Ask Chaviva Anything!: Conversion, Divorce, and Observance

It's been quite some time since I did an installment of Ask Chaviva Anything! so I thought I would take a bit of time and hammer one out. These questions all came from the same person back in November, so I hope they're still reading and will be pleased that I'm FINALLY answering their questions! If you have questions for me, feel free to ask away.

Some of these will be heavy. Are you ready?

I'm curious to hear your self-observations on your religious practice (1) Before you were married,  (2) while engaged, (3) while married, and (4) while divorced. Did you find yourself more strict in certain areas at different phases, less strict?

This is a most excellent question. How to answer? I can say without flinching that my religious practice before I was married was much more "full" if that makes sense. My observance was about me, and me alone. When I got engaged, I was able to begin looking at other observances that I was to be taking on come marriage time. While married, I began to feel a little lost. Living in Teaneck, NJ, my religious practice became more rote because it was easy to be Jewish. You didn't have to think about practice or observance; everyone just did the same things, ate at the same places, went to the same synagogue. I think that while I was married I regressed a lot in the sincerity of my observance. Now that I'm divorced, I'm in a place of reexamining my religious practice. As a result, you might say I'm "less strict" than I was while married or even engaged, but I think that is probably a natural progression for many when divorce comes. Either that, or you throw yourself into strict observance to fill the void. But right now, I'm in a comfortable place.

Could you walk us through the thought process you had when choosing to leave the NY/NJ area as a new single with hopes of remarrying?

Well, for starters, I didn't have hopes of remarrying, and to be honest I still don't. Leaving NY/NJ was a simple choice. I needed to be someplace where I could clear my head and start fresh on a life that was all my own. This wasn't the first time I've done this. I picked up and moved to Chicago once on a whim, and did sort of the same thing when I quit Chicago and headed for Connecticut. I'm a move-on, start-over kind of person. It's just how I function.

That first month after the religious divorce -- the get -- I was in a head-spinning place of "Meet someone super religious right now and get married to them right now." Luckily, I got out of that headspace. My ex-husband went that route, whereas I went a different route. I reevaluated my family background, my religious headspace, my wants and needs, and at the current juncture, I have no desire to get married or have kids. There are a lot of reasons for this that I haven't discussed on the blog (shocking, I know), but it's a decision with which I've definitely made peace.

What systems of support do you wish existed for the potential convert, convert engaged with a beis din, and the convert post facto (a Jew)?

The essential system of support should simply be whatever community the convert -- at any stage -- lives in. There shouldn't be a need for some kind of special community or foundation to support the convert, but that's an unfortunate reality and it is why there are organizations devoted to assisting converts in Israel. So I run my Conversion Conversation Group on Facebook for individuals at all stages of the process, and I've found that just having a safe space away from the eyes of rabbis and the prying community has helped so many feel comfortable.

If you could pick one time period of Jewish history in which you could witness (i.e., live through it) what historical period/events would it be?

Without a doubt the Middle Ages. It was such a tumultuous and inspiring time to be a Jew, I think. I would have loved to meet Ovadiah ha'Ger, Maimonides, and the like. There was so much movement between Europe and North Africa, and I think that experiencing Egypt during this time would be quite beautiful. On the same note, I would have loved to float around Europe at this time!

What mitzvos do you feel most connected to? The least?

Without a doubt, I feel deeply connected to prayer -- simple things like the Shema and Modah Ani. They keep me on a cycle of waking and sleeping, living and dying. I also feel deeply committed to kashrut, the true roots of kashrut and what it means to understand food and consumption. On that note, I'm also connected very much to tzniut, in all of its forms, but especially in speech. As for those I'm least connected to, that's a good question. I suppose taharat ha'mishpacha (family purity), largely because the span of my marriage that I observed it, it was a dismal experience. Mikvah in that realm, too, held little comfort for me. That being said, when I observed mikvah for conversion, it was an incredibly powerful experience.

Also: I think that living in -- or at least regularly experiencing -- Israel is a huge mitzvah. That's probably the one I feel most connected to overall!

How connected to your "old life" do you feel?  Meaning how has your mentality changed since becoming more observant/converting in terms of world view, politics, priorities?

