יום שני, 22 בפברואר 2010
In the morning of August 1, 1989, I landed in JFK airport, New York. At first, I stayed with my sister who lived in New York, conducting a Jewish religious lifestyle with her converted husband.
I did not identify with the same emotions about Judaism as my sister and her spouse. This new path he chose for himself, the recognition of truth I viewed subjectively as simply an emotional reaction at that time. Therefore, even though I was impressed by his personality, I needed to explore the world myself.
In the following two weeks, my cousin, Gabriel, joined me from Israel and together we rented an apartment in Queens. This period of my life can be summed up as running from pubs to bars, from one cocktail party to the next, from Downtown to the Village, happenings in Central Park and museums in the Upper East Side of Manhattan. I let myself be drawn into the vast, warm sea of a life with no meaning, specifically a purposeless existence. I was carried away by the pleasant, easy empty existence, until I recognized the change in myself with my own eyes.
The need to cut myself off led to the point of an intellectual rebellion until I was no longer sympathetic towards Zionism and traditional Judaism. I disgraced it all in my heart. My ties with my family in Israel, and even my sister and her husband, living on the other side of New York, began to weaken. Eventually, I stopped visiting altogether. I found myself in the company of a non-Jewish European woman. We even contemplated the idea of marriage. I befriended other former Israelis that were also looking to disengage.
One evening I went out to a party along with some friends. I realized in the pub that it was Yom Kippur. "I don't feel badly about this,” I told myself. From my point of view, my materialistic life was in and of itself a type of search. Suddenly, sitting in the pub by the bar, I couldn't stop the spontaneous flow of memories overpowering me. I had visions of nostalgia of my childhood, the holiness of the synagogue, of my grandfather, wrapped in a white tallit standing by the bimah crying Kol Nidrei and the congregation crying out loud as they answer him in prayer. I asked myself, Where am I going with my life? Three years of my life had flown by me… What have I learned in the school of life?
During the next following months, I came to a realization that I was tricking myself. It is impossible to live without any meaning in life.
I felt the bitterness of this rebellion and denial. I felt the need to get up and actively search, not allowing time to slip away. I began opening books. First I bought “Man in Search of Meaning” by Victor Frankel. Afterwards, I read books on meditation and yoga. I became a vegetarian, and even, with great difficulty, stopped smoking. All this while taking flying lessons on Long Island.
About the duration of my spiritual and physical journey I will tell to you in the next issue.
I did not identify with the same emotions about Judaism as my sister and her spouse. This new path he chose for himself, the recognition of truth I viewed subjectively as simply an emotional reaction at that time. Therefore, even though I was impressed by his personality, I needed to explore the world myself.
In the following two weeks, my cousin, Gabriel, joined me from Israel and together we rented an apartment in Queens. This period of my life can be summed up as running from pubs to bars, from one cocktail party to the next, from Downtown to the Village, happenings in Central Park and museums in the Upper East Side of Manhattan. I let myself be drawn into the vast, warm sea of a life with no meaning, specifically a purposeless existence. I was carried away by the pleasant, easy empty existence, until I recognized the change in myself with my own eyes.
The need to cut myself off led to the point of an intellectual rebellion until I was no longer sympathetic towards Zionism and traditional Judaism. I disgraced it all in my heart. My ties with my family in Israel, and even my sister and her husband, living on the other side of New York, began to weaken. Eventually, I stopped visiting altogether. I found myself in the company of a non-Jewish European woman. We even contemplated the idea of marriage. I befriended other former Israelis that were also looking to disengage.
One evening I went out to a party along with some friends. I realized in the pub that it was Yom Kippur. "I don't feel badly about this,” I told myself. From my point of view, my materialistic life was in and of itself a type of search. Suddenly, sitting in the pub by the bar, I couldn't stop the spontaneous flow of memories overpowering me. I had visions of nostalgia of my childhood, the holiness of the synagogue, of my grandfather, wrapped in a white tallit standing by the bimah crying Kol Nidrei and the congregation crying out loud as they answer him in prayer. I asked myself, Where am I going with my life? Three years of my life had flown by me… What have I learned in the school of life?
