Jewish academic and Hebrew scholar Irene Lancaster reflects on a few of Judaism’s sacred traditions amidst current trials.
On October 14 Manchester made history. That was the date on which Manchester airport hosted the primary ever direct flight to Israel on an Israeli airline.
On October 14 Arkia, a budget Israeli airline, flew numerous pilgrims from Manchester and the north of England to Tel Aviv by night, in order that they might benefit from the festival of Sukkot within the Holy Land.
Even the Manchester airport staff were excited and a few said said they’d actually wish to accompany us on this historic first trip. I used to be honoured to be the primary passenger aboard.
The head teacher from Gateshead seated next to me kindly offered a potato bureka. It was truly delicious and after a snack and settling the babies, most individuals tried to get some sleep on this primary night flight, which only took 4 and a half hours.
A young man studying at Herzlyia University offered to assist me through the airport and onto the train to Jerusalem, but, to my great joy, we found my son in law waiting at arrivals with Mocha, their little dog.
The automobile journey to Jerusalem took only an hour and there in a short lived Jerusalem apartment, were my daughter and baby Ahava, now three and a half months old, who smiled as if she had known me all her life!
The courtyard of this block of flats was already studded with sukkahs, temporary abodes, for the upcoming festival of Sukkot, also often called Tabernacles, to remind us of the Children of Israel dwelling in tents during their trek through the desert to the Promised Land.
As usual I slept within the protected room, which also doubles as my son in law’s office.
We were invited out to each evening and lunchtime meals in two different sukkahs, whose hosts from Australia and the US had ties with the UK. Baby Ahava enjoyed every moment and was welcomed with open arms by one and all.
At lunch I used to be seated next to a young French Oleh (latest immigrant) originally from Algeria. There was also a lone soldier who had emigrated especially to hitch the IDF and help fight this existential war for the survival of the Jewish people. His Hebrew was amazing.
There were a variety of young girls studying at seminaries situated near the border with Gaza who were being hosted by an Australian lady in our constructing. Some desired to remain in Israel. The food was a mix of exotic Ashkenazi and Sephardi delights. Truly delicious.
The synagogue services were, as usual, held in the kids’s play area, with the climbing frame and slide much in evidence. The gabbai who arranges the services had prepared meticulously beforehand and every thing went and not using a hitch.
Birds wandered out and in and kids participated fully throughout, including baby Ahava after all, whose father managed to hold her and the Sefer Torah at the identical time!
During the intermediary days often called Chol HaMoed, my son in law entertained the community on his guitar in a variety of sukkahs which were open to all.
We also visited the more central Jerusalem neighbourhood of Nachlaot where my elder daughter lived 22 years ago, on first moving to Israel.
Things have modified and now Nachlaot appears to be a venue for aging hippies, where self-expression and musical Hallel (Psalms 113-118) are de rigueur. I used to be suddenly wafted back to the late 60s and life as a university student. What a contrast to the opposite Sukkot services. But here too sukkahs are open to all.
People had arrived from everywhere in the country to be in Jerusalem for this most vital of food festivals. They brought their very own picnics with them and made good use of the hospitality of sukkah owners on this neighbourhood of central Jerusalem.
We ourselves managed to construct our own sukkah in a tiny open space off the apartment and each baby Ahava and Mocha the dog loved being there.
Towards the tip of the festival I used to be invited to a learning session going down in the biggest sukkah within the compound courtyard. A mathematical evaluation of the Hebrew letters was flowing along nicely when suddenly one in every of the guests mentioned if anyone knew concerning the Nazir of Jerusalem and his son, Chief Rabbi Shear Yashuv Cohen, and their association with Hoshana Rabba, Simchat Bet Hashoeva (Water Drawing Libation Ceremony) and the enjoyment of Simchat Torah.
Well, I could not remain silent could I? So I discussed my involvement of their story, because the creator of the English language version of the biography of Chief Rabbi Shear Yashuv Cohen of Haifa who, I said, had organized all these festivals as informal chaplain within the prisoner of war camp in Jordan, after the heroic fighters for the Old City of Jerusalem had surrendered to the Arabs within the 1948 War of Independence.
‘My father was with him’.
‘Who was that’ I asked.
‘Yehiel Wultz.’
‘Yes, your father taught violin to the young Shear Yashuv and your father’s violin accompanied him to the POW Camp.’
Well, you might have heard a pin drop and I used to be even offered one other piece of cake!
Incidentally, later within the pool, I met a fellow swimmer who informed me that her family had lived round the corner to the family of Rabbi Shear Yashuv in central Jerusalem before he moved to Haifa as Chief Rabbi in 1975. His daughter Eliraz had taken her to primary school on daily basis. Eliraz is a great friend who has addressed our dialogue group!
Two friends of this great rabbi who I had encountered in Haifa. Surely no mere coincidence!
In Israel the 2 final autumn festivals of Shemeni Atzeret and Simchat Torah are combined, which makes for a really long service. But here it was spectacular.
