“Song of Songs” Revisited: Orthodox Women Struggle with the Ancient Text

JERUSALEM – The Song of Songs, the Biblical text attributed to King Solomon, has long been a source of controversy. Because of its sexual nature and sensual imagery, the ancient rabbis debated whether or not it should be included in the Bible altogether.

The debate gets re-engaged in every generation, but perhaps never more so than now that the book is being taught to young Orthodox Jewish women, who bring both their faith and their modern sensibilities to the task.

For the students’ in Debbie Zimmerman’s class in a woman’s school near Jerusalem called Nishmat, the sexualized content of the book seemed at odds with the righteous lifestyle they have been taught to live.  At a recent session, the young women in the class were strikingly candid in the way which they explored the controversial book. They were educated, learned in the Torah and opinionated. Eager to approach the meaning of the book as well as reconcile it with preconceived notions, there was an egalitarian aspect to the class.

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Students engage in discussion in Debbie Zimmerman’s class. (The Land/Yvonne Juris)

The class became a forum for discussion on what values were more conducive to a healthy marriage, whether it was a sin to have sexual relations before marriage and the libidinous nature of romantic secular poetry.

“Let’s put it this way,” Zimmerman said quoting Shakespeare, “Shall I compare thee to a summers’ day?”  She added: “How often do love poems talk about your great sense of humor and how often do they talk about how beautiful you are and how your skin looks?”

“What about ‘let me not to the marriage of true minds,’” said a student. “It’s all about how love is timeless and even if your look changes.” Her statement, a defense made on behalf of the virtues of secular poetry and its potential to extol enduring love, was interrupted midway by another student who approved of her peer’s comment. She took the sentiment a step further and dismissed the Song of Songs as “candy bacon,” a designation she said she gave to the book because of its inclusion in the Torah, even though it was suggestive of promiscuity.
The teacher allowed, or rather resigned herself, to letting the students express their discomfort with the text, which some rabbis prefer to interpret as a metaphorical comparison between a love for God and a romantic love for another person.

“The question is, is Shir Hashirim supposed to disturb us?” a student asked using the Hebrew name for the Song of Songs.

“I think it’s supposed to move us emotionally,” Zimmerman said. “I don’t think it’s supposed to be titillating. I think there’s a difference between being sensuous and titillating and I think it’s supposed to be sensual.”

The questions raised in Nishmat classroom have been a subject of discussion and imagination among scholars. Shir Hashirim or Song of Songs has undergone myriad changes in perception and interpretation, everything from the literal to the allegorical. The literal interpretation confronts the reader with a perplexing question of why such a romantic poem would be placed in the Jewish scriptures, known as the Tanakh.

“Song of Songs has been understood throughout Jewish tradition as an allegory but what the allegory is has many different approaches throughout the ages,” Zimmerman explained after class.

While the concerns regarding the book have more or less been settled, the curriculum surrounding the book varies widely depending on if you are a young Orthodox woman or a young Orthodox man.  The book is not as commonly studied in depth at men’s yeshivas where the study of Talmud takes precedence.

An excerpt from the first part of the Song of Songs, reads as follows:

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—
for your love is more delightful than wine.
Pleasing is the fragrance of your perfumes;
your name is like perfume poured out.

Some scholars have argued that the romantic poeticism is an extended metaphor, representative of the highest expression of love between God and a person, or God and the temple. It is included in the Christian bible and was adored by St. Bernard of Clairevaux, who interpreted it as a poetic homage to Christ.  But while it is undoubtedly part of the Jewish canon, some scholars were uncomfortable with its sensual and sexualized language that describes the angst and passion of two lovers.

So it comes as no shock that in the quaint school of Nishmat, the book should once again be re-examined and interpreted through the lens of the young women. The rate at which the questions and interjections were raised by the five students during the Bible Studies class, was incessant-creating a cacophony of concerns, objections and opinions that Zimmerman patiently addressed. Many of these opinions circled around the discomfort of reading a book that so openly expressed the sensuality of two lovers.

The roadblocks in this lesson for the women who were in their late teens to early twenties, were par for the learning process, which is aided by thorough debate and engagement, Zimmerman later explained.  It is part of a growing trend for Modern Orthodox education for women who want to further their religious study with detailed examination of the text.

“I encourage my students not to censor their concerns – as long as they’re approaching the topics respectively and if they can’t approach the topic respectfully then they should still approach that,” Zimmerman said.

Students at Nishmat said that it took a different approach to Jewish learning than other schools.

Elizabeth Liberman, 23, grew up in a Jewish household that she described as being moderately observant and “egalitarian.”  Liberman and her husband decided to take some time off to enrich their knowledge of Jewish law after they got married. She has been studying at Nishmat for six months.

“I would say that when I grew up thinking that if women are doing exact thing as men, then that’s a form of sexism, and here it’s a much more realistic look,” said Liberman, 23, who came from Brooklyn to study at Nishmat. “I guess what makes it unique is how high the level of learning is for women.”

