A friend was telling me about a certain Mashgiach in a larger old-time out-of-town yeshiva. It seems that the bochurim of this particular place would return for Yomim Noraim every year, to bring back some of the kedusha they experienced in their former lives. Anyway, this Mashgiach would spend time on the days leading up to Rosh Hashanah/Yom Kippur, greeting and schmoozing with his old talmidim. When he first saw them, however, back in their old stomping grounds and first getting a feel for the yeshiva, he’d give them a big hug, and greet them with a warm “Welcome Home”. Because of course, as every bochur knows, yeshiva is always home, no matter how baalebatish you become.

And so chevra, fellow bochurim, yungeleit, and other various flora and fellows, Welcome Home.

I think I’m becoming a Tzioni. I hope not, but the insidious nature of the society around me…

Anyway. The video is a shortened version of the letter. Find both below; I recommend watching/reading both.

Yes, the letter is quite old- forty years, to be exact-, but it is a terrific piece of work, in my humble opinion (am I allowed to write IMHO out?).

The video was created by Aish HaTorah, and I copied the letter’s text from ICJS.

A Letter to the World from Jerusalem

by Eliezer ben Yisrael (Stanley Goldfoot)

I am not a creature from another planet, as you seem to
believe. I am a Jerusalemite-like yourselves, a man of flesh and
blood. I am a citizen of my city, an integral part of my people.
I have a few things to get off my chest. Because I am not a
diplomat, I do not have to mince words. I do not have to please you
or even persuade you. I owe you nothing. You did not build this city,
you did not live in it, you did not defend it when they came to destroy
it.

And we will be damned if we will let you take it away.
There was a Jerusalem before there was a New York. When Berlin,
Moscow, London, and Paris were miasmal forest and swamp, there was a
thriving Jewish community here. It gave something to the world which
you nations have rejected ever since you established yourselves- a
humane moral code.

Here the prophets walked, their words flashing like forked lightning.

Here a people who wanted nothing more than to be left
alone, fought off waves of heathen would-be conquerors, bled and died
on the battlements, hurled themselves into the flames of their
burning Temple rather than surrender, and when finally overwhelmed by
sheer numbers and led away into captivity, swore that before they
forgot Jerusalem, they would see their tongues cleave to their palates,
their right arms wither.

For two pain-filled millennia, while we were your unwelcome
guests, we prayed daily to return to this city. Three times a day we
petitioned the Almighty: “Gather us from the four corners of the
world, bring us upright to our land, return in mercy to Jerusalem,
Thy city, and swell in it as Thou promised.” On every Yom Kippur and
Passover, we fervently voiced the hope that next year would find us in
Jerusalem.

Your inquisitions, pogroms, expulsions, the ghettos into which
you jammed us, your forced baptisms, your quota systems, your genteel
anti-Semitism, and the final unspeakable horror, the holocaust (and
worse, your terrifying disinterest in it)- all these have not broken us.
They may have sapped what little moral strength you still possessed,
but they forged us into steel. Do you think that you can break us now
after all we have been through? Do you really believe that after
Dachau and Auschwitz we are frightened by your threats of blockades and
sanctions?

We have been to Hell and back- a Hell of your making. What more could
you possibly have in your arsenal that could scare us?

I have watched this city bombarded twice by nations calling
themselves civilized. In 1948, while you looked on apathetically, I
saw women and children blown to smithereens, after we agreed to your
request to internationalize the city. It was a deadly combination
that did the job- British officers, Arab gunners, and American-made cannon. And
then the savage sacking of the Old City-the willful slaughter, the
wanton destruction of every synagogue and religious school, the
desecration of Jewish cemeteries, the sale by a ghoulish government
of tombstones for building materials, for poultry runs, army camps, even
latrines.

And you never said a word.
You never breathed the slightest protest when the Jordanians
shut off the holiest of our places, the Western Wall, in violation of
the pledges they had made after the war- a war they waged,
incidentally, against the decision of the UN. Not a murmur came from
you whenever the legionnaires in their spiked helmets casually opened
fire upon our citizens from behind the walls.

Your hearts bled when Berlin came under siege. You rushed your
airlift “to save the gallant Berliners”. But you did not send one
ounce of food when Jews starved in besieged Jerusalem. You thundered
against the wall which the East Germans ran through the middle of the
German capital- but not one peep out of you about that other wall, the one
that tore through the heart of Jerusalem.

