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.

 

Purim and Memory

 

                          

   "Memory is the secret to redemption" – Ba’al Shem Tov

 

These days, Jews, the world over, are preparing to celebrate the Purim festivities. We wear costumes, eat the traditional hamentaschen and read Megilat Esther, the Book of Esther. It also so happens that on Shabbat,  before Purim, the Torah portion that is recited is "Zachor," along with its corresponding Haftarah which is taken from Samuel 1, Chapter 15. Parashat “Vayavo Amalek” (And Amalek Came, Exodus 17:8-16) which describes the first war Am Yisrael has to face aginst the Amalekites is read on the morning of Purim following the recitation of the Book of Esther. 

It is no coincidence that these three important Tana"ch passages are contiguous to each other. There is a golden thread that runs through them. At the core of all three rest the importance of Jewish collective memory and the lessons of history that need to be learned and internalized.

The decree to remember is repeated in our tradition. In Parashat “Zachor,” (Remember) which we read on Shabbat before Purim, we are commanded, “Remember what Amalek did to you as you came out of Egypt; how he met you on the way, and cut down all the weak who straggled behind you when you were weary and exhausted, and he did not fear G-d. Therefore, when the Lord, your G-d will relieve you of all your enemies around you, in the Land which the Lord your G-d gives you as a hereditary portion, you shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Do not forget” (Deuteronomy, 25:17-19). Amalek, the Torah tells us, ambushed our People during their wandering in the desert when they came out of Egypt. They killed the weak, the vulnerable and slaughtered babies in their mothers’ arms. “Zachor” is the only Parashah that is read aloud in synagogue each year and is considered one of the few Torah portions that every Jew should hear.

The corresponding Haftarah to this portion is taken from Samuel 1,15:1-34 where we are reminded of what the Amalekites did to our People in the desert.  Samuel, upon G-d’s order, commands King Saul to erase Amalek in its entirety including its possessions, its sheep, men women, babies, toddlers, camels, and donkeys, without compassion. “Go and you shall destroy the sinners, the Amalekites, and you shall wage a war against them until you destroy them all. Saul succeeds in harming Amalek, kills their people yet captures their king Agag and saves some of the prime sheep and cattle to use them as sacrifice to G-d.

Samuel is surprised to find out that Saul has spared some of sheep and cattle and reproves while Saul, apologetically explains that the People are the ones who collected the spoils. In other words, Saul caves in to the People rather than carry out the word of G-d. “Even if you are small in your own eyes,” responds Samuel, “are you not the head of the tribes of Yisrael? And the Lord anointed you as king over Yisrael….. Has the Lord (as much) desire in burnt offerings and peace offering, as in obeying the voice of the Lord? Behold, to obey is better than a peace-offering; to harken (is better) than the fat of teraphim.”  Every deed, we are told, bears its consequences. “For rebellion,” proclaims Samuel, “is as the sin of divination, and stubbornness is as idolatry and teraphim. Since you rejected the word of the Lord. He has rejected you from being a king.”

Eventually, Saul does carry out the order. He kills Agag, and whatever is left of his possessions but not before he must pay  his dethronement for his disobedience to G-d’s directive.

The violation of G-d’s command, regarding Amalek, by Saul and Am Yisrael, proves that Jewish collective memory and its necessary lessons have failed the practical test. Unfortunately, Saul’s irresponsible leadership and infraction of G-d’s command would eventually rebound and expose our People to further threats of annihilation.

And that is, precisely, dear readers, where the story of Purim enters the scene.

The Book of Esther chronicles the story of the Jewish community in ancient Persia. We witness the ideological struggle between the wicked Haman and a Jewish hero, Mordechai. A look into the text will reveal that Haman is described as "the Agagite." He is a descendant of Agag the king of Amalek whose life, king Saul, initially, spared.

Furthermore, the script also discloses Mordechai’s pedigree. It tells us that “There was a Jewish man in Shushan the capital, whose name was Mordechai, the son of Yair, the son of Shimei the son of Kish, a Benjamite” (Esther, 2:5).

With your permission, let me rewind back to Samuel 1 chapter 9 and focus on verses 1 and 2. They describe the lineage of King Saul and read, “There was a Benjamite, a man of standing, whose name was Kish, son of Abiel, the son of Zeror, the son of Aphiah of Benjamin. Kish had a son named Saul.”

Lo and behold, the Jew, Mordechai, and King Saul share the same family tree. They are distant kinspersons, in the same manner that Haman, the “Agagite” is a kinsperson to the worst enemy of Am Yisrael, Agag, the king of Amalek.