The truth is, I don't think that I've changed much, outside of feeling more worldly and interested in how the world functions and how it understands religion, peoplehood, race, ethnicity, and identity. Converting to Judaism and becoming more observant has taught me that our (the Jews) greatest enemy is ourselves. I find it constantly troubling how Jews are willing to join forces to fight outsiders but insist on continuing to judge and break down one another. (A great example: Reform Jews recently spoke out in support of Beren Academy when they were told that their basketball game couldn't be rescheduled. How is that relationship the rest of the year?)

I think, if anything, that I've simply come to be who I always was: curious and searching, believing with a sound mind and full heart that there is one G-d and that our actions in this life are what matter the most. Those are values and a mentality that I have held since I was a child, and those are the things that led my neshama to really thrust itself into the spotlight and led me to realize my Jewish self.

Some Uncommon Questions

Photo a la OneShul.

I'm busy at work in my second semester at NYU in the Education/Jewish studies dual M.A. (yes, I already have one M.A. from the University of Connecticut in Jewish studies, but you can't have too many, right?), and I've discovered that my technological and social media know-how is a huge boon to my experience. In just about every class so far, I've been able to pull on my experiences online to make connections that are ever-so-much-more important when it comes to education, and not just in the Jewish world. Social media skills are what we have to teach students, because at some point, I have no doubt in my mind that such skills will be a prerequisite for just about every job out there.

Along with the growth of social media and online networks, however, come questions. I've been thinking more and more about these questions, and as I prepare for my panel at SXSW Interactive next month, I really would like some kind of insight into whether we have answers or whether we've moved along quickly enough to even be able to consider answering these questions. And these are just a few. Ready?

• Yichud. Basically this word refers to the prohibition of men and women who are not married from being in seclusion or in a private place together. There are a bajillion ifs and buts tied to this law, but that's the basic gist. This means that I wouldn't invite a single man or a friend's husband over to my house for coffee, k? Now, my question is how we apply the laws of yichud in a digital age. Is it okay to text and email with a woman who is not your wife? With your wife knowing? Without your wife knowing? I'd say the former is okay, the latter violates yichud. What about online chatting or messaging through Facebook or Twitter via Direct Message? How do we apply the laws of yichud to Social Media? Should we? Is it being too strict to think that it should be? You have to consider that just as it was "dangerous" for a man and a woman to be secluded privately because g-d knows where it would end up, so, too, have people found that in the digital age, private communication is quite the same thing, just in a different medium. Thoughts?
• Davening. There are great collaborative communities online like OneShul from PunkTorah.org that create an online space for prayer (davening), but can you count in a minyan (a quorum of 10 men needed for prayer) if you're only there digitally?

I guarantee you these are two things that the rabbis of old never would have considered, even on the most distant of horizons. So how do we approach these kinds of things today? My big thing is the idea of the New Community, which exists online, where people in the most remote of locations can find a community and participate Jewishly online. This community comprises a bevy of denominations and boasts synergy in a beautiful and innovative way. The question is: Are we ready for it? I know the Reform community is, but what about the Orthodox community? How do we approach life online via halacha and modern sensibilities? 

Passion, Fire, and Self-Respect: Part II

I posted a few days ago about my frustration and dare I say disgust with a weekend spent in a certain community -- from the way people talked their way at full volume through the davening to the jungle-like attack on the kiddush table after services. And a lot of you agreed that it's a problem. To be honest, the latter is of less importance in the long run, and people's manners are something I can't exactly change. It can be attributed to how we're raised, what our parents tell us is right and wrong, our own perception of decency and self-respect, and having respect for those around us. People, I'm sad to say, lack a general filter for right and wrong when it comes to manners nowadays, and I find this pervasive among the Orthodox Jewish community. I'm not saying people live in filth and are out-and-out rude -- there are exceptions to every rule and assumption -- but overall, I'm frequently blown away. Now, maybe I'm partial but I can think of two communities (including for the most part my own) where this isn't such a problem.

But the talking during davening? This exists everywhere. Everywhere except maybe a few select shuls where if you talk, you're really, seriously chastised with an unverbal, eye-piercing excommunication from the sacred space.

Interestingly (one of those "wow" moments), the readings for the weekend in my "Praying With Fire: A 5-Minute Lesson-A-Day" addressed the very issue that I was experiencing. Maybe it aroused more anger in me, maybe it brought the situation fully into perspective. I joked about taking the book with me, and shouting to the people what exactly our sages have said on this very issue of talking during davening. But I didn't. Instead? I'm going to share it with you here, and maybe I can alter how some of us (we're all imperfect; even me!) carry ourselves in shul, while davening.