The ability for women to study the Torah and Talmud in-depth at this post-high school yeshiva, Nishmat, is part of a growing trend in Modern Orthodox seminaries.  This is a stark contrast to the education afforded to many Haredi or ultra-orthodox women who are supporting their household while the husband studies. According to an article by Orthodox Jewish education reformer Bezalel Cohen, in many Haredi Israeli households in Israel “it is the woman who carries most of the financial burden.”  This is reflected in the classes available to women in orthodox seminaries, which are often geared toward training women for vocational work, such as teaching and jobs in computer science.

Nishmat is creating a conduit for women who want to further their religious studies with advanced classes. According to Sharon Flatto, an associate professor and deputy director of the Graduate Program of Judaic Studies at Brooklyn College, in-depth learning is a major step forward for women’s religious study and empowerment in the Orthodox Jewish community.

“Even allowing women to study Torah is a revolution. That was a huge concession — even Orthodox giving women the opportunity to learn,” she said.   “Women have kids and that’s a huge pressure and I think that is the unspoken fear.”

For Debbie Zimmerman,  one of the foundational elements to her classroom is the acknowledgement that there are many layers present within the Torah, which also opens up more possibilities for interpretation, and the elusive but ever present concept in Torah study: debate.

The student in Zimmerman’s class who made the candy-bacon comment, added:  “I think its hugely problematic that we are coming to understand Hashem in terms of illicit affairs-and that’s uncomfortable because there are two sides to this –there is the assumption that you can identify with this on some level-but it shouldn’t be if we are being good frum girls-and it’s totally inaccessible if you can’t.”

For this student, the conflict lay in the fact that many of the behaviors she had been told to abstain from in order to live a frum or devout lifestyle that the Jews believe Hashem, or God, decreed in the Book of Moses, were flagrantly rejected in the Song of Songs.

The teacher soothed the students by reminding them that there was a literal and metaphorical connation and cautioned them not to forget the duality of the text. She broke down the book into five parts and delivered a brief lecture.

“This is what the Jewish people do,” Zimmerman said. “They’re scared to get close to love. They’re scared to get closed to God. And then when they do finally do get close to God, there freaking out and they make an egel-hazahav (golden calf).”

Zimmerman wrapped up the lesson, giving an outline on the stages of textual analysis and gave the disclaimer that the book is both “incredibly external and physical,” an aspect of love that people feel for God and for one another.

 

Discovering an ancient market in Jerusalem

 

Yusef shows a customer various ways she can wear a scarf. (The Land/Yvonne Juris)

Yusef shows a customer various ways she can wear a scarf. (The Land/Yvonne Juris)

JERUSALEM — Trying to find my way to the Western Wall through the winding streets of the Arab Souk in the Old City of Jerusalem, I was distracted by the sultry scarves, Middle Eastern-style bracelets and the unending solicitations from merchants who wanted to show me their items. But when I went inside a market on David Street to inquire about directions, I stumbled upon a tourist’s gold mine.

Yusef Sinjlawi is a co-owner of the family run Sinjlawi market. Located on 93 David Street in the Arab Quarter of the Old City, the Sinjlawi market is a family business that the co-owner claims was established 384 years ago.  Sinjlawi grew up watching his father and grandfather make jewelry and is a ninth-generation jeweler. He transforms stones from Eilat and Beersheba into masterful necklaces and some of his materials, he said, come from broken Roman glass that is found in artifacts recovered from the Israel Museum. In addition to his talents as a craftsman, he has a sense of fashion and often shows his customers how to braid or fold their scarves in ways that are either more stylish or in line with Arabic fashions. Beaded bracelets and necklaces of every tint and hue hang from hooks and a plethora of cashmere scarves adorn the store. Jugs and magnificent silver and gold jewelry that look hundreds of years old are placed throughout and sounds of the oud, a stringed instrument, are continually played through a boombox.

Goods at the Sinjwali market. (The Land/Yvonne Juris)

Goods at the Sinjwali market. (The Land/Yvonne Juris)

While ancient and exotic jewelry, pottery and other wares are not uncommon in the Arab Souk, there is a certain comfort and ease that is present in the Sinjlawi mart, almost as if it is a haven designed for the expressed purpose of creating a space where one can escape the chaos of the Souk, which is replete with cluttered markets and persistent merchants. It is rather large as compared with some of the other cramped marts and customers can leisurely sit and admire the store with a complimentary cup of tea.

Through his experiences as a merchant he has developed a more humanistic outlook on the Israeli-Palestinian tensions and has expressed his desire for peace. This is my interview with him.

 

A Tale of Two Gay Cities

A reveler at Tel Aviv's gay pride parade dances on a municipal bus stop. (Courtesy of Madeline Renov.)

A reveler at Tel Aviv’s gay pride parade dances on a municipal bus stop. (Courtesy of Madeline Renov.)

TEL AVIV — Under the relentless Mediterranean sun, a collection of rainbow flags thrash in the ocean breeze along a strip of oceanfront in Tel Aviv known as Hilton Beach. In fact, the rainbow flags hang on pillars of the beachfront bar, are pinned between the beach’s public restrooms and wave persistently and proudly on the wall dividing sand and the boardwalk.

