With apologies to Dr. Seuss)
Sam!
Will you never see?
They are not KOSHER,
So let me be!
I will not eat green eggs and ham.
I will not eat them, Sam-I-am.
But I'll eat green eggs with a biscuit.
Or I will try them with some brisket.
I'll eat green eggs in a box.
If you serve them with some lox.
And those green eggs are worth a try
Scrambled up inside some matzoh brie!
And in a boat upon the river,
I'll eat green eggs with chopped liver!
So if you're a Jewish Dr. Seuss fan,
But troubled by green eggs and ham,
Let your friends in on the scoop:
Green eggs taste best with chicken soup!
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
The Year Of Sholom Aleichem
“He adored us,” Bel Kaufman says of her grandfather, Sholom Aleichem, right. As the two would walk together holding hands, he would say, “The harder you hold my hand, the better I write!” she remembers. Michael Datikash
by Jonathan Mark
Associate Editor
In a Bronx winter, Sholom Aleichem turned 57 on March 2, 1916, eroded by tuberculosis, his prostate, diabetes and a broken heart — his son Misha had recently died in Europe after being denied entry at Ellis Island. His daughter was in Odessa. His “republic,” as he once laughingly called his large family, was scattered around this world and the Other World, let alone divided by the Great War’s trenches.
He could hear the elevated subway screech and rumble on Westchester Avenue as it entered and left the Intervale Avenue station, down the block from his Kelly Street walkup. Not long before, while on a speaking tour in Russia, he collapsed in Baranovich, was bedridden for weeks and his “beloved readers” spread straw on the
street beneath his window so his sleep wouldn’t be disturbed by the clip-clop of horses over the cobblestones. There wasn’t enough straw in the Bronx to soften his landing. Life was grim and closing in. He was nearly broke, losing his wife’s inheritance in the Kiev stock market, losing money from publishers and theatrical producers who got the better of him, losing touch with so many of his readers behind the war’s eastern front.
He had two months to live. He wrote his own epitaph: “Here lies a plain man who wrote in plain Yiddish ... And while the whole world was merry, and saw in him but gladness, poor man, he suffered on the quiet. God knows, but no one else did.”
The New York Times reported that more than 100,000 of his readers lined the streets for his funeral with “a crush that threatened to develop into a stampede,” to say goodbye. They loved him, and they knew he loved them back.
If his last days were sad, his afterlife has been splendid. His name is associated with a twinkle; “Fiddler On The Roof” cemented his fame, bringing new readers to new translations. This month, his 150th birthday, there were celebrations in Tel Aviv. Limmud FSU launched “The Year of Sholom Aleichem,” with young Kiev activists visiting his Pereyaslav birthplace. Ukraine opened a Sholom Aleichem museum and issued a stamp, a coin and a cultural prize in his name.
A Ukrainian television crew flew to New York to cover events here: A Sholom Aleichem Shabbat (March 7) at the New York Synagogue on East 58th Street, featuring Sholom Aleichem’s granddaughter Bel Kaufman (a writer herself, most famously for “Up The Down Staircase,”) and a celebration at the Players Club, later that evening, with Kaufman, Theodore Bikel, “Fiddler” composer Sheldon Harnick and author Pete Hamill. Penguin Classics released a new translation of the Tevye and Motl stories, and Viking released a new edition of “Wandering Stars,” his novel about a Yiddish theater troupe, with a foreword by Tony Kushner, author of “Angels in America.”
But let’s return to an Odessa long ago, when little Bel Kaufman would get letters with a Bronx postmark: “Dear Belichka, I am writing you to ask you to hurry and grow up so you can learn to write, and write me letters. In order to grow up it is necessary to drink milk, have your soup and vegetables, and fewer candies. Regards to your dolls. Your papa, Sholom Aleichem, who loves you very much.”
Then came a three-word cable in English. Chaim Nachman Bialik, Kaufman’s neighbor in Odessa, came over to translate: “Papa very sick.”
“I’m almost 98,” says Kaufman today, “the only descendant of Sholom Aleichem who knew him, because I’m so old.”
She was separated from him, in his final years, and didn’t see her grandmother Hodel (Olga), for several years more because of war and revolution. She last saw her Papa when she was 3, vacationing with her cousin Tamar in Bavaria.
“He had a little goatee,” Bel recalls, “and velvet vests. He had blonde hair, longish in the style of the time. And he had pince-nez glasses at the end of a black ribbon. He was very happy, so youthful and full of fun.
“He adored us.” As they walked he’d say, “The harder you hold my hand, the better I write!” Bel squeezed tighter. “Do you see that mountain? I just gave it to Tamarichka. Do you see this lake? I’m making a present of it to Belichka.”
They walked through a zoo, stopping in front of a monkey on a branch. “Papa takes a piece of paper, folds it into a cone, fills it with water from a nearby fountain, and lifts it up so the monkey can drink. The monkey refuses. Papa bends down to me, and I can still hear his voice: ‘Belichka, it’s a spoiled monkey.’ Papa refills the paper cone and drank and drank, very thirstily. Only later did I realize he was suffering from diabetes. But even about that he’d joke, ‘At least I know I won’t die of hunger. I’ll die of thirst.”
“The German landlady made us lovely dinners,” remembers Bel. Then war was declared. “No more lovely dinners. We had to escape,” she to Odessa, he to New York.
When “Fiddler” opened in 1964, The New York Times asked Isaac Bashevis Singer to explain Sholom Aleichem to a burgeoning audience. Singer, who could be acidic about other writers, responded with reverence: “Can a folk writer be a genius, and can a genius think and feel just like an average man? If such a phenomenon is possible, Sholom Aleichem is its closest approximation.”
He loved everyone and everything Jewish. Even when he became less religiously observant as he grew older, he never stopped writing stories about the exhilaration of the holidays and their seasons.
He was fiercely against intermarriage, saying that his children could have “whatever religious convictions they will, but I beg of them to guard their Jewish descent.” If they didn’t, he would disown. He had Tevye say of his intermarried child, Chava, “She is no longer my daughter. She died long ago.”
And yet, in a story written less than two years before he died, Sholom Aleichem had Tevya and Chava reconcile. He had Tevye address Sholom Aleichem himself: “Please don’t think badly of me that tears come to my eyes when I remember this ... After all, she was still my child ... How can a person be so harsh when God says of Himself that is an all-forgiving God? ... What do you say, Sholom Aleichem? You’re a Jew who writes books and gives advice to everybody. Tell me, what should Tevye have done?