During the next following months, I came to a realization that I was tricking myself. It is impossible to live without any meaning in life.
I felt the bitterness of this rebellion and denial. I felt the need to get up and actively search, not allowing time to slip away. I began opening books. First I bought “Man in Search of Meaning” by Victor Frankel. Afterwards, I read books on meditation and yoga. I became a vegetarian, and even, with great difficulty, stopped smoking. All this while taking flying lessons on Long Island.
About the duration of my spiritual and physical journey I will tell to you in the next issue.
Rabbi Assor
Conversations as the Most Powerful Lessons
Years before I became a rabbi, while at flight school during recess from a plane structure class, one of the students asked me, "where are you from?" "Israel," I said. "Are all Israelis Jews?" he inquired further. "Not necessarily, but most of them are." I said. "We are farmers, and rabbis come to our farm to buy animals to slaughter” he said. “They feel the animals with their hands in a strange way...What are they looking for?" "I don’t know about such things," I said. "Well," the cowboy said proudly, "we have one thing in common. We both observe kashrus!" "Oh," I said, "I don’t." "Why not?" he asked surprised. "These are outdated laws that belong to the past and seem irrelevant today." I replied.
The cowboy was amazed. "Even I observe kashrus, though not for religious reasons. It just seems healthier," he said, "those rabbis, at first they looked to us like they didn’t know what they were doing, but soon we realized they are top professionals. After they feel a few animals, they buy only the healthy ones, always leaving us with the sick and wounded ones. I'm telling you, they are top professionals!"
"By kosher, do you mean that you wash the meat with water before you cook it?" I asked. "Not at all," he responded. "We are familiar with all the kashrus signs: the encircled letter K, and even OU, I’m telling you, these are the healthiest."
Listening to our conversation was an F-15 pilot. "During the Gulf War," he suddenly said, "I came to Israel with the Patriot batteries and I must tell you - I believe you are God's nation. He is definitely watching over you quite nicely.
I’m not Jewish, and I think it does not matter. Everyone saw what happened in the Gulf War. We did our job and you just sat quietly. Even the 39 Iraqi scuds that slipped through the aerial defense system and hit Israel, miraculously missed their targets. These are undisputed facts."
He went on. "If the Christian claim that we, Christians, replaced you and that wherever the Bible speaks of Israelites, it refers to us, why do the prophecies materialize in the Jewish nation? Why are the prophecies by Jeremiah and Isaiah realized as Jews are those who return to Jerusalem and rebuild it?" He told me that a Christian prophecy, attributed to Saint Augustine, claims that since the Christians replaced the Jewish nation, it no longer has an eternal message to convey to humanity; Jews are doomed forever, and will never return to the Land of Israel. "You see?" the aviator told me, "when the State of Israel was founded, Pope Pious XII was asked how that happened, contradicting the old prophecy. The Pope had to explain that prophesizing 1,600 years ago, Augustine meant that the Jews will never return to Jerusalem. But when they did in 1967, the Church could no longer adhere to that prophecy… You can walk around Jerusalem with an open Bible and see how its word materialized in every corner. I was very excited about this,” he concluded.
I listened to him closely, greatly impressed… I went home that day with a lot to think about. How this story unfolded will be revealed in the next issue.
Conversations as the Most Powerful Lessons
Years before I became a rabbi, while at flight school during recess from a plane structure class, one of the students asked me, "where are you from?" "Israel," I said. "Are all Israelis Jews?" he inquired further. "Not necessarily, but most of them are." I said. "We are farmers, and rabbis come to our farm to buy animals to slaughter” he said. “They feel the animals with their hands in a strange way...What are they looking for?" "I don’t know about such things," I said. "Well," the cowboy said proudly, "we have one thing in common. We both observe kashrus!" "Oh," I said, "I don’t." "Why not?" he asked surprised. "These are outdated laws that belong to the past and seem irrelevant today." I replied.
The cowboy was amazed. "Even I observe kashrus, though not for religious reasons. It just seems healthier," he said, "those rabbis, at first they looked to us like they didn’t know what they were doing, but soon we realized they are top professionals. After they feel a few animals, they buy only the healthy ones, always leaving us with the sick and wounded ones. I'm telling you, they are top professionals!"