The Book of Esther is the last piece of that golden thread that connects Parashat "Zachor" and its Haftarah to the story of Purim. As the story of Purim unveils itself, we learn that Haman and his seed are obliterated off the face of the earth which is, of course, a cause for celebration.

In addition to the important lesson of the Haftarah regarding the necessity to obey G-d’s command, there is, however, another, no less important, lesson delivered to us in the Book of Esther.The narrative of Purim also teaches us the significance of carrying out G-d’s commands promptly and without procrastination, be the reason whatever it is. As we learned from the Haftarah, King Saul did not fully follow G-d’s orders. Had he done that, had he and Am Yisrael committed to memory the decree to eradicate Amalek and its offspring, the descendants of King Saul would not have had to face those of Amalek, the Book of Esther would most likely not have been written and the holy day by the name of “Purim” would have never seen the light of day.

Unfortunately, Amalek is a chameleon that changes its forms and emerges in different forms, during different times in our Jewish history. As these words are being written, Yisrael is fighting for its survival against one of Amalek’s reincarnations, a terrorist group by the name of Hamas. There are two lessons that last Shabbat teaches us.

The first, as we all saw, is the importance of obeying G-d and following the decree to “remember what Amalek did to you…” The second is the significant message that is enciphered in it. 

It is the message that we should commit to memory the decree of Parashat “Zachor,” fight and destroy, today, those who wish to harm and kill us so that our future generations will be spared the need to face them, or worse ones, tomorrow.

Not until such time will the Jewish People be redeemed and free to realize its glorious destiny.

Purim Sameach, fellow Jews.

 

The Good Doctor

 

As some of you might know, I have recently returned from an amazing expedition to Antarctica. The expedition lasted three weeks, an adventure that deserves an article dedicated solely to recounting and sharing that great experience.

Our port of departure on that sunny afternoon on December 31, 2023, was Ushuaia, Argentina, the world’s southernmost city.

As we were making our way to the open horizon over the Pacific Ocean in the festive atmosphere, I decided to go to my cabin and stay there since I celebrate only one new year, the Jewish one. Negotiating one’s way on a new, unfamiliar and anything but a luxuriant vessel can be, as I found out, quite challenging.

At one point, I tripped and hit my head on the stairs. There was no one near me. Fortunately, I did not lose consciousness, but it took me a minute or so to regain my balance. When I got to the cabin, I saw that I was bleeding from a deep cut in my eyelid.

Without any hesitation, I went to reception and asked to see the ship’s doctor. “I am going to be ok,” I kept telling myself as I was about to enter the doctor’s clinic.

Dr. Marvin Armando Gutierrez Lopez, better known as “Dr. Marvin,” and his caring nurse, Lally, were, fortunately, both there.

Naturally, I wanted to learn more about the person in whose hands I was going to put my trust and care. “I am from Guatemala,” he said in response to my question. “And where did you study medicine?” I persisted. “In Cuba,” came the comforting answer.

Let me explain.

As someone who has been to Cuba and has had experience in the health care industry, mainly in the U.S., I had been exposed to the country’s renowned healthcare system. In Cuba healthcare is a basic right and is available, free of charge to all Cubans. The country has been credited with some notable achievements such as increasing life expectancy and eradicating many diseases.

I felt more at ease.

“Do I need to be concerned, doctor?” I carried on with my interrogation.

“Let me ask you,” he responded, noticing my anxiety, “do you feel nauseous, have a headache and experience double vision?”

“No, to all three,” I said, somewhat relieved.

 “Then let me stitch your eyelid and monitor you for at least forty-eight hours to make sure that all is well,” he continued as I was making myself comfortable on the small bed situated in the ship’s clinic.

The following day, I met the expedition’s doctor, a lovely American lady. She had heard from Dr. Marvin about my case and suggested that I have an MRI at the Stanley hospital in the Falkland Islands. That, according to her, would have meant that I must stay there for three days, at least, as the results are interpreted in England.

“Does that mean I will have to miss the rest of the expedition?” I asked as panic spread through my essence.

“I afraid so,” she responded in a serious expression.

“Dr. Marvin, do you agree with the expedition’s doctor?” I asked him when I visited him the following day as he was examining my stiches.

“I don’t think so,” came his calming answer. “You seem to be fine.” His composed and reassuring demeanour infused me with hope. I decided to put my fate in his hands and the hands of his sweet and beautiful nurse, Lally.

From then on, I visited his clinic every day. We had long conversations where he shared with me parts of his life.  He was orphaned from his father at an early age and was obliged to join the labour force to help support his family. Through his mother, who worked in a local hospital as a nurse, he was assigned the task of mopping the hospital’s floors. His mother’s dream was to see him, eventually, become a doctor.

