Menachem's Writings
Another Year, Another Narrative, Another Reality
A Once Annual Introspection — This Time a Three Year Retrospective of Inhumanity
Certainly throughout my adult life, I was never big on birthdays. I am basically the same today as I was yesterday and please haShem, will be the same, or even better, tomorrow. Sudden changes are not good for one's system. Of course over time, not immediately noticeable, there is perceptible change.
During the last couple of weeks I have been studying, writing and also teaching, my understanding of Yosef and his sojourn, personal and political, in Egypt. The pharaoh in Yosef's time was the only person in all of Tanakh about whom we are told celebrated a birthday. Hidden in the text there is also an obscured reference to a second birthday, two years hence, this time quite troubling, unlike the joy of earlier grand celebrations.
A part of Yosef's personal life revolves around his reconciliation with his father, Ya'akov, whom he had assumed was somehow involved in his kidnapping and subsequent sale to Egypt. Ironically this culminated in his rise to power as second to only the king. Ya'akov on the other hand had assumed Yosef to be dead for all those years. On their meeting he exclaims, "Now that I have met you again, alive, I can happily die". Though he lives for another seventeen years, Ya'akov makes mention, on more than one occasion, of not knowing the time of his demise. Other than the terminally ill, this presumption applies to everyone on earth. Wanting to be fully prepared for his ultimate passing in terms of organising his family and ensuring his burial back in his family sepulchre in Ḥevron, seems to have preoccupied his mind.
Though I do not care much for the actual, and certainly not a celebration of this, just another day in my life, I have taken the opportunity in past years to write something about the previous and upcoming year, a form of autobiographical introspection for both myself and my few readers. Given that eminent audience, I do not feel restrained by space. Seven years have passed since I last did this. Much has transpired since then, including three years stolen from my life by unscrupulous, megalomaniac oligarchs. So once again I take this opportunity to sink my wedge into my cuneiform tablet.
A mishna in Avoth 5:21, provides milestones in a man's life. The first markers are for ages 5, 10, 15 and 18. The mishna then follows with changing life attributes for each decade, from 20 to 100. For 70 the mishna says, "בֶּן שִׁבְעִים לַשֵּׂיבָה". This is variously translated along the lines of "a good old age". The source is I Divrei Hayamim 29:28, "וַיָּ֙מָת֙ בְּשֵׂיבָ֣ה טוֹבָ֔ה שְׂבַ֥ע יָמִ֖ים עֹ֣שֶׁר וְכָב֑וֹד, [King] David died at a ripe old age, having enjoyed a long life, with riches and honour". Perhaps in those days, 70 was considered a good ripe age. Today, at least until the recent and growing number of cases of S.A.D.S. has begun to skew the statistics in far younger people, life expectancy in Israel, using figures for 1961—2020 is 83, the same as Australia from whence I arrived here around the age of 30. This is six years higher than in the U.S.A.
I must admit I was a little perturbed when I saw this explanation to a mishna which I had learnt and quoted often. It is an interesting phenomenon how the same words can have different meanings on different occasions. I am finding lately when I learn the weekly Tora portion that I see words and nuances which I had never before seen in the text.
Inside Michael's hewn church at Lalibela on Michael's Day, |
2020 started on a high. We had recently returned from a visit to England, Jill's first. I have been there over a dozen times. We also took the train to Scotland for the first time. We hope to return for a longer stay. In February we spent two weeks in multiple locations around northern Ethiopia. (We had spent a few days in Gondar in 2019.) In addition to our general urge to see haShem's delightful world, including His beautiful people and creatures, I wanted to learn more about the practices of the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church. For my academic research, I needed to compare their practice and liturgy to that of the Falasha, whom I believe to be an offshoot of that church. I discovered much commonality. We came to perhaps thirty churches and monasteries including the monastery on the island in Lake Tana, Tana Kirkos. The Ethiopians believe that the Ark of the Covenant, stolen from Yerushalayim by Menelik, the son of King Shlomo and Makeda, the Queen of Sheba, was hidden there for six hundred years before being brought to Aksum, the ancient Ethiopian capital. They claim it remains in Our Lady Maria of Zion to this day. At Tana Kirkos, I spent a number of hours speaking with the head priest, discussing aspects of their religion. He requested to ask me questions about Judaism. I was surprised how little he knew. Amongst his treasures he had a very long kudu horn, like the Yemenite Jews use. He did not know what it was for. I explained to him that this is a shofar and demonstrated its use!
