The Israelites made 42 stops along the way from Egypt to Canaan. So what is this? Stop 43? Some of us actually believed that this, this Israel, was the Third Temple and the end of the journey. Back to the wilderness, with no Promised Land in sight, is that what's going on? Some of us had a dream.
The loss of even an inch of Israel diminishes us all throughout the world. Yes, this is personal.
When we first arrived in Montreal, I spoke a mix of three languages, French, Spanish and Yiddish. I was about five years old when my parents placed me in a nursery and as soon as I walked in, first day, the class was doing some kind of Biblical play. Even before I had a chance to sit down, the teacher placed a shiny plastic crown on my head and said, "Here, you'll be King David."
I have been King David ever since. In spirit, of course. In reality, I am to King David what a grasshopper is to a lion. But we dream.
The refugees of Montreal, the remnants of Europe's genocide, fresh off the boats, used to promenade along Park Avenue by the hundreds and even the thousands. I never understood. European custom, I imagined, all this walking back and forth. Seemed almost festive.
My mother would grip me tightly as we walked. Other kids were also held tightly. One day she let go. A woman broke from her group and tried to run off with me. My father and mother chased after her. The woman insisted that I was her son, the son she had lost in Auschwitz.
I was ripped back and forth until my parents won me back. Finally, I understood. These people were not promenading. They were searching.
Then, Israel happened. Just like that. From the ashes. Incredible. We all became Zionists. I joined every Zionist organization there was. I was King David, after all. Who cared that this group or that group were possibly socialist, or even communist? We didn't know. We didn't care. There were no politics, not at that age, not at that place. Israel was back. Nothing else mattered.
We formed assembly lines and loaded food and clothing packages onto the trucks bound for Israel. We sang Havah Nagila, Artza Alinu,. Daveed Melech Yisrael. We danced the Hora. My father wept when the Yiddish paper, Der Tag, published the first picture of a Jewish soldier - a first in 2,000 years. So he wept.
We learned to fight back. Gangs of erev rav, mixed multitudes, used to come up from their slum fortresses and beat us up just for fun. We ate their fists and swallowed their blows. They always seemed to be waiting for us with a grudge we never understood. But now that we had Israel, we were not afraid anymore. Far away as it was, Israel was with us, side-by-side. No longer were we timid immigrants. We were soldiers. We were all King David. Israel gave us muscle.
To put it plainly: that day in May of 1948, and thereafter, we waited for them, and we crushed them.
As Israel was reborn, so were we.
We moved around, my parents did, for this reason and that, but like the rest of the refugee kids, I attended (British style) Fairmount School, where a class full of Jewish refugee kids pretended to sing hymns. After that, it was Hebrew school, and I was seated in a place called Talmud Torah, not really religious, but ultra-Zionist. (The yeshivot came later.)
Here, along with my schooling at home, in no particular order, I fell in love with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, and Joseph, and Moses, and Miriam, and Esther, and Ruth. The teacher read the stories and I stared out the window and dreamed. I was there with Isaac on Mount Moriah. Along with Jacob, I fell in love with Rachel. To the sons of Jacob, I revealed myself and said, "I am Joseph, your brother."
I not only read about King David. I was there with him in Jerusalem. I watched him arise at first light to study Torah. I watched him write Tehillim.
I was there at the foot of Mount Sinai. I heard the thunder. I saw the lightning. I felt the earth shudder.
Together with Joshua, I marched into Canaan to take conquest. He told me to "be strong and of good courage."
So I dreamed, and continue to dream. I care nothing for politics or politicians. They come. They go. They build up. They tear down.
They have plans. God also has plans. We shall see.
But they cannot destroy a romance that goes back nearly 4,000 years.
King David rules, within me, within you, within Israel, forever.
The loss of even an inch of Israel diminishes us all throughout the world. Yes, this is personal.
When we first arrived in Montreal, I spoke a mix of three languages, French, Spanish and Yiddish. I was about five years old when my parents placed me in a nursery and as soon as I walked in, first day, the class was doing some kind of Biblical play. Even before I had a chance to sit down, the teacher placed a shiny plastic crown on my head and said, "Here, you'll be King David."
I have been King David ever since. In spirit, of course. In reality, I am to King David what a grasshopper is to a lion. But we dream.
The refugees of Montreal, the remnants of Europe's genocide, fresh off the boats, used to promenade along Park Avenue by the hundreds and even the thousands. I never understood. European custom, I imagined, all this walking back and forth. Seemed almost festive.
My mother would grip me tightly as we walked. Other kids were also held tightly. One day she let go. A woman broke from her group and tried to run off with me. My father and mother chased after her. The woman insisted that I was her son, the son she had lost in Auschwitz.
I was ripped back and forth until my parents won me back. Finally, I understood. These people were not promenading. They were searching.
Then, Israel happened. Just like that. From the ashes. Incredible. We all became Zionists. I joined every Zionist organization there was. I was King David, after all. Who cared that this group or that group were possibly socialist, or even communist? We didn't know. We didn't care. There were no politics, not at that age, not at that place. Israel was back. Nothing else mattered.
We formed assembly lines and loaded food and clothing packages onto the trucks bound for Israel. We sang Havah Nagila, Artza Alinu,. Daveed Melech Yisrael. We danced the Hora. My father wept when the Yiddish paper, Der Tag, published the first picture of a Jewish soldier - a first in 2,000 years. So he wept.
We learned to fight back. Gangs of erev rav, mixed multitudes, used to come up from their slum fortresses and beat us up just for fun. We ate their fists and swallowed their blows. They always seemed to be waiting for us with a grudge we never understood. But now that we had Israel, we were not afraid anymore. Far away as it was, Israel was with us, side-by-side. No longer were we timid immigrants. We were soldiers. We were all King David. Israel gave us muscle.
To put it plainly: that day in May of 1948, and thereafter, we waited for them, and we crushed them.
As Israel was reborn, so were we.
We moved around, my parents did, for this reason and that, but like the rest of the refugee kids, I attended (British style) Fairmount School, where a class full of Jewish refugee kids pretended to sing hymns. After that, it was Hebrew school, and I was seated in a place called Talmud Torah, not really religious, but ultra-Zionist. (The yeshivot came later.)
Here, along with my schooling at home, in no particular order, I fell in love with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, and Joseph, and Moses, and Miriam, and Esther, and Ruth. The teacher read the stories and I stared out the window and dreamed. I was there with Isaac on Mount Moriah. Along with Jacob, I fell in love with Rachel. To the sons of Jacob, I revealed myself and said, "I am Joseph, your brother."
I not only read about King David. I was there with him in Jerusalem. I watched him arise at first light to study Torah. I watched him write Tehillim.
I was there at the foot of Mount Sinai. I heard the thunder. I saw the lightning. I felt the earth shudder.
Together with Joshua, I marched into Canaan to take conquest. He told me to "be strong and of good courage."
So I dreamed, and continue to dream. I care nothing for politics or politicians. They come. They go. They build up. They tear down.
They have plans. God also has plans. We shall see.
But they cannot destroy a romance that goes back nearly 4,000 years.
King David rules, within me, within you, within Israel, forever.