"The harm done by disturbing others (by talking during prayer) is so substantial that the Shulchan Aruch rules that to avoid disturbing others, a person saying Shemoneh Esrei should not raise his voice in prayer (Siman 101, Se'if 2). ... If this is the halacha regarding voices raised in tefillah, one can surmise that there would be no tolerance for disturbances created by voices raised in casual conversation."

The text goes on to discuss various rabbis who cited the cause for certain  massacres being because the community didn't respect the shul, they spoke during davening, bringing harm upon the community. I think this is a little harsh (at one point it is suggested that the reason the Sephardi community was saved from the Holocaust is because of their strict rules NOT to speak during davening), but interesting to ponder at any rate.

The Zohar identifies a person who speaks about worldly matters in synagogue as a "kofer b'ikar," -- a heretic (Parashas Terumah 131a), and the Roke'ach adds that one who speaks during prayer is guilty of "masig g'vul" or stealing the sanctity of the synagogue (Hilchos Teshuvah, Siman 26). One text goes so far as to say that he who speaks in shul is "chillul Hashem" -- desecrating the name of HaShem.

And this text was made for me: "The impact of talking during prayer is sometimes perceived more keenly by newcomers to Judaism (that's me!), who have not become desensitized to it. They cannot reconcile the great divide between what prayer truly is and how it is sometimes treated." Now, I see the divide, I'm just really annoyed. The author goes on to discuss that if this is the impression to a new comer or ba'al teshuvah, imagine how the children feel. If they see it, they can't discern what is normal and what is not, and thus talking during services is the "norm" -- it perpetuates the myth that this is in fact okay.


In essence, by talking during davening, you're negating the mitzvah of davening by committing the sin of nullifying the prayers! It's a horrible cycle. Why don't people see that? On Shabbat, for example, a person is 13 blessings short of the required 100. Throughout Shabbat, we fulfill the commandment by eating various foods and delicacies, but if we fall short, we compensate by listening to the blessings said over reading of the Torah and the Haftarah and responding Amen. But if we're talking during all this, we probably fall short, and where's that leave us?

Let us talk to G-d quietly, in devotion that is personal. After all, "there is too much ugly noise in our world today." Why bring more?

Shabbat in Vermont.

I spent seven Shabbats in Middlebury, Vermont. Seven long and mostly lonely Shabbats. Let me elaborate on a Shabbat, any Shabbat, since most were similar.

The campus Hillel, which I attended only once, decided to hold services at 5:30 p.m. every Friday. This, actually, was the reason I stopped attending, because with Shabbat coming in at 8:30 or so, I couldn't bring myself to bring it in so early. I'd go to class every day until 3 p.m., run some quick errands, and then return to my sweltering dorm for a quick pre-dinner/pre-Shabbos shower. I'd hop over to the cafeteria for our 6:30-7:30 alloted time for dinner, grab the challah and a bottle of juice if we needed it, and then schlep off with fellow celebrators to the portable trailer (sort of an impermanent house) where our professor, who was shomer Shabbos, lived.

Everyone would gather, slowly. We'd sing a few songs, light tealights, and then make kiddush over the university-made challah and some university-purchased Kedem grape juice. We'd then gather, the 15 or so of us, in the living room to sing songs for about an hour. Most of the songs I didn't know, and the ones that I did know, the tunes were unfamiliar. But seeing everyone together was a little spark of light for the day for me. After an hour or hour and a half, we'd bensch and everyone would go their separate ways -- to parties, to hang, to whatever. Typically I'd return to my room and read, or hang out in the salon with a few people to talk.

I'd get to bed pretty late, after reading the parshah or something else, then wake up on Saturday around 10 or 10:30 for the 11 a.m. "story time" in the Salon. Yes, we had story time on Shabbat. I'll admit that it was awkward, but absolutely delightful because it was interesting to hear classic Hebrew children's stories. After stories we'd all go to lunch, and after that? The day sort of drifted into nothingness.

Sometimes I walked. One day I walked out to a local garden and sat in a make-shift hut for about an hour, just listening to the wind and enjoying the shade and quiet. Other days I'd return to my room, read a bit, and then try to sleep. Most days my efforts to nap were met with sweat from the heat of my room, and sleeping was quickly scratched from the options list. Some days I'd merely sit around. Sit in the salon and watch the world go by around me. A few times I went to the cafeteria when it opened at 5, grabbed a glass of water, and sat outside just watching everything and everybody.

