Practice Runs

It was one of those exhausting humdrum days –a quick shower, a quicker davening, breakfast on the run, and a race to catch the eight o'clock bus to Bnei Brak. After sitting for nine hours opposite the computer, I somehow managed to drag myself to the bus stop and wait for the 402 to Jerusalem. The bus was fairly empty, so with two seats to myself, I slept like a log until we arrived at the entrance to the city. I remained in a semi-conscious state as the bus slowly snaked its way through the neighborhoods, until, with a start, I realized that everyone had left, and it was just me and the driver. I rang the bell for my stop.

 That's when I heard it! A shofar, the throbbing leaves-you-quivering-in-your-shoes sound of a shofar blowing --  very very, loudly! There was no mistaking it, this was the real thing. I looked outside, with a sense of awe and excitement that perhaps, maybe, this was what we have been waiting for and praying for and hoping for, for so many years. But sadly, there was no angelic looking man sitting on a white donkey, tooting his horn. We'll have to wait longer.

I had become somewhat a pro at judging shofar sounds. I am working on a promotional video that concludes with a 4 second shofar blowing. In our search for the perfect ending that pulls at the heart without sounding tinny or perfectly unreal, I devoted a good chunk of my time to listening to recorded shofar sounds. Now, the sound of the shofar vibrating through the bus, shook me to my very core. I couldn't help but wonder if my work had affected my sanity.

But then again, I live in Israel. I remembered the time I took my early morning walk and saw the garbage truck driver crowned in his Tefillin, quietly praying as he waited for the garbage truck men to finish loading the garbage (an interesting twist on the Berditcher Rebbe's story about the wagon driver in Tefillin)! And then there was the time that I found a shofar next to the sandbox. I had placed notices throughout the neighborhood, announcing my find. Much to my surprise, four people called to see if had found their shofar before the owner finally appeared. So why should I find the sound of the blowing shofar on a bus unusual?

Instead of exiting through the back door, I walked through the now empty bus to the front, opposite the driver. And there he was, with his long pony tail, torn jeans and, yes, very conservative blue button-up Egged uniform shirt, blowing away. Tekiah, teruah, shevarim, the sound reverberated through the stuffy Egged bus. 

"Beautiful,"  I said, trying to hide my surprise

 

"I blow the shofar in shul," he explained, "and I practice when the bus is empty, whenever I'm stuck at a red light!"

 

 "That was a gorgeous shofar blowing. You put a lot of feeling into it." I didn't bother explain how I had become a pro at shofar sounds. But it really was, and I wished that I had taken my recorder with me, because it was the perfect shofar blowing to end the video.

 

But I had left my recorder at home, so obviously, it was not. I guess I'll just have to save my emotions for the real thing.

To see the video, go http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fhuX86SGOCA
 

The Shmuel Hanavi Neighborhood in Jerusalem as published in Ami

Jewish Living In

Shikhunei Shmuel Hanavi, Yerushalayim

By Debbie Shapiro

When people hear that I live on the corner of Shmuel Hanavi and Bar Illan, in one of the long block-like buildings that were constructed in the early sixties to provide cheap housing for the large influx of immigrants from North African, their usual reaction is, "What? Real people actually live there?" That's because, until recently, the Shikhunei Shmuel Hanavi Neighborhood was notorious for its gang wars, active Black Panther organization, and (for obvious reasons) relatively low price of apartments.

About fifteen years ago, Haredi families began moving into the neighborhood, and today, the neighborhood is frum, although there are still numerous old timers, who, although not Hareidi, are definitely traditional and generally extremely respectful of their more religious neighbors. Despite their lack of outward religious trappings, for the most part they are simply lacking in knowledge and open to learning. One first-day Rosh Hashana afternoon about ten minutes before sunset, for example, my upstairs neighbor dressed to the hilt l'kavod Yom Tov in a pair of swimming trunks and thongs (and nothing else), knocked on my door bearing an unlit candle with the request that we light it for him, as theirs had gone out. I correctly surmised that his wife needed the fire to heat up the evening meal and explained that al pi halacha they should wait until after dark to start cooking for second day Yom Tov. My neighbor thanked me profusely for explaining the halacha and left without lighting the candle, only to return an hour later, after it was already dark outside, with the same request.

Although the people living in the Shikhunim are a real mixture of Chassidim, Litvaks and Sefardi, the neighborhood has a distinct Middle Eastern flavor. Last night, for example, as I was putting away the Pesach dishes and hanging loads of laundry, I could hear my Moroccan neighbors celebrating the Mimouna Holiday. The women, wearing traditional Moroccan outfits, baked chametzkdik pancake-like cakes called Muleftas to share with their neighbors. From all four building surrounding the large parking lot underneath my house  I could hear loud music accompanied by bongo drums, dancing and singing, and yes, even fireworks! Yet, if I have a desire for a Chassidic tish, I am less than 15 minutes walking distance to Toldos Aharon, Karlin, Rachmastrivka, Dushinksy, and more. On the other hand, the Mirrer Yeshiva and Ohr Sameyach is less than ten minutes away, and the Bucharian shuk is just up the street – how's that for a real cultural experience?

Actually, one of the greatest perks of living in the Shikunim, is that I am just a walk or bus ride from almost everywhere. It takes me ten minutes to walk to Meah Shearim or Geulah, 15 minutes to Rechov Yaffo, half an hour to the kosel. There are three community centers with lots of activities for both young and old within a five minute walk from my door; a large indoor pool is just three blocks away, a large library three blocks away in the opposite direction. Although my neighborhood is (meanwhile) predominantly Hebrew and Yiddish speaking, if I get lonely for my mama-lashon, the Neve Tzvi, Sanhedria, Ramat Eshkol, and Maalot Dafna neighborhoods, with their large percentage of "chutznikim and multitude English language shiurim and active "N'sheis" are all within a five minute walk from my door. The bus stop to Beit Shemesh, Bnei Brak, Elad, Ashdod, Tifrach, Beitar, Tsfas, and a multitude of other destinations, is literally around the corner from apartment. Just to give you an idea of how close that is, twice a week I have to catch the 8 o'clock bus to Bnei Brak that arrives at my stop at 8:10. To be sure that I get there on time, I rush out the door at 8:05 and, depending on the lights, I usually make it with a few minutes to spare! There is a bus stop with lines running to the Kosel and to Kever Rochel literally across the street from my apartment, with special early busses for people who want to daven there with the sunrise vasikin minyan! On a more mundane level, the shopping here is phenomenal. I can find almost type of store—from a discount grocery store to several bakeries, drink shops, paper good stores, hardware stores, socks stores, toy stores, book stores, vegetable stores, clothing stores, as well as pizza, shwarma and falafel shops within a block of my house –and if it's not, well, Geula and the center of town is just up the hill.