Jill stayed on our boat during this time. Women are only allowed onto the island to enter a small church near the jetty. Fortunately she came prepared with a book. She enjoyed reading in the serenity of the enormous lake, the main source of the Egyptian Nile's water and silt. |
In Lalibela we visited all eleven churches, hewn from solid rock. The structures are truly magnificent, dating back to the twelfth century. We were guided there by a Tewahedo deacon.
Apart from churches, we visited lots of locations of interest. Of course I took quantities of photographs, always an important objective of our travels.
From Ethiopia we flew to Mukono, Uganda. Here there is a very interesting congregation, whom we had visited eight months earlier and with whom we had been studying Judaism for a couple of years, with a view to eventual conversion. This group started off as an evangelical community of some 800 members, who, unlike catholics, were well versed in the Bible. Nechemya, their leader and pastor, became interested in observing more biblical customs, which at first he saw as an extension of his christianty. One Sunday he announced to his flock that the biblical passover festival was approaching. During that week, it was forbidden to eat leaven (sourdough in American parlance). They should thus restrict their diet to chapati, which is baked from unleavened dough, for those seven days. While this may not meet strict halakhic standards, it was the first step along a long road, eventually moving sabbath services and practice from Sunday to Saturday. At that point they realised they were no longer christians but had become Jews. The process took some fifteen years with a majority of members dropped by the wayside, unable to fathom that the move, from what a lot of Africans, particularly during the few decades, realised, was a move from "the missionary lie to the truth" [not my words — theirs]. In 2017 they made contact with the Putti village Abayudaya, who had been practicing Judaism in Uganda for nearly a century, and on whom Rabbi Riskin and his Beth Din carried out full Orthodox conversions. Putti taught the new congregation how to read Hebrew and various laws and customs. They shared their scarce prayer books and other religious items with them, including some pairs of t'filin. Sadly just before we first met them in the flesh in June 2019, the community had just split into two rival groups.
By the end of that year, Rabbi Riskin determined that the time had come for us to visit again, this with the view to conversion, based on interviews and tests as deemed by halakha. Rabbi Riskin was again to lead our delegation, his fifth trip to Uganda in nine years. In response to this I organised, together with community leaders, a list of potential candidates.
Then one day, as we were driving to the swimming pool for our daily exercise, the Rabbi says, "I have some good news and some bad news". Oh I replied. I guess let's start with the bad. "I am not able to travel to Uganda at this time." I felt the rug pulled from under my feet. I had spent so much time and energy organising this. And the local people too! For nought?
"Now for the good news ... the trip is certainly going ahead and you will take my place." Now I felt more than just a rug. This was not the good news I expected and I immediately said so, that I was not at all capable of such responsibility, that only sitting next to him I was able to contribute, but with two colleagues, no matter how suitable they were — which they certainly are!
After he sang my unworthy praises, I took up his gauntlet. On condition that he was directly available to me to answer any query which we may have, without the necessity of going via his secretary or other intermediary. He gladly accepted this condition. Rabbi Riskin suggested that I spend time discussing the matter further with one of my esteemed rabbis and teachers, Rav Meir Alfasi to whom he had already spoken.
Fortunately all the men and boys were previously circumcised, which made the process far easier. Most people do not know that a majority of sub-Saharan Africans are circumcised (sadly in a lot of cultures, including the women). I am not speaking of a moslem influence, but something that goes back far further. Interestingly there is a midrash which dates this back to the time Yosef ruled Egypt! Without this custom, surgery would be required as part of male conversion, making the process lengthy and probably not feasible.