"By kosher, do you mean that you wash the meat with water before you cook it?" I asked. "Not at all," he responded. "We are familiar with all the kashrus signs: the encircled letter K, and even OU, I’m telling you, these are the healthiest."
Listening to our conversation was an F-15 pilot. "During the Gulf War," he suddenly said, "I came to Israel with the Patriot batteries and I must tell you - I believe you are God's nation. He is definitely watching over you quite nicely.
I’m not Jewish, and I think it does not matter. Everyone saw what happened in the Gulf War. We did our job and you just sat quietly. Even the 39 Iraqi scuds that slipped through the aerial defense system and hit Israel, miraculously missed their targets. These are undisputed facts."
He went on. "If the Christian claim that we, Christians, replaced you and that wherever the Bible speaks of Israelites, it refers to us, why do the prophecies materialize in the Jewish nation? Why are the prophecies by Jeremiah and Isaiah realized as Jews are those who return to Jerusalem and rebuild it?" He told me that a Christian prophecy, attributed to Saint Augustine, claims that since the Christians replaced the Jewish nation, it no longer has an eternal message to convey to humanity; Jews are doomed forever, and will never return to the Land of Israel. "You see?" the aviator told me, "when the State of Israel was founded, Pope Pious XII was asked how that happened, contradicting the old prophecy. The Pope had to explain that prophesizing 1,600 years ago, Augustine meant that the Jews will never return to Jerusalem. But when they did in 1967, the Church could no longer adhere to that prophecy… You can walk around Jerusalem with an open Bible and see how its word materialized in every corner. I was very excited about this,” he concluded.
I listened to him closely, greatly impressed… I went home that day with a lot to think about. How this story unfolded will be revealed in the next issue.
My Spiritual Search
One weekend, during a cocktail party for bachelors, I met an Israeli friend with whom I'd served in the Israeli Air Force. He invited me for a Friday dinner. A week later I arrived at his house and was surprised to find out that he is married to a Christian woman, but they are still having the Kiddush before dinner. When I asked, he explained that for me to understand him I should join him at his synagogue. Then, he said, I'll be able to explain.
A week later I accompanied him to the Friday prayer and to my amazement I saw a cross on the parokhes. I've never seen anything like this before. Some of the worshipers donned yarmulkes, while others were not even Jews. Their chants sounded Christian, but the lyrics were definitely Jewish. The synagogue was called Aaron Kadesh. I visited the strange place again a few weeks later on a Sabbath, and saw that after prayer, the rabbi handed out the Eucharist, handing out "sacred" wine and bread as in a Catholic church.
This was not a reformist synagogue, but a Messianic Temple. Sometime later, I was invited for the Seder in the Cornerstone Church. There, I met a rich Jewish convert who introduced me to some of his priests, a group of friends who study together every Sunday in the hotel he manages. I decided to join them and spent a year studying the Christian angle from a reliable source. The priests got to know me personally and occasionally invited me to their home to chat, or study, or partake in ceremonies that I usually just watched.
One day, my brother-in-law called from Israel. He currently gives lectures in Israel's largest repentance movement. He told me that he was sending his 3-year-old to a Talmud torah, asked me why I never visit Israel anymore, and said he fears for me because he had heard that I am a spiritual seeker. "I hear you are a bit confused," he said. "I'm your brother. Don’t you forget that! There is this rumor here that you are about to convert to Christianity. I don't know if it is true, but I will be coming to the US to lecture for the Arachim Movement in upstate New York. Could we meet? I'm a former priest and a priest's son. My father was the eldest priest in Mexico. I know all about Christianity. I convinced my family to convert to Judaism. I'm sure I can enlighten you."
I met him some five months later. During the conversation, I claimed that if we engaged in a debate, I would eat him alive. Still, soon after our meeting ended, I called my friend and asked for help. He updated the priests I used to meet on Sundays and asked them to discuss the theological struggle between Judaism and Christianity. I took notes, taped, and studied their words for months, meeting the priests more frequently than before.
Five and a half months later, I went to meet my sister, her husband, and their little son Adiel in upstate New York. On that meeting and the conversation with the rabbis who came with him, I will tell you next time, God willing.