Hilton Beach, according to Trip Advisor and just about any in-the-know Tel Avivian, is the gay mecca – the unrivaled, most popular destination during Tel Aviv Gay Pride week – in an already open and increasingly gay-friendly city. The array of rainbow flags is likely the most fabric one will see there; Haaretz wrote in February 2014 that Hilton Beach attracts the “fittest, hottest guys in the tightest bathing suits,” a relatively tame description in light of the beach’s unabashed liberalness.

Sixty-three kilometers away, in Israel’s capital of Jerusalem, the rainbow flags are much harder to spot. At the Jerusalem Open House for Pride and Tolerance, the city’s largest LGBT community center, the small rainbow flag that hangs in the window is easy to miss. It functions merely as an identifier, not as a rebuke of Jerusalem’s more traditional and religious environment.

The rainbow flags vividly illustrate the two starkly different cultures that have taken shape in Israel’s largest cities. While Israel’s LGBT policies are among the most tolerant in the Middle East, Jerusalem has exhibited slower progress than Tel Aviv in its overall friendliness towards, and acceptance of, gay Israelis. For many LGBT residents and activists in Jerusalem, the city – and public sentiment within the city – still has large strides to make before gays and lesbians achieve full equality.

In the past five years, the Ministry of Tourism in Israel has actively plugged the nation as a popular destination for gay Jews and non-Jews alike. The efforts have been remarkably successful in Tel Aviv – over 100,000 people, tourists included, participated in last year’s gay pride festivities, according to city data. But the tourism ministry’s promotion seemingly bypassed Jerusalem.

The demographic disparities between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, in large part, explain the contrasting receptions to LGBT culture. According to 2013 research from the Jerusalem Institute for Israel Studies, a policy think tank in Jerusalem, 30 percent of Jerusalem’s Jewish population consists of ultra-Orthodox Jews, or Haredim. Conversely, only 2 percent of Tel Aviv’s Jewish population identifies as ultra-Orthodox, while 61 percent classify themselves as secular.

“In Israel, to be Jewish is to be Orthodox,” said Elinor Sidi, executive director of the Jerusalem Open House, or JOH. “When I came out of the closet 12 years ago, I was taught to believe that if I wanted to live as a complete person, I had to leave religion – there was no place for me in shul.”

Sidi is among the leaders of Jerusalem’s small, but growing LGBT community. She oversees a staff of four at JOH and a dedicated army of volunteers, running initiatives from a free HIV clinic to a bullying support group. A large component of her work at JOH rests in challenging and correcting traditional perceptions of the gay community. The biggest undertaking on Sidi’s plate, however, is the funding and planning of Jerusalem Gay Pride. The raucous gay pride parade in Tel Aviv is a municipal event, Sidi said. In Jerusalem, the event is entirely organized by JOH.

“Tel Aviv Pride is more of a celebration of the rights that we have, a celebration of what we have achieved,” Sidi said. “Jerusalem is smaller – 5,000 people – and it’s a protest and demonstration for the rights that we don’t have yet.”

The solemnity and political nature of gay pride in Jerusalem is appropriate, given the surroundings, Sidi said. According to a 2013 Haaretz poll, only eight percent of ultra-Orthodox Jews believe gays should be afforded equal rights, including the right to marry. Sidi leads demonstrators in a march to the Knesset, Israel’s house of parliament, and uses gay pride each year as an opportunity to “say something.”

Sidi and her colleagues believe that the tide in Jerusalem is beginning to shift, and that members of the Orthodox community are beginning to find that “gay” and “religious” are not necessarily mutually exclusive. Sidi cites handfuls of members of JOH’s support groups, who feared being marginalized upon coming out, but were instead met with tacit recognition by their religious leaders.

Today, an evolving Israeli society confronts a confluence of progressive movements – beyond LGBT rights, including gender equality and religious freedom. Some scholars believe that vocal, and seemingly omnipresent, demands for social justice in Israel, such as installation of a pluralist prayer area at the Western Wall or inclusion of Reform and Conservative rabbis within Israel’s chief rabbinate, will only benefit the LGBT cause.

“Gay Israelis have forced the local variance of Orthodoxy to at least acknowledge that LGBTs exist,” said Lee Walzer, an American attorney and author of “Between Sodom and Eden: A Gay Journey Through Today’s Changing Israel.” “What they’re struggling with, though, is how to acknowledge it.”

The politicization of Judaism in Israel further complicates the issue of legalizing gay marriage, according to Walzer. Under Israeli law, Orthodoxy maintains a “religious monopoly over marriage and divorce,” and civil marriages are illegal. Walzer is skeptical of significant progress for Israel’s gay rights movement without overhauling the state’s religious establishment.

“I would not say never,” Walzer said. “But it’s not going to happen any time soon.”

The current climate for gay life in Israel, religious gay life included, has shifted considerably since the initial publication of Walzer’s book, in 2000. At that time, gay rights were seldom discussed in the United States. LGBT matters were, however, a part of Israel’s public discourse, albeit in concentrated pockets of the country – like Tel Aviv.

