^th century C.E.) tackles the issue. It suggests that when G-d created the world, He debated with Himself, “If I create the world with the Measure of Mercy alone,” He contended, “its sins will be many and, thus, may not withstand the Measure of Justice which, hopefully, it will.” He, therefore, resolved to create the world with both Measures – Justice and Mercy. Moshe is instructed to make the trumpets from a single block of silver. According to Kabbalah, silver is a metal that symbolizes Mercy, the quality of giving and of loving kindness. Ultimately, it will be the Measure of Mercy that will overcome the Measure of Justice.

The Hebrew word for trumpets is hatzotzrot חצוצרות) . In his commentary on “Be’haalotcha,” the Mezeritcher Maggid (1710-1772), explains that the word can also be interpreted as ‘half forms’(חצאי צורות) . According to him, this interpretation teaches us that Man and G-d are only two half-forms. Man without G-d, his Creator, is only half a form. G-d, he claims, is also lacking when He does not have the connection with the People of Yisrael. Neither, by themselves, is whole. Jointly, though, they are a complete unit (Ohr Ha’Torah 134).

The hatzotzrot, as G-d’s commands Moshe, should be used on several occasions. One is for the purpose of declaring war, “When You go to battle…against an enemy who is oppressing you sound a blast of the trumpets. Then,” resumes G-d, “you will be remembered by the Lord your G-d and rescued from your enemies” Bamidbar 10:9. The blast of the trumpets is aimed to signify that G-d would remember His Covenant with Am Yisrael and grant them victory.

Another occasion, on which the hatzotzrot are to be used, is on special events, festivities and solemn assemblies, “at your times of rejoicing…..” Bamidbar 10:10. At that time, the use of the trumpets is intended to create an atmosphere of sacred joy, divine remembrance and expressing gratitude.

The Lubavitcher Rebbe, ZT”L (1902-1994), derives an important lesson for life, from these verses. He asserts that we should blow the trumpets to plead with the Creator with a broken heart so that He has pity on us and brings us to a victorious war. However, when our joyous day arrives, following the achievements on the battlefield, Am Yisrael may, G-d forbid, forget to be thankful to our Creator and, therefore, requires of us to blow the hatzotzrot, again, to remind us by whose virtue our victory was achieved. (Likutei Sichot, part 13, p.28).

Last Friday, in the early hours of the morning, Yisrael blasted the trumpets and launched a pre-emptive strike against the Iranian regime and its nuclear enrichment project. Am Yisrael and its supporters the world over, have since been praying to G-d pleading with Him for a swift triumph against their enemies. It is not an easy time for the People of the Covenant. May we, soon, reach the day when we blast the hatzotzrot, declare, B’ezrat Hashem, our sweeping victory over our enemies, the release of our hostages and the safe return of our soldiers from the combat zone.

Am Yisrael Chai

Education - The Way To Mend Our World

 

 “There is only one way to change the world, and that is through education.” – Rabbi Jonathan Sacks

 

As a person who was reared in a Jewish home, in Yisrael, education was one of the most prominent values of my upbringing. It was not merely about formal schooling or about gaining knowledge that shaped my childhood, adolescent and my maturing years. It was the kind of education that aimed at preparing me to live as close as possible to our Jewish code of ethics, to attaining wisdom and personal as well as national responsibility. It prepared me, unbeknown to me, towards becoming a teacher and an educator, myself.

Although the circumstances that pushed me to earning a teaching certificate and becoming a teacher occurred at a very turbulent time in the history of Yisrael and were, thus, beyond my control (https://wingnsonawildflight.blogspot.com/2019/06/that-second-most-important-day.html), I am grateful to having received such a magnificent gift. The skills and the benefits that the teaching vocation have awarded me are immeasurable.

Education, I reckon, should aim at teaching facts and building awareness. It should also help people see the world more clearly and objectively as well as help them understand others more deeply. Above all, I believe that education is about encouraging people to question what they think they know and helping them gain the courage to learn something new at any age.

And this is where the quote of Rabbi Sacks, ZT”L, above comes into play with regards to an important event that has recently taken place in Yisrael.

As many of you know, Yisrael intercepted a flotilla carrying representatives of several countries whose goal was to infiltrate the naval blockade over Gaza. Yisrael’s moves to bring the event to peaceful ending, by providing the activists on board with food and water, was applauded by many. Yisrael displayed what our Jewish tradition refers to as “Ahavat Chinam,” unconditional love.

However, what caught my attention, even more, was the directive issued by Minister of Defense, Yisrael Katz. He instructed the IDF to show the movie exposing the horrors of the October 7th pogrom, as documented by the Hamas terrorists themselves, to the activists. His motive, I believe, stemmed from the supposition that they were ignorant about the depth of the horrendous barbarities committed on that day. In his view, they needed to be educated on it. Whether that goal was achieved or not, only time will tell.

From personal experience, though, I can assure you that, in some cases, such a strategy does work. Here is one such example.

