Living on the edge . . .

(Humpty Dumpty, on the Edge)

Last month, Naomi and I moved to a wonderful home about one and a half miles away from shul.  Reactions have been mainly positive, if only for the reason it signified we were not likely to move in the immediate future. Rabbinic searches are stressful, and the community isn't particularly in the mood to hire a new Rabbi (at least I certainly hope not!).

Still, it's fairly obvious that some are a bit mystified by the seemingly infinite distance between our home and the shul.  It's not uncommon to be asked questions like, "[d]oes the eruv really extend all the way up here?" (yes, and even a little bit further!) and to here murmurs of "[m]aybe they just wanted some space."  First, despite popular notions to the contrary, Einstein's theory of relativity was discovered generally in Rhode Island long before he was born.  You see, since our state is so surprisingly small, the relativity of space and time takes on a special meaning here.  On a good day, it takes only 45 minutes to enter Rhode Island at the southern border and leave Rhode Island for the Commonwealth to our north; this small size frequently causes foreigners to forget our status as a state altogether, or to confuse Greater R.I. with Long Island, a small exotic location off the southern coast of Connecticut.  Locally, commuting more than ten or fifteen minutes is considered "long", and I've even caught myself saying things like "I'm going all the way to Warwick (15 minutes away) today."  All this to say that one mile in Rhode Island is actually longer (in relative terms, but that's all we ever have, anyway) than in many other locales.  Admittedly, it's also a bit of a walk.         

Now, to dispense with the uncertainty and spill the proverbial beans (what does that even mean anyway?), the main reasons we purchased the home are because we like it (an open layout mid-century modern ranch in a New England city filled with colonials) and because it was in great condition.  Also, it happens to be over the city line in Pawtucket, which means that taxes are demonstrably lower and that you can get far more for your money (assuming you're willing to give up a posh East Side address).  So far, we love it, and guests have been gracious in taking the hike with us for Shabbat meals.  

The point?  When I first started attending Shabbat services regularly as a young teenager, the walk was also long (actually longer) and less scenic to boot.  On Friday nights, the long walk home served as an extended time to bask in the beauty of twilight while being accompanied by the majestic malachei hashareit (ministering angels) that traditionally accompany Jews home from the Synagogue and into their homes on Friday night.  Practically, it was a way to internalize the tranquility of Shabbat and served as a serious break between the hustle and bustle of the work week.  On Shabbat morning, the peacefulness of the walk served as the perfect introduction to prayer.  With time to think and the solitude of being alone, my thoughts would inevitably turn to the upcoming prayers and to the presence of the Sabbath in my life.  By the time I would arrive, I had unintentionally prepared myself in a way that calmed and sensitized my soul.  I was in the mood, even anxious, to pray and express through the words of the Siddur and the thoughts of my mind the stirring I often felt on my Shabbat morning walk.

Enter college, and Hillel was a stone's throw away from my dorm room.  This pattern followed me for the rest of my life, and I continued to choose, actively and intentionally, to live in close proximity to a Synagogue.  Always, it was more convenient, closer to the heart of the community, and seemed like the wise decision, religiously and socially.

Fast forward a decade, and the economy has taught me a valuable (if accidental) lesson.  It didn't take more than the first Sabbath in our new home until I felt Shabbos in a way I haven't in more than a decade.  Once again, Friday nights are more spiritual and peaceful; morning prayers feel soulful and buzzing with life.  The extra love I felt for Shabbat in my youth has returned, and the funny thing is that I didn't even know it had ever gone.

I share my personal experience in the hope that it will spur thoughts and discussion about how to create meaningful ruach (spirit) and a spiritually complete Sabbath.  I've devoted much energy to this personally, yet ultimately a short walk did more for me than anything else.             

Two-Way Street

Lately, it seems that the observant community has a penchant for dealing with big-picture political types of issues without taking a needed vacation. We've engaged in collective conversations (sometimes not quite conversations) on Israeli politics, the chief rabbinate, the modern kollel system financially and religiously, mandatory army service for all, feminism, women clergy, mesirah, child-abuse, racism in Jewish culture, civil and religious same-sex marriage, and now biblical criticism.  No doubt, all of these issues are important, some of them extremely so, as Orthodox Judaism confronts modernity head on.  Still, most of these issues concern themselves with the structure of Judaism or the hierarchy of organized Jewish life; for a while, I'd like to return to basic substantive Jewish issues.