“Goodbye,” says Tevye to Sholom Aleichem, “be well, and forgive me for filling your head with so many words. It will give you something to write about.”
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Teitel Brothers: A Jewish presence in Little Italy
Mar. 1, 2009
STACEY MORRIS, Special to The Jerusalem Post , THE JERUSALEM POST
Even before you arrive, the aroma of Teitel Brothers Imports greets you at the corner of Arthur Avenue and East 186th St. The confluence of Prosciutto, aging Provolone, and the sharp notes of Peccorino Romano wafts through the door, drifting past the pyramids of canned tomatoes and drums of olive oil on the sidewalk.
Colorful bunkers of imported food are a common sight within the three-block triangle of The Bronx's Belmont section, known by many New Yorkers as the city's "real Little Italy."
Not so standard is the emblem that welcomes customers to Teitel Brothers. Most are too distracted wedging themselves into the crowded store to notice that they just shuffled over a well-worn tile design of the Star of David.
It was cemented into place in 1915 when Austrian immigrants Jacob and Morris Teitel opened the business after moving from the Lower East Side to a neighborhood that was, and still is, flush with Italian merchants.
Today, Jacob's son Gilbert and his sons Jean, Michael, and Eddie stand shoulder-to-shoulder in white aprons behind the counter, slicing Cappicola and ringing sales under a crimson canopy of salami that hangs just above their heads.
Around the corner from them are Casa Della Mozzarella, Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church, and Terranova Bakery. On either side of Teitel Brothers Imports are Biancardi Meats, Randazzo's Fish Market and Oyster Bar, and Gino's Pastry Shop.
Despite being surrounded by Italian culture and Catholic iconography, Gilbert says he has never felt anything other than one of the family in the closely-knit constellation of Arthur Avenue merchants.
"We're part of the neighborhood like everyone else," he says with a shrug, handing a slice of Soppressata across the counter for a customer to sample. "My family has always felt welcome here. My father spoke Yiddish. And before he spoke English, he spoke Italian."
Three years ago, the city renamed a portion of 186th St. "Teitel Brothers Way."
Purists from Manhattan, New Jersey, and Connecticut flock to the tiny store for 100 different shapes of pasta, aged Balsamic vinegars, slabs of drying Baccala (salt cod), Amaretti di Saronno Cookies, and Super-Fine Wheat Flour.
When The New York Times gave a favorable review of their Don Luigi Sicilian Olive Oil, orders poured in through their Web site, some from as far away as Kuwait.
"We have some guys in the military over there who like the oil," Gilbert says with a smile.
Saturday foot traffic fills Teitel Brothers' interior to its gills. Crowds swell to such proportions that a guard is posted at the door to strong-arm the flow of customers when the store gets too packed for visitors to shop comfortably.
Business booms year-round, except on Jewish holidays, which Gilbert has declared sacrosanct. While the rest of Arthur Avenue bustles along with business as usual on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, Teitel Brothers is boarded up and dark.
"It's a very special family tradition," he explains. "We celebrate Pessah and the High Holy Days together and that's the way it's been for 91 years."
And in December, the Teitels decorate the exposed brick wall of their nearby warehouse with light displays of both a Christmas tree and a menorah.
Customers, Gilbert says, barely seem to take notice. They're more enthralled with what's inside his family's store, whether it's Apple Balsamic Vinegar, wheels of sheep's milk cheese from Rome, or aromatic jars of Sicilian sea salt with blood oranges.
Bronx resident Grace Botta steps to the counter for a pound of Prosciutto di Parma.
"I'm Napolitana - I buy everything here!" she shouts as Eddie wraps her order in white paper. "They have things no one else has."
At 37, Eddie is the youngest bearer of the family tradition. Like his grandfather, he answers questions in Italian from neighborhood residents while filling orders. "Solo due kilo," he says, reaching for a hammer and cinderblock-sized chunk of Torronne.
"I feel like Michelangelo whenever I do this," he smiles, chipping away at the nougat, a spray of almonds showering the counter.
Gilbert heads outside for a breather. The display window behind him glitters in the afternoon sun, a collage of red Tonno Trancio cans, jars of Lupini Beans and the silvery glint of olive oil drums.
"I look forward to the holidays. Observing them sets tradition," he says, waving to the pizzeria owner across the street. "I'm not going to change it and I don't think my sons are. After that, I hope my grandchildren continue it."
For more information on Teitel Brothers Imports, visit www.teitelbros.com
STACEY MORRIS, Special to The Jerusalem Post , THE JERUSALEM POST
Even before you arrive, the aroma of Teitel Brothers Imports greets you at the corner of Arthur Avenue and East 186th St. The confluence of Prosciutto, aging Provolone, and the sharp notes of Peccorino Romano wafts through the door, drifting past the pyramids of canned tomatoes and drums of olive oil on the sidewalk.
Colorful bunkers of imported food are a common sight within the three-block triangle of The Bronx's Belmont section, known by many New Yorkers as the city's "real Little Italy."
Not so standard is the emblem that welcomes customers to Teitel Brothers. Most are too distracted wedging themselves into the crowded store to notice that they just shuffled over a well-worn tile design of the Star of David.
It was cemented into place in 1915 when Austrian immigrants Jacob and Morris Teitel opened the business after moving from the Lower East Side to a neighborhood that was, and still is, flush with Italian merchants.
Today, Jacob's son Gilbert and his sons Jean, Michael, and Eddie stand shoulder-to-shoulder in white aprons behind the counter, slicing Cappicola and ringing sales under a crimson canopy of salami that hangs just above their heads.
Around the corner from them are Casa Della Mozzarella, Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church, and Terranova Bakery. On either side of Teitel Brothers Imports are Biancardi Meats, Randazzo's Fish Market and Oyster Bar, and Gino's Pastry Shop.
Despite being surrounded by Italian culture and Catholic iconography, Gilbert says he has never felt anything other than one of the family in the closely-knit constellation of Arthur Avenue merchants.
"We're part of the neighborhood like everyone else," he says with a shrug, handing a slice of Soppressata across the counter for a customer to sample. "My family has always felt welcome here. My father spoke Yiddish. And before he spoke English, he spoke Italian."
Three years ago, the city renamed a portion of 186th St. "Teitel Brothers Way."
Purists from Manhattan, New Jersey, and Connecticut flock to the tiny store for 100 different shapes of pasta, aged Balsamic vinegars, slabs of drying Baccala (salt cod), Amaretti di Saronno Cookies, and Super-Fine Wheat Flour.