Dinner was from 6:30 to 7:30, and afterward we'd head back the salon and sit. I, waiting for Shabbos to end, others waiting for Shabbos to end so we could start our post-Shabbos required activities -- classes, movies, events. Before havdalah, I'd trek to the trailer to sit, chat, sing, and eventually make havdalah. There were usually just a few of us there, everyone else already heading to the required events planned the moment Shabbat ended. Havdalah went quickly, Shavua Tovs were issued, and we'd all run for whatever building our event was in.

It never really felt like anything started or stopped. There was no Shabbos meal, nobody sitting around discussing the community or Judaism or world events. Most people studied on Shabbat while I didn't -- I studied, worked, six days a week. Shabbat was my chance to not work. There were no long conversations at long Shabbos tables until 3 or 4 in the afternoon. Everything was done by 1 p.m. It was tiring, missing REAL Shabbat. The shomer professor did what she could, and she gave us what she could. It was something, but it wasn't what I needed. I think I felt like so much was missing because Shabbat was missing. The passion and prayer and community was missing.

But now, I'm back. I'm here, with meals and conversation and prayer and passion. I know that so much of what we do in Judaism we often have to make happen for ourselves. But sometimes, you need more than that. A man living in Siberia can be as spiritual as possible, but without a community, he's just a man.

Shemonei Esrei: Deconstructed!

Every time I'm davening, I stumble over this bit in the Shemonei Esrei that, translated by Artscroll reads

Rebuilding Jerusalem

And to Jerusalem, Your city, may you return in compassion, and may You rest within it, as You have spoken. May you rebuild it soon in our days as an eternal structure, and may You speedily establish the throne of David within it. Blessed are You, HaShem, the Builder of Jerusalem. 

My beef with the text comes with the bolded words there. The Hebrew looks like this:

The text makes sense to me in that it calls for a rebuilding (uvnei) of Jerusalem, but I find the wording on the throne of David difficult. Jerusalem, after all, was destroyed a few times over, with the Temple -- the first and the second -- being destroyed. In my mind, the rebuilding of Jerusalem is largely in reference to the reestablishment of a Temple, a central place of worship for Jews. But the throne of David, established at one point in Israel, needs not be established but merely to be re-established. It's confusing to me that verb associated with Jerusalem is rebuild, but the verb associated with the throne of David is an original, an establishing.

The verb translated as establish, tachin (להכין), literally means "to prepare, make ready." My favorite Hebrew-English/English-Hebrew online dictionary uses the verbs לייסד, להקים; לבסס for "to establish." (Note: These probably are strictly modern Hebrew verbs, not sure about the Biblical Hebrew. Boneh is pretty standard for building, to build, builder, etc. in the Hebrew Bible. Someone with more knowledge of the varying verbs relating to building or esetablishing or constructing in the Tanakh.)

Thus it seems to me that the text in the Shemonei Esrei is actually calling for Jerusalem to be rebuilt as in the glory days and for the city to be prepared and made ready for the throne of David once again thrive (i.e. be re-established). At any rate, it makes me feel a lot better about reading it every time I daven. It has always seemed awkward to me that it would be "establish." 

Then again, I tend to pick apart words and phrases much more than is necessary. I'm guessing this hasn't bothered anyone else, right?

You What?

I think I might have to include this somewhere in my footnotes on the Golden Calf paper. I'm sure I can work it in somehow, right? I just sent this to my professor. I hope he finds it as amusing as I do!

A group of Christians gathered a few days ago at the GOLDEN BULL on Wall Street to pray for the economy . Yes. It's true. They really did. Now, I'm not one to judge, but this didn't work out so well in the olden days, so I'm pretty sure now isn't the time either. Talk about disturbing.

Yikes.

Small Miracles?

I'm not one to get my wisdom from cartoon TV shows on Prime Time, but something interesting was said last night on a repeat of American Dad (a show which I loathe, but without internet at home, I needed background noise). The episode was about the Dad being frustrated with a friend of his who had everything in common with him, except that this friend was an athiest. The Dad goes to all lengths to try and drive his friend to believe in G-d, eventually driving him to suicide, which fails. The friend ends up in the hospital and the Dad prays to G-d that if the friend should live, he'll accept him no matter what he believes. Just then, the friend wakes up and tells how G-d kicked him down to Hell where he sold his soul to Satan to return to earth.

