by Simon Jacobson
JERUSALEM, Tuesday, August 14, 2001

Dinner at the home of my cousin, Bezalel Shif, director of the Yisrael B’Aliyah party, headed by Knesset Minister Natan Sharansky. Bezalel sits like a godfather in a silk bathrobe laughing and serving me caviar (or whatever Russian fish he imported). “We lost our sensitivity here,” he tells me. “When the Sbarros massacre took place I was sitting and eating sushi at the Jerusalem Hilton. A year ago everything would stop and the entire nation would be mourning the loss of one Jew. Now, when we heard the news, we… continued eating. We have become desensitized,” he says with a sigh.

A Russian immigrant who arrived in Israel in 1972, Bezalel worked for many years as Director of Shamir, publishing and communicating Judaism to Russian Jews. He now is the director of the party (while still fulfilling his responsibilities at Shamir) – representing over 1 million Russian immigrants, who have arrived in Israel in the last 10 years after the fall of communism. Yes, 1 million. Now, that requires a real study to know how that changes Israeli demographics. And how it affects the attitude today to the terrorism.

Late at night, 4AM I decide to walk back to the Old City with my son. Peaceful walk through the silent streets of Jerusalem leading to the Jaffe gate. As we get closer to the gate, we notice a group of teenagers across the street. “Arabs,” my son says. “How do you know?” I ask him. “They are speaking Arabic, they look Arabic and the people that hang around there at that time of night are usually Arabs.” I must admit that a sudden dread entered my heart. Here we are alone, no one in sight. Do we cross to enter the gate or not? We quickly pass them by, hoping they don’t notice us. But they did, and they begin walking our way, across the highway, but in our direction. I ask my son what we should do. He seems pretty calm. His fear only fueled by mine. We walk quickly downhill and try to flag down a cab. A cab across the way sees us and begins to make a u-turn toward us, when my son says, “no, could be an Arab driver.” Great. Finally a taste of reality here in Israel.

Heart beating, we decide to take the steps back to the gate. If we see the Arab guys we’ll run for it. My son tells me, once we get into the Jaffe gate there is a police station, so we’ll be fine. But… from here to the gate. Happy ending – as you can tell from the fact that I’m here to write this piece – we make it into the Old City, enter the Armenian Quarter. Armenian – what the hell are the Armenians doing here?! Bad enough Moslem and Christian, but where did the Armenians come from? Later I’m told that when the Turks slaughtered the Armenians, they placated them by giving them a piece of the Old City. OK, so that’s the four quarters of the neighborhood around the Temple today: Jewish, Moslem, Christian, Armenian. Must have some Divine plan…

Walk from the Armenian to the Jewish Quarter. Take a back road. You see the Jewish Quarter by foot is only accessible through the other quarters (except if you enter through the Dung Gate, the way buses arrive to the Wall). It’s now 4:30AM. No one in the stoned alleyways, except for prowling cats. And then some. What are all these cats doing here? No mention made of them in the Talmud which documents all the goings-on during the Temple period (even the snows that would fall in Jerusalem). My son tells me that Moses Montefiore, who was instrumental in rebuilding Jerusalem in the mid 1800’s, imported the cats to get rid of the rat problem in the City. And now… the cats have become the rats. Great. Yet another batch of intruders. Jerusalem is sure a magnet... Kabbalah and Chassidus do say that ‘kelipot’ (negative energy) gather to wean energy in the holiest places, where there is abundant nourishment. “ A spider... in the kings’ palace” (Proverbs 30:28).

With all this adrenaline rush I barely sleep.

Wednesday, August 15

Good morning to G-d. Good morning to The Wall. Every time I don Talit and Tefillin and pray at the Wall I feel embarrassed. In New York when you daven you create kedusha, holiness. Here your kedusha is overshadowed by that of the Wall, the City, the very ground. “Sharga b’tehira mei ahani” (what benefit has a candle in the light of the sun)? the Talmud asks. Indeed, the candle creates a dark outline with the sunlight at its back. Yet, we all play along, hundreds of us davening at the Wall.

My hosts Ronny and Chaya notify me that I am giving a class tonight at their home, for a whole bunch of people they have invited. OK, if you say so.

Sushi dinner at the Hilton. Overlooking a beautiful view of the Old City walls. One of the guests at the table broaches the topic whether the [Lubavitcher] Rebbe could be the Messiah. Is that what I came to Israel to discuss? No choice, being the scribe of the Rebbe for so many years, authoring “Toward A Meaningful Life” has sealed my destiny as the defender of all Lubavitch positions. I explain to no avail: “This is not a ‘Lubavitcher’ issue. Lubavitch is a Torah movement, which has one and only criteria: Torah law. If anyone says that the Rebbe is or could be Moshiach, the same question that is asked regarding all issues must be posed: What does halacha say about this? Read the Rambam (Laws of Kings chapter 10) who defines the criteria for Moshiach, and draw your own conclusion, or ask a trusted Rabbi what the halachik position should be on this issue.”

Do not get off the hook, needless to say. More later (Friday entry).