The opportunity to realize his mother’s wish presented itself in 1998. That year, Guatemala was hit by, “Mitch,” a devastating hurricane. Cuba, along with other countries, mounted relief efforts and sent aid along with medical personnel to the affected areas. The devastating results of this natural disaster brought to light the unsettled health care system in the region. In an effort to overcome these discrepancies, Cuba launched its most ambitious international programme, “The Latin American Medical School,” as part of the broader “Comprehensive Health Program.”

Dr. Marvin decided to move to Cuba where, in the course of time, he earned his medical degree.

During my daily visits to the clinic, I also shared with him and his nurse some facts about Yisrael and her achievements and successes, despite the harsh reality we experience here. They welcomed my extended invitation to come and visit my homeland.

Dr. Marvin also shared with me that, at some point, he intends to return to Guatemala, where he would love to continue to practice medicine. He also plans to buy a plot of land, one day, which he hopes to turn into a cocoa plantation and produce chocolate. “In addition to making people’s lives healthier,” he told me with a big smile, “I also want to make them sweeter.”

What an amazing man!

I hope you will all join me in wishing Dr. Marvin the best of luck and every blessing with his future undertakings.

Shavua tov.

The Art of Being Patient

 

                       “The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.” – Leo Tolstoy

 

 One of the most important lessons of this week’s Parasha, Ki Tisa concerns the virtue of patience.

The Parasha recounts the chain of events that follow the compelling and awe-inspiring episode of the giving of the Torah. Thirty-nine days after the ascent of Moshe to Mount Sinai to receive it, the Children of Yisrael, subsequent to time miscalculation, which lead them to believe that he is due to return on that day, become impatient and restless. They turn to Aharon, his brother and demand, “come make us a god who will go before us. As for this man Moses who brought us up out of Egypt, we don’t know what has happened.” (Exodus 32:1)

Naturally, they are bewildered, anxious and frightened that they will have no one to guide them to the land G-d promised Abraham. Though at Mount Sinai, the Children of Yisrael, became a nation, in this respect they still act like little children.  And, as we know, waiting, especially for children, is difficult. The Yisraelites get impatient and impetuously seek to replace G-d and Moshe.

Patience, according to the Torah, is one of the thirteen attributes of Yisrael’s infinite G-d who, thus, can afford to have infinite patience. Can we, however, expect the same of recently freed slaves who are dumbfounded, lost and are unable to take control over their lives?

This is not the first time, it turns out, that the Yisraelites display hastiness and impulsiveness.

The Midrash also addresses the heedless behaviour of our People. According to it, when G-d offered the Torah to other nations first, each of them inquired about its content. When there was no accord between it and their laws, they rejected it. Surprisingly enough, the People of Yisrael immediately responded to G-d's offer by saying, “we shall do, and we shall listen.” There was no use of judgment nor prudence in their acknowledgement, as was the case with the other nations.

As a result of this, the Talmud grants Am Yisrael the title “Ama Pziza” – a hasty Nation (Aramaic).

The Parasha goes on to explain that when Moshe comes down, he is aware of the adulation of the calf. However, only after he approaches the camp and witnesses the celebrations, does he smash the tablets. Was he perhaps hoping that though most of them worship the calf, there is still a small minority, a handful of people who are worthy of receiving the tablets?

Unfortunately, as we see, Am Yisrael’s impatience leads to a sin with calamitous results for generations to come.

Soon after this sordid affair, the Torah tells us that the People are mourning and feel remorse over the matter of the golden calf.  Here, as merely moments earlier, we witness traces of instability which on the one hand allows Am Yisrael to rise to the highest spiritual levels yet at the same time bring it to the brinks of the abyss, Both the results of acting impetuously and without reason or much thought.

Several thousands of years have passed since this catastrophic incident in the history of our Jewish People. We have, since then, matured, advanced, and contributed vastly to the world around us.

But have we become more patient as a Nation?

Not according to rabbi Berel Weil. In an essay entitles “Patience,” he states, “Since we are bidden to emulate the ways of our Creator, it would follow that patience and the ability to wait out a situation of problem should be Jewish virtues of our national character. Alas, they are not. The hasty part of our nature is dominant in all events in the Jewish world. We make snap decisions off-the-cuff agreements and commitments, and often speak when our good sense and brains are not fully in gear. Jewish history,” he concludes, “past and present is witness to the high price that we pay for such hastiness.”