When The New York Times gave a favorable review of their Don Luigi Sicilian Olive Oil, orders poured in through their Web site, some from as far away as Kuwait.
"We have some guys in the military over there who like the oil," Gilbert says with a smile.
Saturday foot traffic fills Teitel Brothers' interior to its gills. Crowds swell to such proportions that a guard is posted at the door to strong-arm the flow of customers when the store gets too packed for visitors to shop comfortably.
Business booms year-round, except on Jewish holidays, which Gilbert has declared sacrosanct. While the rest of Arthur Avenue bustles along with business as usual on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, Teitel Brothers is boarded up and dark.
"It's a very special family tradition," he explains. "We celebrate Pessah and the High Holy Days together and that's the way it's been for 91 years."
And in December, the Teitels decorate the exposed brick wall of their nearby warehouse with light displays of both a Christmas tree and a menorah.
Customers, Gilbert says, barely seem to take notice. They're more enthralled with what's inside his family's store, whether it's Apple Balsamic Vinegar, wheels of sheep's milk cheese from Rome, or aromatic jars of Sicilian sea salt with blood oranges.
Bronx resident Grace Botta steps to the counter for a pound of Prosciutto di Parma.
"I'm Napolitana - I buy everything here!" she shouts as Eddie wraps her order in white paper. "They have things no one else has."
At 37, Eddie is the youngest bearer of the family tradition. Like his grandfather, he answers questions in Italian from neighborhood residents while filling orders. "Solo due kilo," he says, reaching for a hammer and cinderblock-sized chunk of Torronne.
"I feel like Michelangelo whenever I do this," he smiles, chipping away at the nougat, a spray of almonds showering the counter.
Gilbert heads outside for a breather. The display window behind him glitters in the afternoon sun, a collage of red Tonno Trancio cans, jars of Lupini Beans and the silvery glint of olive oil drums.
"I look forward to the holidays. Observing them sets tradition," he says, waving to the pizzeria owner across the street. "I'm not going to change it and I don't think my sons are. After that, I hope my grandchildren continue it."
For more information on Teitel Brothers Imports, visit www.teitelbros.com
Israel’s holy warrior
Chief Rabbi Warren Goldstein has been accused of hardening attitudes in the Jewish community with his vociferous and creative defence of Israel, writes Bobby Jordan. The chief rabbi himself sees it as his duty to defend the country
Chief Rabbi Warren Goldstein talks in symphonies. If his back were turned he could be a conductor: hands leaping out sideways, head bobbing away like a maestro.
But this is not a concert hall and today there is no orchestra; Goldstein is expounding on the Arab-Israeli conflict, throwing his hands up, waving them around.
Even with hands expostulating, it seems Goldstein does not have enough signals to conduct the complex debate in his head. There is something frantic about the way his fingers mulch the air between us, then return, one hand at a time, to rest on the tip of his grey-tipped beard.
These are trying times for South Africa’s chief rabbi.
More than any other national religious leader, Goldstein must straddle an uncomfortable divide within his community and without, in this case between opposing views on the Middle East.
It is a divide that has become the address for a host of fundamental issues regarding human conduct: right versus wrong, David versus Goliath, tyranny versus democracy — familiar contests for many South Africans.
It is testament to the unfortunate inheritance of his office that Goldstein must remind me there is more to being the chief rabbi than mediating the Zionist debate.
“We should be careful that the Jewish community and my office don’ t become a one-issue thing,” Goldstein says.
The rabbi is right; there are plenty of other issues to talk about — something that is, for him at least, a talking point in itself: why do people like to talk about the Jews?
“When there’s a disproportionate focus on what Jews are doing, it touches on a form of anti-Semitism,” says Goldstein, adding that the problem stems largely from people conflating Zionism with Judaism, when criticism of Israel morphs dangerously into negative sentiment towards Jews.
By way of example, Goldstein points to recent anti-Semitic comments made by deputy foreign affairs minister Fatima Hajaig, who recently told a pro-Palestinian rally in Lenasia, Johannesburg, that “Jews control America”.
Says Goldstein: “What (Hajaig) shows is how the anti-Israel sentiment switches quickly into anti-Jewish sentiment — in practical terms the one switches into the other, they are two sides of the same coin.
“When the debate around the Middle East lurches towards demonisation and disproportionality. .. when that criticism becomes disproportionate, it lurches into anti-Semitism. ”
Some would say the chief rabbi’s public utterances have not helped dispel this conflation of Israel with Judaism. Many within his community label him a hardline orthodox conservative, a man who justifies any action by Israel as God’s will.
Goldstein says such criticism is unjustified: “I just do what I believe to be right. If and when the backlash comes, then it comes.
“What we need to do is create an atmosphere of tolerance in the country.
“There’s almost a sense that certain views on certain things are not acceptable. I can explain the way I see the Arab-Israeli conflict, but there are voices in South African society that say, hey, that’s not a legitimate position.
“They say, not only do I disagree with you, w hat you are saying is immoral and must be silenced. .. and you have no right to say it.
“ I have no problem with vehement disagreement, but every voice has to be heard,” Goldstein says.
The rabbi is also quick to counter talk that the Jewish community is less than optimistic about South Africa’s future — and that the Jews are frontrunners in a middle-class exodus from the new South Africa.
On the contrary, Goldstein says, the vast majority of Jews are committed to nation-building in whatever way they can.
“I think the Jewish community has always been very engaged with South Africa and with solving issues at any societal level. I’m proud of the contribution my community is making,” he says.
His view is shared by many influential religious and business leaders, who point to the chief rabbi’s energetic support for social-development projects. Goldstein’s public-speaking schedule is legendary, his performance heartfelt and polished.
Virtually single-handed, he has launched the Community Active Patrol , a crime-fighting initiative in Johannesburg that is said to have reduced contact crime by 80% in some areas.
Goldstein denies Jews are emigrating in droves, and says the community punches way above its weight in terms of nation-building: “One of the things I’ve found most surprising has been the sheer scale and number of outreach organisations driven by the Jewish community — it’s really on an incredible scale.
“And then there are all the contributions to the building of the new South Africa, whether it’s economics, law, medicine, media or politics.”
Political morality aside, Goldstein wears a kind of down-to-earth humanity that has warmed the heart of luminaries such as former president Nelson Mandela, who insisted on Goldstein to sanctify his marriage to Graça Machel at a private function prior to the formal ceremony.