For me, the conversion process was strenuous and emotionally draining, but fascinating and rewarding. We converted 69 people, including some very small children. I have previously posted my feelings of the experience. We promised those whom we did not convert that we would return when they continued more learning and communal participation. Sadly, due to the external circumstances of our turbid times, this promise has yet to be fulfilled. I am pleased to say however that the whole group, those converted and those in waiting, work as a cohesive congregation in both practice and continuing study, which we and others provide via Zoom and WhatsApp groups.
We returned home on 5th March, 2020. Can you put this into perspective my reader? While nothing had yet officially happened in Yisrael and most of the so-called enlightened West, the forces of evil had already started making noises following a long period of preparedness. I did not yet know exactly where this was headed. However as our Ethiopian Airlines plane taxied towards the terminal, I turned to Jill and said, "Look well around the aeroplane. I doubt we'll see the inside of one of these for the next two years!"
One of the consequences of the unnecessary lockdowns of the early twenties was being prevented from participating in group prayer and study. For someone who for decades has attended beth k'neseth multiple times every day to pray, learn and discuss Tora issues, this was a huge adjustment. I prayed at home, on my own, with little exception for two and half years. Some of my study groups eventually did go to Zoom, but not all. As I refuse to wear unhealthy suffocating masks, some of these ultimately did reopen under what I consider sheep conditions. I continued to stay at home. In fact there are synagogues which I still refuse to enter due to their attitude to enlightened people like me. In the words of the great Grouch Marx, "I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member".
(See my piece, "Morning Blessings Did not Make Me an Imbecile") And no, I am not cutting off my nose to spite my face. One of the results was that we realised who are real friends. And we ended up connecting with many new people whom we now count as special friends.
My attitude to prayer changed greatly. I found solitude more conducive than group prayer, even given the limitations that codes of halakha express. One of my Rabbis, for whom prayer plays a bigger role in his life than for most, told me quietly as things started reopening, that he was somewhat embarrassed to say so, but he found praying at home with his sons to be far more uplifting than praying in a synagogue with a minyan, a quorum of ten. While all my children left home long ago, I concur with him. Though I now sometimes go to a synagogue , I still enjoy the serenity of privacy. I am certainly not eremophobic [from the Greek erēmia, meaning desert].
Two new interesting habits emerged. I was able to combine prayer and meditation into a single concept. I first learnt these techniques nearly forty-five years ago. Later I studied how to apply the eastern methods to Jewish prayer and practice from Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan of blessed memory. This combination is certainly, based on our ancient texts, the desirable practice. It includes breathing stance based on Rambam. Prayer was no longer time, and space, limited. It is now years since I adopted the custom of the Vatikin, ensuring that prayer is recited at sunrise. I am not rushed. I pray at my own pace, savouring words, sounds and textual meaning. Following prayer, since again I am not under any time constraint, I learn a page of Talmud. Shabath was particularly rewarding, as again without limitation, I would spend over two hours, reading the weekly Tora portion, reviewing the numerous commentaries, studying new ones. Synagogue routine in some ways has become a burden, adding unnecessary pressures to my life. And, while I have not discussed with him again, I see my rabbi continuing along the same path.
In early 2021, my brother, Dennis, was diagnosed with ALS. His situation went downhill quite quickly. We very much wanted to fly to Sydney to visit him. However due to coordinated governments' restrictions, this was impossible. Finally both the Israeli and Australian governments loosened some of their awry artificial afflictions and restrictions, suddenly making the journey possible. Within just a few days of this, we booked flights on Emirates, via Dubai. It was, we thought just the right time. Of course earlier would have been preferable, though not possible. By then Dennis had already lost the use of his limbs and was wheelchair-bound. Things were becoming more difficult for him. He said he felt that his voice was beginning to go, though I could not yet perceive this during our WhatsApp conversations.
We arrived at Ben Gurion airport to fly out. It was the eve of Remembrance Day. We put our suitcases on the scales and handed over our travel documents. The receptionist scanned our details into her computer. Her countenance did not appear gleeful. Then, before either of us could say anything, the memorial siren blasted throughout the terminal, and of course all around the country. It was a very long minute. "You can't fly", she says. "Take the suitcases off the scales". Why? She would not say, or perhaps she really did not have further information to relay. We asked to see her supervisor, our suitcases still on the weighing machine.
