My Second Encounter

My second trip to Israel was for Passover in my senior year of high school. The purpose of this trip went beyond touring; our goal was to better understand and experience the culture in the country. The trip was part of a year-long program in which I participated in. The program had four pillars: Israel, Judaism, community service, and leadership.
We spent Shabbat in Jerusalem, attending synagogue on Friday night and walking through neighborhoods on Saturday. For the Friday night service I chose to go back to an Orthodox synagogue similar to the one I had attended on my previous trip. However, this specific synagogue was more liberal and progressive – the men and women were still separate, but instead of isolating the women in a shielded balcony, women stood on the same level but behind the men on the other side of a sheer curtain. It was still a different experience than what I am used to at home, but it felt more comfortable than what I had expected. This to me was a more logical way to interpret the idea that women distract men and therefore cannot pray in the same place. In some really progressive synagogues, women and men even stand next to each other with a simple curtain separating the two sexes.
The following day, we had the choice of what neighborhood to walk through and observe. I chose to walk through a religious neighborhood, but one that had a much younger, liberal population. However, four of my friends chose to expose themselves to the most extreme they could; the Neturei Karta neighborhood. Neturei Karta is a small sect of ultra-Orthodox Jews who reside primarily in Jerusalem. My friends spoke of their experience. They first noticed their extremely conservative attire – everyone was wearing only black and white and no one showed skin other than their faces. The men had beards and wore large black hats. The next thing they noticed were the posters on the walls. They were anti-Zionist posters written in Yiddish rather than Hebrew. This drew the attention the language these Neturei Karta Jews were speaking; they were speaking Yiddish, as well. In a future blog, I am going to explore the reasons for these practices.
Anyway, my friends expressed the reactions they got. While they all dressed respectfully and did not show their ankles or wrists, it was still clear that they were not native to the neighborhood. The members of the community did not even acknowledge their presence, which they said was hurtful.

My First Encounter

I have traveled to Israel twice in my life. The first time was during the summer going in to my junior year of high school. I traveled with 110 other students my age from around the San Francisco Bay Area to familiarize ourselves with the country primarily through tourism.
My first experience with Orthodox Jews was on my first trip. We spent our last Shabbat in Jerusalem. In three smaller groups, we went to different synagogues to participate in services. My group went to an Orthodox synagogue in a very religious neighborhood. We were told before we left the hostel that we had to cover our knees and elbows. As we walked through the neighborhood, we got many condescending looks from residents of the neighborhood. As we approached the synagogue, there were many children playing outside the synagogue. All of the children had peyas (religiously uncut hair before the ears) and wore black and white. As we walked by, we tried to be friendly and smile at the young boys and girls. I clearly remember one boy, who couldn’t have been more than three or four, turning his head and running the other direction. He had been raised not to look at people like us because we are women and we are not religious enough. I felt personally offended as this little boy ran away. He was non-verbally telling me that I wasn’t good enough. I understood that he was young at it was the way he was raised, but I couldn’t help but feel hurt – I consider myself Jewish, so why can’t they?
I felt even worse after walking into the synagogue. All of the women in my group had to walk upstairs, while the men could stay on the floor close to the Torah and Rabbi. I knew that this would be the case when I left for this service, but I had convinced myself that it wouldn’t feel as isolating. I knew the logic was that women distract men from their prayers and therefore need to be separated. However, I felt like an outcast. We were trapped in a balcony behind shades that we couldn’t see out of. I felt like a prisoner. In my synagogue that I was raised in, I am counted as a member of a minyan (ten or more Jews gathered together for prayer), but here I didn’t even feel like a person. While I was able to follow the service in this Orthodox synagogue, it felt more like a different religion than a different sect of the religion I grew up practicing.

Background and Plan of Action

I was born and raised Jewish; however, neither of my parents can say the same. My mother was raised in a pretty non-religious Protestant household, celebrating only the major holidays. Her best friends growing up were all Jewish so she was very exposed to the religion and would often go with her friends to Sunday school. Upon her graduation from college, she officially converted to the reform sect of Judaism.
My father was born into a slightly more religious Presbyterian family who attended Church occasionally, and attended Sunday school regularly. His maternal great-grandmother, however, was Jewish, but she married a Presbyterian man, and the children were all raised following his religion. Today, my dad still considers himself a Presbyterian, and while he does not actively practice the religion, he does attend Church on Christmas Eve.
In Judaism, it is said that the mother’s religion determines that of the child. Therefore, according to Israel’s law of the right of return, my father is eligible to claim citizenship, and be married and buried within the country. My mother, on the other hand, would be able to become a citizen, but would have to convert to Orthodox Judaism if she wanted to be married or buried in the state. This thought is troublesome to me because while my father currently works at my Jewish elementary school and has been supportive of my Judaism, he does not consider himself Jewish, but can become a citizen with all the rights of an Orthodox Jew. While I am happy that he is able to become a citizen, my mother, who spends a significant amount of time there every year and considers herself Jewish cannot be buried there without an official Orthodox conversion.
When I was in Israel this past April, I began to wonder what my status is if I were to choose to make Aliyah (claim citizenship). My mother converted before I was born and I was raised Jewish and had a bat mitzvah, but my mother is not considered “Jewish enough” according to the state’s religious law.
For my cultural encounter, I want to learn more about my status according to the country of Israel in terms of the views of very Orthodox Jews. I have not have very many interactions with Hasidic Jews, but they almost practice a different religion than the Judaism I practice. I am curious to learn more about their views and beliefs. I plan to do this through the few experiences I have had, as well as research and possibly attending a service and speaking with someone who practices the religion if they are willing to talk with me.