I’m not a religious person.  Far from it in fact.  I’ve gone through phases in my life.  There was the phase when I stopped believing altogether.  The other was believing that a superior being does in fact exist, but there’s no way he would demand his flock to go through hoops in order to avoid his wrath.  Then there was the phase of I want nothing to do with it (may have had something to do with the divorce), and there’s now, the phase of not practicing, not affiliating, but watching and learning and picking just a couple of really ancient practices and the belonging part.  I belong, but I don’t practice.  I can live with that.

I think I lost the belief when I was around nine.  Later on in life, I fell in love with a religious girl, and I was ready to put on the show for her, but she saw through the charade, it didn’t work.  I ended up marrying a religious woman (Mrs. Hayardeny the 1st), but we split up, mainly, but not exclusively based on our religious differences (or my lack thereof).  I accepted myself as a secular person.  But I do have these idiosyncrasies about religion that I can’t, and I don’t want to shake.  On every door in my house I have a “Mezuzah”, a shell of either wood, metal or ceramics that is put on the right side of the door, and contains a small piece of parchment with some special verses from the bible.  As I said, I’m not a believer, but somehow I feel that this little shelled parchment adds some special protection to the house and to the family residing in it.

And I love the bible.  I know, you might think that love of the bible must go with belief.  Well, I hate to break it to you, it doesn’t.  If you’re a Hebrew speaker who is still connected to the language of the bible, you’d know what I mean.  Whoever wrote the bible had language skills which are not in existence today.  Describing stories in a delightful way, putting together abstract concepts using few words, is a skill I don’t see in today’s writers (maybe a very selected few).  Most certainly I don’t own it.  But I can read it, and I enjoy it.  Think about it: I can read a two to three thousand year old document freely, without hesitation, without running back and forth to some dusty old dictionary or to the local university archaeological department.  It’s very cool.  Speaking a language that was spoken for five thousand years in one form or another, is very cool as well.  Hebrew is a beautiful language.  Biblical Hebrew is a hundred times more beautiful.

And there’s King David.  The king of Israel and Judea, and yes, of course, the King of Poets.  King David wrote the book of Psalms, and the Song of Songs.  His only serious competition was King Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, and King David’s own son.  King Solomon wrote the book of Proverbs, and the book of Ecclesiastics, and more.  I have a special love for Ecclesiastics because it presents doubt, it presents a dilemma, and although at the very end of it, it also presents a solution a resolution and a recommendation, many, myself included, don’t believe that the last part was actually written by King Solomon.  It’s much more likely that the end of the book was written by the Bible’s editors, making their best effort to avoid dealing with the question whether or not King Solomon had lost his belief in his old days.

The Psalms, poems or songs, were actually part of thousands of years of Jewish rituals in Jerusalem.  The Levites, the tribe of priests, were singing and chanting these poems on certain occasions when they were doing their holy work at the House of God in Jerusalem.  Even today, when Jews congregate at the synagogue every day (I personally am a non-congregational Jew), they read,, sing, chant, and recite these Psalms.  I doubt that there are any songs in the history of mankind, that were sung more consistently, continuously, without change for such a long time.

And there’s the “Song of Ascents”.  My personal favorite.  It’s short, yet it’s full of trust, belief, and optimism.  It’s just beautiful.  The name “Song of Ascents”, comes from the fact that the Levites were chanting it on their way up the stairs to do their holy work.  The Hebrew is just beautiful.  The translation isn’t so great.  I decided to present to you the Hebrew version, a couple of translations I found on the web, and my own shot at translating this masterpiece.  Here it is.