It happened in the early 2000's. I lived in New Zealand and was on the Board of the small Jewish community, in Christchurch. At that time, Yisrael was, unfortunately, experiencing what is known as, "The Second Intifada." One day, to try and cease Palestinian terror attacks against Yisraelis, the IDF entered Gaza. The New Zealand media, which has, generally, not been Yisraeli friendly, portrayed the incursion in a negative light.

The following day, our chairperson found a very offensive message on our synagogue’s answering machine. The caller, among other curse words, suggested that “Hitler should have finished the job.” The police, following our complaint, traced the call to the home of an elderly kiwi businessman who resided in a very exclusive area of the city.

The man explained that he was upset with the Yisraeli display of power over the “defenseless Gazans” (his words). When the police officer, handling the case, asked us whether we would like to press charges, I objected. Something in me suggested that the culprit was not fully aware of the extent of the atrocities committed by the Nazis against the Jews. He needed some education on the subject, I felt.

I, therefore, proposed that instead of going to court, he should read a few books, which I sent him, about the Shoah. I also suggested watching “Schindler's List.”

A few weeks later, we received a most heartwarming letter from the man. There were not enough words in the English language, for him, to express his remorse over the message and apology for his ignorance. These were wrapped in his deep gratitude for the education and for helping him have a better understanding of Jewish history, coupled with a promise to do all he can to help educate others and ensure that history's lessons are passed on. 

Remembering Forward

 

“Without memory, there is no culture. Without memory, there would be no civilization, no society, no future” - Elie Wiesel

“Memory is deceptive because it is coloured by today’s events.” – Albert Einstein

“To be a Jew is to know that over an above history is the task of memory” – Rabbi Jonathan Sacks

 

The command to remember is an important pillar in our Jewish tradition. “The imperative of the Hebrew word zachor,” asserts David Pillegi, “is mentioned more than twenty-five times” in the Tanach (Jerusalem Post, March 29,2012). The Jewish year, accordingly, is mottled with many memorial days, national and private.

One of my favourite modern Yisraeli poets, Yehudah Amichai (May 3, 1924 – September 22, 2000), also, dwells on the notion of memory. “The world is filled with remembering and forgetting,” he writes. Amichai likens memory and forgetfulness to “dry land” and “sea” as metaphors to our duplicate realities which, he believes, are elements of our existence. “Dry land,” he suggests, is the memory of our starting point, our past, the anchor that keeps our feet secure on the ground. The “sea” is a metaphor for the unknown that awaits us in the days ahead. It is an unpredictable zone where we sail into the future in our desperate effort to hold on to forgetting memories, the ones that threaten to overwhelm, drown our essence in their torrent and prevent us from forming a future. Only those who have a stable dock on dry land, suggests Amichai, have some firm fulcrum, to which they can return to and safely resume their daily routine.  

Though our Jewish heritage prizes memory, I must admit that in my many years of interaction with Jewish communities around the world, I have encountered, on more than one occasion, the desire to forget and consciously erase our bad memories. Many Jewish parents want to spare their children the exposure to dark chapters in our history for fear that such a disclosure might affect them emotionally.

One example that comes to mind is during the time that I lived in New Zealand. I was once asked to conduct the Passover Seder at some friend’s house. All went well until I got to the part where the ten plagues were mentioned. When I reached the tenth one, where the first-born son of every Egyptian family was smitten, the father stopped me and said, “we don’t talk about death to our children…..” I was dumbfounded. Though I understood that the father’s silence and the temptation to forget, stemmed from concern, at the same time, I felt that it created a distortion. How could anyone not mention this very constitutive and cardinal act in our Jewish history? Can we raise a new generation without exposing it to the painful segments of the story?

This, however, is not merely a matter of a private case. Throughout history, many Jews elected to forget. That choice was the product of the yearning to prevent trauma and the wish to enable a future for their children.  Regrettably, though, it has always been at the cost of sacrificing the vital role of memory.

Jewish culture puts memory at the center of our collective identity. The Talmud (Yoma 56,1) teaches us that authentic remembering of events, good and bad, is the first move towards tikkun, improvement. Rabbi Nachman Bar Yitzchak, similarly, suggests that genuine memory leads towards action and change (Kiddushin 40, 2)

The horrors of the Shoah, a more recent sad episode in our People’s history, which happened eighty years ago, is another example of such a tendency. Sadly, quite a few Jews, both in Yisrael and elsewhere, spare details of that chapter from their children again, for fear of the impact it might have on their emotional well-being.

More recently, Yisrael has experienced one of the most horrific pogroms since the Shoah. I am referring to the massacre that took place close to two years ago on the Holy Day of Simchat Torah, which is better known by its Gregorian calendar date as, October 7^th, 2023. Despite the fresh memories of this bloodbath, many, including adults my age, refuse to see footage of the carnage or listen to the testimonies of its survivors.

This discrepancy between the necessity to remember and the wish to forget, between the “dry land” and the “sea,” as we have witnessed, engaged Amichai. In another poem, he offers yet another metaphor. This one is in the form of a “dam.”  This “dam,” implies Amichai, stands for the present tense, the stage in which we are. Just like a dam which controls the flow of water, Amichai’s “dam” allows us to release or block the flow of memory between the “dry land” and the “sea.”