May we learn the lessons of history, take the time to master the art of being patient and tolerant, teach ourselves to weigh our choices wisely and carefully in order to improve ourselves, our Jewish People and the world as a whole.

Shavua tov fellow Jews and a great week to all.

 

"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

Sukkot and Pesach -Two Facets of Jewish Epistemology

 

    

Pesach represents the love of G-d for his people. Sukkot represents the love of the people                                                                               for G-d." - Rabbi Jonathan Sacks ZT"L

  

Many years ago, I was watching an episode of “The People’s Court” with the late Judge Wapner. It was about a lawsuit presented by a person who lived on Malibu beach. His issue was with his Jewish neighbour who decided to erect a “hut,” during this time of year. The “hut,” he claimed, blocked his view of the ocean.

In his ruling, Judge Wapner gave the defendant one week to remove the “hut.” Everyone was satisfied with his decision.

Naturally, being Jewish, Judge Wapner knew the reason for erecting the “hut.” He knew that the suspicious “hut” is called a “Sukkah.” Having been raised in an orthodox home, he was aware of the commandment calling upon us, Jews, “Speak to the people of Israel, On the fifteenth day of this seventh month and for seven days is the Feast of Booths (Sukkot) to the Lord.” (Vayikra-Leviticus 23:34).

Now that we know the commandment, let us take it one step further and provide the reason for celebrating the Holy Day. The answer is provided in Vayikra 23:43,

“So your descendants will know that I had the Israelites live in temporary thatched huts when I brought them out of Egypt. I am the Lord your G-d.”

Clearly, Sukkot, just like Pesach, commemorates the Exodus from Egypt. As the Torah tells us, throughout the wanderings in the desert, Am Yisrael was living in huts or sukkot.

Some believe that since both Pesach and Sukkot commemorate the same event, the Exodus from Egypt, they should be celebrated at the same time.  After all, it could be much more pleasant to have a Seder outdoors, in the Sukkah, during Springtime when Pesach occurs, than in the Fall when Sukkot takes place.

The question as to why Sukkot is observed separately and why it was set to take place at this time of year, Fall, engaged many Jewish scholars.

Rabbi Yaakov ben Asher, also known as “Baal Haturim,” explains that during the spring and summertime, many people tend to sit under an awning or in a shade to protect themselves against the rays of the sun. Had we built Sukkot during Pesach, we would not have been able to discern as to whether we sit there for the sole purpose of performing a Mitzvah or merely for our own pleasure. However, when the rain starts and people generally seek cover in the comforts of their homes, we elect to go out and sit in the Sukkah to demonstrate that we perform G-d’s commandment.

The Vilna Gaon offers another explanation. He believes that that Sukkot is the time when the clouds of reverence returned to wrap Am Yisrael after they were removed subsequent to the sin of the Golden Calf.  The Gaon asserts that soon after his descent from Mount Sinai, Moshe decreed the building of the Mishkan. Upon commencement of its construction, there was reconciliation between G-d and Am Yisrael and the clouds returned. The Holy Day of Sukkot was solemnized to commemorate that moment in our history.

In my opinion, there is an educational component in separating Pesach and Sukkot on the Hebrew calendar. As mentioned above, a golden thread runs through these Holy Days. On both, Torah charges that we should stress the importance of teaching our children and our future generations the significance of freedom from the house of bondage. On Pesach, we are commanded, “And you shall tell your son in that day,” (Shemot, Exodus 13:8-9). A similar decree, as we saw above, is given regarding Sukkot, “So your descendants will know…” A lesson of such immense prominence needs to be reinforced and repeated lest we forget it.  Spacing its review every seven months, which is the span of time between the two Holy Days, is one way to ensure its absorption and retention.  

 The late Rabbi Sacks, quoting Rabbi Akiva, offers yet another explanation as to why Sukkot is celebrated in the Harvest time. According to him, the answer lies in the prophecy of Jeremiah who states,

“Israel is holy to G-d,

The first fruit of His harvest.” (Jeremiah2:2)

Just as during Sukkot,  “the Israelites celebrated their harvest,” states Sacks, “so G-d celebrates His – a people who, whatever else their failings, have stayed loyal to heaven’s call for longer, and through a more arduous set of journeys, than any other people on earth.”

Hoping and praying for better days.

Am Yisrael Chai 💖

Yom Kippur and Yisraeli Democracy

 

Yom Kippur is the holiest day on the Jewish calendar. I doubt that many will disagree.

For me, Yom Kippur bears a unique significance for a few reasons. It was a tradition in my family ever since I can remember. Its reverence vibrates in every part of my essence. In addition to its piety among our Jewish Holy Days, Yom Kippur also bears poignant sadness as it brings to the surface memories of the Yom Kippur war and its painful losses.