“The stereotype was that Tel Aviv is just this hedonistic, Mediterranean city that parties non-stop, and in Jerusalem, they learn Torah all day long,” Walzer said. “Jerusalem today is very schizophrenic – there are secular areas and gay communities – but it doesn’t reflect Israeli trends, and to me, it doesn’t feel part of the Israeli experience.”

Even so, manifold outlets for gay, religious Israelis have emerged in Jerusalem within the past decade. The Jerusalem Open House, in fact, helped spawn and cultivate gay religious support groups that ultimately developed into non-governmental organizations, including Havruta, for gay religious men, Bat Kol, for gay religious women and al-Qaws, for gay Palestinians. The groups function as a viable middle ground for religious members of the LGBT community, and are becoming increasingly present and influential in gay Israeli society.

“We represent something else,” Daniel Jonas, a chairman of Havruta, told the Daily Beast last year. “More moderate, more communal.”

Sidi, of the Jerusalem Open House, considers the ingratiation of religious gay groups into mainstream Israeli society as beneficial and necessary. It is, she said, perhaps the best way for the Orthodox establishment in Israel to gain exposure to members of the gay community, and ultimately accept gay congregants and followers.

“The Reform and Conservative movements were really leading the change, and Orthodox rabbis saw that gay reform rabbis were being ordained,” Sidi said. “When a person comes out today, they are not necessarily forced to leave the community. There is still a place in front of God for them. It’s going to take [the Orthodox] a lot of time, but they’re getting there.”

Don Goor is among the gay reform rabbis who have potentially impacted the shifting Orthodox approach to homosexuality. Goor, 56, made aliyah, or immigrated to Israel, in June 2013 with his husband, a Reform cantor. He had previously been a pioneering figure in Reform Judaism in Los Angeles, Calif., where he was among the first gay rabbis to be appointed senior clergy of a synagogue.

When Goor was named senior rabbi of Temple Judea, it was “the country’s largest mainstream synagogue to have an openly gay man as its spiritual leader,” the Los Angeles Times wrote in 1997.

“I’m a rabbi who happens to be gay,” Goor said to the Times then. “I’m comfortable discussing homosexuality. There’s nothing that’s hidden.”

Today, as an “oleh hadash,” or new immigrant, to Jerusalem, Goor’s “Jewishness” is not necessarily impeded by the overwhelming presence of Orthodoxy in the city, he said, but his approach to daily life is decidedly more secular. He elects not to wear a yarmulke on a daily basis, and his new job no longer places him in a pulpit, yet in a traditional office environment, coordinating educational trips to Israel for American Jewish youth groups.

“I try to my best to stay unaffected by Haredi impositions,” Goor said. “It’s not the judgment or the lack of acceptance that I care about – it’s when Haredi rabbis cause an uproar over the new cinema being open on Saturdays.”

A ruling by the Israeli Supreme Court in 2006 mandated that Israel’s government recognize all foreign same-sex marriages. It was touted as a landmark achievement for gay rights in Israel. As a result, Goor and his husband, Evan, maintain the same rights as heterosexual spouses in Israel. Their respective Israeli identity cards read “MARRIED.”

But there are instances, Goor concedes, in which he and his husband wonder if they would be better off living in Tel Aviv, where the gay community is more lively and where the distinction between those who are religious and those who are not feels less severe.

“Something about Jerusalem just feels right,” Goor said.

 

Holy Land Christians hope Pope might revive peace talks

As published in Religion News Service.

Two nuns cross the street in front of the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, where Pope Francis will make his first visit on Sunday, May 25. The Land/Evan Simko-Bednarski

Two nuns cross the street in front of the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, where Pope Francis will make his first visit on Sunday, May 25. (Evan Simko-Bednarski/The Land)

BETHLEHEM, West Bank (RNS) — With the last round of peace talks between the Israeli government and the Palestinian Authority stalled if not moribund, some are hoping that a scheduled visit by Pope Francis to the Holy Land in May will breathe new life into the peace process.

Vera Baboun, the first female mayor of this embattled city where Jesus was born, is one.

The peace process, she said, has been hampered by a lack of courageous leadership. “How many courageous hearts do we have in the world? Francis is a courageous heart.”

Baboun, 50, is Roman Catholic in a city where most Christians are Orthodox and the Christian population as a whole has dropped to 15 percent from a high of 85 percent in 1947.

Bethlehem is within Israel’s occupied territories. But though it lies just five miles north of Jerusalem, a 26-foot-high concrete wall separates the two cities, tracing fault lines of religion, politics and history. Travel between Israel and the territories is highly restricted.

“It’s time to topple it down,” Baboun said. “And I hope that not only Francis will be the one to say it, but as well, around him, people who are listening and responding.”

The Jerusalem side of the wall on the road to Bethlehem. “It’s time to topple it down,” said Vera Baboun, Bethlehem's mayor. Evan Simko-Bednarski/The Land

The Jerusalem side of the wall on the road to Bethlehem. “It’s time to topple it down,” said Vera Baboun, Bethlehem’s mayor. (Evan Simko-Bednarski/The Land)

Not all Palestinian Catholics are as sanguine as Baboun about the promise of Francis’ visit.