He has earned praise for his rousing speeches, including his eulogy at the funeral of his predecessor, Chief Rabbi Cyril Harris, and at the memorial service held recently for political icon Helen Suzman.
His own inauguration five years ago at a mere 32 years of age — the youngest chief rabbi South Africa has known by at least 20 years — was addressed by then president Thabo Mbeki, under whose watch Goldstein joined the National Religious Leaders Forum.
There is something befitting the times in the rabbi’s blend of wry wit, his easy-going manner, and that endearing rabbinical habit of dropping biblical references about burning bushes and Moses on top of the mountain; there is also something vaguely anachronistic about it.
His bookish air is unsurprising, considering his schooling in middle-class Pretoria, followed by seven years of law school and simultaneous Talmudic studies.
He describes his father, High Court Judge Ezra Goldstein, as a stickler for “bonds of loyalty and commitment and doing the right thing”.
It is both ironic and probably hurtful, therefore, that Goldstein’s critics dismiss him as a loyalist to a regime doing a grievously wrong thing; it is a tag that flaps uncomfortably on a man who considers himself a do-gooder rather than an apologist for a bullying military power.
But it is precisely his public pronouncements in prominent newspaper columns that have , at least according to his critics, defined his rabbinical tenure — at the expense of his charity and development work.
Consider his comments which appeared recently in the Sunday Times: “Forced into war, Israel has conducted itself in a manner which has no precedent in human history.
“It has provided humanitarian aid, medical treatment and basic services to the people of Gaza and has distributed more than 800000 leaflets urging civilians living in targeted areas to evacuate.
“It even sends out mass SMSes to people living in areas about to be bombed.”
Not the kind of pacifist comment one would normally associate with prominent religious leaders.
Where others might speak out against bombing per se, or reiterate the need for a peaceful solution — Archbishop Desmond Tutu once famously risked his life to stop “comrades” from necklacing a township askari — Goldstein is more likely to decide to get a tongue piercing than criticise Israel.
By his own admission Goldstein is perhaps more involved in the conflict than he would choose to be; his personal beliefs are very much part of his Middle East equation.
“When you’re sitting on one side it’s always hard to be objective,” he says, punctuating the point with his index finger.
His stance has earned him the wrath of a section of his own Jewish community, including prominent academics and politicians such as former government minister Ronnie Kasrils and Professor Steven Friedman, who have distanced themselves from Israel’s strong-arm tactics in Palestine.
The rabbi has been too quick, his critics say, to condone Israel’s actions.
Says Friedman, who is research associate at the Institute for Democracy in SA and visiting professor of politics and international relations at Rhodes University: “(Goldstein’s) main function in life is not to interpret Jewish tradition and religious teachings to the world — his job is to look after the interests of the Jewish state.
“People like him have been responsible for radically changing this community. It has never been particularly tolerant or open, but the kind of absolutely uncritical identification of the religion with a particular state in the Middle East is new — and he has been a major function in that.”
Goldstein sees things differently.
He says his vociferous pro-Israel stance is a defensive reaction to violent assault from those who would obliterate the Jewish state: he is shielding the weakling, in other words, from the school yard bully.
In Goldstein’s view he is the messenger of truth, not the assassin — and the message of Israel is one of human rights and democracy in a land surrounded by heartless tyranny.
“Israel does everything it can to minimise civilian casualties while Hamas does everything in its power to maximise them,” he wrote in the Sunday Times.
Critics say South Africans have heard these kinds of glib polarities before — during apartheid.
But while the rabbi’s stance on Israel continues to stir up emotions, there is no such controversy around his unwavering support for a democratic South Africa.
Goldstein remains one of this country’s biggest fans, and tempers criticism of policies on crime and corruption with a fervent belief in South Africa’s potential.
His commitment has earned the praise of high-fliers in the Jewish community, such as Discovery Health CEO Adrian Gore: “I’m incredibly impressed with him. He comes across with a certain worldliness quite unusual for a religious leader.
“I also find him incredibly humble. He doesn’t come across as a hierarchical character who is here to tell you what to do,” says Gore.
Perhaps this is because Goldstein hasn’t quite finished figuring it out.
Or perhaps, being a true South African, he has imbibed the painful lesson of our transition: the moral high ground is never a promised land for a chosen few.
Chief Rabbi Warren Goldstein talks in symphonies. If his back were turned he could be a conductor: hands leaping out sideways, head bobbing away like a maestro.
But this is not a concert hall and today there is no orchestra; Goldstein is expounding on the Arab-Israeli conflict, throwing his hands up, waving them around.
Even with hands expostulating, it seems Goldstein does not have enough signals to conduct the complex debate in his head. There is something frantic about the way his fingers mulch the air between us, then return, one hand at a time, to rest on the tip of his grey-tipped beard.
These are trying times for South Africa’s chief rabbi.
More than any other national religious leader, Goldstein must straddle an uncomfortable divide within his community and without, in this case between opposing views on the Middle East.
It is a divide that has become the address for a host of fundamental issues regarding human conduct: right versus wrong, David versus Goliath, tyranny versus democracy — familiar contests for many South Africans.
It is testament to the unfortunate inheritance of his office that Goldstein must remind me there is more to being the chief rabbi than mediating the Zionist debate.
“We should be careful that the Jewish community and my office don’ t become a one-issue thing,” Goldstein says.
The rabbi is right; there are plenty of other issues to talk about — something that is, for him at least, a talking point in itself: why do people like to talk about the Jews?
“When there’s a disproportionate focus on what Jews are doing, it touches on a form of anti-Semitism,” says Goldstein, adding that the problem stems largely from people conflating Zionism with Judaism, when criticism of Israel morphs dangerously into negative sentiment towards Jews.
By way of example, Goldstein points to recent anti-Semitic comments made by deputy foreign affairs minister Fatima Hajaig, who recently told a pro-Palestinian rally in Lenasia, Johannesburg, that “Jews control America”.
Says Goldstein: “What (Hajaig) shows is how the anti-Israel sentiment switches quickly into anti-Jewish sentiment — in practical terms the one switches into the other, they are two sides of the same coin.
“When the debate around the Middle East lurches towards demonisation and disproportionality. .. when that criticism becomes disproportionate, it lurches into anti-Semitism. ”
Some would say the chief rabbi’s public utterances have not helped dispel this conflation of Israel with Judaism. Many within his community label him a hardline orthodox conservative, a man who justifies any action by Israel as God’s will.
Goldstein says such criticism is unjustified: “I just do what I believe to be right. If and when the backlash comes, then it comes.
