In the summer of 2006, my husband and I unwittingly walked into a battlefield or rather a revolution.
My husband’s office offered a discounted price at a resort on Lake Kinneret. You had to go on the dates they reserved, so it didn’t often work out that we could leave our children and go. On the few occasions that we were able to take advantage of the offer, it was a lovely vacation for the two of us. Sometimes when deemed necessary the youngest family member accompanied us as well.
Once up north, we would take advantage of the local attractions. We were sure to visit kvarim. We had our favorites, but we would search for new ones that we had never encountered before. There is something so uplifting being next to the resting place of a famous tanna from the mishnayos. These people were real; not just characters from some made-up book of fables.
We also made sure to have some fun. One year we went rafting. We felt like two little kids, rowing our boat along the Jordan River. Another time we took a Jeep tour. We drove our own jeep, following the lead jeep through small streams and a mango grove.
The year in which this story happened, my husband suggested we visit the dam where Lake Kinneret and the southern Jordan River meet. I am fascinated by seeing where two bodies of water meet. In the vicinity, was a museum belonging to Kibbutz Degania Aleph. My husband thought it was a nice outing to round out our mini vacation and so we drove into Israel’s first kibbutz, a mere 106 km due north from my home in Jerusalem.
Before continuing on my story, I need to fill in a small detail. My husband, Chaim, felt it was his obligation to create a Kiddush Hashem at every moment in his life. He felt strongly about dressing as a chareidi Jew wherever he went. Then people who only knew about chareidim from the negative media attention would encounter a polite, helpful, caring man, who happened to be wearing a black hat and jacket. He made a great ambassador for his cause.
Back to our mini vacation. We had just spent two nights at the resort and were on our way home. We stopped first at the dam separating the bottom of the Kinneret and the southern Jordan River. I thought back to 1991. While there had been almost no rain that winter, Sadaam Hussein had rained 38 missiles over our heads. By untold miracles, only one person was killed through those missiles. But our prayers for rain were answered the very next year. In fact it rained so much that the dam was opened to allow the rising waters of the Kinneret to flow down to the Jordan so that the city of Tiveria and surrounding areas wouldn’t flood.
Chaim followed his map over to the kibbutz and we entered through the gates. We were greeted with well-manicured lawns surrounding low buildings. Midday I suppose most people were at their work. There was a stillness in the air. We asked for directions for the museum and were pointed in the direction of the office. Chaim parked and we opened the worn-looking door of the museum office. We heard a woman speaking in excited tones before we actually came into the room.
“We will not put the Beit HaKenesset there,” she said emphatically. At that moment, she saw my husband, black hat and suit. Her mouth gaped. She swallowed. She looked back at the phone she was speaking into and said hastily, “I’ll speak to you later.”
She looked at our curious faces and said, “I will NOT discuss this with you.”
We shrugged our shoulders as if to say, that’s your choice. Suddenly she took an abrupt turn and started to explain the dilemma.
“We have decided to build a Beit HaKenesset here on Degania Aleph and that’s fine…” the woman explained.
My mind ran fast. That’s fine… I looked at the 60-something woman in a short sleeved shirt, short pants and sandals. She probably lived her entire life here on Kibbutz Degania, having never stepped foot in a Beit HaKenesset. And now she thinks it is fine to have one on the kibbutz?
Now came her problem. “A Beit HaKenesset is a good thing,” she repeated. I still couldn’t believe I was hearing this out of this ultra-secular woman’s mouth. “But they want to use the house that belonged to our founding father, A. D. Gordon. It’s just not right,” she exclaimed.
My husband and I were just absorbing the idea that this woman is accepting of the idea of building a shul on Kibbutz property. If this had been suggested just a couple of years earlier, she would never have agreed. But times were changing, and a kosher kitchen and Beit HaKenesset attracted more tourists. Not to mention that the younger generation who grew up with no knowledge of their Jewish heritage were showing signs of restlessness. In order to save the kibbutz, they would need to build a Jewish house of worship. But, where?
“You have to understand,” the kibbutz-reared woman explained passionately, “A.D. Gordon was a great man of values; a man of philosophy, of science and literature.” Her eyes shined as she described the kibbutz’s founding father. “But no, he was not a religiously observant man. To put a Beit HaKenesset in his home would be unheard of.” I was thinking she needed the word, sacrilegious, but this conversation was going on in Hebrew and it was better I said as little as possible.
The wheels in my mind turned furiously. It seemed in my limited world view that a shul was better anywhere on the kibbutz than in a specific place. I also wondered if this anti-Torah Zionist even deserved to have his home turned into a Beit HaKenesset. After all it would be a huge zechus for him. Who says he deserved to have that zechus?
The words came out of my mouth, “Why don’t you build the Beit HaKenesset in a central location where it will be easy for everyone around the kibbutz to access it?”
Her eyes lit up and she said, “Yes! That’s a perfect solution. The Beit HaKenesset should be in a central location where everyone can get there easily.” I wondered if she even heard her own words. She was suggesting that a Jewish house of worship, a place she possibly never visited in her 60 odd years, should be easily accessible to everyone on the kibbutz. Stranger things have happened.
We paid for our entrance fee and the woman quickly picked up her phone to share my suggestion with her fellow kibbutz members. A shul does exist on the kibbutz today. I hope this nameless woman visits it often.