North of Bethlehem, in Ramallah, the political capital of the Palestinian Authority, Xavier Abu Eid said a statement from the pope in support of Palestinians would mean little.

“I don’t think we need statements here,” said Abu Eid, a Palestinian Catholic who was in charge of communications for the Palestinian negotiating team during the peace talks. “We need action. I think the church is capable of doing a lot more than it is now.”

Abu Eid decried the Israeli government’s refusal to allow him to travel the 12 miles from Ramallah, where he works, to Jerusalem to pray at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. He doubted whether the pope would take a stand on such an issue.

The Vatican has downplayed whatever political symbolism might be seen in Francis’ visit to the Holy Land.

“The Holy Father is coming to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the meeting of Paul VI and Patriarch Athenagoras,” said Monsignor Giuseppe Lazzarotto, the papal nuncio to Israel. “That is the main purpose of the visit and everything will be focused around this event.”

To mark the anniversary, Francis will travel to Jerusalem to meet with Patriarch Bartholomew I, head of the Eastern Orthodox Church, on May 26. The trip marks the historic 1964 meeting in Jerusalem between their two predecessors, in which the leaders lifted a mutual excommunication that had been in place for a millennium.

The excommunication of 1054 split the Catholic Church into East and West and came, gruesomely, to a head when Roman Catholic crusaders sacked Constantinople in 1204. So pivotal was the event in the annals of Christianity that in the centuries that followed it came to be known as the Great Schism.

But the meeting with Bartholomew I is just a portion of the pope’s three-day itinerary, which also includes a day in Jordan and one in Bethlehem. After saying Mass at the Church of the Nativity, where Christians believe Jesus was born, Francis is scheduled to eat lunch with Palestinian families and greet children at the Deheishe refugee camp.

Baboun remembers Pope John Paul II’s meeting with refugees when he came to Bethlehem in 2000. She said the visit brought hope to Palestinians, Christian and Muslim alike.

“John Paul II made it clear, why are we masters at building walls?” she asked. “Let us build bridges.”

The Notre Dame hotel in Jerusalem, where all 140 rooms will be occupied by Pope Francis and his entourage. Evan Simko-Bednarski / The Land

The Notre Dame hotel in Jerusalem, where all 140 rooms will be occupied by Pope Francis and his entourage. (Evan Simko-Bednarski/The Land)

Francis will stay at the Notre Dame of Jerusalem Center, a Vatican-owned hotel in the Old City where, come May 24, all 140 rooms will be reserved for the papal entourage.

From the rooftop of the hotel, the Rev. Eamon Kelly, vice chargé of the hotel, gestured toward the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, where Jesus is said to have died on the cross. Today, the church is controlled by six separate Christian denominations whose relationship is so fraught with mutual suspicion that a local Muslim family holds the key to the front door. It is often the butt of jokes about divisions within Christianity. Kelly feels differently.

“For me, the Holy Sepulchre is a model of peace,” he said. “The Old City is a model of peace. It’s live and let live.”

Kelly quipped that his role during the pope’s visit would be to “get out of the way while the Israelis put up their security barriers.”

Kelly brushed aside security concerns surrounding the papal visit.

“Pope Francis is not interested in niceties,” he said. “Pope Francis is interested in looking people in the eye.”

99 years after the genocide and the wounds are still fresh

Armenians in New York City commemorate the 99th anniversary of the genocide at the St. Vartan Cathedral. The Land/Patty Guerra.

Armenians in New York City commemorate the 99th anniversary of the genocide at the St. Vartan Cathedral. (The Land/Patty Guerra)

JERUSALEM – Every April, Armenian Christians around the world remember the lives of the more than 1 million Armenians who were annihilated by the Ottoman government during World War I. In Israel, however, the annual commemoration is tinged with extra sadness because of the reluctance of the Israeli government to publicly admit that the genocide ever happened.

“We are hurt that the Israeli government doesn’t recognize it officially yet, even though it was used as a pretext for their own people,” said Archbishop Aris Shirvanian of the National Armenian Church in Jerusalem.

“We all know that this injustice was perpetrated against our ancestors and 1.5 million Armenians perished in that genocide,” said Shirvanian. During and after the First World War, the Ottoman government exterminated Armenians and other Christian groups in an effort to establish an Islamic nation. It began on April 24, 1915 with the arrest of several hundred Armenians. During that time, Palestine was a part of the Ottoman Empire, so Armenians were driven to Syria to the desert of Deir ez-Zor. Hundreds of thousands were massacred or buried alive in the desert. Out of those who made it out alive, some moved to Lebanon and others settled in Jerusalem. That was the last wave of Armenians that got established in Jerusalem, and their descendants live there today. It is calculated that about 25,000 Armenians fled to Jerusalem after the genocide.