“What we need to do is create an atmosphere of tolerance in the country.
“There’s almost a sense that certain views on certain things are not acceptable. I can explain the way I see the Arab-Israeli conflict, but there are voices in South African society that say, hey, that’s not a legitimate position.
“They say, not only do I disagree with you, w hat you are saying is immoral and must be silenced. .. and you have no right to say it.
“ I have no problem with vehement disagreement, but every voice has to be heard,” Goldstein says.
The rabbi is also quick to counter talk that the Jewish community is less than optimistic about South Africa’s future — and that the Jews are frontrunners in a middle-class exodus from the new South Africa.
On the contrary, Goldstein says, the vast majority of Jews are committed to nation-building in whatever way they can.
“I think the Jewish community has always been very engaged with South Africa and with solving issues at any societal level. I’m proud of the contribution my community is making,” he says.
His view is shared by many influential religious and business leaders, who point to the chief rabbi’s energetic support for social-development projects. Goldstein’s public-speaking schedule is legendary, his performance heartfelt and polished.
Virtually single-handed, he has launched the Community Active Patrol , a crime-fighting initiative in Johannesburg that is said to have reduced contact crime by 80% in some areas.
Goldstein denies Jews are emigrating in droves, and says the community punches way above its weight in terms of nation-building: “One of the things I’ve found most surprising has been the sheer scale and number of outreach organisations driven by the Jewish community — it’s really on an incredible scale.
“And then there are all the contributions to the building of the new South Africa, whether it’s economics, law, medicine, media or politics.”
Political morality aside, Goldstein wears a kind of down-to-earth humanity that has warmed the heart of luminaries such as former president Nelson Mandela, who insisted on Goldstein to sanctify his marriage to Graça Machel at a private function prior to the formal ceremony.
He has earned praise for his rousing speeches, including his eulogy at the funeral of his predecessor, Chief Rabbi Cyril Harris, and at the memorial service held recently for political icon Helen Suzman.
His own inauguration five years ago at a mere 32 years of age — the youngest chief rabbi South Africa has known by at least 20 years — was addressed by then president Thabo Mbeki, under whose watch Goldstein joined the National Religious Leaders Forum.
There is something befitting the times in the rabbi’s blend of wry wit, his easy-going manner, and that endearing rabbinical habit of dropping biblical references about burning bushes and Moses on top of the mountain; there is also something vaguely anachronistic about it.
His bookish air is unsurprising, considering his schooling in middle-class Pretoria, followed by seven years of law school and simultaneous Talmudic studies.
He describes his father, High Court Judge Ezra Goldstein, as a stickler for “bonds of loyalty and commitment and doing the right thing”.
It is both ironic and probably hurtful, therefore, that Goldstein’s critics dismiss him as a loyalist to a regime doing a grievously wrong thing; it is a tag that flaps uncomfortably on a man who considers himself a do-gooder rather than an apologist for a bullying military power.
But it is precisely his public pronouncements in prominent newspaper columns that have , at least according to his critics, defined his rabbinical tenure — at the expense of his charity and development work.
Consider his comments which appeared recently in the Sunday Times: “Forced into war, Israel has conducted itself in a manner which has no precedent in human history.
“It has provided humanitarian aid, medical treatment and basic services to the people of Gaza and has distributed more than 800000 leaflets urging civilians living in targeted areas to evacuate.
“It even sends out mass SMSes to people living in areas about to be bombed.”
Not the kind of pacifist comment one would normally associate with prominent religious leaders.
Where others might speak out against bombing per se, or reiterate the need for a peaceful solution — Archbishop Desmond Tutu once famously risked his life to stop “comrades” from necklacing a township askari — Goldstein is more likely to decide to get a tongue piercing than criticise Israel.
By his own admission Goldstein is perhaps more involved in the conflict than he would choose to be; his personal beliefs are very much part of his Middle East equation.
“When you’re sitting on one side it’s always hard to be objective,” he says, punctuating the point with his index finger.
His stance has earned him the wrath of a section of his own Jewish community, including prominent academics and politicians such as former government minister Ronnie Kasrils and Professor Steven Friedman, who have distanced themselves from Israel’s strong-arm tactics in Palestine.
The rabbi has been too quick, his critics say, to condone Israel’s actions.
Says Friedman, who is research associate at the Institute for Democracy in SA and visiting professor of politics and international relations at Rhodes University: “(Goldstein’s) main function in life is not to interpret Jewish tradition and religious teachings to the world — his job is to look after the interests of the Jewish state.
“People like him have been responsible for radically changing this community. It has never been particularly tolerant or open, but the kind of absolutely uncritical identification of the religion with a particular state in the Middle East is new — and he has been a major function in that.”
Goldstein sees things differently.
He says his vociferous pro-Israel stance is a defensive reaction to violent assault from those who would obliterate the Jewish state: he is shielding the weakling, in other words, from the school yard bully.
In Goldstein’s view he is the messenger of truth, not the assassin — and the message of Israel is one of human rights and democracy in a land surrounded by heartless tyranny.
“Israel does everything it can to minimise civilian casualties while Hamas does everything in its power to maximise them,” he wrote in the Sunday Times.
Critics say South Africans have heard these kinds of glib polarities before — during apartheid.
But while the rabbi’s stance on Israel continues to stir up emotions, there is no such controversy around his unwavering support for a democratic South Africa.
Goldstein remains one of this country’s biggest fans, and tempers criticism of policies on crime and corruption with a fervent belief in South Africa’s potential.
His commitment has earned the praise of high-fliers in the Jewish community, such as Discovery Health CEO Adrian Gore: “I’m incredibly impressed with him. He comes across with a certain worldliness quite unusual for a religious leader.
“I also find him incredibly humble. He doesn’t come across as a hierarchical character who is here to tell you what to do,” says Gore.
Perhaps this is because Goldstein hasn’t quite finished figuring it out.
Or perhaps, being a true South African, he has imbibed the painful lesson of our transition: the moral high ground is never a promised land for a chosen few.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Interesting article about the Jews of Gibraltar
One on One: 'Israel is our insurance'
Mar. 4, 2009
Ruthie Blum Leibowitz , THE JERUSALEM POST
'Though we Jews in Gibraltar always say that the Rock is very much our own place, we call it Yerushalayim haktana [little Jerusalem]," says Gibraltar Mayor Solomon ("Momy") Levy, here on a private visit to the actual capital of the country last month.