 

Each of the neighborhood's dozen buildings has between 6-8 entrances, with between 8-10 families per entrance, with a park or playground for every 2 to 4 buildings. Recently, young Chassidishe families with lots of children have moved into the neighborhood, so in in the afternoon the playgrounds are crowded with mothers sitting and talking while their children play. In addition, the large, grassy Maalot Dafna park and the Sanhedria Park are a very short walk away.

 

Prices of apartments in the Shikhunim are still lower than the price of comparative size apartments in other Jerusalem neighborhoods. Part of that has to do with the neighborhood's reputation, the high population density, and the small, yet, with their tattoos and pierced ears, very noticeable number of non-religious youngsters who hang out on the streets here. Despite their outer trappings, they are teyereh Yiddishe neshomos, and I can count on them helping me to shlep my groceries up the stairs. On the other hand, in the mornings, when the school busses arrive, the streets are bustling with of mothers and children waiting for the busses. In the afternoons, the parks are bursting with frum children, and there always seems to be a group of Yiddish speaking girls playing jump rope downstairs.  

 

 

Real Estate

3 1/2 bedroom apartment

Rent $1,000-$1,300 per month

Purchase between $325,000 to $459,000

Rooms are small; we converted our 3 1/2 bedroom apartment to  2 1/2 bedrooms, so that we'd have a larger living room and kitchen.

the stairs.

 

COST OF Living

Grape Juice

About $4.00 per bottle

Milk

$1.35 per liter

Tuition

Girls: about $110 per year

Boys: about $135 per month

 

Getting there

To Tel Aviv – about 45 minutes by car

New York 10 hours by plane

 

Weather

Winter is pleasant, hopefully with lots and lots of rain.

Snow days are so rare that they are almost like holidays. Summer days are hot and dry, but with very little humidity while evenings are generally pleasant. 

 

 

Finally, I Can Write

Finally, I Can Write

By Anonymous

For years, I have been unable to really, truly write, although that is my profession. It was as if there was a cork inside of me, blocking my emotions from coming to the surface, a pain so deep and all pervasive that I could not circumvent it.

And then, on the day before erev Yom Kippur, we experienced a ness – a true and outright miracle – and our daughter, Sara Yocheved, received her Get. Yes, a divorce, and yes, as painful as it is to see a marriage dissolve, there are times when it is a reason to rejoice. Suddenly, we were liberated from our private gehinom.

Two days later, on Yom Kippur, I faced one of the greatest challenges in my life – to grant forgiveness to the people who had so deeply hurt us, and who had almost succeeded in destroying my daughter's life. I hope, and pray, that I overcame that challenge. I certainly tried, but only with time will I see if the anger has been fully eradicated from my heart.

The first sign that something was amiss came on the Shabbos following the Sheva Brachos, when my in-laws invited the young couple, my husband and myself, to join them for Shabbos meals at their hotel.  Everyone was happy at the opportunity to spend quality time together (and as we later discovered, this would be the last Shabbos we'd have with my father in law). Then, our mechutan phoned and asked if he, together with one of his older children, could join us. Of course we were polite, and said that we'd be delighted. But we weren't.  During the Shabbos meals, the mechutan monopolized the conversation and prevented us from speaking with Aharon Dov, our new son-in-law, but we tried to overlook it and continued smiling politely.

The following Shabbos was Shabbos Hagadol, and we were very grateful that the new couple would be spending it with "the other side" (no pun intended). The plan was for them to spend Lil Haseder and Shabbos Chol Hamoed with us, and Shvi'is shel Pesach with the mechutanim. But just hours before the Seder, our mechutan phoned with a whole story about how Sara Yocheved was having difficulty adjusting to married life, and that it is important that she stay with them for the holiday. He explained that much of her problem has to do with our relationship with her and that as a veteran educator, he has a wealth of experience in dealing with such sensitive situations. We were confused, and angry, but with only a few hours before Yom Tov, we had no choice but to let it go. On Chol Hamoed, Sara Yocheved's Kalla teacher and a well-known mashgiach phoned to discuss our daughter's "problems" with me, and to warn us that mixing in would be extremely detrimental to the marriage. They also yelled at my daughter telling her that she should never discuss her shalom bayis with her parent – and years later, when they understood the real story, apologized to us.  Both my husband and I were confused. Sara Yocheved had always been so open with us, but we also understood that the beginning of all marriages are challenging. It was only years later that we realized that this plan was masterminded to keep us from spending time with our new son-in-law.

It worked. It was literally months before we had the honor of having the young couple as our guests for Shabbos, and by then, Sara Yocheved, was expecting. Aharon Dov would either sit at the table through Kiddush and hamotzi, and then promptly plop down onto the sofa and fall into a deep sleep, or if we were lucky, quote pasukim like a trained puppet, and if we were not lucky, speak utter nonsense. Whenever I tried to broach the subject of his strange behavior with Sara Yocheved, she would smile sweetly and tell me that her husband's a tzaddik, who can recite the entire Sefer Tehillim by heart and devotes his days and nights to prayer. Much later, I learned that although by this time she knew that Aharon Dov was on strong psychiatric medicines, prone to hallucinations and often out of touch with reality, her father in law had threatened to do terrible things to her if she were to let us know.

Our daughter suspected that something was amiss almost immediately after the wedding. She couldn't understand why her husband was spending almost all his waking hours at home with his parents. One time she noticed her father-in-law slip him a pill and asked him about it. His response – Vitamins. Sara Yocheved was just about to pick up the bottle from the table to examine the label when her father-in-law grabbed the bottle out from under her hand and threw it out the window, straight into the neighborhood trash bin. "You can go out there to look," he laughed.

I don't know if I will ever be able to forgive myself for refusing to see the truth. I realize now that although it should have been obvious, it was just too horrible for us to accept, so we kept on coming up with excuses for Aharon Dov's behavior – he's inexperienced, he's still getting used to married life. Even when his behavior was obviously crazy – going to shul at night and screamed Birkas Hashachar at the top of his lungs – we couldn't, or wouldn't, admit to ourselves that he was insane.

Everything came to a head several months after Sara Yocheved gave birth to her second child. Her first born was in the hospital with pneumonia while we were taking care of the baby, who was sick with bronchitis. Sara Yocheved was racing back and forth between the hospital and our house, while Aharon Dov remained oblivious to the crisis. Then, on the day that the older child returned home, the baby was rushed to the hospital with severe respiratory problems. We tried to recruit Aharon Dov's help, to get him to do anything, even something as simple as purchasing medication or bringing the older child to the pediatrician, but it was like talking to a wall. "What," he said, "the baby's in the hospital? That's terrible." We could see that he was both surprised and distressed. Then he smiled his beatific smiled, promised to pray, and raced down the stairway, leaving my husband and myself standing openmouthed in the doorway.

