***
Before I made aliyah, I intended to live in the north, however, I wasn't eligible to stay at any absorption center. I was disappointed and worried. How would I meet people, make connections, and find community, or even a place to live without a starting point, a temporary home base?
I decided to stay at a hostel in Jerusalem because, in the past, I'd met many people there and because I am somewhat familiar with the area.
My first night in Jerusalem, I sat in the hostel's new lounge to check my email. A bearded, American man was explaining to a missionary that it wasn't enough to start attending a synagogue and to try to convert people, that he should hide his intentions at first and make friends because "they" don't like missionaries and wouldn't have anything to do with him if they knew his intentions. I was disgusted and ignored them both.
The next morning, I was horrified to discover that the hostel has become a place for missionaries, messianics, and other non-mainstream Christians in numbers too large to ignore. I thought I had left messianics behind in Arizona! Instead, every time I entered the kitchen or lounge, I was surrounded by people having bizarre and disturbing conversations.
* * *
The following day, I met a couple who had just made aliyah with their family. They'd been surprised to get their aliyah approval so quickly. In fact, their approval had arrived just as they were leaving for a trip to Israel that they'd already planned. They’d been told their approval would take much longer. We discussed Nefesh b'Nefesh. Like me, their aliyah application had vanished in the bowels of the Jewish Agency, but they had been assigned an aliyah advisor and he had tracked it down inside the Jewish Agency.
The couple and their children had stayed at the hostel many times before, for long periods of time. They had purchased dishes and kitchenware that they store there whenever they return to the States. So they were settled into the hostel as if it were home. The husband was a heavily bearded police officer and the wife, who dressed modestly in long skirts and turbans, had home schooled their many children. They knew a lot of things I didn’t about making aliyah. Particularly important: they knew an employee of the municipality of Jerusalem who helps new immigrants get oriented and settled.
In contrast to the generally disturbing environment in the hostel, it felt good to meet companions in this precarious situation of being a new immigrant to Israel. I was no longer sorry that I hadn’t been admitted to an absorption center for new immigrants. Things were going to work out well, I was sure.
* * *
During that first meeting, within an hour, I think, I began to wonder about the family. The husband gave me a cold stare rather than a sympathetic look when I said that my last boss in Arizona had been a messianic. When I asked, the wife described her conversion to Judaism in ways that had nothing to do with Judaism, but only her private reading of the bible over several decades. I wondered if the husband were the same bearded man I’d heard advising the Christian missionary to hide his intentions, but I couldn't be sure, since I'd made a point of turning my back on that conversation.
The family had converted to Judaism recently and the Jewish Agency had done a background check on them. The mother told me that the Jewish Agency had found that they owned a website about Jesus. They had explained to the representative that they hadn't posted to it for a long time.
The family was extremely friendly with all the various Christians staying at the hostel and seemed to be close to a few. Perhaps, I hoped, they simply maintained ties of sympathy with their former religion. I was deluding myself because I wanted to have fellow travelers, companions on the journey, a support system. And I was eager to participate in Shabbos dinners they helped organize at the hostel. Besides, who, I asked myself, would pretend to convert to Judaism?
* * *
Sunset that first Shabbos was such a joy! It was wonderful to once again hear the siren that announces the approach of Shabbat in Jerusalem. I rushed outside and stood in the sun for several moments, my arms outstretched before I lit my candles.
At a (very) late Shabbos dinner, about twenty people sat at tables we’d set up on the roof. Sitting down at the table, I thought the moment was perfect. The wife offered to be a mom to me (even though she’s not much older than I am) and volunteered her son to be my little brother. How warm and lucky I felt. (I felt a little less lucky over the next couple of weeks when the husband took the kids on several tours of Jerusalem and didn't invite me to join them.)
Most of the guests at that Shabbos dinner were Christian tourists, which I didn't mind. However, with the wife’s encouragement, some very strange ideas were voiced. One Christian claimed he was an honorary member of the tribe of Judah because he believed in Jesus. (Cultural appropriation and gross idiocy in one statement!) Ingrained courtesy made me hold my tongue, but that kind of delusion is dangerous and, well… delusional. I rolled my eyeballs, but mom and my little brother didn't seem to understand.
Moments later, I wished that I had spoken up, because the wife began encouraging other delusions. For example, she told one Christian man that he is also required to wear tzitzit! (You notice that Christians never appropriate tefillin — a little too weird, even if it is in the bible, right?)
The family has an extraordinarily large network of Christian friends and friends of friends who visited them at the hostel. I asked myself if there was any reason why they shouldn't. Years ago, I maintained my ties with long-time friends at my Reform synagogue after I joined a Conservative synagogue. Of course, Reform Jews are still Jewish; Christians absolutely are not.