Levy, 72, has the distinction of being the first civic mayor of the British-governed Spanish neighbor where he was born and bred - as an Orthodox Jew.
The office, says Levy, used to be a political appointment. But, according to the New Gibraltar Constitution (of 2006), a different mayor is to be appointed each year. "And I am proud to be the first in this category," he asserts, beaming.
This is not the only source of pride the job awards Levy - a successful real-estate agent and key figure in the Jewish community - whose term ends on July 31.
"The first mayor ever was my late uncle, Sir Joshua Hassan, who served for 21 years, before becoming Gibraltar's chief minister," explains Levy. "And I'm especially proud, because the robe and hat I wear now are the same ones that my uncle wore in the 1950s. Other than he and myself, nobody else has worn them so far."
The dapper man-about-town type, who walks around Gibraltar in a Panama hat, yet wears a kippa for prayers and during meals, says, "I'm Orthodox, but not ultra-Orthodox. I like to mix with everybody. My motto has always been that in Gibraltar we are all one big family."
How did there come to be such a serious Jewish community on the Rock of Gibraltar?
In the 1713 Treaty of Utrecht, which helped end the War of the Spanish Succession, Spain ceded Gibraltar and Minorca to Great Britain. It is still valid. And it's interesting to note that Article 10 of the treaty says that no Jews or Moors will live on the Rock. So, technically, I'm not supposed to be living there. But my family has lived in Gibraltar for 250 years. My father's side came from Morocco, and my mother's from France and Manchester. Trade was good. The first Jew appeared in 1708, and he got a job as a postman with the army. Of course, all who came over originally were from Spain. So we are all Sephardim - although we accept Ashkenazim, too [he laughs].
At first, because the treaty forbade Jews from living on the Rock, they weren't allowed to own property. But around the late 1700s, the governor said, "These people aren't so bad, after all. Let's allow them to buy property."
On the first plot they bought, they built a synagogue. Since then, three more have been built. So, with a Jewish population of 650 - among a total of 30,000 - we've got four shuls, a kollel, a Talmud Torah for children aged four to 11, one Jewish private school for boys and another for girls. Before going off to university [abroad], most of the kids spend a year at a yeshiva in Israel. My son, for example, attended a yeshiva in Bayit Vegan [in Jerusalem] and then went to Cambridge.
We also have two kosher restaurants - one meat and one dairy. [In spite of being Sephardic, here he uses the Yiddish terms, fleishik and milchik.] And the only bakery in the whole of Gibraltar is a kosher one, so non-Jews in Gibraltar get very annoyed when Pessah comes around [during which time observant Jews eat only unleavened products]. We also have the best selection of kosher wines in the Iberian Peninsula. But mohalim [circumcisers] have to be brought in from London. With all due respect to Chabad, we don't need it, because we are self-sufficient.
Has intermarriage been an issue in your family?
During World War II, when everyone was evacuated from the Rock, there ended up being many mixed marriages. Some of the couples used to go to Morocco to get a quickie conversion and then come back. But, baruch hashem [thank God], in the early 1950s, we had a rabbi who convinced boys to go to yeshiva. And since then, there's been no problem.
It used to be true of Israel - and, to some extent, still is - that everybody was either Orthodox or secular, and that Conservative and Reform congregations were only attended by people from other countries. Is this true of Gibraltar as well?
Ninety percent of the Jews on the Rock are Orthodox. The others live alongside the rest of the community with no problem. All of our synagogues are Orthodox; we have no Conservative or Reform.
During the summer, we get a lot of Jewish tourism. Jews visiting southern Spain always make it a point to come to Gibraltar on Friday afternoons to have an Orthodox Shabbat.
They are amazed to see how well our community functions, on the one hand, and how good our relations are with other religions, on the other. The first thing I did when I became mayor was to summon the Roman Catholic bishop, the imam, the rabbi and the Protestant vicar. We all joined hands, and that became a famous photo in Gibraltar - as an example to the world.
The climate in Britain these days is nothing like what you describe - particularly where Muslim attitudes toward Jews are concerned. The capital has been called Londonistan, and universities have boycotted Israeli professors. There is growing anti-Semitism. Does Gibraltar have no fallout from this phenomenon?
No. In 1969, when [General Francisco] Franco closed the frontier between Spain and Gibraltar, we were left without any workers, so we had to import Moroccans, who are all Muslims. I am a real-estate agent. I manage property. At least 500 of my tenants are Moroccan. And we've had no problems with them whatsoever.
They come to work. They are well-treated. Consequently, they forget all this radicalism. They used to say to me, "We fight for our stomachs."
How much concern is there among the Jews in Gibraltar over the events in Israel?
There is great concern. When I became mayor, the first official visit I hosted was from Israeli Ambassador to Britain Ron Prosor. He was happy to see how pro-Israel we are. Perhaps it's selfish on our part, but Israel is our insurance. Because, has veshalom [God forbid], if anything were to happen, we would go to Israel.
Yet you pride yourself on being British...
Indeed. [Here he produces a photo of the queen adjusting his tie.] That was in 1999, when I was awarded the MBE - Member of the British Empire. My brother, a rabbi in Britain, calls it the "mi shebeirach [Hebrew prayer for health and well-being] of Elizabeth."
I had been at Buckingham Palace 43 years earlier, when my uncle received the CBE - Commander of the British Empire. So, when the queen was pinning the MBE on me, I told her this.
"Who is your late uncle?" she asked. "The late Sir Joshua Hassan - who got three knighthoods," I said.
"I remember him very well," she said.
The next day, Lord Janner, president of the Holocaust Educational Trust, rang me up and said he had a spare invitation to Buckingham Palace that afternoon. He asked if I'd like to come along, even though I'd been there the day before. "I never refuse a good offer," I said.
When I got there, I approached the queen. "Your Majesty," I said, "it would be the dream of the Gibraltarians if you were to visit us in the millennium."
"Look what happened last time I was in Gibraltar," she said.
She was referring to a visit she paid to the Rock in 1954, which caused big trouble, because Franco said that no English sovereign could touch Spanish soil without his permission.
"Yes, ma'am, but the Rock belongs to you."
"But what will my cousin say?" she answered.
Having been in the army in Gibraltar for 18 years, I stood at attention. "With all due respect to his majesty, the king of Spain," I said, "the Rock of Gibraltar belongs to her majesty the queen."
Then I went away.
