THE AIR OF ISRAEL
I’m in Yerushalayim, in Emek Refaim. Outside there’s movement everywhere: cranes and construction all over, streets closed off, traffic squeezed down to a single lane, fences and worksites the length of the whole block. Yerushalayim never stops rebuilding itself. But the noise doesn’t reach inside. I’m at Café Kafit, a beautiful place, full of people, with air conditioning and good wifi. I’m alone, with my computer, trying to finish writing my book —Dinosaurs in the Torah— where I analyze in depth how Chazal, the Rishonim, and the Sephardic Acharonim understood pesukim 20, 21, and 22 of the first chapter of Bereshit. I don’t quite know why, but the coming and going of people doesn’t distract me: it keeps me company. I concentrate better here than in a library. I’m moving forward with my book the way I never could in New York. Could this be what our Sages taught, that avira de’Eretz Israel machkim—that the air of the land of Israel makes you wiser? It helps you think better. The mind feels lighter.
CONNECTION VIA NEGATIVA
I ordered shakshuka and a carrot juice.
The phone rings. It’s a member of my community in Great Neck. I answer. With a worried voice, he asks how I am, how I’m feeling, and what it’s like to be in Israel with the terrible situation with Iran, the confusing messages from Trump and Vance, and the threats from Turkey. He knows Israel matters deeply to me and that I live these news stories with intensity. And he takes for granted that I must be suffering, glued to the latest updates on Telegram.
And I don’t know how to explain to him that here everything is calm. That people are content, that the restaurants are full, and that the biggest problem of the morning is finding a free table to sit down for a coffee.
The truth is there are two countries called “Israel.” There’s the Israel of the international headlines—the one that shows up every day in every newspaper in the world, always on the edge of something, surrounded, threatened, and demonized—and there’s the other Israel, the one where you go to sleep with the windows open, enjoying the breeze of Yerushalayim, and wake up happy to be in the best country in the world.
NEWS DETOX
I told him I had no idea what was going on. And I said, almost without thinking: I’m not following the news! I surprised myself hearing it. And I realized something. In New York my head is more here than there; I can’t help it. A psychologist would tell me it’s a mix of guilt for not being in the land of my fathers and a need to stay connected to Israel all the time. Without meaning to, I had turned worry into a form of connection with Medinat Israel. But here I don’t need that: I’m inside, and the connection no longer runs through the news.
Here I’m in the company of my people, wherever I go. At Kafit I don’t know anyone, yet I know them all. I know exactly where they come from, they and their ancestors, and what future they want for their children.
And the connection with Boreh Olam is felt in the soul. In my Amida it takes far less mental effort to address God in the second person. The relationship with Boreh Olam happens far more naturally. I think that’s what gives a person so much peace. That Presence, immanent in the air of Israel, makes you more aware that there is Someone in charge of this place and this people. Yesh Ribon laBira —there is a Master to this palace. And it isn’t Trump, or Vance, or even Netanyahu.
SHADOWS
Our Chachamim teach that in the desert the people were wrapped in the Anane Kavod, the clouds of glory that surrounded them on every side. They were the sign that HaShem was with them, protecting them “from above.” And so they could go to sleep at ease, without standing guard, in the middle of the desert, even knowing they were surrounded by dangers. They also knew under whose shadow they stood. It’s the same shadow you feel here. It’s the one we’ll mention this Friday night in the Arbit prayer: ufros alenu sukkat shelomecha —spread over us the “shadow,” the sukka of Your peace. And we add a special mention: that this shadow of peace extend over all the people of Israel, and very particularly over Yerushalayim, His city. Our greatest wish as a nation is to dwell beneath the Divine Shadow. And that is what makes Israel special. It’s not that there’s no danger outside. It’s that here you give yourself over to Divine protection, and everything else stays outside: the news, the threats, the headlines. The world keeps turning, but the noise stays on the other side of the Shadow.