Once the crisis was over, I broached the subject of my Aharon Dov's behavior with my daughter. I'll never forget that conversation; we had just finished lighting the Shabbos licht. The house was quiet. Sara Yocheved's oldest was playing with clicks, while the younger one was sleeping. It was as if a dam had been broken and the revelation was shocking. I discovered the terrible burden that Sara Yocheved had been carrying around for over one and a half years. I cried, my daughter cried, the babies cried, but when my husband and son-in-law arrived from shul, we pasted on smiles and somehow made it through the meal. I waited until after havdala to share the conversation with my husband. I knew that he would be relieved – at last, we had something tangible to work with – as well as upset – how could we have been so blind as to not realize what was happening -- at what I was going to tell him.

That conversation was the beginning of a year and a half of stalling. We called the mechutan and he immediately came over. With tears in his eyes, he explained that his son was OCD -- an explanation that we later learned was far from the true diagnosis – and promised to send the boy to the best psychiatrists – a promise that was never acted upon. Meanwhile, Sara Yocheved arranged for Aharon Dov to receive full disability from the Israeli National Insurance, so now, at least, the family had enough money to live on. She also registered him at a neighborhood government subsidized psychiatric daycare clinic and arranged for her husband to see a senior psychiatrist on a biweekly basis.  We sent the young couple to marriage counseling.

We met with one of the psychiatrists who he had seen Aharon Dov law as a bachur and were shocked at we were told. "How could they have allowed him to marry?" she asked me. "He was hearing voices (that really shook me!) and out of sync with reality. His condition will probably deteriorate with time although there is a very small chance that with proper medications he can be functional. But I can't promise anything." She advised us to send him to a psychiatric day center, where he would be kept busy so that Sara Yocheved could get on with her life.

Now that our eyes were open, we kept on discovering new pieces of information that made us realize how foolish we had been. The drummer who had played at the wedding later told one of my other children that at the wedding, the mechutan had requested that he make the music especially leibidik as the boy was spaced out from drugs, and the other side -- us – was unaware of the situation. But we were not the only ones to have been fooled. Another one of my daughters is married to Aharon Dov's first cousin, which means that her mother in law is Aharon Dov's aunt, and she was one of the people who suggested the shidduch. When she found out how her brother had misled us, and her, she was so angry that she actually suggested that we hire some thugs to break the mechutan's bones!

My husband and I were at a loss at how to proceed. Aharon Dov is sweet and gentle, and if he wasn't sick, he'd be a wonderful husband. We also realized that the mechutanim would make it difficult, if not impossible for our daughter to leave, so we clung to the slim hope that with proper medication and treatment he would be able to lead a normal life. No, it was not what we had wanted for our daughter; it was definitely a b'di'eved situation.  Our mechutan gave his solemn promise that he would do everything in his power to help his son get better, but if that didn't work out, he would not stand in the way of a divorce. 

Meanwhile, our mechutan was painting a different picture. Yes, he explained, his son had some slight psychiatric problems and needed mild anti-depressants to function normally, but his wife (our daughter) has severe behavior problems and is barely able to function. It's obvious, he'd smile, that it's a zivug min haShemayim and that the couple just needs the right guidance to be able to lead a happy life together, and he, of course, had the experience and expertise to provide it. We received numerous phone calls from prominent members of the community, telling us to have patience and promising us that everything would work out. 

Chol Hamoed Pesach 2011, Aharon Dov, in his hallucinated state, thought that the rabbi featured on the tzedaka poster that was plastered to the side of a building was about to murder him, and decided to kill him first. He beat the picture with his fists, and then threw his body against the wall. Blood spurt from his arms and head. My grandchildren became hysterical, and my daughter made the mistake of calling the mechutan instead of an ambulance. He arrived with a taxi and brought our former son-in-law home to his mother. That was the last time his children saw him, except when he came to Meiron to participate in his son's chalaka. By then, my grandson did not recognize the stranger that had come to dance with him, and no one there –including the mechutan -- felt it was important to enlighten him. 

The following year and a half was a time of broken commitments, frustration and miracles. Yes, miracles. One of the greatest miracle was the incredible relationship that developed between Sara Yocheved and Rabbi and Rebbetzin Pressburger. Rabbi Pressburger is head of a large Yerushalami community whose shul is located just minutes away from my daughter's home.

Rebbetzin Pressburger was my daughter's favorite high school teacher. When Sara Yocheved and her family moved into the neighborhood, the rebbetzin was there even before the moving trucks had gone, bearing a hot, nourishing meal. That same evening, when Aharon Dov arrived home after spending the day at his parents' house, he immediately threw himself on the bed and fell into a deep sleep. A few hours later, Sara Yocheved called Rav Pressburger with a shailah: could she wait until the morning to hang up the mezuzahs?  Instead of answering, the Rav appeared at her door to wake Aharon Dov and help him put up the mezuzahs. But after several failed attempts, he gave up and did it himself. A few months later, when Aharon Dov attacked the picture, Rebbetzin Pressburger and I arrived at my daughter's house almost simultaneously. The Rebbetzin remained with us until way past midnight, joking, talking, planning, and helping us to cope with an impossible situation. 

Our lawyer, Pnina, was another miracle. A true tzedekes, she was a pillar of calmness and hope. There were times that she was beyond fury, yet, to us, she always conveyed hope that our nightmare would soon end. At our first meeting, she offered to arrange for the government to pay for her services, and then treated treat us as private clients. Interesting enough, she, too, at first she too was fooled by the mechutan's charisma. She later told us that when she spoke with him the first time, she was convinced that we were not behaving properly, and that he was being taken advantage of. She changed her mind very quickly.

That year and a half could only be described as torture. Just as we would think that we were almost at the finishing line, that the get was within our reach, conditions were changed and we were left gasping in shock, feeling as if we were being pulled into an endless vacuum, floating in space without solid ground, with no sense of reality or stability. Sara Yocheved was the one person who consistently remained upbeat and hopeful. Instead of retreating into a shell and closeting herself from the world, she became active in the community, and developed close friendships with many of her neighbors. The challenge honed personality, and my youngest daughter suddenly matured beyond her years, to become a person that I, as well as many others, turned to for advice and encouragement.

Eventually, Rav Pressburger and large number of men in his kehilla decided that the situation could not continue. They took it upon themselves to make sure that Sara Yocheved would receive her get – soon. Once again, agreements were made and signed, appointments were arranged at the bais din, and then, each time, at the very last moment, the mechutan would find a reason to change the rules of the game, only this time, it was an entire community that was left gasping in anger and shock.

I was not privy to much of what was going on  -- Rav Pressburger had explained, "I don't want your husband to have a heart attack" -- but the rebbetzin told me that there were times when he was so angry that he paced the floor all night. I also know that unconventional methods were used to pressure the mechutan. He regular travels abroad to collect money, so the Rav contacted several chashuva Rabbonim in the United States who called to warn him that if a get was not forthcoming he would be banned from collecting in their community.

These months were excruciating; minutes, really seconds of anticipation and disappointment, of promises made and broken, of trust and cynicism. We felt trapped in an endless maze, sucked into eternal blackness, with no way to extricate ourselves.

