We Were There Too

 

 

As befits an English woman living abroad, I watched the wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle on television, and revelled in the pomp and circumstance of each shot and every angle. I loved the sight of the beautiful mixed-race bride, her dress, the bridesmaids and page-boys, the various members of the royal family, the dresses and the hats. I enjoyed the reading from the Bible by Lady Anne Whatsername, the sister of the late Princess Diana, and even the rather long and rambling sermon preached with fervor and enthusiasm by the coloured American bishop whose name I did not catch.

But as the service proceeded it occurred to me that we were being treated to a bunch of Jewish traditions, starting with the reading containing the lyrical verses from the Song of Solomon, “Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm; for love is as strong as death” that echoed through the church at Windsor. Luckily, the reading did not include the part that reads “I am black but comely,” as that might have been considered tactless. The American preacher-man also spoke fervently about those very same verses in the Bible, making it clear that Jesus’s teachings about loving thy neighbor were drawn directly from the Old Testament.

The connections between that ceremony and the Jewish tradition struck me only later that day, when we attended a concert in the Church of the Ark of the Covenant (where some people believe King David brought the Ark before dancing before it all the way to Jerusalem) in Abu Ghosh.

The programme started with Schubert’s beautiful Mass in G major. Listening to the music and noticing the words it struck me that those are our prayers. ‘Credo in unum Deum’ is the Hebrew prayer ‘Ani Ma’amin,’ and ‘Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus,’ comes straight from the Hebrew prayer (kadosh, kadosh, kadosh). Actual Hebrew words are even included in the mass, in Latinised transliteration, such as ‘Deus Sabaoth,’ (elohei tzevaot) and Osanna (Hosha-na), which the Christian tradition mistakenly regards as something akin to ‘Halleluya (another Hebrew term) rather than a plea for mercy. As a man behind me in the supermarket check-out line said to me just the other day (don’t ask me why), “I asked the Christians in America if they knew what language they were singing in when they sang ‘Halleluya.’ And of course, the whole concept of the ‘lamb of God who taketh away the sins of the world,’ (Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi) is taken directly from the scapegoat of the ancient Hebrews. Christians repeat these words and phrases almost every time they pray, though doubtless most of them are unaware of their source.

The concert ended with a lovely performance of Fauré’s Requiem. Some of the phrases mentioned above appear there, too, but in addition it ends with an exquisite passage, ‘In Paradiso,’ in which the holy city of Jerusalem is equated with paradise, the place where angels sing and all is peace and harmony.

I can only say Amen to that (another actual Hebrew word).

 

TWTWTW

That Was The Week That Was was the title of a satirical programme on UK television in my youth, bringing a great deal of mirth and merriment to the British viewing public. As satire tends to be, it was irreverent and entertaining, helping to brighten the somewhat dull atmosphere of daily life there.

Life in Israel might at times be gloomy but it is never boring. The week that has just ended in Israel provided a veritable roller-coaster of emotions, starting with our entry winning the Eurovision Song Contest, followed by the celebration of Jerusalem Day, marking the fiftieth anniversary of the Six Day War, when Israel captured and regained that part of its ancient capital that had been barred to Jews in the nineteen years when it was held by Jordan. Hot on the heels of that event came the inauguration of the US embassy in Jerusalem, situated on land that has been part of Jewish Jerusalem since before the Six Day War. One wonders why so many people have managed to get so hot under the collar about one country recognizing another’s capital, or in other words, calling a spade a spade. As a sovereign country, it is Israel’s prerogative to determine where its capital should be. Throughout that period, and also for some weeks beforehand, the Palestinian population of the Gaza Strip had been holding supposedly non-violent demonstrations along the border fence with Israel.

The participants in those demonstrations, which were orchestrated by the Hamas organization whose avowed aim is to destroy Israel, were encouraged to break down the fence and enter Israel in order to wreak havoc, murder and mayhem there. Claims were made by some world leaders and especially in the foreign media to the effect that Israel had used disproportionate force in firing live ammunition at the demonstrators, whom it would be more accurate to call rioters. It brings no joy to learn that over sixty individuals lost their lives in those demonstrations, though later on Hamas acknowledged that the majority of them had been members of that organization.