Class at the Vance’s home. So strange. Been giving my Wednesday night class for close to 20 years in New York, never canceling, and tonight I’m doing it here in the Old City, while my friend, Phillip Namanworth will be filling in for me soon in New York. We discuss the month of Av and its unique relationship with Jerusalem. The midrash states, that in the month of the “lion” (the mazal of the month of Av) the “lion” (the Holy Temple in Jerusalem) was destroyed by the “lion” (Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon), on condition that in the “lion” (Av) the “lion” (the Temple) will be rebuilt by the “lion” (G-d). “Aryeh” (lion in Hebrew) is the acronym of Elul, Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, Hoshana Rabba. The New Year is conceived in the month of Av. In the throes of the Temple’s destruction is born the salvation. Moshiach is born on Tisha B’Av, and this gives birth to our New Year. The greatest joy originates in the heart of darkness.

Sit up conversing half a night. Really feel at home in this land.

Take another stroll to the Wall. I have this mischievous need to make some cell phone calls from the Wall to New York! Just love the bizarre contrast, and love to shake people up a little with a call from… Jerusalem. Hey, guess who’s calling? Simon from… the Holy Wall.

Thursday, August 16

Visit my Georgian – as in Russia, not Atlanta – cousins in Givaat Ze’ev (suburb of Jerusalem, fifteen minutes away from the city). Elissa Sapir is my father’s first cousin. Her mother Chana was a younger sister of my grandfather and namesake, Simon. They were all shvili’s then. What I mean by that is, all Georgians (Gruziner) go by surnames with the ‘shvili’ suffix. ‘Shvili’ means ‘son of.’ Simon Yakobashvili (son of Jacob) – my grandfather, changed it to Jacobson upon arriving in Toronto in 1947.

Whenever I see my father sitting silently, loudly but peacefully taking in everything going on at our table, I love saying to him: “bizt a gruziner, ah” (you’re a Georgian, after all, ah)? You see, my father is a character. A real character. Gershon Gruzin (Gershon the Georgian) is one of his pen names. A strange combination of deep, intimate inner peace and restlessness which you just don’t find quite the same anywhere else in the world. Except for Georgia.

And now I was to discover a new ingredient, that I am sure will rock my family up a bit. Can’t wait to share it with them.

Elissa has my father’s nose and eyes. Shrewd, darting, warm. Welcoming but ‘don’t get in my way, I’m in control’ type of look. Elissa’s husband knows not a word of any language in which we can communicate. He sits silently smiling as we speak in Hebrew. Then the food starts rolling in. Jews are Jews after all. And then the family members roll in, with more food in hand. Figs. Wine. Baby tomatoes. Whatever.

Elissa’s son, Shalva and his wife, Gulnara and children, Eli and his younger sister – all doctors – are like long lost family. Secular but exceptionally warm and intelligent, secure and comfortable. Highly educated and articulate. What a pleasure to know that there are Jews like this in Israel, let alone relatives of mine. I feel real hope.

We talk about everything from philosophy to the situation in Israel, from Russian TV (one station on Israeli TV is in Russian) to sports. Medicine, spirituality, quantum physics, human consciousness and humor – are all part of the conversation mix.

They insist that my son and I sleep over. A week ago there was a terrorist shooting on the road back to Jerusalem. Why risk it. “Is a night of comfort worth your life?” Shalva argues. No recourse except to look him in the eye, Georgian to Georgian, and say: Listen I am an adult. I need to be back in the Old City. I will take the risk.

Enough said. He and his son drive us. That’s what I like about them. Kind, but know when to stop if necessary. And then kind again. No need to win.

Comfortable, secure Jews. Oh, how we need more of them today.

And my thoughts go back to Elissa’s words. “You see my husband here. He is a pure Georgian Jew. Going back 2600 years, from the time of the First Temple. Yes, 2600 years of an unbroken chain of Georgian Jews. I guess, when the Jewish people were exiled to Babylon, some of them ended up in Georgia, which shares its southern border with Turkey and Armenia.

“What do you mean your husband. Aren’t you, Elissa also pure Georgian?” I ask. “No,” she says. And here comes the surprising news. “Our grandfather Solomon (father of Simon and Chana) was born in… Yerusholayim. He fled there to Georgia after a pogrom.” “Are you sure”? I inquire. “Definitely. It was known that he spoke Georgian with a Jerusalem accent.”

Now, what does that do to the gene pool, I wonder. Yerushalmer and Gruziner, hmmm. New ingredient in the equation. The plot thickens; I need some serious rethink of my father’s personality and my entire life. Need some new arithmetic here. Oh well, got my work cut out for me upon my return to New York.

Another thought comes to me. 2600 years of Georgian Jewry – why that’s older than the Wall!

I ask Shalva, what is it that preserved Georgian Jewry for so long in one place? Was the area non-strategic, hence left alone during all the wars and upheavals that amputated so many Jewish communities? Why did Georgia not suffer the fate of Jewish communities virtually everywhere? No, it was very strategic region, situated right on the Black Sea, entry to the Mediterranean. So what was is it. He tries to explain that for some reason this region was always safe for its population, including Jews. [There is the story of the Khazars who allegedly converted to Judaism led by their king. Does this have anything to do with it? Needs some research].

And now, he tells me, that with the fall of Communism and the ensuing corruption, its 2600 year history has come to an abrupt end. Jews have all left and emigrated primarily to Israel.

Can it be that G-d with His higher plan is sending us a signal of what is coming and what we need to prepare for by showing us how a 2600 year history – longer than the Wall – is ending and the Jews are returning to the Holy Land?

So, now you know: The Jacobsons are a mix of Yerushalmer, Gruziner, Russishe, Americaner blut (blood). What does that mean?

Back in the Old City with all my genes shaken up. Another sleepless night. Another rejuvenating morning at The Wall.

(to be continued)