But even there, in the inky darkness, there were pinpoints of light, selfless acts of chessed, some by total strangers, that left me in teary eyed, filled with renewed hope for mankind. One time, for example, when we were scheduled to appear in the bais din the following morning for the get, the lawyer called to inform us that the mechutan had decided that payment could only be with an official bank check. The phone call came in the late afternoon, only minutes before the bank   closed – and we had to be at the bais din with the check by 8:30 the following morning! I called the bank and explained the situation to some anonymous clerk, who spoke to the bank manager, who, wonders of wonders, offered to open the bank after hours for us! Another time, the mechutan requested a legal document pertaining to the couple's apartment, again, the request was made the afternoon prior to an appointment in the bais din for what we hoped would be the get. When I called the lawyer's office I was informed that it would take a minimum of two weeks to procure the necessary document.  But once I explained the urgency, the secretary remained after hours to prepare it, and the lawyer, who had already gone home, returned to the office to sign! My daughter's plight touched many people's hearts, and they went out of their way to help her. Ashrei Amcha, Yisrael!

The yeshua was sudden, and unexpected, when hope had disappeared from the horizon. As had happened so many times before, the mechutan had agreed to the get and we had an appointment to come to the bais din. Although it was the day before erev Yom Kippur, when the bais din is in recess for its annual vacation, the dayan on duty to take care of urgent matters had agreed to preside over the get.

The night before the scheduled appointment, the mechutan's brother phoned Rav Pressburger from the home a very prominent and internationally influential rabbi, who just happened to head the organization where Rav Pressburger is employed. "The Rabbi would like to speak with you," he said. "I'm ordering a taxi for you. Don't worry, I'm paying." 

Rav Pressburger's response was sharp, and uncompromising: "I am very happy to come and speak with the Rav, but only AFTER the get. Before that, I don't speak with anyone."  I later learned that the prominent Rabbi appreciated Rav Pressburger's intelligent response.

Rebbetzin Pressburger later told me that upon closing the phone, her husband said that even if it means losing his position, he will do everything in his power to make sure that Sara Yocheved receives a get. After that phone call, as well as others that he received that night, he was positive that it would not happen, at least not the next day.

At shul the next morning, Rav Pressburger banged the Bima and asked everyone to remain and recite Tehillim for Sara Yocheved's yeshua. Then he showed a letter that he had prepared and said, "If the Get is not today, tonight this letter will be plastered all over the city of Jerusalem. We're going to burn the city!"

My husband and I, and my daughter and Rebbetzin Pressburger were at the bais din the moment it opened. One of our sons-in-law, the one who is the mechutan's nephew, was also there to sign that if in the future, Sara Yocheved or the children would sue for child support, he would the one to take financial responsibility.

Aharon Dov arrived a few minutes later, accompanied by his uncle. We were overjoyed- things were finally moving in the right direction. The Rav on duty invited Sara Yocheved, Aharon Dov, Aharon Dov's uncle and the two lawyers into his chamber. Rebbetzin Pressburger quietly followed them inside. My husband and the son-in-law who was signing for financial responsibility, were instructed to wait just outside the door. I remained in the hallway to guard the Menorah, Esrog box and Megillas Esther that we were to be given to the mechutan. 

I sat in the hallway, reciting Tehillim, and wondered what was taking so long. I asked my husband. He had no idea, but added that there was a lot of yelling and screaming going on inside the dayan's chambers.

Rebbetzin Pressburger later told me that the dayan was furious! Every time he asked Aharon Dov a question, Aharon Dov told him that he should ask Sara Yocheved, as she understands these things. Sara Yocheved responded to all the questions respectfully and to the point. When the Dayan read the agreement, he asked Aharon Dov why, with such a large disability payment from Bituach Leumi, he is will not be paying child support. Aharon Dov of course, had no idea that he was receiving money or that he would not be paying child support.

At that point, the Rav began to scream at Aharon Dov's lawyer for pressuring us into such an agreement. Then he turned to our daughter and asked her why she agreed to it. Her response, "I want a get." The Rav understood. He signed, and then invited my husband and other son-in-law into the room.

Then something happened that, whenever I even think about its possible tragic ramifications, I become teary-eyed. After trying to hold a conversation with Aharon Dov, the Rav announced, "I refuse to officiate. This man is obviously insane and I cannot take responsibility that he is halachically capable of giving a get." I don't know any of the details of that conversation, but I do know that in the course of trying to verify Aharon Dov's name for the get, the dayan asked how he's called up to the Torah. He responded, "Aharon Dov ben Shimon Maftir, although sometimes I am called Shlishi instead."

All this was taking place behind closed doors. Suddenly, Sara Yocheved came running toward me, "The rav wants to see the ksuva," she gasped. "And Ima, please, DAVEN! The Rav refuses to officiate. In his opinion, Aharon Dov is not sufficiently sane to give a get." 

It was the day before erev Yom Kippur, and my daughter – my lovely, sweet, and innocent daughter -- was standing before the true Judge, her future on the scale. Her chance for freedom was being whisked away from her.

Today, looking back at those what to me seemed like hours but was probably less than twenty minutes, I can honestly say that for the first time in my life I really FELT what I should feel each year at Ne'ilah, that I am standing at the Gates, that they are rapidly  closing, and that this is my final chance to tip the scales. Even as I prayed, I phoned one of my daughters and in a few terse words told her the situation – and requested that she alert the rest of our family. I later learned that throughout Israel, family members were sitting in their homes or places of working and literally crying as they begged Hashem to save Sara Yocheved. I called Rav Pressburger, who was in the midst of giving a shiur and asked him to daven. I later learned that the entire yeshiva started reciting Tehillim in unison for Sara Yocheved's freedom. I pledged money to tzedaka, I cried, I davened. We all did whatever we could; it was in His hands.

Then the miracle occurred. The Bais Din was on vacation, and officially, there were no dayanim available. Yet, when the clerks phoned the homes of the dayanim who preside on the Bais Din Hagadol – the rabbinical equivalent to the Supreme Court – almost every single one of them jumped into a taxi and raced to the Bais Din. Suddenly, the entire corridor was crowded with well-known dayanim and some of Jerusalem's greatest talmidei chachamim. I later found out that this was the first time – yes, the first time! – in the history of the Rabbinate that the Bais Din Hagadol had convened during the official recess.

As if in a dream, we were whisked upstairs, to the official chambers of the Bais Din Hagadol, and Aharon Dov was brought before a whole group of Jerusalem's greatest talmidei chachamim. The verdict was unanimous – yes, he was sane enough to give the Get.

While the scribe prepared the parchment, Aharon Dov sat in the adjoining room, singing at the top of his lungs. Although we sat quietly in the corridor, in truth we were also singing, in our hearts, a song of praise and thanksgiving to the One who had orchestrated this miracle. Although it sounds absurd, the atmosphere at the actual ceremony was one of tremendous joy. The room was crowded with family, as well as many of Jerusalem's greatest poskim who had come to assure that there would be no opening for anyone to question the kashrus of the get. Once it was over, Sara Yocheved, the rebbetzin, the lawyer and I joined in a huge bear hug. We were sobbing, laughing, jumping up and down; it was so spontaneous, so incongruous, and so very real! As the witnesses and dayanim filed out of the room, they wished us, and each other, a Mazel Tov!