“They came to Jerusalem and were offered shelter within the walls of the monastery,” said Victor Azarya, a retired professor from Hebrew University and author of “The Armenian Quarter of Jerusalem.” The monks inside those monasteries took it upon themselves to nourish the survivors of the genocide. “They started to develop a community around the monastery,” said Azarya, “for many of them it was a temporary measure, for some of them the temporary asylum became permanent, therefore we find a sizeable Armenian community who lives in Jerusalem.”

The presence of Armenian Christians in the Holy Land is not only a result of people fleeing Turkey during the genocide; in fact, “Armenians were one of the first groups who accepted Christianity,” they “consider themselves the oldest community in Jerusalem,” said Azarya. Armenians accepted Christianity in 301 after Tiridates III proclaimed it as the State religion. Armenia would then become the first State to adopt this religion officially and they began taking interest in holy places. Armenian Christians “established themselves in holy places of Christianity over the 4th century,” including the much-coveted Church of the Holy Sepulcher, where some believe Jesus was crucified and later buried. After that, Empress Helena, mother of Constantine, commissioned the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, where Jesus is believed to have been born, and Armenian clergy started settling in Jerusalem. They expanded their presence with over 50 monasteries and convents throughout the Holy Land, the main one being the Monastery of St. James in Jerusalem. “This shows that Armenians were deeply invested in the Holy Land,” said Shirvanian. Azarya says Armenians’ presence in the Holy Land can be traced continuously since the fifth or sixth centuries.

Centuries later, during the Crusades, which were a series of military campaigns sanctioned by the Latin Roman Catholic Church aimed at regaining control of holy sites in the Holy Land from Muslim control, Armenians were a key ally; they “were one of the few Christian communities to cooperate with crusaders,” and “as a result of their cooperation with crusaders, they occupied what is now known as the Armenian Quarter.” Shirvanian explained that the Crusades strengthened Armenian presence in the area. With time, Armenians came to Jerusalem as pilgrims, “their beliefs anchored them here,” said Azarya. But for most of this time, it was only a religious presence: priests and monks keeping custody of holy spaces, not civilian presence. That is, until the genocide of 1915.

But even though the terrors of the genocide were behind them, the memories still haunted survivors. “Over the years, those immediate survivors couldn’t forget what happened, they kept telling their stories, and it was transmitted from generation to generation,” said Shirvanian, whose grandparents on both sides went through the genocide. His paternal grandfather was conscripted to the Turkish army “and never came back,” he said, “he was taken to a valley and along with other Armenians, he was executed.” Men were killed and subjected to forced labor, and “women and girls were raped, slaughtered,” said Shirvanian.

Memories of The Great Crime are fresh in the Armenian collective memory, and it is a strong source of identity and shared history. “We always remember it. Not just on April 24,” said George Odabashian, a convenience store clerk who lives within the walls of the St. James Monastery with his wife and two children. “Daily, we talk about the genocide and what happened… we never forget it, we can’t,” he said.

There are obvious parallels between the Armenian Genocide and the Holocaust. In planning the extinction of European Jews, Hitler was said to have remarked: “Who, after all, speaks today of the annihilation of the Armenians?”

Nonetheless, the Israeli government has yet to publicly acknowledge the genocide. Many speculate that Israel does not want to alienate its economic and political ally Turkey, a nation that also does not recognize the Armenian genocide. Others suggest that Israel likes to claim the mantle of suffering for itself.

Azarya believes that the Holocaust was “a terrible thing, but it’s not unique.” It was a “very traumatic, cruel event, but it was not unique,” he added, “there are other places and other communities that were ethnically destroyed.”

Armenians feel betrayed by this lack of recognition. “Why don’t you let us call our calamity a holocaust?” said Azarya.

Shirvanian believes that the Israeli government cares more about economic and political ties with Turkey than the truth.

Azarya noted that relations between Turkey and Israel have deteriorated in recent years.  “We may have reached that point,” he said, where the Israeli government is willing to break with Turkey on this issue.

Even without formal recognition of the genocide by Israel, many Armenians feel like the Jewish people empathize with their suffering. “They keep telling us we’re just like the Jews, we suffered a lot,” said Odabashian as he bagged groceries for a customer. Shirvanian hopes that the Jewish people’s awareness of the genocide may push the conversation forward. Some 21 nations have recognized the Armenian Genocide.

Shirvanian thinks this issue should be brought up at the United Nations General Assembly to “force Turkey to accept its guilt and to make reparations to the Armenian people.” He says that although Israel is small, it is a very powerful country; he is convinced that that is the reason why the United States hasn’t recognized it either. “It’s about time that we not protect the Turkish when it comes to genocide,” said Azarya.

During his presidential campaign, Barack Obama vowed to recognize the Armenian Genocide. “America deserves a leader who speaks truthfully about the Armenian Genocide and responds forcefully to all genocides. I intend to be that president,” he said in 2008. But six years later, this promise is still unkept. During this year’s commemorative speech, President Obama said “I have consistently stated my own view of what occurred in 1915, and my view has not changed;” he talked about the horrors endured by the Armenian community, and he described the Great Crime as a massacre. Yet no mention of the word genocide.