It is at this point that the quote by Einstein, above, is brought into play. If the control over this “dam” is subject to our emotional and political agenda or is “coloured by today’s events,” in Einstein’s words, it might reshape the past not in accordance with historical facts, but by the demands of the present. Should we redraw our past? Should our “coloured” present determine which parts of our past be remembered or perhaps suppressed? What should be the fate of painful, yet essential and identity defining chapters in our history?

Memory is not merely what we choose to remember. Rather, it is the courage not to forget. Remembering forward requires of us, as Jews, to preserve the past, the good and the bad, without granting us the permission to rewrite it.

The Year I was Introduced to "Arabic" and "Middle Eastern"

 

 “We in the West have been civilized and safe for so long that we have forgotten the concept of ‘the enemy.’” – Lee Harris

 

Lately, especially in the wake of the October 7^th horrific events, we hear many Yisraeli  commentators stressing the need to learn to speak “Arabic,” or “Middle Eastern.” It is safe to state that the reference is rarely to languages. Rather, it is a call that points to adopting the modus operandi and frame of thought of Yisrael’s enemies and the enemies of the West. This, according to them, is of utmost importance, particularly when considering the geopolitical changes that engulf our fragile region and the unstable world.

“An enemy,” according to Lee Harris, as he states in the preface to his book Civilization and Its Enemies, “is someone willing to die in order to kill you.” Though Harris eases the definition to someone who merely wants to kill you or harm you, I believe that in the Middle East, at least, especially after witnessing the October 7^th horrific acts committed by a vicious barbaric enemy, the former definition fits best. “Arabic” and “Middle Eastern” are the only “languages” Yisrael’s enemies speak, the only two they understand.

Fortunately for me, I was first introduced to these “languages” many years ago, albeit I didn’t label them as such. It was in 1977. I was then working on my graduate degree, at UC Berkeley.

As a staunch Labour Party activist, at that time, I was still mourning the victory of Menachem Begin, several months earlier. I was so upset that I refused to watch Yisraeli news, distanced myself from Yisraeli politics and concentrated on my studies.

Not that night, though. Something pulled me to the small black and white T.V. and I turned it on. I could not believe my eyes. There, on the screen, in front of me, was President Sadat of Egypt debarking a plane in Yisrael.

After rubbing my eyes in disbelief, the questions started popping up. Had I not read that Begin was, an extremist, a war monger? Hadn’t we been told that he hated Arabs? “What is going on here? I kept asking myself. I was dumbfounded.

It was then that I decided to embark on a mission to check and study the profile and demographic structure of Begin’s voters. “Surely,” I remember thinking to myself, “they must know something that I don’t.”

As I delved into the research which included much reading as well as speaking to his supporters, both in Yisrael and the U.S., I learned that most of Begin’s electorate were people who came from Muslim or Arabic speaking countries. Many were refugees from those countries. They had lived among those who call for our demise. These voters understood and spoke “Arabic” and “Middle eastern.” They were well familiar with the “Arabic” and “Middle Eastern” way of life, and what fuels those who are reared in the lap of these two “languages.”

I, on the other hand, a daughter of two Lithuanian Jews who was raised in a Western society and has never lived in any environment that comes even close to that of most of Begin’s voters. I was clueless about their culture and way of life. They taught me, in what I might describe as, a “crash course” all they knew about our enemies’ behavioural patterns. The lesson was painful. It burst the ideological bubble which had been my habitat for several years before. Their words illustrated to me that all those I felt sorry for, those that I supported in their efforts to establish a state, and, on whose behalf, I demonstrated, had one aim only, annihilate me and my fellow Jews.  Those I spoke to, all echoed the same message, “We are facing a malicious enemy who will use any means to eradicate us. The only way to deal with our enemy, according to them, is “with a mighty hand and a strong fist.” Begin, in their opinion, was the only one who understood and spoke their language.

In 1979, I officially became a Likudnik. I have never looked back.

The sooner we, Yisraelis, master these “languages,” and utilize their method of operation in the political, military and propaganda arenas, the more invincible we will become. This is of utmost importance, especially when it comes to the pursuit of Peace. In the words of  Dr. Kedar, “Peace in the Middle East is only given to an invincible state.”

Shavua tov, Am Yisrael and a great week to all.

The Florentine Republic and Yisraeli Democracy

 

This article was written by Bat-Zion Susskind-Sacks and Roger Froikin

One of the courses that I attend, “Renaissance and the Birth of the Modern World,” discusses the birth of the Florentine Republic in the 16^th century. In researching the subject, I came across the following analysis, by Mark Jurdevic in Humanism and Creativity in the Renaissance, of that entity:

“Political conflict in Florence from the age of Dante to the republic of 1527–30 tended to revolve around and between two competing visions of the republic and two consequent political languages: the one aristocratic, closed, and exclusive, and the other popular, broad-based, and inclusive. For the aristocrats, who most frequently competed amongst themselves for influence and power, politics was rooted in informal private patronage: personal and neighbourhood ties of dependence and obligation, marriages and friendships and the informal distribution of favours." For a moment, as I was trying to focus on the topic of the lecture, I had a déjà vu sensation. It felt as though the author was describing modern day Yisrael.