Likely, blessings are the most common and frequent expression of Jewish religion at the current time. Regardless of theological philosophy, denomination, political preference, blessings as a means of expression are nearly universally accepted and practiced.  We make blessings over objects and actions ranging from the mundane to the holy.  There are blessings before and after consumption of food, after using the bathroom, upon arising, upon going to bed, upon hearing bad news or being informed of a death, upon birth and joyous occasions, on weddings, britot, holidays, candles, wine, lightning, thunder, fragrances . . . . (this could go on for a long time).  Blessings are important component of Judaism, whether or not one believes them to be legally required or merely spiritually efficacious.  It was just this sort of near-universal embrace that recently caused Rabbi Avi Shafran to publish an essay on the Cross Currents suggesting an all-out embrace of brachot as a response to elevate levels of discord.

Ever since I was first introduced to the Talmud, I've taken an extra interest in the tractate on blessings.  I'm not sure what it is, but I find the subject compelling.  Perhaps it's the fact that it's the first masechet that I learned, or simply the relevance of its subject matter to everyday life.  Either way, I'd like to share some personal reflections and thoughts about the way we bless.

In large part, our blessings are substantially a way to transcend the physical and focus on God, the ultimate spiritual ontology.  Who gives us our food?  Who put us here in the first place, that we should be able to partake of food?  We've survived till this exciting season, but Who has sustained us, and for what purpose?  We open by declaring "Baruch Atah Hashem . . . ."  We open by declaring that God is blessed, and by speaking directly to God, as if to ascend the heavens and approach Him directly.  Both the diction and the grammar cause us to focus on God directly.  Nevermind for the moment the various opinions and disputes about what it means for God to be blessed.  Ultimately, the opening of the beracha brings us to focus on God as a way to appreciate what we have and place it in perspective.

There is, however, another part to each and every blessing, the second part.  During this part, we focus not on God or some theosophical notion of who or what God is, but rather on what it is God does in our world.  From our ascent to the height of the heavens, we descend rapidly and completely to the physical realities of earthly existence, and contemplate them well.  We focus on the commandments (usually actions) that God has commanded us to do, the lightning he has created, the wine we have fermented, and so on.  Ultimately, the conclusion of the beracha is designed to cause an almost meditative mindfulness and awareness of physical phenomena as a way to more deeply and substantively appreciate God's input.

Sometimes, it feels like we focus almost exclusively on the first part of the equation, as if we could just approach a conception of God without assistance.  For these past few weeks, I've started to try and give equal weight to the end of the beracha, in an effort to appreciate the handiwork, the substance of our lives, and therein the Creator who made them. 

In Response to the "Matzav"

Today, I was attacked in an ad-hominem way on the popular "Charedi" news website matzav.com.  You can read the article here.  I have submitted the following letter in response to the editor, and assume they will publish it.  After all, it's a general rule in journalism that one who is attacked is given a right of response.  I publish my letter publicly because I was attacked in a public forum.

Dear Concerned Yid,

A few points in response to your letter published today on Matzav.com:

1)  First, I'd like to address the substance of your claims.  Throughout your article, you made many false assumptions.  If you're truly as concerned as you claim to be (I have no way of knowing, but you do), you might take the time to verify assumptions before publishing them on the internet.  You could have contacted me, if you're truly concerned, and seen whether your assumptions were correct.  After all, the seal of Hashem is emes, and Jews should strive to be honest and accurate in what they say.  This is prudent and religious all in one.

You posit that my support for civil same-sex marriage is a remnant of my "liberal beliefs" and "background" left over from the days before I was observant.

Truth is, while I used to be far more liberal politically than I am today, I've opposed same-sex marriage publicly and privately for as long as I've been old enough to have an opinion on the subject.  In recent months, however, I've changed my mind, specifically because of my religious observance and affiliation.  As an observant Jew, I appreciate more than ever the protections of the First Amendment.  In the United States, our small minority religion is afforded tremendous protection.  Thousands of our Jewish brothers now refuse to work on Shabbat and holidays, knowing full well that their government will support their religious convictions and penalize anyone who tries to discriminate against them by firing them or refusing to hire them.    Our rituals (brit milah, kosher slaughter, etc.) are protected by the government, and our institutions receive support, honor, recognition, and even funds from states and the federal government.  Jews in public schools are no longer coerced into Christian prayer, and a general spirit of tolerance and understanding has allowed our people a golden age like none other in the diaspora.  This is true on both a governmental and social level, and has become an important part of the fabric of our country.