תהילים קכא

א שִׁיר לַמַּעֲלוֹתאֶשָּׂא עֵינַי אֶל-הֶהָרִים   מֵאַיִן יָבֹא עֶזְרִי. ב עֶזְרִי מֵעִם יְהוָה   עֹשֵׂה שָׁמַיִם וָאָרֶץ. ג אַל-יִתֵּן לַמּוֹט רַגְלֶךָ    אַל-יָנוּם שֹׁמְרֶךָ. ד הִנֵּה לֹא-יָנוּם וְלֹא יִישָׁן   שׁוֹמֵר יִשְׂרָאֵל. ה יְהוָה שֹׁמְרֶךָ    יְהוָה צִלְּךָ עַל-יַד יְמִינֶךָ. ו יוֹמָם הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ לֹא-יַכֶּכָּה    וְיָרֵחַ בַּלָּיְלָה. ז יְהוָה יִשְׁמָרְךָ מִכָּל-רָע    יִשְׁמֹר אֶת-נַפְשֶׁךָ. ח יְהוָה יִשְׁמָר-צֵאתְךָ וּבוֹאֶךָ   מֵעַתָּה וְעַד-עוֹלָם

Psalms 121 - Translation 1

A Song of Ascents. I lift my eyes to the mountains - from where will my help come? My help will come from the Lord, Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot falter; your guardian does not slumber. Indeed, the Guardian of Israel neither slumber nor sleeps. The lord is your guardian; the Lord is your protective shade at your right hand. The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The lord will guard you from all evil; He will guard your soul. The Lord will guard your going and your coming from now for all time.

Psalms 121 - Translation 2

A Song of Ascents.
I will lift up mine eyes unto the mountains: from whence shall my help come?
My help cometh from the LORD, who made heaven and earth.
He will not suffer thy foot to be moved; He that keepeth thee will not slumber.
Behold, He that keepeth Israel doth neither slumber nor sleep.
The LORD is thy keeper; the LORD is thy shade upon thy right hand.
The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.
The LORD shall keep thee from all evil; He shall keep thy soul.
The LORD shall guard thy going out and thy coming in, from this time forth and for ever. {P}

Psalms 121 - Translation 3

I lift up my eyes to the hills –
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip –
He who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, He who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.

The LORD watches over you –
the LORD is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.

The LORD will keep you from all harm –
He will watch over your life;
the LORD will watch over your coming and going
both now and forever more.

And my own

A Song of Ascents.  I raise my tearing eyes to the mountains - where will help come from?  Help will come from God, Creator of the heavens and the earth, he shall not let my foot slip, my guard shall never sleep.  The guard of Israel will not shut his eyes.  God shall be your keeper, God shall be your shade on your right hand side.  The sun shall not strike you at the daytime, nor the moon at night, God shall protect you from all, God will guard your soul.  God shall watch your comings and goings from now and until the end of time.

No need to be observant and practicing to appreciate poetry or bible.

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I took Guy downstairs to ride his scooter, a very unusual event. And with good reason. Watching Guy riding his scooter, his bicycle or even playing on the monkey bars isn’t good for my health. Every time he falls, or seems to fall, or about to fall, or is standing next to a child that might fall in the next hour or so, my heart starts beating out of rhythm. I usually ask my wife, Dorit, to watch Guy playing or riding. I’m good at reading stories, playing computer games, and jigsaw puzzles. The couch potato games…

Anyway, I’m standing there, recovering from Guy’s last maneuver, and there she was. A young woman, shabby looking with a floor touching skirt, an out of fashion out of season hat, sandals, and a huge nap sack. In retrospect, she was looking precisely as she was supposed to look, but she was so out of context, that I was completely thrown. She was all smiles, and she introduced herself, in Hebrew. I extended my hand, and the answer was surprising at the time, but not so in retrospect. It was: “I don’t shake hands, but my husband does”. Providing a few pieces of completely irrelevant data: she’s married, uninterested in strange men, and that she is a practicing religious Jew. As I said, irrelevant. Then came the next surprise. She actually was interested. Well, not that way. She was interested in making the acquaintance. Israelis, particularly when they are living outside of Israel tend to flock. It’s not an unusual thing, nor a bad one, it’s just a fact. Everyone likes to have the company of his or her own kind on occasion. In the absence of family, it’s a great substitute.