In my distress, I shared my thoughts with my dear friend, Roger Froikin. Unsurprisingly, he agreed with me.

This article is a joint effort by both of us to shed more light on the subject.

Encyclopedia Britannica defines “Democracy,” the Yisraeli form of governance, as: “a form of government based upon self-rule of the people and, in modern times, upon freely elected representative institutions and an executive responsible to the people…. in their equal right to life liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”

The term “Republic,” for many of us, suggests a form of government in which the public votes for representatives whose task is to represent their interests to the government. The term may be applied to any form of government that is not ruled by a monarch. “However,” according to Dr. Steven Zucker and Dr. Beth Harris, “Florence was a republic in the sense that there was a constitution which limited the power of the nobility (as well as labourers) and ensure that no person or group could have complete political control…” whereas in reality, as history has shown, “political power resided in the hands of middle-class merchants, a few wealthy families, such as the Medici and the powerful guilds.”

 The roots of the Florentine Republic date back to the decline of the Western Roman Empire.

The year was 59 B.C.E. The Roman dictator, Sulla, conquered the area and allotted plots of land to veteran soldiers who were loyal to him. According to some accounts, the city was founded for political and strategic reasons. These were the seeds of what later became the Florentine and other Republics or city-states, each with their own government.

Yisrael, which is much younger, was mostly settled by two groups that entered the land in the early 20^th century. One, primarily Eastern European Jewish idealists, leaning toward secularism and socialism. Later, German Jews, from a community that was quicky assimilating away from Jewish tradition, came as refugees from Nazi Germany. They had business and law experience and tended to the politically leaned left.  These people founded the socialist Kibbutzim, many of which were strategically vital points that bravely defended the People from constant threats of terrorism.

Even though, formally, Florence was a democratic republic, it was under the absolute rule of aristocratic families, such as the Medici, through their control of key institutions and the support of their patrons. Jean Bodin, a French political philosopher, offered a far-reaching definition of the term “republic.” In his canonical study of sovereignty, entitled, Six Books of the Commonwealth (1576), he defines the republic as “the rightly ordered government of a number of families, and of those things which are their common concern, by a sovereign power.”

Of course, the situation in the Jewish State is not identical to what happened in Florence, but the behavioural patterns in the development of new aristocracies in both Renaissance Florence Italy and in the young State of Yisrael are similar. This makes the two, along with a very few other examples worldwide, rather unique, and instructive.

In Florence, the pattern that evolved over time involved a small number of business families. These often competed against one another usually resulting in each family finding its business specialty, its niche, and then forming agreements among them. These were in the form of a constitution, limiting competition and conflict among them while controlling any possible rivalry from outsiders by using a combination of laws and guilds that limited who could enter what position, profession, or job. In short, these families chose to protect their wealth and their status by instituting ways to control one another and those not part of their “club.”

So here we have the pattern.  A new aristocracy built on business, not land and violence, that periodically allies itself to the landed aristocracy for approval and for help as needed in their own struggles. This new elite makes deals, contracts, constitutions to limit conflict, as well as laws designed to suit their purpose, not those of the common people they employed. They marry within their group, their club, handle conflicts by manipulating allies and even the Church, in the case of Florence, at the risk of destroying all they have built at times.

To hold and maintain its status and control, the Yisraeli elite has done pretty much what the business elite in Florence did in earlier centuries. It has acted to do whatever it could to preserve and protect its new status, which was secular, Eurocentric, even a bit hostile to religion and tradition, while holding onto many of the political and social attitudes of the European left.

As in the Florentine Republic, the Yisraeli privileged elite has established laws to protect its immunity and wealth from the competition of those “not in the club.” It has done all it can to prevent erosion of its authority and control, fighting against democratic judicial reform, and opposing political and sometimes, military, change that might open the economy to greater prosperity and participation by other segments of the community.   Even banks run by those that dissented, outsiders, were driven out of business. Business licenses were difficult to get and were available only for those that posed no real threat of competition.  Construction companies were limited in bringing in new technologies, lest they compete with established Histadrut (Labour Union) owned operations. Outsiders that wanted to invest in the nation and bring new ideas that might mean competition, were discouraged by the authorities in connection to the Histadrut, which also represented the interests of this self-appointed ruling class. 

In both, they used their power in institutions such as education while resorting to other means, when necessary, even at the expense of the city in Renaissance Florence or the state, in modern Yisrael. Unfortunately, in Yisrael, this process has been going on for some time already but has reached a point where those on top fear losing so much that they are willing to paralyze the country to prevent change.   

To be fair, we should also point out the contrasts between the two. 

Firstly, unlike the Florentine and other republics, such as the U.S.A., Yisrael does not have a constitution.