Therefore, it is our obligation to argue for the protection of minorities, be they religious, ideological, etc., and to advocate to prevent the use of religious doctrine in legislation at all levels.  If the state has the power to legislate marriage based on Judeo-Christian religious principles, then there's nothing to stop the state from regulating other areas of life based on religious principles, Judeo-Christian, Christian, or otherwise.  That's only a stone's throw away from the days of "the lord's prayer" and all the rest.  It's bad jurisprudence, bad for the Jews, and coerces people against their will, which is not helpful religiously either.

One more thing.  From a purely political perspective, it's not necessarily a "liberal" argument to argue for same-sex marriage.  I'll note that there was unanimous support for same-sex marriage among conservative republicans in RI's State Senate, based on a mixture of conservative and libertarian principles.  Conservative - If gay men and women are involved in relationships (which is a given), isn't it better for them to form committed monogamous relationships with stable family structures?  Libertarian - the state ought to stay out of defining, encouraging, or manipulating people's sexual or social preferences, especially if they're doing so based on religious convictions in possible violation of the First Amendment (the Court will tell us about that shortly).  I argued as I did largely because of my libertarian political leanings, not that it should matter, not liberal ones.          

2)  A few pieces of advice.  If you want to engage in an ad-hominem attack against someone, sign your name to it and face the consequences, positive and negative.  Doing so anonymously is cowardly and characteristic of the culture of fear that pervades our community lately.  Let's be mature enough to have important conversations with each other using our real names please.  This is true both locally in the current argument and generally in broader Jewish scene.

Also, if you want to critique and argument or position, fine.  In that case, you should state what you think I advocated, explain why you think it's wrong, and support your position with reasons and sources.  For a more complete argument, you might even offer self-critique, explaining the weaknesses of your own position.  All of the personal attacks, prejudicial comments, guilt-by-association character assasination mumbo jumbo (IRF Liberal Left Wing Loving Call His Rabbis Revoke His Degree Public Consequences Chillul Hashem etc.) distract from the content of the actual debate, and are not befitting of reasoned and enlightened discussion.  Orthodox Jews should be interested in serious discussion on the merits of the issues rather than vague and uninformed generalizations.  Erev Shabbat Shalom.

Sincerely,

Barry Dolinger, another concerned Jew  

Has God Moved?

                

http://www.jidaily.com/9fdb1?utm_source=Jewish+Ideas+Daily+Insider&utm_campaign=55f31d74b6-Insider&utm_medium=email

In the article linked above, Rabbi Dr. Nathan Lopes Cardozo poetically shares his conclusion that God has "hired movers" and left the Synagogue and other places of established religion.  His points are basically threefold: 1)  God desires true seekers, and they are now largely found elsewhere, be it cafes, non-traditional minyanim (prayer quoroms) and batei midrash (study halls), and elsewhere.  2)  Traditional Jews continue to flock to God's old address, so to speak, but our prayer and service of God is (on the whole) absolutely and totally devoid of anything meaningful or experiential. 3)  Observant Jews are basically in a state of denial, focusing far too much energy on contrived questions and legal quandaries while willfully ignoring big-picture items that ought to form the loci of our observance.

As a Synagogue Rabbi, I've written about  many of these themes in the past, and think that this article is a must-read for all people of faith.  Practically every sermon I give includes a different impassioned plea for meaningful prayer and substantive religious encounter with the trans-formative awe of the divine; our observance is meant to serve that encounter, the encounter in return designed to radically alter our actions in this world for the good.  Whether it's had any affect good bad or otherwise I cannot say, though I know it has had an impact on my life in profound ways.  Personally, creating a meaningful observance and prayer space has been the primary function of my rabbinate and even this blog; it also happens to be one of the central points of our mesorah (tradition).

The next several blog posts will dwell on different aspects of this theme, but there's one I'd like to share today. It is widely known that Lag Baomer (the 33rd day of the omer count) is the yahrtzeit of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, the great mystic and possible author of the Zohar.  Often ignored is that it's also the yahrtzeit of Rabbi Moshe Isserles, known affectionately as the Rema, the great mystic (yes, he also spent most of his time delving into kaballah) and authority of Ashkenazic Jewish law and custom.  In light of this article, I thought that the beginning of the legal code he authored are instructive.  We'll comment how he chose to open his great legal encyclopedia.