He arrived quite quickly. He also did not know the reason. He elected to phone Emirates headquarters in Dubai. He was not getting clear answers. I saw he was trying to be very helpful, and was a little embarrassed. He put Jill onto the phone and the conversation continued for about two hours. In the end they said, "We will phone Emirates at Sydney airport. If they say you can fly, then you can proceed. It's up to them." Unfortunately it was 6 a.m. in Sydney and a flight was about to land so the phone was left to ring. Eventually they did answer. The response, "Don't let them fly!"
Note that there was no restriction at the Israeli government end. If we wanted to, the manager allowed us, even suggested to us, to fly to Dubai "so we can sort it out there". Which I dismissed as an absurd option. But this demonstrated there was also no general restriction on us flying Emirates We returned home, bags and all. After a number of calls to Dubai over the next two weeks, the reason finally came [slipped] out. There was a fight between Emirates and the Australian government over, I assume, extending landing rights. This was the government's way of pressuring the company to back down. In the hip pocket! The bottom line was that we could have flown on Emirates to any destination in the world — other than Sydney — or flown any other airline into Sydney. Emirates said they would try and organise alternate flights for us, either immediately or over the next few days.
When we arrived back home, while we were very unhappy, we were not overly peeved, figuring that we would fly the following week instead. How much could Dennis's condition deteriorate!? We did not unpack our bags.
We had not yet arranged anything. Shabath came and went. Not long after havdala we were informed that Dennis had suddenly passed away that morning, Sydney time. There was nothing to do. I had spoken to Dennis on Friday morning. I said that we hoped to see him the following week. He was in a good mood. I did not know at the time that his son was with him and overheard the conversation. He subsequently told me that Dennis was in such a good mood after the call that he took him to Bondi Beach, a location Dennis very much loved. He had a really good time sitting in the sunshine, smelling the salt air. That Friday night he had ten grandchildren in a noisy house, and he loved every minute of it. The last thing I had said to him, referring to a topic we had discussed many times over the previous more than fifty years, was, "You've been vindicated!" Ari said he smiled broadly.
Emirates did not want to fully refund us. As if it were our decision, not theirs, to not allow us to fly on their aeroplane! In the end they only did once we sent them a copy of Dennis's death certificate! Our non-flying had nothing to do with Dennis's demise. I will not be flying Emirates in a rush after that treatment.
The last three years have been quite a void in my photographic output. I really need to be travelling to be inspired, be it scenery, people or animals. We hope to return to India in a couple of weeks, this time to the south, a region which we have, in three previous trips, not visited.
During these three years I have done much writing. I authored a photographic book entitled, The Many Lives of a Dead Sea. It is basically complete. A final edit and a few more photographs. I just do not have the state of mind to complete it with everything going on.
I wrote, The Partisan's Trilogy, a tribute to our late father, who passed away far too early fifty-seven years ago. As I have written often, I miss him greatly, and sadly never, as a thirteen year old, really got to know him well, nor ask him innumerable questions that have come into my mind over the years, questions which can now only be answered by conjecture.
Based on lots of travel around Ereẓ Yisrael with my rabbi and teacher, Rav Yoel Bin Nun, I started, initially as FB posts, writing commentary on the different aspects of Tanakh, accompanied by photographs of the locations mentioned. I use the hashtag, #MenachemGetsBiblical to tie the pieces together. I now understand why the commentators who were never here could not comprehend how various events took place. The lay of the land is an import aspect to understanding texts. Additionally, based on the vision of Rav Yoel and other scholars both ancient and modern, I have learnt to examine biblical texts with a critical eye, using literary tools, perceiving textual nuances which were previously not overtly visible to me. I have learnt to understand midrash, not as history or even of events which actually occurred, but as potential answers to questions which our Sages were not able to easily answer. The implied question, which is not always immediately apparent, is far more important to me than is the answer. Additionally their aim was to teach moral lessons, using Tanakh events as a springboard. Sadly many people take midrash as a reality it was never meant to portray.