Additionally, in Florence, the new business aristocracy shared a culture and religion with the people of the city and accepted the authority of the religious leaders. It transpired most of the time, though with a bit of acceptable skepticism.

In contrast, the new aristocracy in Yisrael, has tried to shed the Jewish past and be like their European counterparts, expressing disdain and even hostility towards Jewish culture and tradition. That has become a source of conflict and division. The reaction from other population segments made it much more difficult to do what the elite class in Florence did. The Yisraeli pattern has had an additional source of social conflict compared to what developed in Italy.

Another difference is the outside threat, the wars and terrorism has caused the nation of Yisrael to pull together and not splinter along religious and ideological lines.

What is certain, though, is that as the Renaissance Florence experience shows, Yisrael could not ignore the demands of the underclass forever.

In Yisrael, this pattern is still developing. To ensure that the Jewish state becomes a true democratic republic with real equal justice and respect for all, a lot of irritations and problems must be resolved, and new policies implemented.

 

"Never Again" Is Always

 

     "Never Again is the constant retelling of the Holocaust story."-                           Antonio Gueterres, Secretary General of the U.N.

"Never Again" as Guterres suggests has, generally, been associated with the calls by Jews to try and ensure that the atrocities committed against our Jewish people, merely a little over eighty years ago, would be a share of the past.

In recent months, following the horrific attacks against Yisraeli residents by Hamas terrorists, we have been hearing that slogan repeatedly echoed by many. These days, however, the phrase has morphed from "Never Again" to "Never Again is Now."

That, in my view, is unfortunate.

Should this motto of our People be confined strictly to the "here" and "now?" What happens when the "here" and "now" are over? Are we going to wake up to the call only when some other calamity, G-d forbid, befalls our People?

Learning the lessons of our history has been one of the most important tenets of our Jewish faith and tradition.

"Thou shall tell them to your children....,"  "Remember what Amalek did to you..." are but two examples of the directives repeatedly mentioned in our Tanach. "Never Again" is precisely the goal and the intended lessons of these commandments.

The phrase "Never Again" in the context of the Shoah (Holocaust), as quoted above, was first used in a 1961 documentary, "Mein Kampf," by a Swedish filmmaker, Erwin Leiser.
In it, over a shot of Auschwitz, Leiser, a Jewish refugee from Nazi Germany, says, "It must never happen again -never again."

There might be, though, another possible source to this phrase.

In 1926, an Yisraeli poet by the name of Yitzhak Lamdan published a poem entitled "Masada." In one of the poem's passages, where he uses the imagery of th Hora, danced by young Zionists, Landman writes:

                  "Lift your legs,
                   Firm your knees,

                   More and more!

                   In the dance's circling chain
                   Never shall Masada fall again!"

Mount Masada, as those who are familiar with Jewish history, would know, was the last bastion of Jewish fighters against the Romans around 73 C.E.

The heroic story of Masada has become a source of pride to many Yisraelis. "Masada Shall Never Fall Again '' is part of the oath taken by some members of the Yisraeli military who pledge from its mountaintop to defend the Jewish state.

These words became one of the pillars of our Jewish consciousness and the Zionist ethos. Just as these two precepts are part of our Jewish essence past, present and future, so is the slogan "Never Again."

Confining these words to the "here" and "now" diminishes, in my opinion, their vitality and weakens the vow that similar cataclysms to those that happened to our ancestors shall not be repeated.

Restricting "Never Again" to the "here" and "now" might make them, in the words of Rabbi Sacks ZT"L, "sound more like ever again." 

What, then, is a better way to ensure that the sad parts of our Jewish history do not repeat themselves than to pledge "Never Again Is Always" rather than "Never again is Now?"

Shabbat Shalom, fellow Jews and a blessed weekend to all

Yisrael is not only a Jewish State, first and foremost, it is also Democratic

 

“The Jewish tradition carries very powerful democratic genes.” – Fania Oz-Salzberger

As many here are probably aware, the state of Yisrael is currently undergoing some turbulent times. Part of the public debate that has been raging surrounds the question of whether Yisrael, the National Home of the Jewish People, should give up its Jewish essence to maintain its democratic core.

We hear repeated calls to make the state “Jewish and Democratic.”

And that, dear readers, is precisely what Yisrael is and has been since its inception.

I doubt that there is anyone who would ever not associate Yisrael with Jews. Surprisingly enough, the Jewish substance of the state was decreed by gentiles, not Jews.  Lord Balfour, for instance, was one. In his famous Declaration of November 2, 1917, called for the establishment of a “National Home for the Jewish People” in Eretz Yisrael which, in those days was, also known as “Palestine.”

Then came the San Remo Accord where The Supreme Council of the Allied Powers, which acted as an International Court of Law echoed his call, in article 22 of the “Covenant of the League of Nations” of April 25^th , 1920. That resolution has been anchored in International Law.

The final stamp of approval for what was to become a Jewish state was U.N. Resolution 181 of November 29^th, 1947. It called for the partition of Eretz Yisrael into an Arab state A  N  D  a Jewish state. Yisrael is the name of Jewish state. It has been a Jewish state and will continue to remain that way, de Jure (by law/right) and de Facto (in effect).

