1.
For some reason, this intriguing place is not known to the public. Not even to residents of Jerusalem. Only those who grew up in Rehavia know it: in the middle of Alfasi Street, in the old Jerusalem neighborhood, lies an ancient tomb from the Second Temple period, the Tomb of Jason. It seems to me, by the way, that it is one of the only tombs that has an exact address, including the house number: Alfasi 10, Jerusalem. I didn't check the zip code.
And this secret tomb is nothing new. I mean, it's clearly not new, it's from the Second Temple period, as mentioned. But it was also discovered quite a while ago. 65 years ago, while preparing the ground for digging foundations for a new building at the address mentioned above, the remains of an ancient burial cave were discovered. Then, during the Israel Antiquities Authority's prolonged archaeological excavation at the construction site, more and more coins from the Hasmonean Kingdom period, from the times of Alexander Jannaeus and John Hyrcanus, and also from the times of Herod, were uncovered.
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In short, all the who's who. And besides, paintings of animals and inscriptions in Aramaic and Greek were discovered on the walls of the burial cave.
Following all the discoveries, it was decided to abandon the construction of the building on the site and turn it into an archaeological site. Above the tomb plot, the impressive pyramid structure that was there was restored, just like in the tombs of the kings in Jerusalem, and a beautiful public garden was built. And that's basically it.
By the way, exactly three houses away, at 16 Alfasi Street, is a historical site from a completely different era, and it's also not that well-known: the house where the poet Leah Goldberg lived in her last twenty years. Just a few months ago, a small sign was placed at the entrance of the house that tells about the important resident who lived there. A few dozen meters later, up the winding street, lies another historical building: 25 Alfasi, the hiding place where Menachem Begin hid from the British when he was the commander of the Irgun. Before him, his underground comrade Abba Achimeir lived in the apartment.
But let's not spread ourselves over thousands of years of history in Jerusalem and focus on the Second Temple period, the period of Jason's burial.
Well, who was Jason? It's not clear. Historians are divided. Some demand praise for him: he was a Hasmonean. And some demand derision for him: he was a Greek. And perhaps a dubious sailor, possibly even a pirate. There is also talk that he was a senior advisor to the cruel King Jannaeus.
In this context, it is interesting to mention the inscription found at the entrance to the tomb plot: "Rejoice, you living," written there in Greek, and anyone with a theory regarding Jason's identity sees it as conclusive proof of his theory.
2.
I don't understand archaeology, and even less so the correction of souls, but if you ask me, the soul of that Jason - righteous or sinner - probably needed some correction. Historians may yet write about this period: How in 2020 AD, thousands of years after the death of that mysterious Jason, a respectable minyan was held at his grave, for an entire year. This happened when, following a global pandemic, all synagogues were closed and worshippers were forced to hold impromptu minyans in courtyards and streets.
We went through the entire cycle of the year there last year, since the end of the first lockdown: Shavuot prayers, Tisha B'Av laments, Selichot, the breaking of vows, shofar blowing, closing, circumambulations, the Book of Esther. Last Rosh Hashana, I thought to myself that this was strange. I had planned to pray for the death of Rabbi Nachman in Uman, but the cycle of reasons decided that I would pray for the death of Rabbi Yason in Jerusalem.
And by the way, or not by the way: This is not something that can be taken for granted. A whole year of minyan, three times a day, 365 days a year, in the public space of the Rehavia neighborhood, for all that it symbolizes, and zero incidents with the secular neighbors. Zero. And then they'll tell us that we're in a civil war.
3.
But those days have passed and now Jason is alone again. The minyan has closed, which is a shame. If the coronavirus had truly disappeared from our lives, there would be nothing more joyful than the closure of the street minyans and a return to the holy, air-conditioned synagogues - the problem is that the coronavirus has returned and the synagogues continue to operate as usual, because the government, which contains the dead, does not give strict enough instructions.
The professionals begged to tighten the restrictions throughout the summer, but the Corona cabinet insisted on an "everything is open" policy. But leave the government alone. We, as religious Jews, who are stricter about matters of life safety, stricter than Nitzan Horowitz, stricter than the participants in the Fanjoya festival in Eilat or the performances of Omer Adam, should have returned to the open tents next to the synagogues on our own.
Of course, during the holidays. After all, even those who insist on wearing a mask as is customary in synagogues are actually putting unvaccinated children, along with the elderly and other people from risk groups, into a closed space during the High Holidays for long hours. Isn't it easier to build a tent like last year? Isn't it difficult for you with the masks on your faces for half a day, while fasting, during the Simchat Torah dances?