* * *
I was very uncomfortable with the environment I was living in. I contacted NBN to ask about going north. A man wrote back immediately to say that someone would get in touch with me. Nothing happened, but a little later, I met the Jerusalem olim advisor and he helped me open a bank account, locate an ulpan, find some apartments online, and set appointments to view them, so I didn't pursue the idea of going north.
My therapist in Portland advised me to remain at the hostel. The plan had been to stay in a place where I'd meet people. He didn't want me to be alone and neither did I.
At the hostel, I've encountered only two other Jewish guests and talked with a couple of nice Christians who didn't seem to have a "Jewish agenda." Mostly, the people there were immersed in their own brand of Christianity. One man, a particular friend of the family, had just come from lecturing Africa where large advertisements proclaimed he was a "prophet to Africa." (Just what Africa needs, I thought, more white prophets.)
I went to one more Shabbos dinner at the hostel, where fifty of us were packed at tables squeezed into the indoor lounge. The cook asked for a volunteer to chant kiddush, but studiously ignored the only hand that was raised. (Mine.) Then I had to listen to lots of Christian dialogue. That was the last hostel Shabbos dinner that I attended. I didn’t want to gather any more evidence that my new “family” were Christians masquerading as Jews. And I didn't know which would be worse: not speaking up or commenting vehemently on the stupidity I heard at those meals and starting an argument.
Why did I keep trying to dismiss my knowledge that they are missionaries who used deceit to make aliyah? There are probably a number of reasons. The most positive: it’s not right to judge people or make assumptions about them until you really know them. The least positive (and more likely) reason: I have no spine: I want friends, I want to belong, I want community so much, that I will associate with people who don’t share my values and who don't respect mine. I've been too tolerant and too trusting of people and have often put myself in the hands of people who don’t care about me. When I got too close to someone, my father always told me, "they aren't your friends," but I always refused to believe him.
I have improved a little; now I at least recognize that these people probably aren't my friends and that I probably can't depend on them for anything. However, I'm not responding to that knowledge appropriately. What's wrong with me?
Since Reform Judaism isn't an option here, I had intended to associate with secular Israelis, but exposure to this family's lack of respect for the religion I value, and the depressing need to avoid Shabbos dinner each week, made me reach out for a little more observance. I registered on a Shabbat website, hoping to get Shabbos dinner invitations, and Ryan Bellerose put me in touch with a family in Hevron. (They had a full house that Shabbos and then started taking in people affected by the forest fires... but maybe I'll get to go sometime soon.)
I didn't hang out with the family much, but once in a while, I'd find myself drawn to their room, wanting to talk with the girls. I was torn between wanting companionship and mistrust of their motives for being in Israel. (The first was winning, obviously.)
* * *
Their 21-year-old daughter had arrived about a week after I did and she is an amazing person. She'll soon join the IDF. She's really smart. Perhaps after being here a while, she'll have a better understanding of Jews and Judaism and abandon whatever plans her family has.
Their 17-year-old son and I were in the same ulpan. After class each day, we studied in the hostel’s lounge, after picking up inexpensive falafel for our lunch. We’d test each other on things we had learned that day and then check each other’s homework.
A study partner is a great/essential thing, no matter the subject, and I really liked his company. He's a sweet kid. Actually, I often forgot that he's a kid. I don't learn nearly as well without him. I used to buy myself a beer and him a candy bar after we'd finished our homework, unaware that his mother had put him on a diet. He is a fan of the new Dr. Who tv show and since I have a laptop he wanted to watch the show on Netflix. Some episodes of the show were pretty poor, but I seldom said no when he asked to watch a second episode. I liked that it made “my little brother” happy. I was very fond of him and his enthusiasm for Hebrew. He was a great favorite of the Hebrew teachers at ulpan, too. He wasn't planning to make aliyah, so he seemed a less dangerous companion than the other members of his family.
It was impossible to ignore the husband’s absolute disdain for Judaism. He didn’t even try to hide it. I avoided him as much as I could, but one erev Shabbat, I expected that I'd have to spend time with him. The wife had had a disagreement with the person who prepared the Shabbos dinners and decided to host her own Shabbat dinner in their large room. There was no polite way to decline her invitation and, besides, I wanted Shabbos and still held some hope that they were fellow travelers.
The husband was not there that evening; he had returned to the States to work. I sighed with relief and relaxed. Everything was almost ready, so none of the usual last-minute Shabbos prep whirled around me. I'd brought challah and drinks. Conversation was a bit slow to warm up and I was concerned that talk might turn to incriminating matters that had no wish to confront them on, so I suggested we read the parasha.