One weekend, during a cocktail party for bachelors, I met an Israeli friend with whom I'd served in the Israeli Air Force. He invited me for a Friday dinner. A week later I arrived at his house and was surprised to find out that he is married to a Christian woman, but they are still having the Kiddush before dinner. When I asked, he explained that for me to understand him I should join him at his synagogue. Then, he said, I'll be able to explain.
A week later I accompanied him to the Friday prayer and to my amazement I saw a cross on the parokhes. I've never seen anything like this before. Some of the worshipers donned yarmulkes, while others were not even Jews. Their chants sounded Christian, but the lyrics were definitely Jewish. The synagogue was called Aaron Kadesh. I visited the strange place again a few weeks later on a Sabbath, and saw that after prayer, the rabbi handed out the Eucharist, handing out "sacred" wine and bread as in a Catholic church.
This was not a reformist synagogue, but a Messianic Temple. Sometime later, I was invited for the Seder in the Cornerstone Church. There, I met a rich Jewish convert who introduced me to some of his priests, a group of friends who study together every Sunday in the hotel he manages. I decided to join them and spent a year studying the Christian angle from a reliable source. The priests got to know me personally and occasionally invited me to their home to chat, or study, or partake in ceremonies that I usually just watched.
One day, my brother-in-law called from Israel. He currently gives lectures in Israel's largest repentance movement. He told me that he was sending his 3-year-old to a Talmud torah, asked me why I never visit Israel anymore, and said he fears for me because he had heard that I am a spiritual seeker. "I hear you are a bit confused," he said. "I'm your brother. Don’t you forget that! There is this rumor here that you are about to convert to Christianity. I don't know if it is true, but I will be coming to the US to lecture for the Arachim Movement in upstate New York. Could we meet? I'm a former priest and a priest's son. My father was the eldest priest in Mexico. I know all about Christianity. I convinced my family to convert to Judaism. I'm sure I can enlighten you."
I met him some five months later. During the conversation, I claimed that if we engaged in a debate, I would eat him alive. Still, soon after our meeting ended, I called my friend and asked for help. He updated the priests I used to meet on Sundays and asked them to discuss the theological struggle between Judaism and Christianity. I took notes, taped, and studied their words for months, meeting the priests more frequently than before.
Five and a half months later, I went to meet my sister, her husband, and their little son Adiel in upstate New York. On that meeting and the conversation with the rabbis who came with him, I will tell you next time, God willing.
My Spiritual Search
One weekend, during a cocktail party for bachelors, I met an Israeli friend with whom I'd served in the Israeli Air Force. He invited me for a Friday dinner. A week later I arrived at his house and was surprised to find out that he is married to a Christian woman, but they are still having the Kiddush before dinner. When I asked, he explained that for me to understand him I should join him at his synagogue. Then, he said, I'll be able to explain.
A week later I accompanied him to the Friday prayer and to my amazement I saw a cross on the parokhes. I've never seen anything like this before. Some of the worshipers donned yarmulkes, while others were not even Jews. Their chants sounded Christian, but the lyrics were definitely Jewish. The synagogue was called Aaron Kadesh. I visited the strange place again a few weeks later on a Sabbath, and saw that after prayer, the rabbi handed out the Eucharist, handing out "sacred" wine and bread as in a Catholic church.
This was not a reformist synagogue, but a Messianic Temple. Sometime later, I was invited for the Seder in the Cornerstone Church. There, I met a rich Jewish convert who introduced me to some of his priests, a group of friends who study together every Sunday in the hotel he manages. I decided to join them and spent a year studying the Christian angle from a reliable source. The priests got to know me personally and occasionally invited me to their home to chat, or study, or partake in ceremonies that I usually just watched.
One day, my brother-in-law called from Israel. He currently gives lectures in Israel's largest repentance movement. He told me that he was sending his 3-year-old to a Talmud torah, asked me why I never visit Israel anymore, and said he fears for me because he had heard that I am a spiritual seeker. "I hear you are a bit confused," he said. "I'm your brother. Don’t you forget that! There is this rumor here that you are about to convert to Christianity. I don't know if it is true, but I will be coming to the US to lecture for the Arachim Movement in upstate New York. Could we meet? I'm a former priest and a priest's son. My father was the eldest priest in Mexico. I know all about Christianity. I convinced my family to convert to Judaism. I'm sure I can enlighten you."