Today, some 1,500 Armenians live in Jerusalem and there are about 15,000 in all of Israel. In Jerusalem, the Armenian Christian community is comprised of three main groups: the members of the monastic order of St. James, a small minority of locals who arrived before World War I, and, the largest segment, descendants of refugees of the genocide. But the community has been shrinking since 1948, and some fear that it may become extinct. Since Israel was established as a Jewish state, immigration of Christians is possible but rare.  “Yet the community is surviving,” said Shirvanian.

But will all the Armenians in the Holy Land eventually die out? “It will take time,” said Shirvanian, “when the community is small and shrinking, there will be less births and less marriages and the community may die out. Unless laws change in the country and Armenians are allowed to come here and strengthen the community.”

Azarya doesn’t think that Armenians in Jerusalem will cease to exist, “they will not disappear definitely as long as the religious nucleus is there,” he said, “but it may revert to what it was before the genocide, before the refugees got here.” Azarya says Armenian clergy will always have presence in Jerusalem, “because they serve the needs of the religious community.”

Every April 24, Armenians around the world gather at their local churches to commemorate the genocide. At the St. Vartan Cathedral in New York City located at 630 2nd Ave., dozens of parishioners attended a morning service in Armenian which was followed by a candlelight ceremony. At the back of the church, an all-women chorus adorned the service. Seven women dressed in long gowns and wearing handkerchiefs on their heads sang praise songs in Armenian that can only be described as angelical. The all-male cohort officiating at the front of the church engaged in beautiful exchanges with the female ensemble. The depth of the bishops’ voices elegantly contrasted the high-pitched notes produced by the chorus. Although the experience was elevating, its somberness could not  be ignored.

After the service, a striking Armenian woman in a headscarf and floral black and white dress past around long, white candles. The attendants assist her in giving out the candles, and the lighting quickly spreads. Parishioners then followed the bishop to a foyer by the entrance of the church, and a group of about four men recited prayers in Armenian. Everybody gathered in the tight space where bowed heads and bright flames were a reminder of those who perished in their own homeland.

David Meliah, 48, says he comes every year to the commemorative service, “it’s part of our history, we all have ancestors that were killed in the genocide,” he said. “It was a sad, tragic event that keeps us together,” he added. His grandparents arrived in the United States in the early 1920s by way of Syria. Meliah is not particularly bothered by Israel’s reluctance to recognize the genocide, he feels a stronger connection to Armenia, “that is our Holy Land,” he said. In Jerusalem, there is a Genocide Commemorations Committee, which will be in charge of putting together a special program for next year’s observation of the 100th anniversary. They normally have a requiem service at St. James and the whole community is mobilized, then they form a procession led by the patriarch and they walk across the street to the genocide memorial which consists of seven cross stones, each one representing an Armenian province wiped during the genocide.

With Turkish and Israeli relations deteriorating, and the 100th anniversary of The Great Crime approaching, this may be the momentum that was needed for Israel to publicly acknowledge the atrocities perpetrated by the Ottoman government against Armenians. “We never give up the hope that the Israeli government will one day recognize the genocide,” said Shirvanian, “politics change day by day, yesterday’s friends may become enemies today.” He said that a public admission would make the Armenian community feel more at home in Israel, “we are citizens of this country – there are Armenians with Israeli citizenship,” he said, “some are stateless, but after all, they are citizens of this Holy Land.”

A community that fears God but not the state

A Haredi man reads from the Torah at the Western Wall in the Old City of Jerusalem. (The Land/Kali Kotoski)

JERUSALEM — The ultra-Orthodox neighborhood of Mea She’arim often seems walled off and fortified, almost like a city unto itself. Signs in Hebrew and English remind visitors that the neighborhood is not a tourist site; they ask that women dress modestly and that photography should be avoided. The streets are narrow. The entrances leading down into the inner courtyard where the majority of the residents live, are unmarked and easily hidden. When this community was first built in 1874, entrances were gated and locked to keep the outside world at bay while a community was left to tradition, religion and God. But even though the locks and gates are long gone, the sense of insularity remains.

However, with the recent “draft law” passed in early March by the Israeli Knesset by vote of 65-1, with opposition leaders in abstention, the ultra-Orthodox believe that their historic way of life is under attack. The bill will change the exemption the ultra-Orthodox men and women have customarily used since the founding of Israel in 1948 to circumvent service in the Israeli Defense Forces, or IDF.

During a rally on Sunday, Mar. 1, a reported 300,000 ultra-Orthodox men protested the legislation calling it an abomination. They clogged the streets of Jerusalem in a show of defiance.

Although the law has since passed, the devotion towards rebellion is still brewing at the surface. The ultra-Orthodox are know as Haredim, Hebrew for those who fear God. They fear God but they do not fear the State, as the law would punish those who would be considered draft dodgers.

At Manny’s Bookstore in Mea She’arim, Marlene Samuel works behind the engraving counter where she delicately cuts sheets of gold and silver paper to stamp customers names into books. She is a short wiry 64-year-old French woman who looks down through her thick glasses as she arranges the copper letters on a press. Depending on what has been engraved into the leather book cover thus far, she chooses a precious metal to match. Her bracelets resonate as she makes swift concentrated movements.