The media outlets that I happened to encounter (BBC, Sky, CNN, France24) were quick to juxtapose the scenes of Palestinians milling about on the border with Israel and the rejoicing displayed by the dignitaries participating in the festive opening of the US embassy. Naturally, this kind of reporting cannot fail to present Israel in a negative light. Some reporters claimed erroneously that the demonstrations were a direct result of the opening of the US embassy, which was very far from the truth, as the demonstrations had been going on, as planned, for several weeks, after Friday prayers in the mosques. Other journalists hastened to point out that the root cause of the discontent was the ‘expulsion’ of Palestinians in 1948, when Israel was created. Needless to say, this was also a gross misrepresentation of the situation. In 1948 the Arab residents of what was then Palestine were encouraged to leave temporarily by their leaders to give the invading Arab armies a freer hand as they invaded the territory allocated by the UN to the nascent state of Israel. Their temporary departure and refugee status was perpetuated by the surrounding Arab states, while at the same time an almost equivalent number of Jews living in Arab countries were expelled from their homes, most of them finding refuge in Israel. Strangely enough, none of them are considered stateless refugees or housed in refugee camps in Israel today.

I have come across discussions on the internet that deny Israel’s right to exist, condemning it as colonialist, racist and adhering to a policy of apartheid. The thinking behind these exchanges seems to be an implacable hatred for Jews and their country, against which there seems to be very little that can be done. Denying Israel’s right to exist is simply one way of trying to deny reality and living in a fantasy world.

So Israelis continue to serve in their army, cultivate their land, develop their scientific, artistic and technical abilities, and hope that one day the Palestinians will come to the negotiating table so that a durable settlement can be reached. Until that day comes they will have to protect their borders from those who seek to breach them in order to destroy what they have built.

 

The Crown takes the Biscuit

When we were in Las Vegas last year, visiting our son and daughter-in-law, on one particular evening they were otherwise occupied. They made sure to seat us comfortably in the living room facing the large TV screen, handed us the remote control, and told us to find something on Netflix that would interest us. We looked at many garish posters advertising mainly American films which did not interest us in the least.

As we progressed down past the gaudy pictures on display, the solitary figure of a woman dressed in a sober blue outfit caught my eye. ‘The Crown,’ was the title, and this turned out to be a series made especially for Netflix (until then neither Yigal nor I had even heard of Netflix, the company that provides TV entertainment to many Americans who are sick and tired of the tasteless fare offered by the TV channels in that country).

We started to watch and were hooked from the very first moment. The series follows the life of our own dear Queen Elizabeth, tracing the trajectory of her life from childhood until her coronation (an event I remember), and then onwards through several decades.

The series appears to have been made with a great deal of attention to detail, and with first-class actors (British, of course). Alongside the personal life and development of the main characters, Elizabeth, Philip, and other members of the royal family, political events are given suitable prominence, and the interaction between the two strands is both entertaining and enlightening.

And so we are taken gently through the scandals and crises that have beset British politics and the royal family since time immemorial, starting with the abdication of the Queen’s uncle, Edward the Fifth, that caused her father to become George the Sixth and thus, it is intimated, bringing about his early demise and Elizabeth’s consequent accession to the throne.

We see the stately figure of Churchill, England’s war-time leader, gradually deteriorate until he is finally left with no choice but to resign. We see, too, the unfortunate incident of the portrait of him painted by Graham Sutherland which is eventually consigned to the flames in a fit of pique (or possibly artistic jealousy). Other prime ministers do not fare much better, with Anthony Eden leaving in disgrace after the Suez crisis and the fiasco of his collusion with France and Israel, and his successor Harold MacMillan, bowing out not-very-gracefully on the grounds of ill health but probably more as a result of the unfortunate Profumo scandal.

What is particularly fascinating for me is that I remember many of those incidents and even as a child was an avid reader of the daily newspaper that was delivered to our front door. To have lived through events and then to see them portrayed, with greater or lesser accuracy, as a television series, is a unique experience that cannot have been experienced by many people, I think.