The observance of this sacred day is commanded in the Torah, in Vayikra (Leviticus 23:28-320: “You shall not perform any work on that very day…. and you shall afflict yourselves.” Furthermore, G-d warns that any disobedience will be followed by severe punishment and any person “who will not be afflicted on that very day, shall be cut off from its people. And any person who performs any work on that day, I will destroy that person from amidst its people.”

This, a few millennia old, directive, sounds appaling and scary, does it not? What a menacing scenario - the embodiment of theocratic dictatorship, so it seems.

The inevitable and eminent enforcement of that commandment is what some have tried to warn us against for close to a year. Yisrael, they keep parroting, is going to turn into a replica of Iran, G-d forbid.

Not quite.

On the Eve of Yom Kippur, as I was making my way to services in a nearby makeshift synagogue, dressed in white and immersed in the cloak of holiness, I watched my many fellow Yisraelis who were flocking the traffic free streets. While some were, like me, observing that commandment, others were playing with their children who were riding their bikes, some of which were electrical and enjoying themselves. A few were busy texting or speaking on their mobile telephones. Some were wearing shorts and dressed casually. I even noticed one or two drinking water out of plastic bottles. As I walked past them, I wished them “Chatima Tova,” the traditional greeting on that day. They responded in kind.

Having been warned, repeatedly, that religious dictatorship was upon us, I was surprised to see that none of the “disobedient” souls were scolded, stoned, or destroyed. My hawk eyes were searching for the secret “dress code police” ready to arrest the culprits. Alas, to no avail.

What I did sense, though, is what the late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks termed as “The Dignity of Difference.”

As I approached the place of worship, I noticed many other folks entering it. They were young, they were old. They were dressed in the customary white attire while others were wearing torn jeans. Some women even entered it with their bare arms and shoulders exposed.

No one stopped them. No one scolded them. No one denied them entry, and no one sent them back home to change their garments. Surprisingly enough, even here the “theocratic dress police” was nowhere to be found.

“The Dignity of Difference,” was welcoming all who sought to pray indiscriminately.

Upon entering the room, as I always do, I seek a place in the women’s section (generally front row) and make myself comfortable. I personally prefer separate sections for men and women. Is it because of habit? Perhaps. Whatever the reason, I love it.

Before anyone jumps at me on that point, let me interject and add that separate seating for men and women is not the only setting available in Yisrael. A childhood friend of mine who wishes to sit next to her partner during prayer, elects to attend a reform synagogue. We continue to respect each other and accept our respective choices. Each to their own.

Indeed, there are those of us who continue to practice “The Dignity of Difference.”

Some parts of the service also include chanting. As a former singer, it is perfect for me. From what I know, some religious sectors bar women from joining in the invocation. They base it on Halachah. It is their choice and a difference that needs to be dignified. Exclusion of women is what a few elements in Yisrael have been warning and threatening us against. As I was singing, I stealthily checked around the hall in search for hints of the covert secret “religious police” lest its representatives come and arrest me for practicing my freedom of chanting.

Instead, “The Dignity of Difference” was smiling at me from every corner.

What did, however, catch my attention, admittedly for the first time, even though I have attended Yom Kippur services for many years, is one line, part of “Kol Nidrei,” a prayer which ushers in Yom Kippur. “Kol Nidrei” (All Vows) which is recited in Aramaic nullifies the binding nature of promises and vows in advance. They are declared invalid. All vows “are absolved, remitted, cancelled, declared null and void.” The line that struck me and sent shivers through my body is the one offering forgiveness to the entire congregation of am Yisrael and EQUALLY “to the stranger/foreigner who resides amongst them.”

Now, you tell me, dear readers, if that is not the epitome of “The Dignity of Difference.”

“The Dignity of Difference” amid members of any nation as well as towards the strangers amongst them is one of the most important pillars of any democracy. It is part of the Jewish D.N.A and is evident in almost every aspect that characterizes the modern-day State of Yisrael, the National Home of the Jewish People. Yom Kippur is but one example.

It is noteworthy to mention that the group which sets up these makeshift synagogues is “Herzliya Torah Center” (Garin Torani) headed by Tsachi Weiss. Tzachi and his team have been doing it for several years thus making participation in the High Holy Days accessible to all who wish to partake in them. The service is conducted by residents of Judea and Samaria who leave their homes and families during this special time of year to bestow upon us the blessing of the experience.

And what an experience it has been.

Chatima Tova to you, fellow Jews and Am Yisrael and a wonderful year to all.