The swimming pool on the Yellow Hill near Alon Shvut, where I daily swam for thirty-five years, was closed by the Gush Etzion local council for two years of renovations, largely designed to comply with new government guidelines for access, but also as the building was literally falling down after thirty-five years of neglect and no maintenance. In a few weeks it will already be three years since the closure and there is at least another year of work, probably more. The council is totally apathetic to the vacuum they created for so many residents. Basically they refuse to accept any responsibility for the delay, nor seemingly to sense that this a service they should be providing. The not yet existent swimming pool in Efrat, which was supposed to be completed a couple of years ago, is also yet to open. No date has yet been announced. Of course it was too much to expect two neighbouring local authorities to coordinate renovations and building, so that at least one would always be open. Imho a total abrogation of responsibility.
During the initial lockdowns, for exercise I started daily riding my bicycle. It was really good then because there was little traffic and the trails and roads were all open. Gradually, using the excuse of security, more and more gates and mounds of dirt have appeared along the trails. If you are walking, you can easily get over or under them. But they make it difficult for the scores of runners and cyclists. This area was once a popular destination for cyclists. No longer. Again the council is totally apathetic, if they even realise, or care. Yisrael is now serviced by a self-serving bureaucracy.
I barely swam between March 2020 and May 2021 something which I commenced doing each day since I was eight. I walked on my own to one of two pools, sometimes to both in one day. Each was located some 10 minutes walk away. The pools were on ether side of Coogee Beach. Here too, from the age of fourteen, I would, run along the sand and surf the mini waves before school. (When I was sixteen and moved to Bellevue Hill, I got to bodysurf in real waves!)
During the last two summers I have swum at the outdoor pool in Tekoa. I had forgotten the joys of swimming outdoors, in the fresh open air. For a number years on Yellow Hill, I was forced to put up with a mismanaged, dirty pool, where the windows were screwed shut to prevent anyone — yes me — from opening them. The poor darlings of a variety of ages, could not tolerate fresh air entering from an open window. Regrettably the Tekoa pool is only open for 4½ months each year, during the summer months. When your grandmother builds a pool for you, there is no need for you to worry about having such a valuable resource stand idle for most of each year.
On a personal note, our family is doing great. All our kids and grandchildren are going from strength to strength, וְיִדְגּ֥וּ לָרֹ֖ב בְּקֶ֥רֶב הָאָֽרֶץ. We are very proud of all of them and their achievements here in the true Homeland.
We welcome Ivri, Arava and Shir who have joined our clan during the last three years.
Thanks to haShem, while we do not forget the tragedies our families suffered during the German frenzy to obliterate us and our memory from the world — I live this daily; it is now within my DNA — we are able to say עם ישראל חי, the Jewish people, the descendants of Yisrael/Ya'akov, lives and prospers! Despite their best efforts, with the support of so-called zionists, we are here and increasing from strength to strength! (I strongly recommend everyone reading In Jewish Blood by our neighbours across the highway Steve Rodan and Elly Sinclair. The book makes Ben Hecht's Perfidy look like a picnic.) I today am able to grasp the anti-zionism of the old Hungarians I knew growing up.
I continue to see myself, and my second generation contemporaries, as a bridge, as a special link in the long chain of Am Yisrael, moving us towards the ultimate redemption. I see our future solely in Land of Yisrael. I have often written, particularly over recent years, how I believe haShem provided a one hundred year window, starting in 1920, during which to return home, to voluntarily end our dispersion amongst the nations, while our stay was still pleasant, while we could leave on our own terms. During 2020 we saw the window abruptly close. For now, I consider, it may only remain open for a short time. I saw this as a warning. Noaḥ's boat was set to sail, with only its occupants. I am certainly not saying that the political and societal situation here is desirable or even good. It is up to the people to lead its government and not vice versa. Anyone who knows me, knows well that I do not see the current situation here with rose coloured glasses. There is much to be done. My generation's task has been to link tragedies of the past to the fulfilment of haShem's nation in the future.
What will the immediate coming year bring? It is hard to know. A large portion of humanity must stir from its deep, hypnotised trance.
Menachem Kuchar, 14th January, 2023
21st Teveth, 5783
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Previous Birthday introspective:
63 years old, 62, 61, 60, 58, 57, 56.
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