Although each day provides its own highlights, one of the pinnacles of the week was getting the opportunity to hear a man named Gerald Schroeder speak. Professor Schroeder is a former M.I.T. physicist who has written many books on the conflict of science and religion, the premises for his literature being that no such conflict exists. Originally, he came to Israel as a faculty member at Hebrew U, although he now teaches in the Department of Jewish Studies at a yeshiva called Aish HaTorah. His lecture this week was entitled "Genesis and the Big Bang" and although some of it went way over my head, I thoroughly enjoyed getting to see him speak. After his talk, he autographed two of his books that I had brought to Israel.
Later in the week, my friend Rina brought me to a little "hole in the wall" coffee shop/ used book store called Tmol Shilshom. As I stepped through the entry-way into the cafe, I exited Israel and sauntered in to Europe for the first time! We sat down beside a wall, skimmed the menu, and people-watched for a while (we were supposed to be studying for a quiz). The walls, decorated with bookcases, fed into a teeny kitchen where the staff busily assembled. We both ordered onion soup, and the waitress quickly brought over a plate of freshly baked wheat bread and assorted dips (the olive dip was the best). After spending three hours there (or maybe three days, who really knows?), we exited Europe and headed back into Israel.
The weekend eventually appeared before us, and it was time to make plans for Shabbat Dinner. Having already been invited to my friend Julie Gordon's house for Shabbat lunch, a few friends and I devised a plan to walk to services in the city center and hope that some kind family would extend an invitation our way for a night of fine wining, dining, and stimulating discussion. (If this sounds to you strikingly similar to the movie Wedding Crashers, only with college students looking for a home-cooked meal, I believe you're correct.) After walking alongside the light rail for a little over half an hour, we realized that we would not make it in time for services at the pacing we were going. We quickly found an empty cab and darted towards a local Chabad.
When the cab stopped near the Ben Yehuda street area, our level of certainty that we had indeed reached our desired destination had begun to decline. We would still have to walk a short distance once we exited the cab, and our environment betrayed our hopes of finding a place to daven. We looked at one another, each with a puzzled look on our faces. Instead of wandering aimlessly through the streets of downtown Jerusalem in search of spiritual and physiological refreshment, we asked the driver to take us to another synagogue.
After a short drive, he dropped us off at the Great Synagogue of Jerusalem, a landmark that I had always wanted to enter. As we stumbled into the foyer, we again looked at each other and began to discuss a game plan for finding a home-cooked meal. Slowly, we ascended the staircase that led to the Beit Knesset, and began to scope the vicinity for potential suitors. We plopped down in front of a group of kind-looking men, and I began to make conversation with them. Once services started, I drew open a chumash (a bound, portable Torah) and flipped to this week's portion in hopes of finding material that I could use as a d'var, sort of as a "thank you" to whosoever took us in.
As I shifted my gaze back and forth from the chumash to the services in front of me, I couldn't help but notice just how stunning the synagogue was. Chandeliers draped from the ceiling and circulated above our heads. At the front of this great hall sat a men's choir, led by a conductor. Their voices rang in perfect unison, and this brilliantly unique style of Kabbalat Shabbat left me awestruck. Now and then, I directed my focus back to the Torah portion, and eventually found that in this week's reading, we learn that things have a funny way of working themselves out. The Israelites left Egypt en route to the Land of Milk and Honey. But before they could get there, they faced many trials and tribulations, and of course questioned God the entire way through. When they thought they would die at the hands of the Egyptians, the sea parted. When they went hungry for too long, manna fell from the sky. When they were thirsty, water became abundant.
By the time services came to an end, our window of opportunity was closing quickly. And so there we sat, hungry, thirsty, and facing a long walk back home. As we walked back into the foyer room, I was unexpectedly spotted by my cousin Josh! We knew that we would be in Israel at the same time, but we had not been in contact with each other, so finding him outside of services in a synagogue that we were not even planning to go to was a complete shock.
For five or ten minutes, my friends and I stood in a corner looking as hungry (and American) as possible, and watched as the foyer completely emptied out. We were about to give up, when a man approached us and asked if we had a place to go for dinner. We excitedly shook our heads no, and he invited us over. It turns out that he was the vice-president of the synagogue, his twin brother the conductor, and their father was actually the man that founded it twenty eight years ago. His name was Zalli Jaffe, and he and his family were all the most cordial of people.
As his son led us to their home, we passed by Benjamin Netanyahu's mansion, and I knew this would be a meal to remember. To make a long story short, we had a wonderful meal with some very kind and sharp people (I even got to discuss philosophy with Mr. Jaffe), took a 1+ hour walk back to our apartments on a warm and quiet Shabbos night, and even though things looked grim for a bit, in the end, everything worked itself out!
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