The Hakafot, dancing and singing with lulav, etrog and Sefer Torah, were prefaced by psalms 130 or 121, and a particular Israeli group was mentioned before the performance of every Hakafah in memory of last yr’s Simchat Torah massacre.
Those mentioned included the dead, the hostages, the soldiers within the IDF, the wounded, the displaced, the widows, orphans and bereaved, in addition to the victims of antisemitism in all places.
All done outside within the matching weather which included a novel combination of burning sun, biting wind and really cold air. Definitely the turn of the yr from summer to autumn as the primary book of Bereshit – Genesis – is read once more ‘In the start’.
Later on that very first Shabbat of the brand new yr of 5785 we celebrated a big kiddush in honour of a pair about to get married. The rabbi contrasted the sunshine of the primary Book of Genesis created solely by G-d for our profit to the sunshine of Exodus through which we humans work along with G-d to bring light to the world.
He held up this latest couple as themselves shining examples of sunshine to the world. In their very own speeches they spoke about this unique community who had worked together throughout Covid and now in the course of the War.
And all I can say is that this truly is a pair of sunshine who even hosted the special kiddush for the birth of my granddaughter at which I used to be present on Shabbat July 13, along with my other daughter and family who got here from elsewhere in Israel and all of us danced along with baby Ahava!
On Sunday night my son in law drove me back to the airport. It took only 40 minutes. The flight was late and I arrived back in Manchester at 10.30 am. A really kind fellow passenger from Israel offered me a lift home. I used to be due to this fact capable of make it to our monthly Shul Monday Club for two.00 pm, through the carpet of orange leaves, in an effort to hear a chat relevant to the upcoming Book of Noah and the Jewish approach to vegetarianism.
I used to be also capable of lend a latest book by Rabbi Shlomo Brody to my rabbi, a present from the creator’s mother, (also first encountered within the pool), which I hope to review at a later date. It is entitled ‘Ethics of our Warriors’ and is most apt for our present time.
The creator spoke most movingly about Israel’s approach to what’s termed ‘Assisted Dying’ at a chat he gave in July which I attended. Another article for CT perhaps.Â
Let’s finish with two sections of the Shear Yashuv Cohen story which I dedicate to the memory of his violin teacher, Dr Yehiel Wultz, whose son I met in a Jerusalem Sukkah, and to all Israeli musicians, including son in law Levi Dov, bringing love and joy to a grieving people at this existential epoch in our Jewish history.
‘Love of song and niggun (religious melodies) was central to the Nazir’s lifestyle. ‘Niggun will all the time be the spiritual life and core of my soul.’ He even wrote some niggunim himself. It was this love that led him to rent a special teacher, Dr Yechiel Wultz, who taught his two children to play the violin. Under the direction of the Nazir, Dr Wultz also taught them sacred niggunim, including a special melody by Rav Kook, in addition to compositions by their very own father, the Nazir.
Dr Wultz commented a few years later: ‘The young Shear Yashuv didn’t regard music simply as an art, but actually considered it to be something holy.For him music was an instrument for the worship of G-d.’
Later on the cobbled together Simchat Bet Shoeva which took place in the course of the Sukkot week of 1948 within the Jordanian POW camp, this was the story of the survival of Dr Wultz’ violin from Shear Yashuv’s childhood.
‘This day commemorates the Water Libation Ceremony which took place when the Temple was still standing. In our camp synagogue venerable elderly Jews began humming to themselves, while their feet began dancing.
Yehuel Wultz, my childhood violin teacher, took out the violin which he had brought with him from the Old City, tensed his bow and allowed his hands to do the remaining. It occurred to us that at this very moment people would even be dancing in synagogues in Jerusalem.
However, whoever didn’t experience our own special POW Simchat Bet Shoeva has never really experienced a simcha of their lives! And whoever didn’t witness the Arab Debka performed by these elderly gentlemen from the Old City and by members of Kibbutz Ein Tzurim and Revadim, survivors of the massacre at Kfar Etzion, and the Old City combatants, has never experienced a real dance in all their born days.
A young man sang a typical Middle Eastern Arab niggun, and, quick as a flash, the Arab soldiers began to hitch in, celebrating along with us, stamping their feet, clapping their hands, and having a thoroughly good time.
In short, the Hora we danced across the Sukkah embraced lots of of camp inmates. They were old. They were young. They were Kabbalists. They were aged Sephardim. They were aged Ashkenazim. They were young with black curly forelocks. They were young, in brief sleeves and undershirts. And all of them danced together as one. And all of them were friends. And all of them were joyful.
And what exactly was this joyful simcha? it was the Simchat Bet Shoeva. And where did it happen? In the midst of the desert. And when did it happen? When we were imprisoned in a OPOW camp, after the autumn of the Old City.
And on the very heart of this simcha, within the midst of our rejoicing, we secretly hoped and yearned to return to Jerusalem in order that in the long run we could have fun Sukkot there.’
[Taken from ‘Rabbi Shear Yashuv Cohen’, Urim Publications Jerusalem 2017, English language version and editor Dr Irene Lancaster, p 42 and pp 172-173]
