5/12/13
It’s a cool and breezy evening in Jerusalem. I’m writing to you from inside the Kotel courtyard. We’re here for the 3rd time so that the kids can have some individual time at the Wall and also tour the Kotel tunnels.
A group of boys is standing at the base of the wall. Their heads are bowed and they’re clearly deep in thought. Maybe even deep in prayer. Are they praying for health? Are they thinking about the next step in their lives once they graduate Davis? Are they whispering words of thanksgiving? Are they reflecting on their loving families? Are they trying to figure out what kinds of people they want to be? Maybe they’re simply listening to the sound of the wind and hoping for insight and illumination.
The Kotel is one of the most powerful religious symbols in the world. It remains the same as we change. It is a sacred witness, a silent observer, and a compassionate sounding board for the Jewish people. More than it represents our present or our future it represents our ancient past. But today was more about the Modern narrative of the Jewish people than it was about our ancient origins.
The faithful hotel wake up call came right on time. From breakfast we boarded the busses to Yad Vashem—Israel’s Holocaust Museum/ Institute. We divided into three groups to tour the museum.
Like most of Jewish history there isn’t a single overarching narrative that sums up the Shoah (Holocaust). Instead there are countless stories—some we know, others have been turned to dust and ashes. It is the sacred task of the Yad Vashem tour guide to tell the story of the Shoah to visitors—over 1 million per year. Today we heard many languages being spoken at Yad Vashem, but most powerful was the group of military officials from many different countries that toured the exhibit together. One of the Shoah’s lessons is that power, compassion, and understanding must be interwoven.
We were blessed to have three of Yad Vashem’s most exceptional tour guides. While the tour guides enriched our understanding of this darkest chapter in Jewish history the truth is that our kids came to experience very well prepared. I know from speaking with many of you in the last year that the Shoah unit in Ms. Schwartz’s class was a profound moment in your child’s journey at Davis. We all saw the kids dive into this immense and difficult subject with all their hearts and minds. We gave Ms. Schwartz’s a big shout out today as our kids provided all sorts of information that literally shocked each of our tour guides. We chaperones were only too glad to take the credit on Ms. Schwartz’s behalf. The Shoah unit is one of the many classroom experiences that sets Davis apart and reflects the kind of transformational education that we set as our goal at Davis.
After touring the museum we had the increasingly rare opportunity to hear from a survivor. Rina, the survivor, told a truly unique story. [BTW—the Muslim call to prayer is echoing off the Old City walls.] She was between the ages of 3 ½- 9 ½ during the Shoah. Unlike many children survivors she was not rescued by a Kinder Transport or anything like that. She participated in death marches and was interred in a number of concentration camps. She was liberated when the war ended and eventually adopted by an American family. Though she told her story in vivid detail there’s still no way to describe her survival other than to call it what it is: a miracle. She has 22 grandchildren. At one point she took a phone call in the middle of her speech. That’s because she is expecting her 14th great grandchild to be born today. She is the only known survivor of her town in Poland.
Someone had the foresight to create a path that ascends from Yad Vashem to Har Hertzl, Israel’s military cemetery. Walking the path we had an opportunity to explore the relationship between the Shoah and the founding of the State of Israel. While we’re not in agreement that the Shoah “led” to the State of Israel, we do agree that it would be a different world if Israel had been founded in 1938 instead of 1948.
During our time on Har Hertzl we heard stories grand and intimate about the sacrifices made to ensure that all of us have a Jewish homeland. We saw Yitzhak Rabin’s grave and learned about Golda Meir. There were three key moments—Lyndsi, Jenna R., Willie, Halle, and Carolyn sang Eli Eli while standing in front of the grave of Hannah Senesh, the brave woman who both composed the prayer and died while serving as a spy for the British Army during the Holocaust. The second key moment was when we had a chance to walk silently among the graves of the most recently killed IDF soldiers. Unlike the older graves that have no direct descendents to look after them these more recent heroes have many friends and family that tend to their graves. Each grave tells a story and is decorated with pictures, prayers, and memorials. It certainly puts a human face to the inordinate toll. Lastly, we visited the grave of Michael Levine. Born in Israel, Michael’s family moved to Philadelphia when he was very young. On his 18th birthday he realized his dream to make Aliyah and join the IDF. Shortly after joining the 2nd Lebanon war broke out and he was killed while serving bravely. His grave is covered with Philadelphia sports memorabilia and other objects including his high school ID card.
Obviously we needed to rest in the afternoon before heading out to Ben Yehuda street for our first “pizur.” Pizur= we give the kids money to buy whatever they want for dinner. The adventurous eating continued—falafel, shwarma, and even, I’m sad to see, Pizza Hut (no, it didn’t taste any different). Dinner was followed by an impassioned and inspired shopping spree. A few kids exhibited a very wise strategy—buying souvenirs for family members now so that they can spend the rest of the time looking for souvenirs that truly speak to them and their experiences in Israel. We also ate a ton of ice cream and sampled the world famous Ben Yehuda crepe stand. If Israel didn’t feel like home before it sure does now.
So here we are back at the Kotel. Our time in Jerusalem ends tomorrow morning and somehow the Kotel has become our bookend and our frame. In my entire Jewish journey I have never experienced three more different Kotel experiences than the three we’ve had this trip and I’ve never had the chance to click away on the key board amidst the sounds of Jews and Muslims praying their respective liturgies. I can’t help but wonder how much of texts are interchangeable. I suspect it isn’t much and probably highlights the sad human fact of “lost in translation.” Hopefully our kids will be able to translate the magnificent growth, openness, and maturity that they’ve demonstrated on the trip thus far back into their lives in Atlanta. Hopefully they’ll be able to translate the foundation that their parents and their school have provided them as they make their way onto new journeys. The past suggests that they will, which means that their future, and the future more generally, is certainly going to be bright.
Tonight’s going to be fun—we have to pack an overnight bag for the next 48 hours. I hate to say it but the girls are literally FREAKING out. Is this what I have to look forward to with Hadara?