But in fact, religious Jews in Beijing in general, and in our apartment complex in particular are as common as fish on bicycles, scuba diving birds, or flying baboons. No offense meant of course. In retrospect, I was very disappointed at my own reaction. The offense deserved some reaction.  We continued the conversation, I handed her my number, and we parted. What I should have done is to say: “I don’t talk to strange women, but my wife does”. But I was brought up differently. Courtesy comes natural to me. In order to not offend someone I’m willing to go to great distances. I will eat strange foods, take part in strange ceremonies, I will be polite, and well mannered.

Amazingly, Judaism preaches to just that. There’s a famous proverb in Hebrew which suggests “The Way of the Land Precedes the Torah” (דרך ארץ קדמה לתורה). In other words, respect and courtesy come first, religion second. But this isn’t practiced anymore, unfortunately. Moreover. The original Judaism is very aware of personal relationships. In fact, Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, only covers the relationship between a man and his Creator. What it doesn’t cover is the relationship between man and man. In other words, if someone didn’t follow the word of God, they can repent on the Day of Atonement. But if someone hurt another human being, they can fast and pray year round, and it won’t be forgiven, until the person goes and asks for forgiveness. From the hurting person that is. But unfortunately again, this too was put aside. Forgotten.

I was offended, I was hurt. And the additional data provided only made me feel worse. I was only being polite. And I’m willing to bet, that the real Jewish women, who care about God, but also care about their fellow human beings, would shake my hand even if it was inappropriate. After all, if that was a sin, Day of Atonement would take care of it. Now, she has to look me up and ask for my forgiveness…

But there’s more. Is a relationship between our families possible? According to their practice, they can’t eat even a bread crumb at our house, not a glass of water. We can’t go out to restaurants, there’s only one kosher restaurant in entire Beijing, and it’s way too expensive and way too unrewarding. We can’t watch a movie, we can’t walk in the park on Saturdays. Truly, there’s nothing we can do together except one. The usual scenario is simple. Real simple. We can get invited to a “Shabbat Meal”, usually a Friday night dinner or Saturday lunch. We can practice their ceremonies - wash our hands before the meal, recite the prayers before and after the meal, sing some special poems and songs. Supposedly, not a big deal for us, except “experiencing a little Yiddishkeit” - Judasim, become “closer”. For them, it’s the opportunity to get a completely secular (some even atheist) family a little closer to Judaism. I hear that you score some good points with the Man upstairs for that.

Well, my friend, I’ll have to disappoint you. It won’t work. The reason is simple, and short. Been there, done that. I graduated from a Yeshiva (yes, for those of you who had no idea, particularly you, who think I’m the exemplary atheist - I’m sorry for not disclosing earlier), and my ex wife is a religious Jew. I spent more time in synagogues than I care to admit, and recited way too many prayers already. I want my children, at least the ones who live with me, to grow free of this burden. I want them to be curious, inquisitive, and to learn to live with unanswered questions. And in answer to your unasked question: no, I’m not a self-hating Jew. In fact, I’m proud of it.

And yes, I forgive you.

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The picture below broke a personal record for me. The elapsed time between seeing this picture and the first tear could be measured in nanoseconds. But that was one record broken, there were a few more. The parade of feelings and memories. Personal, familial, tribal and global all came streaming. Faces of the living and the dead. Faces of old an young, of happy and sad. Of friends and foes.

As I’m writing these words, it occurs to me that explanation is necessary. The blue and white Israeli flag, the tattooed hand of an old lady, and the chubby little hand of a baby. Many are familiar with chubby little hands. Less may be familiar with the Israeli flag. Few are familiar with old ladies with tattooed numbers on their hands.

When I was young, Israel was full of those. They weren’t so old back then, they had tattooed numbers on their hands, and it was said: those with the numbers on their hands. Having this number on the hand was the clearest, gruesome, chilling evidence that these people had something in common. They belonged to a certain club. Not the kind of club you might be thinking about. Not an upper class Golf club, not a Yacht club. Not even an exceptional fraternity or sorority, although one might claim that it was precisely that. These people spent time in the darkest places ever to have existed on this planet. And they lived to tell. They were the survivors of Hitler’s death camps.

