Tel Aviv’s western side is a beautiful Mediterranean beach that I jealously walked along. I refuse to make any piece of clothing sandy for the next month, and I could surely have only spent ten or twenty minutes in the warm waves before ultraviolet rays would get the best of me. Instead I walked half the length of the city’s beachfront in the shadows of tall hotels and beautiful people.
Tel Aviv’s central streets were a strange mix. Some buildings looked standard Middle Eastern--brown and square with an abundance of satellite dishes. But the very same streets had overpasses, small parks, or shops that reminded me of New York City--they either looked in decay or had a nostalgic appeal, depending on my mood. And then there were condominiums and skyscrapers that I imagine are the most modern buildings between the Persian Gulf and Western Europe. This all made for a confusing collage of under-developed, developed sixty years ago, and hyper-modern.
After some museums I made for Jerusalem on Friday afternoon, just before the start of Shabbat. With the sundown of Shabbat I went to the Western Wall, the only remnant of the Second Temple, which was destroyed by the Romans in 70 CE. From a secular tourists’ point of view, the Western Wall is pretty underwhelming, although perhaps its plainness and modesty is well-suited to Judaism. For all you hear about Islam being limiting for women, the Western Wall can only be approached by men. There’s a mini-wall about 30 meters away where the second sex can pray.
The most interesting part of the Western Wall were the thousands of tiny prayers squeezed into its crevices. I understand that Jews consider this the best line of communication with God. I was so tempted to sneak away a handful of prayers to read. After all, if you made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem and now had your best chance to get a word in with God, what would you say? My respect for others’ tradition and very small fear of a hypothetical God outweighed my curiosity.The next day I visited the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, marking where Christ is believed to have been crucified. The church is quite beautiful, though it certainly could be much more glorious if it were not pettily divided between various denominations who have territorial disputes over specific stones and light bulbs. I was most fascinated by the chapel dedicated to Christ’s actual crucifixion. It was guarded by a Greek Orthodox priest who banged a staff and yelled at people not to take pictures (I took one of course, less afraid of Christianity’s God I guess). I don’t know if it’s some kind of honor to guard Christ’s place of death, but if so this seems like an ill reward.
Finally, this morning I visited the Dome of the Rock, which houses the Foundation Stone, from which the world was made and where Adam was created, Joseph dreamt, and Abraham readied Isaac for sacrifice. As a non-Muslim I’m not able to go inside the Dome of the Rock. This seems unfair since--as I understand it--Judaism and Christianity also regard this stone as the foundation of life, but to some extent I respect it. It seems more legitimate than the Christian priest banging his staff on the ground. If they want one of their holiest sites to remain pure, it’s probably better that I don’t go in there and take pictures with which to increase my social capital.
For someone who regards these monuments for their history, rather than spirituality, I’ve found many of Israel’s memorials to be nearly or as impressive as its religious heritage. In the Tel Aviv Diaspora Museum hangs the Memorial Column, dedicated to all the Jews who have been persecuted in history. Situated in a tall, dark, and voluminous room, the Memorial Column is a hanging beam with small lights that actually radiate heat. Surrounding it are layers of iron bars like jail cells. Its symbolism is simple, dignified, and extraordinarily beautiful.
The Yad Vashem Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem is just as effective in this regard. Unfortunately I could not take pictures (Google images will have to suffice). In one room designed like Professor Xavier’s special chamber in X-Men (sorry, but it’s a fair comparison) one is surrounded by a two story silo of bookshelves full of the names of Holocaust victims.
Easily the most haunting and well designed monument was the Children’s Memorial. In almost total darkness, one walks into a room of dark mirrors, like obsidian or an extremely polished black marble. In the center are candles that reflect off of these surfaces. The effect is really like one is floating in space, amidst a galaxy where every spot of light represents a small human soul. The loss of children was the museum’s most tragic theme. I read a speech by the Jewish leader of one of the ghettos, in which he tells thousands that they must hand over their children under ten years old to the Nazis because they are too young to work. He explains himself metaphorically to the horrified crowd, saying they must cut some limbs to preserve their bodies. Moments like that make you pale.Finally, there was an exhibition of art created by Jews experiencing the Holocaust, in which two pieces really struck me. One was by Carol Deustch. When his daughter was two years old he made her an illustrated version of the Torah, with 99 of his own drawings, some of which were on display. He died in a concentration camp, but his daughter survived. That book, which the Nazis seem to have regarded as worthless, was the only thing she had from her father.
There were also some paintings by Bruno Schulz, who had been commissioned to paint the walls of a Nazi officer‘s villa. Schulz painted fairy tale characters, like princesses and Snow White, but he did not give the characters “Aryan” appearances. Instead he gave the characters the faces of his family members, including his father. It was a show of resistance and a way of preserving his family. Schulz was eventually killed indiscriminately by a Nazi officer.
With each art piece there was incredible suspense while I read about the artist. First I’d learn their backgrounds, educations, influences, their struggle in the Holocaust, and finally, whether they were murdered or they survived. Obviously the former was much more common.
The greatest lesson I took from the Holocaust Museum was that the Holocaust was not inevitable. There were countries that refused or resisted deporting their Jews to Germany, like Bulgaria and Denmark. There were people who hid Jews, protected them, and helped them escape. There were even German officers who did not follow orders. The Holocaust is not just the result of an evil regime with a fundamentalist ideology, but equally the result of inaction, cowardice, apathy, and--most disturbingly--people’s susceptibility to groupthink hatred and inhumanity. Comparable situations have arisen since, in Cambodia and now Congo, and the apathy continues to run through my government, my people, and me.
Throughout these memorials were quotes from Jewish leaders and the Torah about the sanctity of human life. Without overly politicizing the immense tragedy of the Holocaust, there’s an obvious and shameful hypocrisy at work here. After all Israel has executed the wars in Lebanon and Gaza, in which civilian deaths outnumbered Israel’s total losses by about 60:1. This doesn’t make Jews or Israel exceptionally evil. But it suggests to me that every society will tolerate the murder of innocents, even the most intelligent, successful, resilient, cultured, and those most personally acquainted with evil.
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