"שויתי ה' לנגדי תמיד - I am ever mindful of the Lord's Presence" (Psalms 16:8).  He goes on to write that this is the most important rule of the Torah, because a person who lives with God-consciousness does not act the same way as one who lives without such consciousness.  Such a person will be humble, kind, and eager to serve God.

Why did the Rema begin a legal work with ostensibly non legal advice?  The answer is obvious.  Judaism and Jewish law represent a religious legal system, and the aim of that system is to foster a constant awareness of God and the resulting behavioral affects.  It's an easy question whether we're doing any of these well - we're not.  We certainly fixate on the law, even obsess, and in the modern day, seek new strictures and creative legal arguments all in a well-meaning effort to safeguard God's commands.  In all of this, the point is missed, masses leave or are uninspired, and the religious experience becomes dry and loses its efficacy.

It's easy to say "woah unto us."  The harder question, though, is what bold solutions and adjustments are needed to preserve and advance our tradition, one that teaches that the center of it all is an awareness of God's presence in our lives so deep that it affects all of our interactions profoundly.  

Mitnadvei Chutz La'aretz - The Power of the Individual

As it is Yom Hazikaron, the day when we remember those who have defended Israel, it's important for all of us to take some time out of the day to remember and learn about those who defended and continue to defend our people.  I was moved by the above video about MaCHaL, a group of about 4,000 volunteers who went to Israel to fight during the War of Independence in 1948.  So important was MaCHaL to the founding of the air force, in particular, that English and not Hebrew was actually the language of operation for the then-nascent Israeli airforce.  

Watching the video, I was struck by two things in particular.  Most heavily, I was first struck by the  the power of just a few individuals.  How just a handful of individuals, foreign volunteers no less, were able to to use leftover German plane parts, engage in risky combat tactics, and successfully hold off an Egyptian army of 10,000 is a testament to the Jewish spirit and the importance of what these men did.  In a world where individuals are increasingly invisible and human contribution seems less and less valuable, this was a powerful and emotional reminder that the actions of each of us really do count; sometimes, small acts of heroism that go barely noticed in the fog of war change history dramatically for millions of people.  Would we even have a state without the heroic actions of the pilots in the video?  What if they hadn't gone to fight?

Second, there actions serve not only as a source of pride, but as a clarion call to each of us.  What are we doing, what are we sacrificing to aide the survival and growth of our people?  Though it's primarily a day to remember the sacrifices of others, especially those who made the ultimate sacrifice and gave their lives, it's also a day to consider our own contributions and how we carry on the legacy we've inherited.  Even if we're not fighting in the army, there are important things we can and should be doing for the Jewish people.  As someone who does not live in Israel, it's all too easy for the national and familial bonds that holds us together to remain unrealized beneath the surface.  These foreigners felt a sense of obligation to the Jewish people even from afar and acted on it.  Query: What actions can we take, locally or nationally, for the benefit of the Jewish people?

Go Down Moses . . .

This article I authored was published in the Jewish Voice and Herald on Friday, March 15, 2013.  I thought it worth reproducing here. 

Last year, President Barack Obama concluded his Passover Seder with an interesting addition.  After the singing of Had Gadya (traditionally the final song in the Seder service),  participants in the White House Seder took turns reciting sections of the Emancipation Proclamation, thus creating a bridge between the core message of Passover, a distant and remote cultic festival of an ancient people, the Israelites, and the powerful modern outgrowth of the same concept of racial equality. President Obama’s serving as the Seder leader further reinforced this message.

While many staffers joked that gefilte fish wasn’t usually on many White House menus, the conclusion of the White House Seder affords us the opportunity to reflect on the true meaning of Passover.

As United States citizens, western Jews tend to speak of Passover in western terms.  Clearly, the holiday is about the benefits of freedom and the evils of slavery.  It also celebrates the triumph of the oppressed, and refutes the notion that “might makes right.” Egypt was the most powerful nation in the ancient world, while the Israelites were just a petty tribal family, oppressed and enslaved because of their minority status, unique identity and strange customs.

All of these notions speak to the heart of core liberal democratic values, so it is easy to simply assume that this is what Passover is about. However, that offers only a partial – and misleading – picture of the meaning of the holiday, and it behooves us to consider the holiday’s full meaning and its implications for our lives.