I met him some five months later. During the conversation, I claimed that if we engaged in a debate, I would eat him alive. Still, soon after our meeting ended, I called my friend and asked for help. He updated the priests I used to meet on Sundays and asked them to discuss the theological struggle between Judaism and Christianity. I took notes, taped, and studied their words for months, meeting the priests more frequently than before.
Five and a half months later, I went to meet my sister, her husband, and their little son Adiel in upstate New York. On that meeting and the conversation with the rabbis who came with him, I will tell you next time, God willing.
One weekend, during a cocktail party for bachelors, I met an Israeli friend with whom I'd served in the Israeli Air Force. He invited me for a Friday dinner. A week later I arrived at his house and was surprised to find out that he is married to a Christian woman, but they are still having the Kiddush before dinner. When I asked, he explained that for me to understand him I should join him at his synagogue. Then, he said, I'll be able to explain.
A week later I accompanied him to the Friday prayer and to my amazement I saw a cross on the parokhes. I've never seen anything like this before. Some of the worshipers donned yarmulkes, while others were not even Jews. Their chants sounded Christian, but the lyrics were definitely Jewish. The synagogue was called Aaron Kadesh. I visited the strange place again a few weeks later on a Sabbath, and saw that after prayer, the rabbi handed out the Eucharist, handing out "sacred" wine and bread as in a Catholic church.
This was not a reformist synagogue, but a Messianic Temple. Sometime later, I was invited for the Seder in the Cornerstone Church. There, I met a rich Jewish convert who introduced me to some of his priests, a group of friends who study together every Sunday in the hotel he manages. I decided to join them and spent a year studying the Christian angle from a reliable source. The priests got to know me personally and occasionally invited me to their home to chat, or study, or partake in ceremonies that I usually just watched.
One day, my brother-in-law called from Israel. He currently gives lectures in Israel's largest repentance movement. He told me that he was sending his 3-year-old to a Talmud torah, asked me why I never visit Israel anymore, and said he fears for me because he had heard that I am a spiritual seeker. "I hear you are a bit confused," he said. "I'm your brother. Don’t you forget that! There is this rumor here that you are about to convert to Christianity. I don't know if it is true, but I will be coming to the US to lecture for the Arachim Movement in upstate New York. Could we meet? I'm a former priest and a priest's son. My father was the eldest priest in Mexico. I know all about Christianity. I convinced my family to convert to Judaism. I'm sure I can enlighten you."
I met him some five months later. During the conversation, I claimed that if we engaged in a debate, I would eat him alive. Still, soon after our meeting ended, I called my friend and asked for help. He updated the priests I used to meet on Sundays and asked them to discuss the theological struggle between Judaism and Christianity. I took notes, taped, and studied their words for months, meeting the priests more frequently than before.
Five and a half months later, I went to meet my sister, her husband, and their little son Adiel in upstate New York. On that meeting and the conversation with the rabbis who came with him, I will tell you next time, God willing.
Dear Readers,
Last time, I told you about a debate I had with a group of great rabbis in upstate New York, in the presence of their pupils and many viewers. The debate, where I represented Christianity, was surprisingly very hard for me and left me with powerful impressions. I felt battered and bruised by the powerful questions the rabbis addressed to me for the first time.
I returned to Florida with burning questions about Christianity and its interpretations of the Bible, which I could not even begin to answer. Still, I was certain that I would find the solutions in my Sunday meetings with the priests. Indeed, I was allowed to pose questions whenever it was possible and I taped the answers they offered, but sometimes my questions led to a lengthy debate that ended with evading or unsatisfactory answers.