As the room slowly emptied, I walked up to the presiding dayan.  "Thank you for saving my daughter's life," I began, not even attempting to brush away my tears.  I could not continue.

On the bus home, it was hard to contain my joy. I wanted to get up and dance, to tell everyone of the great miracle that we had experienced, to sing on the top of my lungs. I met my next door neighbor coming up the stairs to our building. "She got it!" I said, and then we rushed into each other's arms – crying, laughing. The neighbors heard the noise and rushed out to wish us mazel tov. It was an end to a nightmare, and hopefully, the beginning of a wonderful future. 

Once things quieted down, I phoned Rav Pressburger. I said thank you and started to cry. I could hear the emotion in Rav Pressburger's voice as he responded, "There are no words, there are no words." That evening, my husband returned home from maariv and said, "This is the first time in over three years that I was able to daven properly." Suddenly I understood why, for so long, I had felt a deep emptiness, a sense of spiritual disconnection and estrangement; I had been so overwhelmed with the evil in my life that I could not focus or connect with the Source of all Goodness.

That afternoon, Sara Yocheved returned home to find her apartment decorated with balloons and streamers. Neighbors arrived with cakes and drinks; everyone was laughing, and crying. In Rav Pressburger's shul that evening, all the men came over to wish the rav – and each other -- a big mazel tov!

And it was less than 24 hours to Yom Kippur.

Erev Yom Kippur, between the cooking, eating, davening and calling friends and family to share the wonderful news and bless then that they be sealed in the Book of Life, I tried to focus on the tremendous blessing that had come into our life. Our daughter was finally free, and in attaining that freedom, in facing that challenge, she had grown and developed, and I was, and still am, extremely proud to be her mother.

But still, the pain, the suffering, all that we had gone through, did I have the capacity to forgive and move on? I knew I had to, but could I?

Yom Kippur, my thoughts kept returning to those moments in the bais din, waiting for my daughter's judgment, knowing that her future – her life – was contingent on our prayers. For my teshuva to be accepted, for Hashem to forgive me for my shortcomings, it was imperative that I find it within myself to forgive others, including – yes - the mechutan. I hope I was successful; only time will tell.

Chinuch in Jerusalem Comes Full Circle

Chinuch in Yerushalayim Comes Full Circle

For tens of centuries our nation has been mourning the destruction of Yerushalayim, focusing on the churban of the Beis Hamikdash. However, Yerushalayim witnessed another type of churban in the mid-1800s that is barely remembered. Today, when the differences between the Conservative and Reform movements and authentic Torah miSinai are so obvious, it is difficult to understand how formidable were the challenges these aberrations presented to previous generations, not only in Europe and America but in the heart of Yerushalayim. When the Enlightenment was still in its formative stage, and the differences — and dangers — were not yet clearly recognizable, it took the keen perception of our Torah leaders to distinguish truth from falsehood and to wage a fierce battle to preserve the chinuch of our precious children.

Yerushalayim 170 Years Ago

When Harav Shmuel Salant, zt”l, arrived in Yerushalayim in 1841 to join his father-in-law, Harav Zundel Salanter, zt”l, the city’s Ashkenazic community consisted of approximately five hundred Jews.1 Just twenty-eight years before that, some twenty Ashkenazic Jews had fled the plague in Teveria, and ignoring the Ottoman government’s prohibition against Ashkenazic Jews settling in Yerushalayim, had quietly put down roots there. Then, after the devastating earthquake in Tzefas in 1837, Yerushalayim’s Ashkenazic population multiplied dramatically. 

The tiny yishuv struggled to survive. People died of starvation, and hygiene was primitive. Without a proper sewage system, the city’s water cisterns were often contaminated, resulting in plagues that killed many, among them Harav Zundel Salanter. In addition, many older Jews who had come to Yerushalayim to fulfill their dream of being buried on Har Hazeisim subsisted on donations from the community coffers. Job opportunities were scarce, and the chalukah system, in which money from abroad was collected and divided according to country of origin, had not yet been instituted.

Funds that arrived sporadically from abroad were barely sufficient to keep starvation at bay. In those days the poverty was intense, and during the Crimean War (1853-56) the Old Yishuv was basically cut off from outside support.

Although as a whole, both the Ashkenazic and Sephardic communities consisted of G-d-fearing Jews who recognized the importance of limud Torah and strived to elevate themselves spiritually, because of the political upheavals among the ruling Ottomans, earthquakes, plagues, and overriding poverty, the Ashkenazic community had yet to establish a proper educational system. Instead, groups of parents hired private tutors to teach their sons, and since the teachers were paid according to the parents’ financial means, they automatically favored those children whose parents were able to pay more. In today’s terms, the money involved was infinitesimal, amounting, perhaps, to an extra slice of bread a day for the tutor’s family. In nineteenth-century Yerushalayim, however, that extra slice of bread often meant the difference between starvation and survival.

Shortly after his arrival in Eretz Yisrael, Harav Shmuel Salant was appointed Rav of the Ashkenazic community of Yerushalayim. With the assistance of  Harav Yeshaya Bardaki, zt”l, former Rav of Pressburg and one of the leaders of Yerushalayim’s Ashkenazic kehillah, he established the Talmud Torah and Yeshivah Etz Chaim to ensure that all the community’s children, both the poor and the less poor, received a proper Torah education.

The original Etz Chaim cheder was located in the women’s section of the Menachem Tzion synagogue. The two melamdim, Harav Shmuel Moni Zilberman, zt”l, and Harav Yaakov Saphir, zt”l, were both Gedolei Torah who displayed tremendous mesirus nefesh to live in Eretz Yisrael.2 As a young boy of nine, Harav Zilberman had accompanied his uncle on a pilgrimage to Yerushalayim from Europe, and despite all opposition, he insisted on remaining in the Holy City. Taken under the wing of some of the dayanim of the beis din, he grew to become a Gadol baTorah. He later refused the position of chief rabbi of a large European city in favor of teaching young boys in Yerushalayim.

His shiurim were so inspiring that one of the judges on the beis din regularly came upstairs to listen. The beis din’s Rabbanim closely supervised the two melamdim and regularly tested the students. Within a few years, however, the cheder expanded and classes were held in apartments scattered throughout the city, making proper supervision difficult.3

Frankal Comes to Yerushalayim

In 1854 Eliza Herz, one of the leaders of Austria’s Reform movement, sent forty-year-old Ludwig August Frankal-Hochwart to Yerushalayim to open the Lemel School. An ardent Austrian patriot, Herz had established a charity fund in honor of Kaiser Franz Joseph’s birthday. The fund was later used to establish the Lemel School, which they hoped would strengthen diplomatic relations between the kaiser and the sultan. The goal of the school, named after Herz’s recently deceased father, Simon Edler von Lemel, was to “educate Jewish orphans according to a new German innovative schooling system.”