A Haredi man looks on while immigrant workers fix electrical conduit in the ultra-Orthodox neighborhood of Mea Sha’rim. (The Land/Kali Kotoski)

“In a democracy a secular government can’t force young Yeshiva boys into the military,” she said as her husband looked on from the payment counter. Yeshiva is a Jewish school, or seminary, that focuses on the study of the Torah and Talmud. To the Haredi community, the study of the Torah is the highest station of worldly existence. The vast majority of ultra-Orthodox men in Israel devote their early adulthood and sometimes beyond that to learning the laws of God, which results in their reluctance, or downright refusal, to take part in military service. Haredi women also do not serve in the army, although they are more likely to find work outside of the home to support their families. Some Haredi men find employment in shops and businesses within the community to supplement their wives’ income.

Samuel echoed a popular Haredi position when she added: “The army should be a professional army. They should have better pay and the draft should be abolished.”

A female customer, who would not give her name, spoke up confrontationally, “But the Haredi don’t work and they make the woman do all work. What do the Haredi contribute to Israel?”

But Samuel came to their defense. “The Torah is the driving force that has kept Jews together over thousands of years. This law undermines what it means to be Jewish.”

Samuel went on to say how the rift that has been formed within Israeli and Jewish society is a polarization that has been coming from the far left. In her opinion this law will only further fragment the country by pushing the left and right further away from each other. “It will make unity impossible and these are dangerous times for Jews.”

One of primary schisms between mainstream Israelis and ultra-Orthodox Jews is over the identity of the Jewish state, how to propagate the state, and the welfare of the state.

Avi Shafran, a Haredi rabbi who is director of public affairs at Agudath Israeli of America, drew a distinction between nationalism and religion. “The Haredi community in Israel is dedicated above all to Judaism, and so other values like nationalism, which is not a religious one, holds no great importance,” he said.

When the Jewish state was founded on Zionist-secular-socialist principles, the Haredi population was exempt because it was believed that their culture and tradition would fade away through the impact of modernity. They were deemed to be an apolitical minority. Yet, the trends have changed.

Within Israel there is a reported population of 750,000 Haredi Jews out of a total population of 7.5 million. They have an annual growth rate of 6 percent. A projection by the Israeli Central Bureau of Statistics forecasts that the Haredi population of Israel could number 1.1 million in 2019. Haredi families have an average of 6.7 children, which is three times the national average, according to the Brookdale Institute.

“The argument for drafting Haredim is based on things like sharing the burden and normalizing Haredi society. It is an affront to their culture, or, better, an attempt at social engineering,” said Shafran. To him it is manipulation by the state that is a direct affront to God. The ideal of nationalism is something that the Haredi do not hold as an ideal. Haredim see the Jew’s purpose in life as keeping to the Torah’s laws, acts of kindness, giving charity, studying the Torah and creating Jewish families to further those religious ideals.

Two children at a Haredi day school in the ultra-Orthodox neighborhood of Mea Sha’rim. (The Land/Kali Kotoski)

According to Shafran the only way to bring about social change and integration, would be if the rabbis supported a grassroots legislation that did not break any rabbinical laws. However, he does not see this happening because the politics behind change has made the Haredim feel marginalized to the extent that they will resist the state, at all costs, even to the extent of widespread civil disobedience.

“The entire attempt to draft the Haredi is misguided,” he said.

Outside of Manny’s Bookstore school had just been released and young girls in long dresses walk with their backpacks over their shoulders. A Haredi man looked on as two foreign workers on a ladder cut the metal sheathing for electrical wires as the sparks fall to the ground and coolly disappear. There were clotheslines stretched loosely across above the street from balcony to balcony. A woman was hanging damp clothes in the sun. Droplets of water fell down to the street.

Moishon dov Freedlander had finished his studies and was walking along the street, stopping to read the posters that are plastered all over the corrugated sheet metal fencing. He is a 20-year-old yeshiva student who was born in New Jersey, but who moved to Jerusalem with the rest of his family when he was two. He has only known a life in Israel.

“If they try to draft me I will just move back to America. I will stay there until I am 26 or 27. They can’t make me serve in the army and break my Torah studies,” he said.

 

Daily Dispatch 7: Saying Goodbye to the Holy Land

Photo: A phone call at the Dome of the Rock. Credit: Evan Simko-Bednarski

JERUSALEM — Before we arrived  in the Holy Land, Professor Goldman encouraged us to  travel in three capacities: As tourists, as pilgrims, and most importantly, as journalists. The  eighth and final day  of our Israel journey was emblematic of these complex identities and  afforded us a chance to reflect on our travels. Read more

Daily Dispatch 6: Exploring Jerusalem on Foot

JERUSALEM — Since Jerusalem’s traffic was temporarily snarled by the city’s fourth annual marathon this morning, our professors opted against touring as a group–and the troops of The Land went our separate ways for reporting. Some of us explored the Old City, others attended an Armenian Orthodox mass Read more