On Israel's birthday, rabbi recalls glimpses of timeless Jerusalem

One Saturday afternoon in the fall of 1985, I had a quintessential Jerusalem moment. I had just arrived in Israel to begin my first year of rabbinical school, and there, in that timeless place, I had decided to spend part of my first Sabbath studying Torah. No sooner had I begun, when I heard some kids outside, singing as they walked down the street. I thought, "Wow! Here I am in Jerusalem; it's a Sabbath afternoon; and outside, the children are singing. How magical! I wonder what song they've chosen."

Cocking my ear toward the apartment window, I soon heard a boy (he sounded about 12 or so) speak Hebrew, the language of our ancestors. "Yossi," he shouted to his buddy, "how does the theme song to 'The A-Team' go?"

And then, the children sang.

It was an old-new moment, of course. Timeless. Before me lay the sacred words of Torah, and wafting in through the window were the notes to the song of a dumb American TV show.

Modern Jerusalem makes for many moments like this. Just when you feel that you've touched eternity, something happens to bring you crashing back in to the present.

And then, just as quickly, you catch a glimpse of something sacred, golden and eternal. Jerusalem, one quickly learns, is where heaven and earth meet.

It happens all over the city.

At the moment I heard those kids sing, my upstairs neighbor, G'veret Kadosh, was playing with her grandchildren. Her name is Hebrew for "Mrs. Holy." She had moved to Israel from Morocco in the early 1950s.

Across the hall was a young family, the Abulafias, descendants of the great 13th-century poet, Abraham Abulafia.

Across the street were Mr. and Mrs. Goldstein, a sweet, elderly couple whose forearms still bore the numbers that Nazi henchmen had tattooed there years before.

And throughout the neighborhood — in their homes, in parks, and later in theaters and cafes — was an astounding assembly of all kinds of Jews. Their families were from Iran, Argentina, Kurdistan, South Africa and countless other places. Some were devoutly religious, others ardently secular.

There were schoolteachers and cab drivers and waitresses. Some were highly educated, some were not; some were sages, others scoundrels. All had gathered in that place and were part of the reborn Jewish state.

One woman in my neighborhood made a practice of walking down the street and telling every passer-by she encountered that she was the Messiah. She was a bit delusional ... I think.

And just a couple of miles away — we could see it if we walked down the street — were the stone walls of ancient Jerusalem, the city that David built, the historic capital of the Jewish people.

Towering above those walls, over where Solomon's Temple once stood, was the gold-domed Mosque of Omar, one of Islam's most sacred shrines. Nearby were the steeples of magnificent churches — Lutheran, Catholic, Greek Orthodox and others.

That magnificent architectural hodgepodge is a reminder that the city is one that draws not Jews alone, but people of all different faiths and nationalities.

The state of Israel celebrated its 60th birthday on May 8. It is not a perfect country — far from it. But contrary to what we tend to see in the media, it is a very good country, and I thank God to be alive to see it.

So, happy birthday, Israel! For six decades you have striven to be a beacon of peace and human dignity for Jews and all people. May you succeed in this sacred task each day, and may your children always sing songs that make our world a better place for everyone.

Rabbi Mark S. Glickman leads Congregation Kol Shalom on Bainbridge Island and Congregation Kol Ami in Woodinville.

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