To the poverty-stricken Jews of Yerushalayim, Herz’s vision appeared to be the answer to their dreams. Backed by seemingly unlimited resources, she had the means to provide Yerushalayim’s children with an excellent education, as well as daily hot meals and clothes to replace their rags. Herz’s emissary, Frankal, played the part of a benevolent religious benefactor, concerned for the spiritual as well as physical welfare of the city’s inhabitants. He informed the Jewish leaders in Austria that “in this school, the children will learn from their youth to walk in the ways of the Alm-ghty, to observe His commandments and to love an occupation.”4

Prior to his arrival in Yerushalayim, Frankal distributed his pamphlet “Kol Mevasser”5 among the Jews of Yerushalayim, detailing his plans for the new school. In addition, he convinced the Austrian kaiser and the Turkish sultan of the value of his mission. And truthfully, who could argue against providing children with what he described as an excellent secular and religious education?

Frankal thought he would encounter no opposition from what he assumed to be the poor and uneducated leaders of Yerushalayim’s Jewish community. However, before he arrived, Rabbi Yitzchak Deutsch of Vienna, z”l, a wealthy philanthropist and one of the heads of the Austrian Kollel, sent Yerushalayim’s Rabbanim a letter warning them of Frankal’s true intentions.6

Frankal arrived in Yerushalayim and almost immediately invited the city’s Rabbanim and Chachamim to a meeting to explain how his school would benefit the yishuv. It soon became evident, however, that the Rabbanim were not amenable. “Why is it so difficult for you to approve of the type of school I envision?” he asked them. “Am I doing something illegal?”7

Harav Yeshaya Bardaki responded with characteristic sharpness. “If I understand you correctly, in this ‘school,’ as you have coined it, the children will be studying secular subjects together with Torah. Although there is no prohibition against learning something other than Torah, still, there is reason for us to be wary, for when secular subjects and Torah are studied together, the students tend to view them as being equal. Once one doubts the primacy of Torah, assimilation is not far off. Have we not seen the terrible results of this in Europe, with the emancipation and Haskalah?”8

Harav Bardaki later explained his reasoning. “Outside the Holy Land we were moser nefesh for our children’s chinuch; how much more so in the Holy City must our children be immersed in their limudei kodesh, and anything that will disturb them from that study is considered a sin.” The Ashkenazic Rabbanim subsequently placed the Lemel School in cherem, forbidding G-d-fearing parents to send their children there.9

In his autobiography,10 Rabbi Benzion Yadler, an alumnus of Etz Chaim who received rabbinical ordination from Harav Shmuel Salant and was known as the “Yerushalmi Maggid” because of his amazing oratorical skills, described Frankal’s attempt at deception. “Upon entering and exiting the room, [Frankal] was careful to reverently kiss the mezuzah” and “Frankal donned two sets of tefillin, and opposite his desk was a large sign proclaiming, ‘Shivisi Hashem l’negdi tamid, I set Hashem before me constantly,’ but the scholars of that generation recognized his lowly mission, that he was sent by the leaders of the Enlightenment to destroy Jewish education.”

Actually, the Rabbanim of Yerushalayim had nothing against vocational training. According to the original bylaws of the cheder, students studied the basic Talmud Torah curriculum until bar mitzvah and afterwards were divided according to potential. Yerushalayim’s shoemakers, grocers, and laborers were pious Jews who arose early to learn before davening and concluded their day with a shiur after Maariv. Although the Lemel School claimed to be teaching practical skills, in reality much emphasis was placed on the study of French and German, which in the mid-1800s had no practical application for the city’s Jews.

That same year, 1854, most probably in response to Frankal’s plans for a school that would teach secular subjects in addition to Torah, a permanent building was constructed for Etz Chaim in what was later to be known the Churvah Courtyard. Although nowhere explicitly stated, we can assume that Frankal’s arrival in Yerushalayim was the catalyst that saved Etz Chaim. That’s because after Etz Chaim outgrew the women’s section, classes were scattered throughout the city. Supervision became lax and the school was in danger of closing.11

Interestingly, only after the community’s children were provided with a proper place to learn did construction commence on the magnificent Bais Yaakov Synagogue, later known as the Churvah Synagogue, which was completed eight years later in 1864. This historical fact attests to the priorities of the yishuv’s Rabbanim.12

The Cherem

The cherem against the new Lemel School was officially pronounced on 9 Sivan 5616/1856. Rabbi Benzion Yadler describes his meeting with an elderly Jew who was present at the pronouncement.

“When I was around bar mitzvah age, the cherem was announced in the Beis Medrash Menachem Tzion, located in the ruins of Harav Yehuda Hechassid Synagogue. The shul was packed. The aron kodesh was opened, and black candles were lit. One of the elders of Yerushalayim, Harav Hagaon Yosef Shmuel Hershler, z”l, formerly a Rosh Kollel in Czechoslovakia who immigrated to Chevron and later to Yerushalayim, ascended the bimah and called out with the ferocity of a lion, ‘We are distancing ourselves from that evil congregation.’ The bookshelves were trembling, and the fear was palpable.”

Although the text of the cherem emphasized that it applied only to the Ashkenazic community, several Sefardi Chachamim signed, including Harav Rafael Yedidya Abulafia, zt”l, Rosh Yeshivah of Beit El.

Despite the cherem, the Lemel School officially opened its doors the following month, on 23 Tammuz. Almost all the students were children of foreign consuls. The Haskalah movement was virtually unknown in the Middle East, and therefore most of the Sephardic Chachamim accepted Frankal’s false promises at face value. Yet in those first few years only a few children from their community attended the school.

The Ashkenazic community, however, continued its opposition. Even after Rabbi Zalman Baharan, a talmid chacham known for his constant acts of chessed, was imprisoned for speaking against the school,13 the protests continued. Yehoshua Yellin, z”l, who was present at the opening of the Lemel School, recalls in his memoirs, “People stood outside the school crying, ‘Oy! Woe to us! Help us! There is a fire in the city!’”

A Real Threat

Throughout the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the Jews of Yerushalayim were struggling to survive. With the rise of secular Zionism, it became almost impossible for an Orthodox Jew in Eretz Yisrael to find a job. Almost all doors, except the door to poverty, remained closed, and many succumbed to temptation.

One poignant example of the general movement away from tradition is the testimony of that same elderly Jew who was present when the cherem was pronounced: “My children received a pure Torah education. But they later went away and sent their own children to study in the secular school. I have rebuked them many times, but they do not listen to me. …

“When I asked Harav Yosef Chaim Sonnenfeld, zt”l [the Rav of Yerushalayim], what I should do, he replied, ‘Since you’ve done everything possible, you’ve fulfilled your obligation.’ I requested that he put his words into writing, which he did. I instructed my family that after a hundred and twenty years, that note be placed beneath my head.”14

With almost unlimited resources, Frankal’s secular school continued to flourish. In 1903 there was a huge celebration when the school moved into its own spacious building on Yeshayahu Street. In honor of the occasion, Frankal even had a special copper medallion coined. One side depicted a palm tree with the Hebrew words “From the mouths of babes You have created strength,” and on the reverse, the Hebrew words “The school of Shimon from the noblest house of Lemel.”