They asked me chant Kiddush, which I really like to do even though I know I can’t carry a tune. The meal was wonderful. Their large room is stocked with dishes and crock pots and every imaginable cooking implement, so nothing was lacking. I had brought challah and drinks and my little brother/study partner had made a wonderful appetizer of eggplant, pomegranate, and tahini. It was a nice meal and conversation warmed up, without, thankfully, turning to Jesus. However, they did discuss that patrilineal descent was more valid matrilineal because the bible says so; I let that go without comment.
Some time later, the son invited me to look at some apartments with the family one evening. The mother wanted me to live with them, but I made a point of telling their agent that I was getting a separate, one bedroom apartment. On the way back, the mother described her dream of having big Shabbos dinners for lots of Christians, to introduce them to “their” heritage. What a bizarre aspiration for a Jew, especially a new Jew, who should want to learn about her new religion! It’s even a bizarre aspiration for a Christian missionary. At least her focus does not seem to be on converting Jews, at least not directly, but Christian interest in / obsession with Jews and Judaism usually leads to frustration and then, when we don’t convert, violence.
* * *
At one point, I had to move out of the hostel for a week because it was fully booked. All the other hostels were fully booked, too. The representative from the municipality helped me find a hotel room. Although it wasn't a holiday, most of the hotels were booked and this one was quite expensive. I determined that I would focus on my enjoyment of hot showers and a decent bed but start looking for an apartment.
My plan had been to stay in the hostel a long time, so I could meet people and perhaps find roommates, but switching rooms constantly and having to go to a hotel was annoying and expensive. There were two apartments for rent near my ulpan. The less expensive one was nice, with a modern bathroom and some furniture. However, it was a two-bedroom and the only people I knew were the missionaries. My “little brother” was leaving the country soon, but his sister will stay in Jerusalem until her army service begins in April. She has never shown any signs of being a missionary, and she is so nice and smart, and also... I'm a fool. I needed an apartment right away. The landlady showed us the apartment and the sister liked it, too. However, when she brought her mother to see it and possibly rent the other one, I backed out. I came to Israel to be with Jews, not to be surrounded by the wife's Christian "disciples" every Shabbos.
The landlady was no fool, but the wife is. After the landlady had shown them the apartments, she asked me if there was something wrong with the family; I said that I was sure they’d be responsible tenants. Then she immediately asked if the mother was a missionary. I didn’t want to gossip and yet I did want to talk to someone. “I think so... I’m not sure,” I whined. She was certain; apparently the wife had started to say something incriminating and then cut herself off. The landlady declared she would absolutely not rent to missionaries.
She and her husband had moved away from a town in Israel to escape missionaries. I explained how awful it was to live in the hostel surrounded by them and she promised to invite me to Shabbos dinner. (I don't think that will materialize, but there's a young, Orthodox girl in my ulpan who has promised to take me to some shiurim.)
A Facebook friend in Canada urged me to turn them in; I would have preferred that she introduce me to some Israeli Jews. She posted about my situation in a Facebook group without my permission. The landlady gave me the contact information for an anti-missionary organization and told me to report the family. I wondered why she wouldn't. I did contact organization, but only to ask if Cyrus, a group that pays for Jews to ship their belongings to Israel, was a missionary organization. They sent me an article about a couple of Christian missionaries affiliated with Cyrus who had had their conversions revoked and were expelled from Israel. (I guess I'll be leaving my things in storage in the States indefinitely.)
* * *
I had become quite fond of the son. He did not intend to move to Israel with the rest of his family. He wanted to return to the States, go to college, and become a police officer. I felt that he was trapped in a situation of his parents’ making. I misunderstood and thought that he was merely obliged to help his family perpetrate a lie and that he was more honorable than that. I was proud of him and continued to study with him every day after ulpan.
One day, however, he began a conversation that revealed too much. He surprised me by asking me my religion. When I told him I was Jewish, he said, “That could mean anything.” (How can he have no idea what a Jew is after converting and applying to make aliyah?!) Then he asked if I believed in the messiah!
“I believe in the coming of the messiah,” I said firmly, then added, “and Jesus was NOT it.” He had turned his face away after my first statement, so I don’t know what he made of my second statement.
There was no way to ignore the truth after that conversation. I wasn’t angry with him, but I was angry. I wanted to yell at his mother. She and her husband had lied to their beit din, to the Israeli government, and to me — and they had made their son participate in that lie. What kind of parents would do that to their child?
Their son had only confirmed what I had already known, but I didn’t want his parents to know that he had spilled the beans. What they’ve done is a crime. I didn't want them to be angry with him. I wanted him to go back to the States and be an honest, Christian boy.
I say that I wasn't angry with him, but I was deeply upset that my "friend" had lied to me, and I was a basket case in ulpan the next few days. I was focusing on my confusion and sense of betrayal rather than the Hebrew we were learning. I understood that he couldn’t be honest, but there’s no way to have a conversation with someone who is hiding who he really is. Several times, after than, when I voiced Jewish ideas in connection with the Hebrew we were learning, he denigrated them.