God’s language when he first commands Moses is instructive:
“Then you shall say to Pharaoh, ‘Thus says the LORD: Israel is my first born-son.’  I have said to you, ‘Let My son go that he may worship Me,’ yet you refuse to let him go.  Now I will slay your first-born son.’” (Exodus 4:22-23)

In this statement, all of the emphasis is, surprisingly, on worshipping God, with no reference to the immorality of forced physical labor or the unconscionable notion that humans can own other humans as physical property.

Further, throughout the story, as the Egyptians are being afflicted with plagues, Moses’ request to Pharaoh is simply to allow the Israelites a holiday to worship their God: “The Lord said to Moses, ‘Go to Pharaoh and say to him, ‘Thus says the LORD, the God of the Hebrews: Let My people go to worship Me.’’” (Exodus 9:1)

In the well-known Civil War-era slave spiritual, though, Moses is alleged to have said merely, “Let my people go”; the song omits the conclusion of his request: “to worship [God].”

According to the biblical text, Moses’ complaints are not centered on the immorality of slavery but rather on the affirmative notion that God must be worshipped; slavery merely obstructs the path.

Generally speaking, the civic culture of the United States is one of personal autonomy rather than responsibility to others.  The U.S. Constitution carefully and deliberately grants each of us specific rights to which we are entitled.  It does not demand that we vote, serve in the military or do much service to our fellow citizens, other than leaving them alone.

The Passover story compels us to build on our beloved freedoms by asking ourselves the simple question, “to what end?”

Freedom from the constraints of physical and emotional oppression is a necessary first step; this point is easy to emphasize and relate to, especially in our society.  That freedom fundamentally requires us to worship God through the pursuit of a moral and ethical life is too often overlooked and too easy to forget in our society.

“You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”(Exodus 29:20)

The goal of freedom is the exercise of responsibility.

Time, which has a way of turning things on their heads, allows for the creation of circumstances previously unimaginable.  During the Seder, symbols such as the maror (bitter herbs), haroset and the broken middle matzah compel us to imagine the life of a slave devoid of hope, and require us to confront those elements in our lives to which we are still enslaved.

At the same time, the four cups of wine, festive meal, presence of family and friends and yes, the matzah again, confirm our current freedoms and markedly changed circumstances.  In ancient times we were at the bottom, but today we are on top.

Perhaps the reading of the Emancipation Proclamation at the Passover Seder represents more than a superficial connection to modern notions of freedom.  Once, we were slaves, freed by the proclamation of God through his prophet Moses.  Today, we are empowered, free to liberate others and issue proclamations of our own.

Guest Post: Celebrating the Sigd Holiday in Jerusalem

Today, it is my pleasure to share a guest post from my esteemed friend Shai Afsai, who has done excellent work covering the Ethiopian Jews and their unique heritage.  As Passover rapidly approaches (did anyone really need to be reminded?), redemption is a theme on the minds of many.  What follows is an article about the Ethopian Sigd holiday, commemorating a different redemption, the return to Zion from the Babylonian captivity.  Shai Afsai and Matan Graff will be presenting photos of the Sigd by Gidon Agaza (mentioned in the article) at the Providence JCC Gallery, with the opening on Monday, March 18th, from 7:00 - 9:00 pm. 

Celebrating the Sigd Holiday

Shai Afsai

“I arrived at the end,” 21-year-old Orly Sahalo said of attending the Sigd holiday in Jerusalem for the first time last year, “and I missed out.”

This year, encouraged by her boyfriend, photographer Gidon Agaza, she turned up early at the Armon Hanatziv Promenade, where thousands of Ethiopian Jews gathered to celebrate the Sigd on November 14th.

“I had chills.  I came and saw all of the women dressed in white, lifting their hands, and saw the qessotch [i.e., priests, who are the traditional religious leaders of the Jews of Ethiopia] using musical instruments, just as written in the Bible,” Sahalo said, referring to the drums and trumpets that accompanied certain prayers.

Sahalo also prepared herself for the occasion this time.  “I did my homework and attended events so that I could understand the holiday.  I wanted to be able to answer questions about the Sigd if people happened to ask me, and to know for myself what was practiced in Ethiopia and what the source of the holiday is.”

 

One of the many educational and cultural events leading up to the holiday in Israel took place at Ramat Gan’s Bar-Ilan University, on the eve of the Sigd.  There, Mula Zerihoon, a 40-year-old qes ordained in Israel, explained the origins of the holiday to the students and soldiers in the audience.

