Holchim le'Tel Aviv

Last Wednesday, I took the Ulpan final exam and officially ended my 7 week language course! As I've said, Ulpan has played a definitive role in my first two months in Jerusalem and I can't imagine these last weeks without it; however, I am truly looking forward to the new experiences and challenges that are sure to arise when I begin my academic classes. In celebration of Ulpan 'graduation', a few of my roommates and I decided to head once again to Tel Aviv for some much needed rest and relaxation. We certainly found time to rest and relax (mostly on the beautiful shores of the Mediterranean), but this mini-vacation also provided me with some amazing insights into the cultural mores of Tel Aviv's Orthodox Jewish community.

Here's what happened:

On Saturday afternoon, I headed to Rinana (a suburb of Tel Aviv) for dinner and Havdalah, a ceremony that is performed weekly to mark the close of Shabbat. The family I visited (distantly related to Hannah, my friend from Wellesley) moved in 1949 from Yemen to the Rinana neighborhood they still inhabit today. The family's place of residence is not all that has remained static, however: they have maintained many of their wonderful Yemenite traditions and, as well, preserved their Orthodox lifestyle.

Right off the bat, I was struck by the intense focus on the extended family as one very large unit. Tight-knit families are, I believe, common in this country (regardless of religious affiliation), but the multi-generational emphasis is not something I'd ever seen. One single bloodline ran through the entire neighborhood; they lived a compound-like existence, with aunts, uncles, and cousins running in and out of every home. Life is communal in almost every way. For example, a man would not think twice of walking into his brother's home and rummaging around for one item or another. On a slightly different, but related note, there is a hierarchy that is very apparent in this kibbutz-like lifestyle. The eldest brother is considered superior to his siblings (who happen to all be male) and his opinions are very highly regarded - though the thoughts and feelings of the parents are treated with the most respect and admiration. There are obvious benefits to this kind of existence, including a real sense of family and belonging, though the younger generations are now finding it harder and harder to maintain such open and intense connections.

As the afternoon turned to evening, we sat down at the dinner table for a feast of incredible Yemenite food. I couldn't determine the spices used in any of the dishes - they were completely new to me - but it was absolutely wonderful. During dinner, my eyes were opened to more than just foreign cuisine, however. As a guest, I was not permitted to lift a finger before, during, or after the meal. If I were a member of the family, though, as a woman, I would have been required to serve in every possible capacity. Male members of the family do not participate in any household or child-rearing work. A quick example of this: one man, who married into the family, rose during dinner to grab the plate of chicken that had been moved into the kitchen, only a few feet away. His brother-in-law proceeded to berate him for this, saying, "Let your wife do that. It's her job." Women in this family do not attend synagogue or participate in prayers that are said at home. I had a fascinating conversation with one female member, originally from South Africa, who had converted to Judaism in order to marry into this family. A college-educated woman who dreamed of being an actress in her youth, had no problem at all with the strictly defined gender roles. She saw it as division of labor - nothing more, nothing less; the men pray and go to Temple, while the women take care of the home and the children. The Wellesley-attending feminist in me found this lifestyle to be difficult to stomach, but I realize that such an existence has much merit. I truly do respect the emphasis on family and the obvious importance they place on religion and morality.

Another Interesting Brush with Orthodoxy

After spending Yom Kippur with a Wellesley-alum (class of '76, I believe), I was on my way home when I ended up at a bus stop in Bnei Barak, a very Orthodox suburb of Tel Aviv. After a few minutes, a shared cab stopped to pick me up for the trip back to Jerusalem. As I stepped on the van, I realized that it was filled entirely with Orthodox men; unfortunately, I was wearing pants and a sleeve-less shirt - not a revealing outfit by any stretch of the imagination, but not one that a woman wants to be wearing if she has to share a 45 minute ride with a van-full of observant men. As luck would have it, the only seat that remained was next to a boy who could not have been older than 15. As I sat down, he yelled "Lo, Lo!" (No, No) and wagged his finger at me in disgust. I realized in that moment that he practices what is called Shomer Negila, a form of Orthodox Judaism that forbids any physical contact at all with the opposite sex. Luckily, a jovial-looking man (also in traditional garb) jumped up and moved next to the boy, allowing me to have my own seat. I have to say, I was mildly offended by this boy's condescending manner, having never experienced anything quite like it before. I do believe, though, that it is a perfect example of the Israeli struggle to balance the needs of the Orthodox community with those of the non-religious, as well as the constant conflict between the modern and traditional worlds.

In other news...

This Thursday I'm heading to Istanbul, Turkey for a week! I'm so, so excited to do a bit of traveling in the region - I'll post pictures as soon as I return.

B'Shalom,
Meagan