The German, in their incredible effectiveness and order, kept records of every single person they ever de-humanized, and ultimately killed. Every person who entered the gates of the death camps was branded. Like cattle. They were branded with a serial number. When their turn came to be eliminated, the records could have been set straight, that this once human, professional, family person, Jew - is no longer. Mission accomplished.

But some, against all odds, survived. They rose from the ashes, they picked whatever was left of their humanity, dignity, of their families, of their former lives and former identities, and went to Israel. There, slowly, carefully, with a lot of help, patience and love, some of them were able to rebuild. To put together families, businesses, and a country. Imagine that.

I don’t have a clue who the people in the picture are.  But the old hand, with the tattoo is my grandmother’s, and the chubby little hand is mine. The flag is my country’s. It’s irrelevant that my grandmother is no longer with us, and that I no longer am a baby. Both my grandmother and I have a strong connection to the land of Israel. The three elements in the picture are combined into one big evidence - we’re here to stay.

* The picture was taken by Karen Gillerman-Harel. The picture won the contest “Israel Sixtieth Birthday Flag”. All rights reserved to Karen Gillerman-Harel.

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Passover is a special holiday for the Jewish people. It’s also a special holiday for me. Personally. In this holiday, the Jews remember their days of slavery in Egypt, and celebrate their deliverance followed by the glorious entry to the Promised Land after forty years of wandering around aimless in the desert. Indeed, it’s a powerful story, which unfortunately has no evidence whatsoever in the amazingly well-preserved Egyptian archives. Nonetheless, it was, and still is, a defining moment in the existence of the Jewish People. There are a few symbols of the Holiday, but the one signifying the holiday most of all, is the absence of leavened bread, or “hametz”, and the existence of its evil twin, the Matzo. The legend says that the Hebrews had to leave Egypt in a hurry. There was no time for their dough to rise, so they had to bake the dough before it was ready. The result was an unappealing type of cardboard, which we call “Matzo”. For diet watchers it’s the worst of all worlds: it’s as fattening as bread, but not as palatable, and most certainly not as filling.

But very few people know what it means for an observant Jew to prepare for the Holiday of Passover. In fact, slavery seems quite appealing, if you really want to prepare for the Passover the way some truly observant ultra-orthodox Jews do.

Let’s start even before the Holiday. Long before the holiday. Many Jews would only eat wheat which was “observed”, or “guarded” from last year’s crops. It’s called “Matzo Shmura” or “guarded Matzo”. In short it means that no leavened dough came anywhere near this flour, and that it’s completely kosher for Passover. The water used for the making of this “guarded Matzo”" is called “our water”, water that are beyond suspicion. The matzo is then baked under heavy guard, just to make sure that no leavened bread comes near it. The kosher security alert is raised for passover, and is at the red level, the highest possible. Everyone is under suspicion.

When the holiday comes close, a month before the middle of Nissan (around late March to mid April), things shift into high gear. Cows in certain dairies have their diets completely changed, so they can lose all their leavened food the natural way, before the holiday, so they can produce perfectly kosher milk for the holiday. Shelves in certain supermarkets become inaccessible, secured, covered. They are loaded with Passover food. Can’t go near.

Observant Jews start the spring cleaning. This is really an understatement. A closer definition would be something like: “lets burn everything that’s come in contact with leavened bread during the past year”. If you have some bread crumbs in your pocket, you definitely run a high risk of being boiled or incinerated by some ultra orthodox Jew. Rabbinical committees are formed to decide which medications are to be used during the holiday, and which patients should either look for alternatives or get healthy at once. Dish washing liquids, laundry detergents, toothpastes, soap bars, are all looked at and disposed of if they are not up on par with the demands of the holiday. And it gets better every year.