“The Sigd holiday is based on the times of Ezra and Nehemiah, when after 70 years in exile, the Jews returned from Babylon to the Land of Israel,” Qes Mula said.  “In Jerusalem, they held a day of fasting, repentance, Torah teaching, and prayer.  This is the source of the Sigd holiday of the Jews of Ethiopia.”

Chapter 9 of the Book of Nehemiah records that on the 24^th of Tishre “the Israelites gathered together, fasting and wearing sackcloth and putting dust on their heads. Those of Israelite descent had separated themselves from all foreigners. They stood in their places and confessed their sins and the sins of their ancestors. They stood where they were and read from the Book of the Torah of the Lord their God for a quarter of the day, and spent another quarter in confession and in worshiping the Lord their God.”  That 6^th century BCE assembly culminated with the Jews publicly recommitting themselves to their covenant with God.

The annual Sigd celebration now normally takes place 50 days after Yom Kippur, on the 29^th of Cheshvan.  It begins with fasting and repentance, but concludes with a festive meal following the Sigd’s annual renewal of the covenant.

Among the Sigd’s central themes is the Jewish longing to return from the exile to Jerusalem.  In Ethiopia, the Sigd was celebrated atop mountains, which were ascended by foot.  “When we climbed the mountain, we felt Jerusalem in our heart of hearts,” said Qes Mula.  “This deeply impacted our Judaism.  Jews came from afar, two or three days on foot, on horses, and on mules, in order to have the chance to hear Torah from the qessotch.  The people learned and were strengthened.”  Often, worshipers took home some soil from the mountain on which the holiday was celebrated.

Jerusalem’s Armon Hanatziv Promenade, currently the primary pilgrimage site of the holiday, offers an unobstructed view of Jerusalem’s Old City.  On the day of the Sigd, dozens of qessotch from across Israel assembled there beneath colorful umbrellas, on a platform draped by the flags of Israel and Jerusalem.  Chanting in Ge’ez, the qessotch praised God, and asked for forgiveness and blessings for the Jewish people.  Biblical passages telling of the giving of the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai and the return of the Jews to Jerusalem from the Babylonian exile were read to the congregation in Ge’ez, and then translated into Amharic.

Throughout the morning and afternoon, 28-year-old Gidon Agaza snapped pictures of the qessotch and worshipers.  “I have been attending for 13 years,” Agaza said.  “Each and every year that I come, I am moved anew to see the mothers praying from their hearts.  I have a large archive of Sigd celebrations.  I need these photographs in order to explain to people about the Ethiopian community and its traditions.”

At a nearby educational tent, Shoshana Ben-Dor and Ziva Mekonen-Degu taught the Sigd’s Ge’ez prayers, with transliterations and translations into Hebrew, to some 80 visitors, most of whom were young adults.  In collaboration with the qessotch, the two women have been preparing a Sigd siddur (prayer book) — the first of its kind — which is slated to be published by next year’s festival.  The prayers will be written in four columns, in Ge’ez, Ge’ez transliterated into Hebrew, Amharic, and Hebrew.  They hope this will make the holiday accessible to more Jews.

Ben-Dor, the director of the North American Conference on Ethiopian Jewry (NACOEJ), believes that all Jews would benefit from the Sigd’s celebration.  “The Sigd brings together elements that exist in several Jewish holidays in a way that no other Jewish holiday does,” she says.

“It has the aspects of repentance, asking for mercy, and hoping that God has forgiven us that are found in the High Holidays.  It has the mourning for Jerusalem found in Tisha Be’av.  It has the returning to Zion found in Yom Ha’atzmaut.  It has the covenant and giving of the Torah found in Shavuot. The Sigd is the only day in the entire calendar that brings these all together — and also includes an annual renewal of the covenant,” Ben-Dor explains.  “There is an importance in the Sigd for all Jews.”

Orly Sahalo was especially impressed by the activities for children and young adults at the Armon Hanatziv Promenade.  “They will learn, and this holiday will have a continuation,” she said.  “I was also moved to see the qessotch distributing handfuls of Jerusalem soil to the worshipers.  People are able to take a piece of Jerusalem home with them, just as in Ethiopia they were able to take home soil from the mountain on which the Sigd was held.”

This article was originally published at http://www.jewishideasdaily.com/5493/features/the-sigd-festival-comes-home-to-jerusalem/