The language of Yisrael’s Declaration of Independence which, I trust, was carefully crafted, reinforces, and repeatedly mentions that what lies at the heart of the nascent state is its Jewish essence. Already in its first paragraph, the Declaration mentions the “eternal Book of Books,” our Tanach, our code of ethics that teaches us the values of justice, equality, and freedom which we shared with the world.

These values were constantly preached by our prophets. They are the guidelines that have dictated the objectives of the newly established State, as mentioned in the Declaration “…it will foster the development of the country for the benefit of all its inhabitants, it will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel.”

What are those values? What was the ultimate message of the “Book of Books” and the “Prophets of Israel?”

The decree to equality, do justice and ensure freedom runs like a golden thread throughout the Tanach, the “Book of Books.”

The concepts of justice and equality are stressed already in the Book of Bresheet (Genesis 18:18-19) where G-d proclaims “…. Since Abraham is to become a great and populous nation and all the nations of the earth will be blessed through him. For I have signaled him out that he may instruct his children and his posterity to keep the way of the Lord by doing tzedakah and mishpat (justice and law) …..”

“Justice, justice you shall pursue,” commands us the Book of D’varim (Deuteronomy 17:20). It is one of the cardinal obligations of Judaism. In the Torah portion of Shoftim (judges), we are commanded to “Appoint judges and officials for” our “tribes…. and they shall govern the people with due justice. You shall not judge unfairly,” we are told (Deuteronomy 16:18). “The Hebrew Bible,” claims Rabbi Dr. Bradley Shavit Artson, “possesses a passion for justice for the poor, the weak and the despised…. We betray a broad heritage of the Torah,” he continues, “when we fail to recognize justice and righteousness as primary religious categories of Judaism.”

The Tanach focuses on the weak and oppressed by referring recurrently to the “orphan, widow and foreigner” for a reason. A human society is measured by its attitudes towards the powerless. The care and the compassion that the “Book of Books,” the Torah and then the prophets display towards the under privileged of society is probably one of the reasons it has been translated into every possible language. The constant appeal to the advantaged members of society to feed the hungry and the disadvantaged is an appeal to one’s conscience and is justified as either a religious obligation (“I am G-d” Psalm 46:10), a historical rationale (“For you were strangers in Egypt” Deuteronomy 10:19), as carrying an eventual reward (“your days may be prolonged” Deuteronomy 5:16)or, sometimes, a social one (“So they may rest as you” Deuteronomy 5:14).

All these prove that Judaism and the principles of Democracy go hand in hand.

The word “democratic” is not mentioned in Yisrael’s Declaration of Independence. However, the social and “democratic gene” which manifests itself in the values of the “Book of Books” as its basis, the moral values of liberty, justice, and freedom, the pillars of any democracy, which the Declaration espouses were the guiding principles for the founders of the State.

One of the goals of the newly established state, as the Declaration states is to “Ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex: It will guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education, and culture; it will safeguard the Holy Places of all religions; and it will be faithful to the principles of the Charter of the United Nations.” The Declaration further appeals to “the Arab inhabitants of the State of Israel to preserve peace and participate in the upbuilding of the State on the basis of full and equal citizenship and due representation in all its provisional and permanent institution.”

The mere fact that such noble social and economic principles coupled with the ongoing quest for justice and the continuous deliberations over the best form of government which are sewn all over the Tanach, the "eternal Book of Books" formed the basis for Yisrael's Declaration of Independence, points to the undeniable fact that democracy is part of the DNA of the Jewish State. 

Saltzberg further asserts that in modern Yisrael today, "anyone pretending that Judaism and democracy are incompatible traditions and that Yisraeli "society must decide between the two is showing a certain measure of historical ignorance. Not only," she claims, "are Jewish and democratic elements of its statehood compatible, but they have been influencing one another for well over 2,000 years."

Fleeing from Babylon

 

Two days ago, Yisrael marked the seventy fifth anniversary of the U.N. vote to divide Eretz Yisrael into Arab and Jewish states. That event prompted a wave of exodus of Jews from Arab countries to the modern-day State of Yisrael. Even prior to that historical event, many Jews had been forced to leave their homes in Arab countries because of violent attacks against their community. They became refugees, albeit, forgotten refugees. It is time to remind our fellow Jews and the world of that part of our history, lest we forget. This is the story of one person and her family.                                    

Rachel Hazan was born in Bahgdad, the capital of modern-day Iraq. Though her father’s family had originated in Iran, on her mother’s side the family had been there for as far as they can remember, possibly since the Babylonian exile following the destruction of the first Temple in Yerushalayim.

The Jews of Iraq had a momentous two-thousand-year-old history. They lived as an independent, homogeneous community which was not only a staunch guardian of Jewish tradition but added immensely to it.

During the 20’s and 30’s of the last century, this community influenced almost every aspect of the Iraqi society, primarily in the economic arena. It founded commercial bases in many of the middle eastern and far eastern ports as well as in Europe and north America.  Under the hegemony of King Faisal the first, Jews had conducted an orderly life and lived peacefully alongside their Arab neighbours. They regularly contributed to the social, literary, and scientific life of the Iraqi culture.