That year I went on an intensive study. I contacted priests and former bishops who converted to Judaism and reside in Jerusalem. I met a former Franciscan nun who converted and currently lives in Zefat as an ultra-Orthodox Jew, raising 10 children. I conversed with a German priest from Hamburg who became a Hassid and lives in Jerusalem. I read articles by an Argentine bishop who quit his post with the church after 23 years in office, was circumcised and started attending a Jerusalem yeshiva. I met a Belgian and an Italian who studied for high priesthood in the Vatican, but then converted to Judaism and became Hassidim.
I expanded the circle of my conversants, and with every encounter, phone call, book, and debate over interpretations of holy books, I began to realize that I left behind, in my homeland, a hidden treasure of universal truth which I carelessly abandoned and scornfully turned my back on years ago… I realized then that I had not known enough about my being a Jew. I realized I cannot answer why I had forsaken it without studying Judaism just as I studied Christianity. I did not know what it was, so how could I hate it? How did I lose control of my actions without research and criticism?
My friends at the Church started to notice that I was attending the regular meetings less frequently than before. To pull me back in, they invited me to "give a preaching" on Sunday. Being a former Jew, they asked me to explain about Bar Mitzvah and tefillin. I tried to get some tefillin and called my mother and brother to ask if they could send me a set. Both hung up on me as soon as they heard my voice. It turned out that they found out what I had been up to, and naturally felt betrayed and hurt. I called my brother-in-law, the priest-turned-rabbi, who quickly sent them to me, hoping I was beginning to repent, but I only wanted to present the tefillin process to the churchgoers.
On a Sunday, having expressed fears that the worshippers would not want to hear and after the priest assured me that they all do, I stood on the podium and explained what it is that a Jew celebrates when he reaches 13, the order of the tefillin placement, the meaning of the ceremony and the meaning of Mitzvah.
Next time, dear readers, I will tell you how the church reacted.
Last time, I told you about a debate I had with a group of great rabbis in upstate New York, in the presence of their pupils and many viewers. The debate, where I represented Christianity, was surprisingly very hard for me and left me with powerful impressions. I felt battered and bruised by the powerful questions the rabbis addressed to me for the first time.
I returned to Florida with burning questions about Christianity and its interpretations of the Bible, which I could not even begin to answer. Still, I was certain that I would find the solutions in my Sunday meetings with the priests. Indeed, I was allowed to pose questions whenever it was possible and I taped the answers they offered, but sometimes my questions led to a lengthy debate that ended with evading or unsatisfactory answers.
That year I went on an intensive study. I contacted priests and former bishops who converted to Judaism and reside in Jerusalem. I met a former Franciscan nun who converted and currently lives in Zefat as an ultra-Orthodox Jew, raising 10 children. I conversed with a German priest from Hamburg who became a Hassid and lives in Jerusalem. I read articles by an Argentine bishop who quit his post with the church after 23 years in office, was circumcised and started attending a Jerusalem yeshiva. I met a Belgian and an Italian who studied for high priesthood in the Vatican, but then converted to Judaism and became Hassidim.
I expanded the circle of my conversants, and with every encounter, phone call, book, and debate over interpretations of holy books, I began to realize that I left behind, in my homeland, a hidden treasure of universal truth which I carelessly abandoned and scornfully turned my back on years ago… I realized then that I had not known enough about my being a Jew. I realized I cannot answer why I had forsaken it without studying Judaism just as I studied Christianity. I did not know what it was, so how could I hate it? How did I lose control of my actions without research and criticism?
My friends at the Church started to notice that I was attending the regular meetings less frequently than before. To pull me back in, they invited me to "give a preaching" on Sunday. Being a former Jew, they asked me to explain about Bar Mitzvah and tefillin. I tried to get some tefillin and called my mother and brother to ask if they could send me a set. Both hung up on me as soon as they heard my voice. It turned out that they found out what I had been up to, and naturally felt betrayed and hurt. I called my brother-in-law, the priest-turned-rabbi, who quickly sent them to me, hoping I was beginning to repent, but I only wanted to present the tefillin process to the churchgoers.
On a Sunday, having expressed fears that the worshippers would not want to hear and after the priest assured me that they all do, I stood on the podium and explained what it is that a Jew celebrates when he reaches 13, the order of the tefillin placement, the meaning of the ceremony and the meaning of Mitzvah.
Next time, dear readers, I will tell you how the church reacted.
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