Somewhere, I forget precisely where, in the episode, someone tells the Dad that G-d doesn't work like a vending machine. You don't put in a couple prayers and get something immediate in return.

This, as I've mentioned before, is my philosophy on small "miracles" and chances of random luck: avoiding getting a speeding ticket, a squirrel getting out of the street before you hit it, getting the right numbers in the lottery, running into the right person at the right time. These things, to me, are the wrong kinds of things we pray for and thus attribute immediately to G-d when they happen to work out. It's like reading your horoscope and mysteriously you find some way to make it fit into the way your day or week is going.

Maybe it's because of my "Christian" background, where if you wanted something you simply said a prayer and hoped for the best. I'd pray for a new toy or for so-and-so to ask me out or to get an A on a test I'd already taken, like somehow G-d could magically change the grade just because of my prayer.

As I've blogged about before, prayer isn't meant when we're asking for things. Prayer is meant for bigger things -- strength, healing, understanding, etc. G-d isn't a vending machine, and we can't plug quarters in and expect or even hope for a bag o' chips.

Prayer cannot bring water to parched fields, or mend a broken bridge, or rebuild a ruined city; but prayer can water an arid soul, mend a broken heart, and rebuild a weakened will. -- Gates of Prayer (Siddur)

Torah on Board!

I spotted this story over on Tzipiyah.com and had to share. It's a very, very snazzy little newsbite about a Torah scroll dedication aboard the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv commuter train in Israel!

 

A specially commissioned Torah scroll was dedicated on Sunday for use aboard a commuter train by a traveling prayer quorum (minyan) on the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv line. ...

Between 20 and 40 people pray in the train's Mesilat Yesharim Minyan [prayer group] each morning after it leaves the Beit Shemesh station. The last carriage on the early morning train is unofficially reserved as the temporary "synagogue," drawing both men and women, as well as Israel Railways crew members. The regular participants are a mixture of native Israelis and immigrants from North America and Europe who work in Tel Aviv in banking, law, computers, medicine, education and business, but who choose to live in the religious communities in Jerusalem or Beit Shemesh. ...

Darren Shaw made Aliyah from London in August 2006 ... hired a scribe to write an unusually small Torah, which is just 30 centimeters [about 12 inches] high. Fellow traveler Ariel Abraham, originally from Elizabeth, New Jersey, has converted a suitcase on wheels into a portable Holy Ark.

 

A Bedtime Shema?

At Sushi Shabbat on Friday there was a guest speaker who chose to discuss the Bedtime Shema to the crowd of 20s and 30s. Now, I'd like to start by saying this past Shabbat reminded me why I loathe going to such events. The lack of, well, seriousness irritates me. Or maybe it's just the lack of seriousness by certain people. Either way, I don't know if I'll show up at another one. I just don't have the patience anymore. But that is neither here nor there.

I was always of the understanding that before one goes to bed, they're required to say the Shema (שמע ישראל יהוה אלהינו יהוה אחד) This comes from Deuteronomy 6:6-7 -- "These words which I command you this day shall be upon your heart ... when you lie down and when you rise up."

I did not know, however, that there was actually a specific set of additional texts for the Bedtime Shema (BS) -- K'riat Shema al haMitah. So imagine my surprise when we got the handout and read through the BS (pardon the crappy acronym).

Master of the universe, I hereby forgive anyone who angered or antagonized me or who sinned against me — whether against my body, my property, my honor or against anything of mine; whether he did so accidentally, willfully, carelessly, or purposely; whether through speech, deed, thought, or notion; whether in this transmigration or another transmigration — I forgive every Jew. May no man be punished because of me. May it will be Your will, HASHEM, my God and the God of my forefathers, that I may sin no more. Whatever sins I have done before You, may You blot out in Your abundant mercies, but not through suffering or bad illnesses. May the expressions of my mouth and the thoughts of my heart find favor before You, HASHEM, my Rock and my Redeemer.