This was the world which Rachel was born into on an early day in the summer of 1925. She was the third child in a family of nine children.

As a young woman who was reared and raised in a conservative environment, Rachel was never sent to school. Her father who was a skilled carpenter, earned a good living and provided the family with all their needs. Other than sending her learning and mastering the skill of sewing, Rachel was destined to stay home and help her mother raise her younger brothers and sisters

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. The peace and tranquility which were the lot of the Iraqi Jews, ceased with the outbreak of WWII. As a result of the ascension of Nazism in Europe, coupled with the assassination of King Faisal, in 1937 and the pact between the Mufti, Hajj Amin al Husseini and Hitler, antisemitism reared its ugly head again. It also cascaded into Iraq and the surrounding countries in the Arab world.  

The Jews of Iraq were subjected to many harsh edicts that were imposed upon them. They were constantly harassed and threatened by their Arab neighbours. The attacks on them culminated in 1941 in what came to be known as the Farhud (Arabic term which means “pogrom” or “violent dispossession”). It erupted on June 1^st and lasted for two days. During that time, mobs assaulted Jews, Jewish businesses, and homes. According to the official report of the commission investigating the incident, “128 Jews were killed, 210 were injured, and over 1500 businesses were damaged.”

Fortunately, the Hazan family was spared any attacks of violence. Their neighbours with whom they were in very good relationships, protected and defended them.

Unfortunately for many other Iraqi Jews, most of their Arab neighbours were not as kind. They either, actively, partook in the attacks or simply stood idly and watched from afar.

The Farhud, as history illustrates, raised Jewish national awareness, and increased the number of Iraqi Jews who joined the Zionist organizations which operated as an underground movement and, eventually, prompted many Jews to emigrate to Yisrael. That desire did not escape the Hazan Family.

The first step towards making that move was initiated by her uncle Ya’acov. A short time after the Farhud, he decided to move his family to Yerushalayim in search of starting a new and better life there.

Noteworthy to mention here is that in those days, one passport was issued to all members of one family regardless of the number of siblings.

Taking advantage of such a rule, Ya’acov returned to Iraq and suggested that Ezra, Rachel’s oldest brother join him, as his son, and accompany him to Yerushalayim. A year and a half later, the Hazan family began to sell their assets, home, business, and many personal items. Part of that money was sent through one of their trustworthy Arab employees to Yisrael who, in turn, bought a plot of land for them in the Hatikvah neighbourhood of Tel Aviv. Her mother went to Basra, where her brother resided to apply for passports for the family. Naturally, they were prohibited from mentioning Yisrael as their destination.

Once their passports were in place, the plan of their route of escape to the promised land continued to be woven and started to take shape.

Since, as we all know too well, the British limited the number of Jews that were allowed to emigrate to Yisrael, Rachel and her family had an arduous and challenging project ahead of them. That is where the Jewish Agency which operated in Iraq in a clandestine manner entered the picture.

 To avoid any suspicion, the Agency advised Rachel’s father to move to Turkey first. From Turkey, the family traveled to Syria under the pretext of seeking medical treatment for Rachel and her sister Victoria. Since they had taken too much luggage along with them, the Agency relieved them of some and promised to deliver it to Yisrael where it eventually waited for them.

The family spent one week in Syria. From there, it crossed the border to Lebanon. In order to reach the Yisraeli Lebanese border, the family had to travel four hours by car and then on for six hours, not an easy mission for a family with eight children some of whom were still very young, including one baby.

Luckily, they were guided by a Jewish Iraqi police officer who was employed by the British but also worked for the Jewish Agency. The officer also happened to be the son of one of the Hazans’ close friends in Baghdad. It was his task to ensure that they cross the border from Lebanon to Yisrael and safely reach Kfar Gila’di which was situated near the border with only an asphalt road separating between the two places.

At that spot, however, there was also positioned a British Military base. Hence, one had to be overly cautious not to be noticed.

Much to their dismay, that was a rainy night which was interspersed with the occasional showers of heavy hail.

Just as they were all ready to cross the road to freedom, a British soldier came out of his tent, turned on his projector and inspected the area, as always, looking, mainly, for Jewish illegal immigrants who were trying to make their way to a home that had been given to them by a decree of the family of nations. Fortunately, they were able to hide in a pit alongside the road, in an angle that the British soldier’s projector missed.

Drenched, shivering hungry and covered with mud, they finally reached Kfar Gila’di where they were provided with a room, hot water, and a nutritious warm meal. The police officer who had escorted them could not stay with them. As an officer in the service of his royal highness, King George the VI, he had to pretend and act in a “business as usual” manner yet made sure that all their needs were satisfied.

After a few days, he arranged for them to be transported to the central bus stop in Haifa where they finally reunited with their uncle Ya’acov, his son Yoseph and their oldest brother Ezra whom they had not seen in a few years. The three had all moved to Tel Aviv a short while earlier.