Meanwhile, the Orthodox community was struggling to survive, and those dedicated to destroying the Lemel School continued protesting.

A Continuing Battle

Despite the cherem, which was not universally supported, and the protests, the Lemel School and secularism in general continued to flourish. By 1930, 550 students were registered in the school, making it the largest grammar school in Yerushalayim.

In the more than a century and half since the cherem was declared, although sweeping social and political changes took place throughout Yerushalayim and what was then known as Palestine, the members of the Old Yishuv continued their attempt to protect themselves from outside influence. Rebbetzin Aidel Tucazinsky, wife of Rabbi Yosef Tucazinsky15 and daughter of the famous Yerushalmi tzaddik Rabbi Gedalia Kenig, z”l, recalls, “When I was growing up in the 1960s, we were severely warned about keeping our distance from the secular schools. We tried never to walk past the Lemel School, and if we had no choice, we’d cross the street.” Rebbetzin Chava Tucazinsky recalls that Harav Nissan Aharon Tucazinsky16 would make a detour to avoid walking between the Edison movie theater, which was open on Shabbos, and the Lemel School.

For many decades, a fierce battle raged in Yerushalayim, a battle for its children’s education, and for many years it appeared that the battle was lost. The general attitude among secular Israelis was that religion was an outdated relic that should be eradicated. Even in Yerushalayim, the majority of children attended secular state schools, and outside of the city the situation was much worse.

Although a large percentage of Old Yishuv residents assimilated into secular society, the dwindling religious community continued to send their children to Etz Chaim. In its more than 170 years of existence, Etz Chaim has produced generations of scholarly laymen in addition to many of our great Torah leaders, including Jerusalem Chief Rabbi Harav Tzvi Pesach Frank; Harav Yaakov Moshe Charlop, Rav of Shaarei Chessed; Harav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, Rosh Yeshivah of Kol Torah and world-renowned posek; and Harav Yisrael Yaakov Fisher, Av Beis Din of the Eidah Hachareidis, zecher tzaddikim livrachah. Other products of the yeshivah, ybl”c, are Harav Yaakov Aryeh Alter, shlita, the Gerrer Rebbe; Harav Yaakov Aryeh Milikowsky, shlita, the Amshinover Rebbe; Harav Yitzchak Dovid Grossman, shlita, Rav of Migdal Ha’emek; and Harav Avraham Yehoshua Soloveitchik, shlita, Rosh Yeshivas Brisk. Many chadarim and yeshivos in Eretz Yisrael are based on the Etz Chaim model, among them Netivos HaTorah in Kiryat Sefer, with over a thousand students, Magen Avos in Tzefas, and Kaminetz.

The Lemel School Comes Full Circle

As for the Lemel School, it closed some forty years ago. In what can only be described as Divine irony, Etz Chaim, the educational system endorsed and headed by Harav Shmuel Salant and the other great Rabbanim of the Old Yishuv, recently purchased the Lemel building and grounds. Renovation plans are under way, and by 2016, b’ezras Hashem, the complex will house the more than 1,500 students students currently enrolled in Etz Chaim’s Yerushalayim-based yeshivos.

The outcome of the Old Yishuv’s opposition to the Lemel School is just one example of the eternity of Torah. And what about the Lemel School graduates? Although many became high-ranking professionals and leaders of secular Israeli society, Frankal’s promise that “in this school, the children will learn from their youth to walk in the ways of the Alm-ghty, to observe His commandments and to love an occupation” was never fulfilled. Hopefully, their descendants are part of the teshuvah revolution taking place in Eretz Yisrael and around the globe. And who knows? Perhaps their children will one day learn in Etz Chaim.

SIDEBARS:

Simon Edler von Lemel

Eliza Herz was the principal financial backer of the Lemel School, which she named after her father, Simon Edler von Lemel, a wealthy Austrian wool merchant and community activist.

Born in Toscho, Bohemia, Lemel was known to all as Zelke Toscho; before 1787, when Austria compelled Jews to adopt German-sounding last names, people used their city of birth in lieu of a family name. Orphaned of his father at an early age, Lemel entered the wholesale wool business, introducing improvements in the method of raising sheep and in manufacturing the wool. By the time he was twenty-one years of age, his wholesale house in Prague ranked among the most important and prosperous businesses in the city.

Strongly patriotic, he risked his entire fortune during the Napoleonic Wars (1803–1815) to provide the government with valuable services. Yet when he requested permission to purchase a house in Vienna, the emperor initially refused to provide him with the special letter of protection that Jews required to reside there. Later that same year, the emperor expressed his gratitude for all that he had done for the Austrian Empire by elevating him to the nobility. He was even given his own coat of arms.

In 1826, when Lemel renovated a Torah breastplate donated by his ancestors in 1763 to the Maisels Synagogue in Prague, he added his coat of arms and the following inscription: “These are the sacred implements that have been donated by my ancestors, of blessed memory. And were renovated by their son, who was formerly called Zelke Toscho, and by the mercy of our lord, the Emperor Franz I, who gave me the title of the noble man of Lämel (Edler von Lämel) [in] the year [5]586/1826.” The Torah breastplate is at present housed in the Jewish Museum of Prague.

In the first chapter of The Autobiography of August Bondi, “Family History,” Bondi recounts, “As he entered the room the emperor called out, ‘Come closer, glad to see you, I love you, Lämel’ (Lemel or Lemele means lamb in the Austrian dialect.) Lämel answered, ‘So your majesty can shear him?’ This so pleased the Emperor that Lämel was thereupon ennobled with the title Simon Edler von Lämel. He was even given his own coat of arms and (finally!) permission to reside in Vienna — where he was barely tolerated. Until 1813, he was forced to quarter soldiers in his private home. (Jews needed a special letter of protection to be permitted to reside in Vienna. In 1811 the small Jewish community was allowed to set aside a prayer room in a house they had purchased. Twelve years later, they were permitted to construct a synagogue.)”

Lemel devoted his life to improving the living conditions of his fellow Jews. In 1817 he succeeded in getting the Bohemian Jews’ taxes reduced, although he personally continued paying full taxes even after moving to Vienna. It was also thanks to him that the “body tax” on Jews was abolished in the German Kingdom of Saxony. Shortly before his death, he tried, without success, to abolish the demeaning and often dangerous medieval “Jewish Oath” that Jews were required to take in European courts of law until the twentieth century.