On a first, simple read, there are myriad disturbing aspects of this. The first one that struck me was the "I forgive every Jew." What about everyone else? Secondly the "whether in this transmigration or another transmigration" struck me as particularly odd, as it implies incarnations, which is most certainly not a necessarily Jewish belief. Then there's the idea that for the sins committed during the day, G-d would punish one "through suffering or bad illnesses" -- I've always understood that there is not a cause and effect relationship, hence books like "Why Bad Things Happen to Good People." Also noted is "whatever sins I have done before you," which in truth muddles what the idea of sin in Judaism is (it should be understood that sin is what one does not do, such as not speaking out when witnessing abuse or mistreatment, not what one particularly DOES).

The BS is to be followed by the Hamapil, and after this is said, one is not to speak until rising in the morning. Many, though, will remove G-d's name from the Hamapil for fear of conversing post-prayer, and this is sufficiently acceptable from what I can tell. Though for those (like me) with a rough time sleeping, are permitted to read, recite the Shema over and over, or to read a sefer or think Torah thoughts. It's important to note, then, that the BS and the Hamapil should be read together, because the BS itself leaves out some other significant things one might expect to hear in a prayer, such as prayer to encourage peaceful sleep and healthy awakening, not to mention blessing the family. Thus, the Hamapil says,

Blessed are You, HASHEM, our God, KING of the universe, who casts the bonds of sleep upon my eyes and slumber upon my eyelids. May it be Your will, HASHEM, my God and the God of my forefathers, that You lay me down to sleep in peace and rise me erect in peace. May my ideas, bad dreams, and bad notions not confound me; may my offspring be perfect before You, and may You illuminate my eyes lest I die in sleep, Who illuminates the pupil of the eye. Blessed are You, Hashem, Who illuminates the entire world with His glory.

The BS, therefore, seems negative, almost begging, pleading. Whereas the Hamapil emphasizes G-d's blessings. Yet, there is never thanks given for the day in either portion. Why do we not give thanks for the blessing of the day? Instead, we only ask for forgiveness and apologize. Should there not be thanks? Or is it implied? There is also much more to the BS, which can be found here (it includes various Psalms, etc.).

According to a rabbi at OHR.edu, "Rav Yehuda Segal, the late Rosh Yeshiva in Manchester, used to actually fall asleep while reciting the bedtime shema, and he would wake from time to time and carry on exactly from the place he left off!"

I find myself eternally curious when the Bedtime Shema was developed. So I'm searching the Internet, far and wide, trying to figure out who codified this "set" of prayers, when it was formally settled, etc. Maybe this is something for graduate school, who knows. But there's a little write up about how it helped one man sleep better over here. Then there's Chabad, that encourages getting into the BS routine. About.com tells me that the practice goes back to Talmudic times and was meant to protect the sleeper from nighttime fears and dangers. And finally, there's the Jewish Heritage Magazine  Online that quotes Talmudic scholar Adin Steinslatz saying essentially the same thing as About.com, but provides the precise sources for the arisal of the BS. They are BT Berakoth 4b (which can be seen here) and 60a (found here).

Yet even looking through these, I'm not gathering how precisely the words I have in my handout (aside from the actual Shema) were codified. There is plenty of conversation about when it is to be said and the disagreement therein (Rashi seems to have gotten pretty upset about this), but these words were composed by someone, yes?

Anyhow, perhaps that's for another time and place. The search continues!

Israel and Palestine: A Roadmap to Nowhere

I'm frustrated. I'm frustrated with peace, the two-state "solution," and I'm frustrated with the effort. I'm frustrated that for nearly 60 years there has been nothing but talk talk talk. I'm frustrated that there will never be a solution to the Palestinian-Israeli conflict.

I'm not a pessimist, I'm a realist. When I say that there will never be a solution, what I really mean is that the next great war, the next great instigation of demolition and destruction of the human soul and hope will arise in Israel, likely in Jerusalem.

The thing is, the talks that are going on today are not new. The people there at the talks know this. They're not naive or stupid. They know that the things they are saying have been repeated, rinsed, and repeated since the creation of the State of Israel in 1948. Except, well, maybe for Bush. He seems to stay optimistic. Who wouldn't want to solve the great Middle East debacle before leaving office, especially with the striped past 6 years he's had?

[The text of the agreement to kick off the talks can be read here.]

The talks will always, always stall on one thing: Jerusalem.

Everyone has a claim on it, and you can't split the city up three ways -- to Christians, Muslims and Jews. It just doesn't work that way. And even if you could split it up (which has been talked about before, believe me), no one will go for it. That's the other big thing.