When I was married to my ex-wife, I saw it first hand. Flamethrowers were used to clean the kitchen before the holiday. The walls, which initially were to be destroyed, were pardoned and sentenced to be covered with aluminum foil instead. Dishes were boiled, welded, heated to the point of melting, thrown away or put away. Special dishes were taken out of the attic, dipped in boiling water. Readied for the holiday. I was always willing to bet, that if God was watching this lunacy from wherever he is, he would have said: “guys, please guys, all I meant was for you to stay away from the goddamn bread for a few days, you have taken it way, way too far…”. But God is nowhere to be found these days. Well, maybe in some caves in Afghanistan…

This wasn’t the way Passover was prepared by my family when I was growing up. Sure, spring cleaning was always performed. But in a nice way. Books would be taken out, clothes taken out to air. We always found stuff we had lost over the year. But no garment was ever suspicious of malicious infestation of leaven, no book was burnt for being indicted of hosting a concealed bread crumb. It was more relaxed. And fun. As a side note - I always remember Moses and Aaron, the two large carps who were swimming in the bath tub for a couple of days before they became Gefilte Fish - or stuffed fish - for the holiday meal…

The Seder, the festive meal of the evening of the holiday, the highlight of the Holiday, was always a nice thing when I was growing up. My grandfather on my father’s side would read the Haggadah - or the special prayer book recited on the eve of the holiday - in both Hebrew and Spanish, an incredible meal would be served, and the children would get real, real nice gifts for the Holiday. It would usually be over before midnight, and the kids loved it. It was fun. It was a fun way of practicing religion. True to the original instruction by God - a celebration of freedom. My grandfather on my mother’s side would get drunk, and by the end of the meal was never sure what it was that we were celebrating. As I said - fun.

But at my ex-in-laws, the Seder was, in my mind anyway, nothing less than a celebration of slavery and misery, and not deliverance. It would start late, because the men were expected back from the Synagogue. The women are usually exhausted, and the children are starved. Bread eating is forbidden from the earlier hours of the day, but Matzo eating is forbidden before the ceremonial prayers. The prayers are read, and read, and discussed, and re-read, and sung, and recited, and re-recited. Matzo is not just eaten, it has to be eaten in measure. A precise measure. And the eating is done quietly. No word is spoken. When you’re done eating the measure of Matzo, you’re usually covered in crumbs, and your stomach filled with dust. The bitter herbs come next, and each man eats a full head of lettuce. When the ceremonial part is over, the men are stuffed with matzo and lettuce, the kids are sleeping at the table, and then dinner is served. In paper plates and plastic utensils. What a site.

The next day, the show runs precisely the same only an hour later. If it was up to me - I’d go back to Egypt. Building pyramids never hurt anyone…

So Passover is the holiday when I feel my personal liberation. I feel that I won my freedom, again. Not out of Egypt, but out of Brooklyn… The Red Sea didn’t part for me, and I didn’t wander around in the desert for forty years. But I was freed all the same. I celebrate Passover now, with my new family, in a relaxed way, closer probably to the original meaning of God. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still an atheist, but God and I have an understanding.

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The city of Ramses was almost ready. The deadline, set for the inauguration of the new king of Egypt couldn’t be missed. When the construction was falling behind, more Hebrew slaves were taken off other construction projects and diverted to Ramses. There was too much at stake. The news media from every corner of the world converged on Egypt to cover the inauguration of both the new city and the new king. Reporters, journalists, cameramen and anchors were pretty much everywhere. It was almost impossible to find parking, and hotel prices went sky high. Tent cities were put together near the pyramids, satellite dishes everywhere, like mushrooms after a rain.

The Hebrew slaves, knew that this was a wonderful opportunity to get the entire planet’s attention to their misery, and figured that a well staged mutiny, close to the celebration day will capture everyone’s minds and make the Egyptians look really bad. So they contacted a PR specialist, a retired wizard who insisted that his brother is hired as well, and a God. For years they trained, experimented with blood, swamp and farm animals, various kinds of insects and a lot of light and sound.

A few months before the big day, the Hebrews sent the wizard and his brother to the king. The strange looking guy with the long hair, the beard and the robes told the king that Hebrews are to be set free or else. The king found it very amusing. When Moses turned his stick into a snake, the king’s own magicians did the same without delay. But Moses’ snake was hungrier, so it ate the others and turned back to a stick. Moses left the palace.