The following week, she went to lunch with Lord Mayor of London Peter Levine, a Jew. As lord mayor, he has to have a chaplain, which is normally a priest. But being Jewish, his was a rabbi - and that rabbi was my brother. So, the queen came to the lunch, and the lord mayor introduced her to his chaplain, "Rabbi Levy from Gibraltar."
At this, the queen said, "Last week, I had a chap at home who tried to persuade me to come to Gibraltar."
"That was my brother," he said. To which the queen replied, "You seem to be everywhere."
Aren't there Gibraltarians who want independence from Britain?
Only a handful, and it's not serious. We can never have independence; the most we can - and do - have is self-determination. We look after all our affairs, except for foreign, which are handled by the British government. We have a self-contained economy - which is why the global financial crisis didn't hit us - our own taxation and parliament. Britain is our governing body, but we're not a colony any more.
Why is there still hostility in Gibraltar toward Spain?
Because it treated us very badly. I mean, it closed the frontier for 18 years!
Aren't you more Spanish culturally than British, however?
We have the best of both worlds. For example, the official language is English, but I have a saying: "British we are; British we will stay, but Spanish we speak all day." So, in school, the kids speak English, and in the playground, Spanish.
I am a lover of zarzuela, a Spanish opera. I attend a lot of Spanish plays. And though I shouldn't say so, I also love bull-fighting. You go there with your sandwiches and bottle of wine - in my case kosher wine...
I go to Madrid quite often. And Spaniards come to Gibraltar frequently, often commenting on how many Jews there are there. In spite of our small number, our synagogues are all near each other, and we're such a tight community that we seem more numerous.
Speaking of numbers, do you anticipate a gradual dwindling of the Jewish community in Gibraltar, as is happening in the rest of the Diaspora?
If anything, we might increase. Somehow or other, since 1945, we've stayed about the same number. My brothers married English women, but I married a Gibraltarian. She is 10 years younger than I, so we weren't in the same class in school, and there wasn't the problem of familiarity that sometimes hinders coupling. When my wife was a little girl, I was already gallivanting around in a sports car, traveling to Spain and living the life of a bachelor. But then the frontier was closed, so I got married. [He laughs] Franco actually did a mitzva for me by closing it.
Anyway, we came on our honeymoon to Israel.
Since then, you have visited frequently. What was your first experience of the country?
When I was a young boy, we didn't have enough Jewish education in Gibraltar, so my father sent me to [the now defunct] Carmel College in the UK. Its founder and principal was the late Rabbi Kopul Rosen, father of Rabbi David Rosen [the former chief rabbi of Ireland and currently chairman of the International Jewish Committee for Interreligious Consultations], with whom I've kept in touch. On this visit, I asked him if I could visit his father's grave, and I did.
Next to my parents, Rabbi Rosen taught me a tremendous amount. In Gibraltar, I'm known as one of the most elegantly dressed men. I learned that from Kopul Rosen.
Before attending Carmel College, I had never been to Israel, so I wasn't familiar with the Israeli mentality. And all the Israeli boys I met in England seemed arrogant and boastful - as though they were special. I could never understand that attitude. Since then, however, after coming here regularly and seeing the wonders that have been done here, I realize that their attitude was justified.
Mar. 4, 2009
Ruthie Blum Leibowitz , THE JERUSALEM POST
'Though we Jews in Gibraltar always say that the Rock is very much our own place, we call it Yerushalayim haktana [little Jerusalem]," says Gibraltar Mayor Solomon ("Momy") Levy, here on a private visit to the actual capital of the country last month.
Levy, 72, has the distinction of being the first civic mayor of the British-governed Spanish neighbor where he was born and bred - as an Orthodox Jew.
The office, says Levy, used to be a political appointment. But, according to the New Gibraltar Constitution (of 2006), a different mayor is to be appointed each year. "And I am proud to be the first in this category," he asserts, beaming.
This is not the only source of pride the job awards Levy - a successful real-estate agent and key figure in the Jewish community - whose term ends on July 31.
"The first mayor ever was my late uncle, Sir Joshua Hassan, who served for 21 years, before becoming Gibraltar's chief minister," explains Levy. "And I'm especially proud, because the robe and hat I wear now are the same ones that my uncle wore in the 1950s. Other than he and myself, nobody else has worn them so far."
The dapper man-about-town type, who walks around Gibraltar in a Panama hat, yet wears a kippa for prayers and during meals, says, "I'm Orthodox, but not ultra-Orthodox. I like to mix with everybody. My motto has always been that in Gibraltar we are all one big family."
How did there come to be such a serious Jewish community on the Rock of Gibraltar?
In the 1713 Treaty of Utrecht, which helped end the War of the Spanish Succession, Spain ceded Gibraltar and Minorca to Great Britain. It is still valid. And it's interesting to note that Article 10 of the treaty says that no Jews or Moors will live on the Rock. So, technically, I'm not supposed to be living there. But my family has lived in Gibraltar for 250 years. My father's side came from Morocco, and my mother's from France and Manchester. Trade was good. The first Jew appeared in 1708, and he got a job as a postman with the army. Of course, all who came over originally were from Spain. So we are all Sephardim - although we accept Ashkenazim, too [he laughs].
At first, because the treaty forbade Jews from living on the Rock, they weren't allowed to own property. But around the late 1700s, the governor said, "These people aren't so bad, after all. Let's allow them to buy property."
On the first plot they bought, they built a synagogue. Since then, three more have been built. So, with a Jewish population of 650 - among a total of 30,000 - we've got four shuls, a kollel, a Talmud Torah for children aged four to 11, one Jewish private school for boys and another for girls. Before going off to university [abroad], most of the kids spend a year at a yeshiva in Israel. My son, for example, attended a yeshiva in Bayit Vegan [in Jerusalem] and then went to Cambridge.
We also have two kosher restaurants - one meat and one dairy. [In spite of being Sephardic, here he uses the Yiddish terms, fleishik and milchik.] And the only bakery in the whole of Gibraltar is a kosher one, so non-Jews in Gibraltar get very annoyed when Pessah comes around [during which time observant Jews eat only unleavened products]. We also have the best selection of kosher wines in the Iberian Peninsula. But mohalim [circumcisers] have to be brought in from London. With all due respect to Chabad, we don't need it, because we are self-sufficient.
Has intermarriage been an issue in your family?
During World War II, when everyone was evacuated from the Rock, there ended up being many mixed marriages. Some of the couples used to go to Morocco to get a quickie conversion and then come back. But, baruch hashem [thank God], in the early 1950s, we had a rabbi who convinced boys to go to yeshiva. And since then, there's been no problem.