In Las Vegas we ‘binge watched’ some twelve or so episodes, but then had no time or strength left to see any more (twenty have been made so far). But rest assured, almost as soon as we touched down back in Israel we subscribed to Netflix and managed to complete viewing the entire series. Now, together with many others, I am awaiting the production of the next series. After all, our Queen has reached the age of 92, and so there’s a lot more fun to be had, I’m sure.

Recently, I was treated to an extra bonus when one of my sisters asked if she could come round and watch ‘The Crown’ with me. Of course, I agreed, and so the two of us have been meeting weekly to watch the series, laugh and cry together, and enjoy our trip down memory lane. The fact that I have seen it all already does not detract in any way from my pleasure and emotional involvement.

Social Realism: Russians in Israel

 

Currently showing at the Israel Museum in Jerusalem is an exhibition by Zoya Cherkassky, who was born in Russia and immigrated to Israel with her family in the 1990s. The Cherkasskys were part of the million-strong influx of Jewish immigrants from Russia who were finally able to leave the ‘Soviet socialist paradise’ following the disintegration of the Soviet Union.

All immigrants (myself included) undergo a period of acclimatization and integration, in the hope that they will eventually find their place in Israeli society. For some of the Russian immigrants this was a painful process involving having to get used to a very different way of life, learn a new language, overcome difficulties in finding employment, and find a way of fitting in and adapting to the new environment.

Zoya Cherkassky was fourteen when she came to Israel and portrays the experience of people having to confront the rigours and demands of a very different society. Arriving as an impressionable teenager, Zoya still remembers what life was like in Russia and is well-placed to observe and compare the two societies. Her family was not imbued with Zionist ideology or well-versed in the practices of the Jewish religion, concepts which required both mental and physical adjustment from the newcomers.

Underlying Zoya’s pictures, which are painted in bright colours with bold contours, conveying the life of the new immigrants in a way that is almost a caricature of individual figures and expressions, is a lively sense of humour that pillories Russians and Israelis alike. One of the first pictures, entitled ‘Fresh Victims,’ portrays Zoya’s family, still all swathed in their winter clothing, descending the gangway from the airplane bringing them to Israel. Some of the faces display eager anticipation, others apprehension, even dismay, while on the tarmac awaits a fresh-faced lady official ready to welcome them and present each one with a small Israeli flag.

I happened to mention my impression of the exhibition to a Russian physician of my acquaintance and her face showed displeasure. She told me that among the Russian community the exhibition, and Zoya herself, had come in for a great deal of criticism for the negative portrayal of Russians as well as Israelis. I found the paintings delightful and full of humour, but it seems that this view is not universal.

One of the paintings shows a mother and daughter, their faces impassive as they eat a meal and watch what’s on the television screen, which is showing ballet dancers performing. The explanatory panel tells us that as the Soviet regime was collapsing and it was not yet clear what was happening to the leadership, the television showed a performance of Swan Lake all through the day. I suppose it’s a sad fact that for many of the immigrants the music of Swan Lake will forever be associated with the fall of the Soviet Union.

Zoya’s portrayal of life in Israel is often cynical, almost cruel. Throughout Israel’s existence each new influx of immigrants has been welcomed with a mixture of appreciation and suspicion by those (themselves doubtless former immigrants) who came before them. Zoya portrays this ambivalence in several of her paintings, primarily those showing life in Israel as experienced by Russian immigrants. Thus, one painting shows the aggression displayed by young Israelis towards young Russians, comparing it to the violence inflicted on Jews in Russia. Another painting, entitled just ‘Itzik,’ shows a swarthy falafel vendor trying to force his attentions on his horrified blonde Russian waitress.

Many of the pictures raise a smile. The painting entitled ‘Friday Night Dinner’ shows an appalled rabbi inspecting a cooking pot from which a pig’s snout emerges, while the newly-converted Russian couple, sporting religious headgear, look on uncomprehending. Zoya is a past-master at conveying human emotions through facial expressions, making use of appropriate details to emphasize the context of each situation.

Altogether, this is an exhibition that is both entertaining and instructive, giving the viewer an insight into the inner workings of the mentality of the immigrants from Russia. In so doing Zoya is shining a light on a situation that is endemic to any country, as Israel is, that purports to welcome immigrants.