A few weeks went by, and the PR specialist instructed the team to start staging their performances. The God was instructed to simply not let the Pharaoh free the Hebrews until he’s been told to. So the vicious cycle had started. The Nile river turned to blood, then got infested with frogs. The media went wild. The networks started sending more senior anchormen, and was broadcasting live. Ratings for the Hebrew rebellion went through the roof. But the Pharaoh wouldn’t hear of freeing the Hebrews, the God made sure of that. So it continued. Very serious lice infestation mysteriously showed up and the funny side effect was that you could have watched the evening news, with the distinguished looking anchormen, seriously delivering the news while scratching their entire body with long, wide motions.

No deliverance yet.

In the meantime, the media and the world paid no attention to the nearing inauguration of the king and the City of Ramses. The story of the strange plagues of Egypt was way more interesting. Game shows, realistic TV, even the Late Night hosts started talking of nothing else. Retired actors, rock band leaders around the world, who had no clue what being Hebrew is all about, started attending protests, writing articles and letters to the editor, throwing slurs at the Egyptians, while glorifying the Hebrews. The plan was working well. Moses and the gang showed up at the palace again, this time smug with the success of the presentation of power, and the media coverage. But the Pharaoh wouldn’t budge, after all, the God was in charge of that, and he was doing a good job.

Bad animals started showing up from the desert next. But nobody really paid attention, in fact, they were attracting all the excess lice, relieving the residents of Egypt. When the plague started hitting the cattle, everyone immediately blamed the neighboring countries for deliberately infecting them with the Mad Cow disease. When the boils started appearing on the bodies of the Egyptians as well as the media, the summer heat and global warming was blamed. The Pharaoh was unimpressed. Deliverance? Give me a break. The media continued a full 24 hours coverage, live, but the anchormen, infested with lice, and covered in boil scars, started to look somewhat tired of the ordeal. The inauguration of the king and the city was promptly forgotten.

Hail followed by locusts which all got lost in the complete darkness which followed. Imagine that: reporters standing in the spotlight, everything else is pitch dark, large locusts are flying around, and the boil scars and the scratch marks still clearly visible. Ratings broke the records of the 2000 BC Olympic Games. It was a media frenzy.

Finally, following the death of the firstborns, and with a lot less people around, including quite a few reporters, the Pharaoh gave up. He ordered the Hebrews to just get the hell out of sight, and out of Egypt. They really wanted to take their time packing and organizing delegations to explore possible residence, but the media managers told them that if they don’t rush out, there will be no coverage. So they quickly packed, got ready to leave. A baking fiasco made all their bread look like cardboard, which the media found mysteriously appealing. The Hebrews have left Egypt. The media forgot why it has shown up in Egypt in the first place, and went down to the Red Seashore to watch and cover the final presentation of power by the Wizard, his brother and the God.

Thousands of reluctant Hebrews were standing at the seashore, waiting for some sign. Moses raised his stick. The red sea started rising right away. But the OWTV cameraman missed the shot, so he asked Moses to repeat that motion, this time a little more gently. Moses did, and the sea rose faster. Everyone drowned.

Moral of the story: none. Well maybe one. Or more. Don’t underestimate the power of the media. Don’t assume that media coverage is always impartial. Don’t assume that the media designation of the victim is always correct. Don’t assume that the media designation of the villain is always correct either. Always doubt coincidences. Myths are powerful, but not always they are well aligned with reality.

But maybe most important of all: the media can manipulate events and drive the outcome. But neither the media, nor the public opinion are there to understand the consequences, to deal with the results, to fix what was broken, to pick up the pieces. The media assumes the “obligation to report” but denies driving the public opinion and therefore its influence on the turn of events and consequences. As I said before: myths are powerful, but not always are well aligned with reality.

Is China the villain? Is Tibet the victim? Is this a real event? Or perhaps a media one? What will be the consequences? Will Tibet win its freedom? Will it slip back to feudalism? Will people starve? Will the media be there to feed them? Will they get food by the public opinion? Or will the public opinion get busy identifying some other villain-victim pair somewhere else around the world? I’m not offering answers. Questions only. I’m pointing out: think! Don’t just accept! Be doubtful!

If you are one of those who observe Passover, have a great Holiday. For those of who don’t, have a great Holiday anyway.

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