And when that same thing happened 20 years later, and the Arabs
unleashed a savage, unprovoked bombardment of the Holy City again,
did any of you do anything?

The only time you came to life was when the city was at last
reunited. Then you wrung your hands and spoke loftily of “justice”
and need for the “Christian” quality of turning the other cheek.
The truth- and you know it deep inside your gut – you would
prefer the city to be destroyed rather than have it governed by Jews.
No matter how diplomatically you phrase it, the age old prejudices
seep out of every word.

If our return to the city has tied your theology in knots,
perhaps you had better reexamine your catechisms. After what we have
been through, we are not passively going to accommodate ourselves to
the twisted idea that we are to suffer eternal homelessness until we
accept your savior.

For the first time since the year 70, there is now complete
religious freedom for all in Jerusalem. For the first time since the
Romans put a torch to the Temple, everyone has equal rights (You
prefer to have some more equal than others.) We loathe the sword- but
it was you who forced us to take it up. We crave peace, but we are
not going back to the peace of 1948 as you would like us to.

We are home. It has a lovely sound for a nation you have willed
to wander over the face of the globe. We are not leaving. We are
redeeming the pledge made by our forefathers: Jerusalem is being
rebuilt. “Next year” and the year after, and after, and after, until
the end of time- “in Jerusalem”!

Stanley Goldfoot
Founder Editor
The Times of Israel
August 1969

I can’t go out the door and step into the makolet anymore…I now need to take the car.

I use and drive a car. Not those tiny monits. Huh.

Restaurants serve normal steaks. Solo, Prime Grill and da boyz…they all feel like real restaurants to me. Not some transients, Mom and Pop type establishments established by Moms and Pops. Literally.

I feel (slightly) out of place in the local shul, being underdressed?. In Geulah, I feel (slightly) overdressed.

My cellular phone has consistent coverage. Awesome.

The grocery stores have…groceries. Weird.

Mommy and Totty suddenly feel it’s normal to call me three times a day asking me nothing at all, just to chekc where I am. Hello- Tel Aviv is just as bad as Manhattan, and I don’t hang out in either city. Whatcha worried about?

Learning (read: Torah) is much more…of a chalos here. Sorry, not in the mood of translating that one atm. Figure it out or ask me on Twitter later.

Getting asked ten times a day about when I’m going back, shidduchim, etc. Probably gonna dedicate a separate post to that. (BTW- spell check wants to change “shidduchim” to “Archimedes”. Really. Try it.)

Using planes again. It really is cool to take off into the air in 40 tons of steel. Miraculous, actually.

Seeing Muslims walking down Avenue J. It’s like living in a forest for five years, watching deer on a daily basis, and then seeing one stroll down 13th Avenue. Different.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat
Nor hurl the cynic’s ban-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

-Sam Walter Foss

Boruch Hashem, I had a very enjoyable Bein Hazmanim. Unfortunately, I can’t discuss too much of the specifics of my BH, due to my desire to retain my anonymity…but there was a little action, some trip-ing (no, no that kind), and a LOT of chilling.
When I say chilling, I mean more than just sleeping. Or sitting around the dira engaged in b**l schmoozing passing the night single-handedly rectifying the problems plaguing the yeshivishe velt- I can do that during the zman. Kidding.

Anyway, chilling, for me, means people. Watching. Observing. Even sometimes interacting. And doing so from a discreet, relaxed position, listening to music or whatever.

And not just any people. Oh no. My people; My Yidden. All of them. “The men who are good, and the men who are bad, as good and as bad as I”. I can watch them for hours. So where do I that, you ask?

And here I let you, my dear reader, in on a wonderful secret- assuming you aren’t a title reader (I know I’m not), and haven’t discovered it already. The coffee houses of Israel house the most eclectic, diverse cross section of the Israeli culture around. Perhaps second only to diversity at the Kosel, all types are there, and all over. Yaffo, King George, Rechavia, Ramat Eshkol, Moshav Germanit, and even out of town. I enjoy few things more than rolling into
a cafe and chilling, writing, listening to tunes, and of course watching the people.

So what did I observe? What did I see on this Bein Hazmanim’s journey through the cafes of the land? What about the people so attracts, nay, demands my attention? Can engage my interest, and hold it (no mean feat) for hours? I’ll do my best to explain, but the truth is you have to try it for yourself to see what I mean…

“The men who are good”.

