by Lori Silberman Brauner
NJJN Staff Writer

August 20, 2009

Tensions between fervently Orthodox Jews and the civil authorities in Jerusalem may have reached a climax in the weeks leading up to my week-long stay in the holy city, but I never felt a whiff of it.

I went to Israel in mid-July to recharge my batteries, spiritual and otherwise, and left with improved Hebrew-language skills and a renewed commitment to my Judaism, the Jewish state, and its multifaceted and beautiful capital, Jerusalem — not to mention a nice tan.

I also had the chance to spend a Shabbat with a family I had not seen in 19 years, Rabbi Mordechai and Henny Machlis, who made aliya from New York 30 years ago and are the kind of haimishe people who open their home to some 200 Shabbat dinner and lunch guests each week.

The Machlises live in Ma’alot Dafna, a section with many haredi, or fervently Orthodox, Jews that is separated by a major intersection from eastern Jerusalem’s Arab neighborhoods. These Jews — according to a 2008 report by the Jerusalem Institute for Israel Studies, some 30 percent of Jerusalem’s Jewish population — have garnered negative publicity in recent weeks for engaging in violent protests — including attacking a welfare office and throwing stones at municipal workers — over the opening of a city parking lot on Shabbat and over the arrest of an ultra-Orthodox mother on the suspicion that she was starving her child.

But I saw no evidence of this tension in my forays through these neighborhoods. In fact, I had the opposite experience, both on my 40-minute walks each way to and from the Machlises, and at their home itself. Fifteen minutes after leaving my hotel and the city center Friday evening, I found myself in shut-down, but hardly deserted, religious neighborhoods. Barricades kept any unwanted cars from intruding, and families, all appearing to speak Hebrew (as opposed to the Yiddish of the anti-Zionist haredim), roamed the streets freely and peacefully.

When I reached my destination — after soliciting some help from one female passer-by and some neighbors of the Machlises — I found myself waiting outside their home for the couple to open their doors to the throngs outside. Rabbi Machlis personally greeted each guest, Jewish and non-Jewish, and we all shuffled in to find a place at one of the many folding tables. After squeezing into a corner spot at one table, I met some interesting folks, including a Jewish couple originally from South Africa who were visiting Israel from their home in Norway.

Around the room were students and backpackers; Americans, Israelis, and Europeans; and religious Jews of all streams and unaffiliated Jews. There was even a homeless man making himself comfortable at the Machlis table — with a towel on his head in place of a kipa.

After a welcoming round of “Shalom Aleichem” and “Aishet Chayil” (“A Woman of Valor”) and the recitation of Kiddush and Motzi, we enjoyed courses of chicken soup, gefilte fish, cabbage salads, chicken, and kugels while listening to divrei Torah and singing more Shabbat zemirot (songs).

This continued the following day during Shabbat lunch, when, at only slightly less cramped tables, guests devoured salads, more gefilte fish and kugels, a roast, cholent (both meat and vegetarian), and scrumptious pareve ice cream and cake drizzled with chocolate sauce.

Even more tantalizing were the numerous zemirot and nonstop divrei Torah offered by both the Machlises and two people from each table, men and women — including the towel-topped homeless man. Most of the divrei Torah centered around the upcoming Tisha B’Av, a day of mourning for the First and Second Temples in Jerusalem, at whose outer wall, the Kotel, I had just prayed that morning.

Two hours later, I left the Machlis home with the South African couple, completely humbled by the experience and determined to implement at least a fraction of my hosts’ kindness and hospitality back at my own Shabbat table in New Jersey.

The walk back was just as peaceful, and nobody seemed to notice when a secular Israeli moved a barricade so that he could drive through the otherwise blocked street toward downtown. (We promptly moved it back afterward.) Nor did I hear the smaller protests over the parking lot controversy that took place around that same time on nearby Shivtei Yisrael Street.

It is said that the First and Second Temples were destroyed because of sinat hinam, baseless hatred, among Jews. If the opposite of that is ahavat Yisrael, or love of all Jews, then I believe all of klal Yisrael could learn from the warmth, love, and tolerance served at the Shabbat table of the Machlis family of Jerusalem.

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