It used to be true of Israel - and, to some extent, still is - that everybody was either Orthodox or secular, and that Conservative and Reform congregations were only attended by people from other countries. Is this true of Gibraltar as well?
Ninety percent of the Jews on the Rock are Orthodox. The others live alongside the rest of the community with no problem. All of our synagogues are Orthodox; we have no Conservative or Reform.
During the summer, we get a lot of Jewish tourism. Jews visiting southern Spain always make it a point to come to Gibraltar on Friday afternoons to have an Orthodox Shabbat.
They are amazed to see how well our community functions, on the one hand, and how good our relations are with other religions, on the other. The first thing I did when I became mayor was to summon the Roman Catholic bishop, the imam, the rabbi and the Protestant vicar. We all joined hands, and that became a famous photo in Gibraltar - as an example to the world.
The climate in Britain these days is nothing like what you describe - particularly where Muslim attitudes toward Jews are concerned. The capital has been called Londonistan, and universities have boycotted Israeli professors. There is growing anti-Semitism. Does Gibraltar have no fallout from this phenomenon?
No. In 1969, when [General Francisco] Franco closed the frontier between Spain and Gibraltar, we were left without any workers, so we had to import Moroccans, who are all Muslims. I am a real-estate agent. I manage property. At least 500 of my tenants are Moroccan. And we've had no problems with them whatsoever.
They come to work. They are well-treated. Consequently, they forget all this radicalism. They used to say to me, "We fight for our stomachs."
How much concern is there among the Jews in Gibraltar over the events in Israel?
There is great concern. When I became mayor, the first official visit I hosted was from Israeli Ambassador to Britain Ron Prosor. He was happy to see how pro-Israel we are. Perhaps it's selfish on our part, but Israel is our insurance. Because, has veshalom [God forbid], if anything were to happen, we would go to Israel.
Yet you pride yourself on being British...
Indeed. [Here he produces a photo of the queen adjusting his tie.] That was in 1999, when I was awarded the MBE - Member of the British Empire. My brother, a rabbi in Britain, calls it the "mi shebeirach [Hebrew prayer for health and well-being] of Elizabeth."
I had been at Buckingham Palace 43 years earlier, when my uncle received the CBE - Commander of the British Empire. So, when the queen was pinning the MBE on me, I told her this.
"Who is your late uncle?" she asked. "The late Sir Joshua Hassan - who got three knighthoods," I said.
"I remember him very well," she said.
The next day, Lord Janner, president of the Holocaust Educational Trust, rang me up and said he had a spare invitation to Buckingham Palace that afternoon. He asked if I'd like to come along, even though I'd been there the day before. "I never refuse a good offer," I said.
When I got there, I approached the queen. "Your Majesty," I said, "it would be the dream of the Gibraltarians if you were to visit us in the millennium."
"Look what happened last time I was in Gibraltar," she said.
She was referring to a visit she paid to the Rock in 1954, which caused big trouble, because Franco said that no English sovereign could touch Spanish soil without his permission.
"Yes, ma'am, but the Rock belongs to you."
"But what will my cousin say?" she answered.
Having been in the army in Gibraltar for 18 years, I stood at attention. "With all due respect to his majesty, the king of Spain," I said, "the Rock of Gibraltar belongs to her majesty the queen."
Then I went away.
The following week, she went to lunch with Lord Mayor of London Peter Levine, a Jew. As lord mayor, he has to have a chaplain, which is normally a priest. But being Jewish, his was a rabbi - and that rabbi was my brother. So, the queen came to the lunch, and the lord mayor introduced her to his chaplain, "Rabbi Levy from Gibraltar."
At this, the queen said, "Last week, I had a chap at home who tried to persuade me to come to Gibraltar."
"That was my brother," he said. To which the queen replied, "You seem to be everywhere."
Aren't there Gibraltarians who want independence from Britain?
Only a handful, and it's not serious. We can never have independence; the most we can - and do - have is self-determination. We look after all our affairs, except for foreign, which are handled by the British government. We have a self-contained economy - which is why the global financial crisis didn't hit us - our own taxation and parliament. Britain is our governing body, but we're not a colony any more.
Why is there still hostility in Gibraltar toward Spain?
Because it treated us very badly. I mean, it closed the frontier for 18 years!
Aren't you more Spanish culturally than British, however?
We have the best of both worlds. For example, the official language is English, but I have a saying: "British we are; British we will stay, but Spanish we speak all day." So, in school, the kids speak English, and in the playground, Spanish.
I am a lover of zarzuela, a Spanish opera. I attend a lot of Spanish plays. And though I shouldn't say so, I also love bull-fighting. You go there with your sandwiches and bottle of wine - in my case kosher wine...
I go to Madrid quite often. And Spaniards come to Gibraltar frequently, often commenting on how many Jews there are there. In spite of our small number, our synagogues are all near each other, and we're such a tight community that we seem more numerous.
Speaking of numbers, do you anticipate a gradual dwindling of the Jewish community in Gibraltar, as is happening in the rest of the Diaspora?
If anything, we might increase. Somehow or other, since 1945, we've stayed about the same number. My brothers married English women, but I married a Gibraltarian. She is 10 years younger than I, so we weren't in the same class in school, and there wasn't the problem of familiarity that sometimes hinders coupling. When my wife was a little girl, I was already gallivanting around in a sports car, traveling to Spain and living the life of a bachelor. But then the frontier was closed, so I got married. [He laughs] Franco actually did a mitzva for me by closing it.
Anyway, we came on our honeymoon to Israel.
Since then, you have visited frequently. What was your first experience of the country?
When I was a young boy, we didn't have enough Jewish education in Gibraltar, so my father sent me to [the now defunct] Carmel College in the UK. Its founder and principal was the late Rabbi Kopul Rosen, father of Rabbi David Rosen [the former chief rabbi of Ireland and currently chairman of the International Jewish Committee for Interreligious Consultations], with whom I've kept in touch. On this visit, I asked him if I could visit his father's grave, and I did.
Next to my parents, Rabbi Rosen taught me a tremendous amount. In Gibraltar, I'm known as one of the most elegantly dressed men. I learned that from Kopul Rosen.
Before attending Carmel College, I had never been to Israel, so I wasn't familiar with the Israeli mentality. And all the Israeli boys I met in England seemed arrogant and boastful - as though they were special. I could never understand that attitude. Since then, however, after coming here regularly and seeing the wonders that have been done here, I realize that their attitude was justified.
Monday, March 2, 2009
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