How can he have no interest in Judaism when he has attended a synagogue and gone through a conversion? How can he believe that there is one literal interpretation of the bible and yet agree to violate the commandment not to lie? If he’s a Christian, why did he want to wear a tallis? I had to remind myself that he's a little boy and that it's absurd for a mature woman to feel that he has betrayed her friendship.
I can almost forgive my stupidity; he was my only friend and my study partner. Language is not something you can acquire on your own. However, his recognition of my commitment to Judaism put a strain on our friendship. He began to skip our after-ulpan study session and be a little less friendly toward me.
* * *
Before the son began skipping our study sessions, I had a conversation with his mother that frightened me:
One erev Shabbat, she came to my room and invited me to the Karaite shul. I declined at first. Then she told me that they don’t meet in Jerusalem often and I decided to take advantage of the opportunity even if it meant associating with missionaries. On our walk there, I finally recognized the depth of her contempt for Judaism.
She complained that the Jewish prayer book had been written by people and that the Karaite prayer book was superior because it was just the word of god. (I didn't point out that some person had to compile the Karaite prayer book and the Jewish siddur is definitely rooted in the bible even if she does not recognize it.) She also asserted that the Karaites are better than Jews because they don’t “believe in” the Talmud. (Guess she doesn't know that they had to write their own.) She asserted that the Oral Law is of no value, that it couldn't have come from Moses, and that it was entirely a creation of Rabbi Akiva.
I disagreed and told her about ben Zakkai who escaped Jerusalem and preserved the oral tradition in Yavneh. She did not like that and rushed ahead to walk with her son the rest of the way, leaving me far behind on the slippery, wet, Jerusalem stone, trying not to fall.
I’d always thought the expression “the oral law from Moses at Sinai” was a pious fiction, but during that walk I realized that, of course, Moses had had to interpret it, instruct the judges he appointed, who in turn had to interpret it, and then the people who learned from and followed those judges eventually faced situations that required further interpretation. It's reasonable to assume that the tradition of interpreting Torah and even some of the content goes back to Moses. (Only Christians, unversed in Jewish tradition could believe that go wants people to poke out other people's eyes. When you point this out, their response is always, "Oh, that the Jewish god." They don't notice the contradiction in that statement.)
This woman's views were Medieval Christian anti-Semitism! She believes that the way she, a middle aged woman from Missouri, understands the bible (in English) must be more correct than the way the Jewish people, who have lovingly preserved it for four thousand years, understand it. (You have to interpret the Bible! Even the Karaites certainly found out that it is impossible to read the bible literally.)
Later, I learned that she doesn’t believe in prayer at all! How can you be religious and not show your heart to god and let him transform it? (Edit: of course a Christian who believes that Judaism is nothing but prologue to Christianity isn't going to want to grow in her religion; then she'd have to accept that Judaism's developments since biblical times are valid, too.)
I was terrified of the mother after that conversation, but the night before she and her son returned to the States, I forced myself to go to her room and talk with her. I recommended that she read Constantine’s Sword. It’s a flawed book in many ways, but I hope if she reads it that she might begin to understand why Christians should stop being obsessed with Judaism. It wasn't not much, but it was the best I could do.
* * *
Since she and her son returned to the States, I keep finding myself chatting with their 21-year-old daughter, since the two of us attend the same ulpan and, until recently lived in the same hostel. She is very smart and accomplished and never mentions religion. I can’t put her in the same category as the rest of the family. And it's unlikely that she wants to convert Israeli Jews since she doesn't intend to stay here after she finishes her service as an IDF medic. Nonetheless, I know that I should just stay the hell away from her. How likely is it that she has a more positive attitude toward Judaism than her parents? Not likely at all.
She became a volunteer at the hostel in order to have an inexpensive place to live. Volunteers have to shower on the roof and I surprised myself by offering her the use of the shower in my room. One day, after ulpan, she said how adrift she feels without her family; she has never been away from them before. I felt for her. And I also felt that her mom would want me to look out for her — as if I owe her mother anything! I spent time with her and invited her to study the parasha with me on Shabbat (she declined that one).
I've had to move out of the hostel again, but I had her over for dinner at the hotel. I like her company and yet I feel bad for my good feelings toward her — it's a peculiar sensation.
It’s bad enough that I don’t protect myself from individuals who do not mean me well, but in this case, I’m not protecting my people from individuals who may intend all of us harm. (May? Come on, I know the history of Christian antisemitism and missionaries definitely mean us harm.)
but a central action of Christian history, reaching to the core of Christian character.
James Carrol - Constantine's Sword
Sadly, there's a Part 2.