This one spiffilly dressed accounting student type was having serious connection based issues with his laptop. He initially asked the in-house techie of the cafe, and when the techie couldn’t help him, the guy was stuck. Or so you’d think.
In a matter of minutes, a number of ordinary patrons with no vested interest in getting this guy up and running did just that- got the guy up and running. (BTW, good bit of trivia to know- “ordinary” patrons in cafes often have serious computer skillz).

In a similar vein, on more than one occasion I’ve seen random, unconnected Yiddelach help out others. From small things like watching people’s stuff while they use the W.C., or even rearranging seat locations to provide others with access to power outlets- nothing surprises
anymore here.

And then, there are

“The men who are bad”.

Just the other day, towards the end of the night when the cafe I was in was almost empty, an average American Bais type of bochur around 18/19 years old strolls in.
He needs to use the bathroom. Nothing new. I’ve seen many people walk in to use the facilities. He’s decked out in in a white polo shirt, green khakis, and a leather yarmulke clipped to his head. As he makes his way towards the W.C. door, one of the cafe’s servers
bars his way. “Hizmanta Mashehu“, he asks? “Huh”, he mutters in reply. Clearly no linguist, this bochur. After a minute of exchanging grunts back and forth, the bochur finally chaps what the server wants.
“No, I didn’t buy anything”.
And in stupefied silence, I watch the Israeli cafe staffer deny the hapless bochur entrance to the bathroom. As the guy turned to make his confused and somewhat embarrassed way out, I observed one more thing.

The staffer was chiloni.

So yeah, there are all types in the coffee houses of Jerusalem. And then again, there was the small coffee shop owner who apologized profusely to me when he realized I couldn’t eat anything because of the non-Mehadrin hashgacha. He explained to me why it wasn’t Mehadrin;
and made it clear to me that I could sit there as long as I liked- gratis.

Small shop, big man.

And the diversity! Oh, the diversity. All types. Yeshiva guys. Mizrachi. Chiloni. Dati Leumi types. Families in the middle of the day, just stopping in for a minute to cool off with an iced drink. Tech types with huge laptops, using the cafes as offices away from the office.
Dates. Loads of them. Foreigners; Americans, Euros, and even Arabs. Even some organized meets…like this one.
And random groups of friends bumping into other random groups of friends. The atmosphere is, somehow, very homey. One big happy family. And while it may be that the prevailing energy and vibe in cafes is good only for collective benefit reasons (see this piece for more on that), the bottom line is that the overall attitude is:

“And let me be a friend to man”.

So while Foss likely didn’t mean a coffee “house”, I have little doubt that he’d have been at home in one. Or at least in an Israeli one.

So that’s my Bein Hazmanim piece, and this is Yeshiva Guy, signing off for Elul Zman. I’ll have some pre-scheduled pieces going up, but won’t be online-mostly.
If you need something specific, or just want to drop me a line, I’ll be on Twitter, or you can get me via the Be BKesher form at the top of the page or here.

…The Local Druggie burns his hovel up, and random bochurim pitch in to help him out.

…The waitress at the restaurant informs you in no uncertain terms that she’ll take her tip in cash, (omits please).

…A lady give $100,000 to HU. The lady was homeless.

…You’re impressed by your Egged-mates’ shtatty looking Oyster Perpetual watch…until upon closer inspection you realize it says “Rol(od)ex” on it, not Rolex.

…Cars and motorcycles arbitrarily disobey traffic laws…why not?

…A random, fatherly type dude on the train scolds you, loudly, for putting your feet up- in a mussardike way. (Happened to friend).

…There, the Blacks speak Hebrew. Here, the Hebrews speak Black> (Israelis love showing off their poor command of ebonics).

…Ten men gather together to daven in a minyan…and no two belong to the same sect/denomination.

…There, the cars are BIG. Here, the cars are smallll.

…The beggars wear tefillin.

…You walk into an innocent looking coffee house to get a Coke and use the internet, and the waiter tells you “It isn’t kosher here”.

…You go out on a shidduch, and have loads of fun. With the wrong girl.

…You’re bored at 2AM, but never fear…you can always go to the Kosel, and have a heart to heart with G-d.

…You can’t for the life of you figure out the parking lot’s pricing matrix…because it doesn’t make any sense.

…All around you, (chareidi) men are wearing tighter shirts than (chiloni) ladies.

…You can’t get over the fact that the three primary colors are not, in fact, BWB (Black, White,Black).

…People are rioting! Wait…why? No one is sure.

…Free hot cocoa; no, not in camp, but at the Kosel.