A New Home for Etz Chaim

Before purchasing the Lemel School grounds, Rabbi Yosef Tucazinksy, member of Etz Chaim's board of directors, traveled to Bnei Brak to ask Harav Chaim Kanievsky, shlita, if it was advisable for Etz Chaim, with its strong roots in the ideology of the Old Yishuv, to establish its permanent premises in a building that for so many years had symbolized the fight against Torah. In Rabbi Tucazinsky’s own words:

When the neighborhoods surrounding Machaneh Yehudah changed drastically and the light rail barred access to our building, the Gedolei Hador instructed us to sell the historical Etz Chaim building on Yaffo Road. We encountered numerous obstacles in our quest to find new premises that would be both centrally located in a religious neighborhood and spacious enough to house our many different educational divisions, as well as provide for future expansion.

I approached Harav Kanievsky with a request for a blessing that Etz Chaim succeed in finding a suitable site. The Rav responded with tremendous warmth, so much so that the other people who were there at the time were surprised at the Rav’s enthusiasm.

I left the Rav’s home positive that things would work out and that we would soon find a suitable location.

When the proposal to purchase the old Lemel School building first came before the board of directors, although the location and spacious grounds made the building perfect for our needs, there was a lot of hesitation due to the building’s history. I told the other members of the board that before discussing the proposal I would ask Harav Kanievsky for daas Torah.

I traveled to Bnei Brak that same night. Once again, Harav Chaim greeted me with extreme warmth. I asked him if an institution such as Etz Chaim could move into a building that had been used to spread apikorsus. He responded that we should make some changes to the structure, and then not concern ourselves with the building’s past. He felt that despite the huge financial outlay, Etz Chaim should purchase the building and surrounding grounds, and gave us his brachah that we succeed in covering all payments.

1. A. R. Malachi, “Lakoros hachalukah b’Yerushalayim,” in Luach Eretz Yisrael, Vol. 15-21 (1909-1916), Vol. 3, edited by Eli Schiller, (Jerusalem: Ariel, 1980) 150-171.

2. Rabbi Y. M. Tucazinsky, Luach Eretz Yisrael, 1904 (Jerusalem: Avraham Moshe Lunz).

3. Ibid.

4. Ben Zion Gat, Hayishuv Hayehudi b’Eretz Yisrael, 1840–1881 (Jerusalem: Yad Yitzchak Ben Tzvi, 1974).

5. Rabbi Akiva Yosef Schlesinger, Maaseh Avos, first published anonymously in 5661/1901 and republished with additions in 5736/1976.

6. Ibid.

7. David Rossoff, Where Heaven Touches Earth (Jerusalem: Guardian Press, 1st edition 1998, revised edition 2001).

8. Ibid.

9. Benzion Yadler, B’Tuv Yerushalayim, ed. Rabbis Betzalel Landau and Aharon Surasky, published by the author’s grandson, Reb Yitzchok Zev Yadler-Goldberg (Bnei Brak: Netzach, 5727/1967).

10. Ibid.

11. Luach Eretz Yisrael, op. cit.

12. Etz Chaim records.

13. Since Frankal had presented the school’s establishment as a step toward strengthening diplomatic relations between the Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian empires, opposition to its establishment was considered a crime.

14. B’tuv Yerushalayim, op. cit.

15. Currently on Etz Chaim’s board of directors.

16. The late head of Etz Chaim, who was niftar in January 2012.

More than Another Chumash Seudah

More than Another Chumash Seudah

It was with a mixture of joy and astonishment that I walked through the old metal gate on Rechov Yeshayahu and entered Etz Chaim, Jerusalem's future campus. I was on my way to celebrate the school's 170^th Chumash Seudah, to share the simcha of 42 five- ear-old "bachurels" rejoice as they officially began studying Chumash. Inside the large auditorium, the music was playing loudly as each group of excited youngsters tried to contain their giggles while taking their place on the podium.

Although over the years I had attended at least half a dozen Chumash seudos, this was probably the first time I was attending not as a mother or grandmother, but as a member of the Etz Chaim staff. Over the course of the last several years, a large number of English speaking parents started sending their children to Etz Chaim, Jerusalem, and the administration felt that it was important to have a native English speaker in the office to take care of all the English language correspondence – in other words, an English speaking secretary.  And of course, after having felt the mounting excitement and taken a part in many of the preparations, how could I not be there for this momentous occasion?

But this Chumash seudah really was special –because, in the most poignant way possible it symbolized the victory of Torah education in Eretz Yisrael. But to understand why, let me explain a bit of the history behind Etz Chaim's future campus and for that, I'll have to go back to 1841, when Rabbi Shmuel Salant, chief rabbi of Jerusalem for over 70 years, established the first Torah school in Jerusalem, Etz Chaim, a school that reflected the values of the Yishuv Hayashan -- holiness and spiritual elevation.

Just thirteen years later, in 1854, followers of the haskalah movement in Vienna sent Ludwig August Ritter von Frankal – a physician, poet, educator and follower of Zecharia Frankel, founder of the Conservative Movement --  to establish a secular school in the Holy City. Shortly before the planned opening of Frankal's school – the Lemmel School - Rav Shmuel Salant led all the Ashkenazi Rabbonim of the city and many of the Sefardi Chachamim in making a cherem against the new school.

For over 110 years, the two educational systems -- Etz Chaim and Lemmel -- battled for the neshomos of Jerusalem's children. Although at every opportunity, the cherem was reiterated by the Rabbonim of Etz Chaim and the Yishuv Hayashan, Lemmel continued to grow in popularity until it became the largest school in Jerusalem.

The growth of the Lemmel School was a reflection of the general direction of the country, and, for that matter, the entire world. People assumed that Israel would soon become a completely secular state and that within a generation or two, Torah true Judaism would dwindle until it vanished. An interesting anecdote, a friend of my husband's, a German Jew who arrived in Israel after during the British Mandate, recalls his first Kiddush Levana in Tel Aviv. One of the men commented, "You know, this might be the very last Kiddush Levana to be recited in Eretz Yisrael."

Because of the cherem and all that the Lemmel School symbolized, the Jews of the Old Yishuv were particular to avoid all contact with it. People refrained from even walking past the building, and if there was no choice, they made a point of crossing to the opposite side of the street.  

Yet, amazingly enough, despite all predictions, the Torah community, both in Jerusalem and around the world, blossomed. Today, the overwhelming majority of Jerusalem's children attend Orthodox schools, and each year, those numbers increase, whereas around the world there are frum Jewish communities in places that no one dreamed there would be one. And that brings us back to why this particular Chumash seudah symbolizes the triumph, and eternity, of Torah. Last year Etz Chaim had to leave its historic campus on Yaffo Road. After consulting with Harav Hagaon Rabbi Chaim Kenievsky shlita, and receiving his warm bracha for hatzlacha, Etz Chaim used the money from the sale of the old school to purchase the Lemmel Campus on Yeshayahu Street.

The school that broached Jerusalem's walls of kedushah and led the fight against Etz Chaim and Torah education in Israel will now become Etz Chaim's new home – another example of the eternity of Torah.

Is it no wonder that I could not possibly miss this Chumash seudah?