In the past, talks have often stalled because it's all or nothing.

I can't even enumerate how many options have been suggested in the 60 years since the creation of Israel. It's almost nauseating the give and take and give and take and desperation. In the 1960s there were a group of Palestinians willing to compromise, willing to seek peace and leave the "all or nothing" philosophy behind. But those people were killed, and it is believed those who died trying to create peace were killed by the very Palestinians they wanted to help. Their own people!

I almost find it hard to discuss the situation. When I worked at the Washington Post, two of my coworkers asked me what I was going to do with my future after leaving the Post. I responded that I was going to go to graduate school for Judaic studies. One asked me what I thought about the situation in Israel, and I explained that it's pretty helpless and gave her my reasons. The other suggested I make it my goal to build a better Israel for Israelis and Palestinians. I smiled, knowing the impossibility of such a thought. Not because I'm incapable, but because I try not to involve myself in the situation, neither in discussion nor in action.

My reasons were this: Jerusalem will not, and can not be divided, thus creating the world's greatest stalemate over the world's most contested area; religious fervor and war will be the end all to this discussion. Additionally, the problem that many in the 60s ran into was that Palestinians were more comfortable playing the victim than they were with peace. Everyone knows that it is easier to be in pain and be hurt than it is to seek the best, most socially responsible route to success. It's like being unhappy is easier than trying to be happy. It's not rocket science, it's just the way we are. I'm not saying Palestinians to blame, but they've raised generations of victims, and Israel -- not to mention the Arab states -- haven't done a thing to see that change. The Palestinians are comfortable being the world's largest refugee population. If you take that away from them, they're just another people. What's so special about that? And finally, the Arab world has turned its back on the Palestinians time and time again, leaving the Palestinians to exist as a refugee population, so how are they any better than Israel? In the beginning, several Arab states -- namely Jordan -- were interested in the issue with motive more than murder and genocide. Then, poof. Nobody wanted anything to do with the Palestinians. Once again, they could safely be the victim, wanting it all or nothing.

So I guess the biggest question is: What now?

I don't have an answer. No one does. You can create all the peace plans in the world. You can say "poor Israel" or "poor Palestinians." You can cut off every Arab country in the world that plans a suicide bomber in Israel in the name of Allah, and you can do the same to every militant Israeli group that seeks to rid his or her country of Palestinians. You can do whatever you want politically and socially, but it isn't going to fix the situation. I don't think there *is* a way to fix the situation. This doesn't mean don't try, it just means ... maybe time could be spent on something else.

What I do have an answer for, is the effects of the conflict. There's that old saying about prevention, how you should go for the source, don't treat the effects or however it goes. It's like the man who loses his leg in a horrible car wreck. Why focus on finding and mending the leg when you could focus instead on how his life will be changed and how to make him better as a result? I'm not saying don't fight for peace, but in reality you can't focus on fixing the problem, you have to focus on fixing the effect it has on society. You can create social organizations, you can educate people, you can give to the Red Cross, you can heal the wounded, feed the hungry. These things are NOT futile, they're necessary. They're doable.

I don't mean to be another pimple on the face of the conflict, but folks, being a realist does not mean giving up hope and being a pessimist. It just means that you understand the history of the situation and that you understand the cyclical nature of these talks, the ramifications, the stalemate, the inevitable devastation. And if it so happens that peace is reached, that a Palestinian state is created, that Israel or the Palestinians give up wanting Jerusalem on THEIR side of the state? Then I'm taking every Jew I know out for a big ole beer and some brisket. And hold me to that.

Until then, I will sit and wait for another Aziz Shehadeh to appear and fight for the two-state solution in a logical, caring manner for the Palestinian people. And maybe I'll reread Strangers in the House, and pray truly hard that peace be possible, not just this tug-of-war pot of frustration and destruction.

Sometimes I ask myself, was this *really* what Theodor Herzl wanted?

The beauty!

ברוך אתה הי אלקינו מלך העולם שככה לו בעולמו

Baruch atah Adonai, Elohenu melech ha'olam shekahcha lo baolamo!

This prayer translates typically as "Blessed are you, our God, King of the Universe, who has such beautiful things in His universe." It is a prayer for beauty and I recite it today because for the first time this winter, it is SNOWING!!!!

Amen.