Unfortunately, however, it was not yet time to breath a sigh of relief. It was almost Shabbat, when they eventually reached Haifa, and no buses were available to transfer them to Tel Aviv, their final destination. After a persistent persuasion process which lasted close to ten hours, a bus was finally furnished for the large family as well as for some other Jewish immigrants who had just arrived at the shores of their future Homeland.

For a whole year, following their arrival, the Hazan family lived in a tent which the father set up on the property that they had purchased earlier. Later, a hut, constructed of wood and stone, replaced the tent which was later succeeded by a comfortable house which stands there until this very day and where Rachel still resides.

Rachel is surrounded and wrapped by the love of her four children, thirteen grandchildren and twelve great grandchildren. We wish her many more years of abundant health, nachat and sheer bliss.

 

Note: By 1951, ten years after the Farhud, 92 percent of the Iraqi Jewish community had emigrated to the State of Yisrael.

Defying the Odds

 He was born as Arkadi. He is now Arik. His twin brother was named Misha. Now he goes by the name Michael.

Arik and Michael came into the world in very unlikely circumstances. They were born in what is known, nowadays, the Ukraine, to a Jewish mother, Dr. Marina Yanovsky and an African Muslim father, Dr. Ibrahim Msengi.

Both their parents attended medical school in the former Soviet Union, during the 1980’s. As Arik likes to describe it, in his witty sense of humour, they “met for a cup of coffee and nine months later he and his twin brother came into the world.”

Well, not exactly the case, as Arik shared with me during our interview.

Marina and Ibrahim were together for five years. When Arik and Michael were one year old, Ibrahim was forced to leave the Soviet Union when he faced difficulties with the renewal of his visa. He returned to his native home in Tanzania.

Marina and their sons lost contact with him. The only shred of validation of him ever being part of their life was the retention of his last name, Msengi.

Though Arik and his brother were aware of the identity of their father, they vaguely knew anything about him. They never missed him nor felt deprived of his presence in their lives. They were showered with warmth and love by their mother, grandmother, and aunt.

Even though, prior to the fall of the iron curtain and the dismantling of the Soviet Union, ethnic and religious affiliations were under suppression, Arik and Michael were raised on a strong Jewish identity. Arik recalls how his grandmother shared with him stories about the Shoah and describes his mother as “Jewish to her core.”

In 1990, Arik, Michael, their mother, and aunt moved to Yisrael and settled in Be’er Sheva. In accordance with the family’s strong Jewish essence, they were finally free to live as Jews and fully connect to the Jewish culture. One of the manifestations of that linkage was when Arik and Michael celebrated their Bar Mitzvah at the Kotel.

Following their discharge from the IDF, Arik and Michael, like many young Yisraelis, decided to take some time off and travel the world. Africa was their first pick. Naturally, Tanzania came into mind and that choice gave birth to their resolve to visit Tanzania and try to trace the whereabouts of their biological father.

Arik Msengi

When the two embarked on that adventure, and found themselves in Dar Es Salaam, the biggest city in Tanzania, they had no clue as to where he might be. Since he was a medical doctor, the twins decided to start looking at the local hospitals and medical clinics in the hope that someone might know or has, perhaps, heard the name Dr. Ibrahim Msengi. Their efforts, so it seemed, produced no results.

However, just as they were about to give up their search, someone mentioned to them that in one of the state’s districts, there was a governor by that same name.

They followed that lead. Needless to mention the surprise that overcame Dr. Msengi when he was told that two young Yisraelis had been asking about him and claimed to be his sons. He was never aware that Marina and their children had retained their Jewish identity and emigrated to Yisrael.

When Arik and Michael arrived at his governor’s manor in the district which their Dr. Msengi controlled, they were dumbfounded. It was situated on a large estate with perfectly manicured gardens which were spotted with different animals roaming freely. Dr. Msengi and his other children, along with their extended family, were waiting for them with open arms. As the, somewhat overwhelmed, young men discovered, their father had been married to a Christian woman (who had passed away) and sired children. It turned out to be a very emotionally charged reunion, one which forged three faiths, Islam, Christianity and of course, Judaism, into one cohesive unit. 

The twins asked to call their mother in Yisrael so that she could also be part of that unexpected occasion. Marina and Ibrahim broke into a” fountain of conversation,” in Russian, their former language of communication. They finally had the opportunity to catch up after all these years.

Arik and Michael stayed at the manor for a while. Their father took them on excursions around the county and showered them with love and attention. Following their departure, they vowed to never lose contact with each other. He even visited them in Yisrael a few times and loved it.

For the last twelve years, Arik has been working as a tour guide, specializing in Africa. He learned to speak Swahili and considers Tanzania his second home. Michael moved to Tanzania, married a local woman and through a company that he set up there, represents western interests locally.

What an inspiring story of overcoming challenges, one that hails the victory of determination despite the odds, a story with a cheerful ending, the kind we all year to hear more and more.

May the coming calendar year shower us with many such accounts of reunification with happy outcomes.

Every blessing