One of the most shocking facets of Israeli culture, especially as a growing Jew who has experienced a scant half-dozen different observant communities, is reliance on symbols and outward signs of Jewish practice.
The first day in Israel, I went to the Old City. Right after dinner, I turned toward the Kotel, the western wall of the outer courtyard of the Second Temple. The Kotel has always been a holy site for Jews, both for pilgrimage like my father and I that night, and for prayer. Jews all around the world turn and face toward Israel and from Israel to Jerusalem and from Jerusalem to the Kotel, the closest outside spot to the holiest room part of the Second Temple. Needless to say, it was a very meaningful experience, especially seeing so many Jews praying together in the same place.
Wednesday, I decided to run over to the Israel Museum, the official national museum, complete with everything from archaeological records from the region to modern Jewish artifacts and Israeli art.
There was a whole room dedicated to menorahs and several displays of artifacts, both antiquated and brand new. Some of them were the most ingenious designs anyone might ever see, like silver globes that open up into plaques with particular brachot (blessings), on them for particular occasions.
There was also a room that highlighted different Jewish manuscripts from the ages, including haggadot (Passover meal guidebooks) siddurim, (prayer books) and chumashim (Jewish bibles). I could have spent a whole day in that room alone.
Three things struck me there:
The first point of awesomeness in the gallery of manuscripts was that the exact same texts that my family, indeed every Jewish family the world over, reads every spring at Passover have been read identically for centuries.
Second, it was amazing seeing the artful craftsmanship of hand-drawn pages and hand-painted plates.
Third, it was wonderful to see how all of the different manuscripts, whether with this handwriting or that, this artwork or that, all contained the exact same words, painstakingly copied and lovingly transcribed.
At the beginning of this post, I promised a moment of colossal enlightenment, about the reliance here on symbols and signs of physical Jewishness. Sorry to let you down, but, in short, there is none. Sure enough, a kippah, tzitzit (ritual garment fringes) or peot (long curled sideburns) mean almost nothing here. So what if you wear black pants with a white shirt or shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt? I see it most commonly out on the street and around the Central Bus Station, but there is no one look.
Even in a specific community like Efrat, there is no predicting what people will wear to prayer services or what they will have on their heads. And that’s the other thing—not only is there no predictable pattern to dress and appearance, but nobody cares either! In the States, wearing tzitzit where they show is a loud statement about priorities and personal theology. You may as well rent a billboard with a neon sign.
Here, however, nobody would notice any part of how you look, how you dress. I do not know if it is just that there is no statement to be made here in Israel, being that everyone has similar beliefs, at least at the core; or if people here have lost the need to judge their neighbors, least of all based on external trappings. Whatever the cause, it causes a degree of culture shock for a boy from the States, where it is very easy to stand out and scream aloud our statements of faith.
One more thing: If you cannot take it on faith that nobody minds the physical symbols of Judaism, consider that there is no uniform symbol to watch. Every kippa has a different design, every set of tzitzit is tied differently, and every haggadah has different artwork. If someone is so intent on categorizing Jews by how they look, there would be a separate category for every Jew in the Land of Israel, and respecting each other is the only way we grow in the Holy Land.
Gerad Bandos is currently studying at Yeshivat Shapells – Darche Noam, one of Masa Israel’s 200 programs.