4.
Therefore, for all these reasons, on Rosh Hashanah Eve I searched the streets of Jerusalem for a minyan in an open tent. And also for another reason: It is difficult for me to pray, certainly during the High Holy Days, with Jews who blatantly disregard human life. I am not talking about those who take off their masks a little to get some air. I am talking about those who do not count the coronavirus at all. Who sit crowded together in closed places without masks, as if there is no coronavirus, and yet pray intentionally and chant "And we will prevail.".
Who will live and who will die? The one to whom your abject contempt will eventually bring the coronavirus. He will die. By suffocation. And it will be your fault. Maybe not entirely your fault, but you may have a part in it. And let's say he doesn't die, just loses his sense of smell and taste, or just loses days of work because his child will be quarantined. Is that okay? How much have we been educated and trained to be wary of even something like sleep deprivation that cannot be repaid, and suddenly we are spreading quarantines everywhere just because we are tired of the mask?
So we found ourselves a new courtyard minyan in Sokolov Garden organized by Rabbi Eliyahu and Hani Kanterman of the Chabad Talbiya. A place with much less history than Jason's grave (unless you consider the publicized morning walk that Netanyahu took there with Kaya, the family dog, five years ago, to be a historical event), but with no less shade and grass, and with a beautiful prayer by musician Srulik Hershtik, who passed in front of the coffin together with his sweet children, occasionally joined by their grandfather, the cantor Rabbi Chaim Eliezer Hershtik.
It was so lovely. After all, three generations praying together is already an exciting situation, especially when they sing in wonderful harmony.
5.
And there is one moment that I take with me from the Rosh Hashanah prayer to future Rosh Hashanahs, and in general to the entire cycle of the year. Even to the entire cycle of life.
It happened during prime time during the Rosh Hashanah prayer: the blowing of the shofar. Before the blowing, the owner of the shofar, Rabbi Shmuel Steinberger, explained in simple terms what the shofar is and why it is blown on Rosh Hashanah. From all corners of the garden, Jews of all kinds gathered, were drawn to the entrance of the tent, even those who don't come to synagogue all year round, and listened to his every word. He took the shofar in his hands, then said in a semi-apologetic tone: "With your permission, gentlemen, just before I blow the shofar, we will sing a special melody that the first Chabad Rebbe taught us. It will take about three minutes and immediately after the blowing.".
Then he covered his head with a tallit and began to sing the Arba Bevut melody. The truth is, I'm a little stuck here with the writing. My vocabulary and imagery are too limited to describe what this special melody does to the soul at this special time.
After the prayer, I saw in the book 'Heichal Hagina' (edited by Rabbi Zusha Wolf), a thick book with comprehensive and detailed information on each of the Chabad niguna, that perhaps an explanation for what I experienced can be found in the words of the movement's rebbes: "When the niguna of the old Rebbe is played, this is the time for repentance, because then is the time of desire above," said the Maharash of the Four Babush. And the Rebbe Rashba said: "When the niguna is played with inner awakening, this is the time for repentance and connection. And when the niguna is played with purity of heart... after prayer with deep effort, one can work out a private salvation in children and lives.".
Note that all this high-sounding talk about the tremendous potential of the Arba Bevut melody to awaken reflections of repentance in the hearts of its listeners is said in general, not at all about Rosh Hashanah. To the best of my knowledge, the Rosh Hashanah prayer is not at all on the list of very specific times when this melody is sung in Chabad. But thanks to the custom of the master who rings the bell in our impromptu minyan in the Jerusalem garden, I had the privilege of experiencing the melody before the blasts.
Look, I've heard a few wake-up calls in my life during those thrilling moments of Rosh Hashanah prayers, some from important rabbis and overseers, but nothing comes close to the four-in-one effect before the explosions.
6.
So what do I take with me from this experience for the entire cycle of the year? After all, not every melody is Arba Bavut, and not every holiday is Rosh Hashanah with that moment of the blowing of the shofar. True, but thank God we are blessed with quite a few sacred moments. For example, this week, when we enter the Sukkah for the first time. Or when we bless that we have lived on the four species. Even when we (unfortunately) say goodbye to the Sukkah with the moving prayer on the skin of a whale. And also later in the year, when we light Hanukkah candles and when we eat matzah. It seems to me that an ancient melody - the kind that in Hasidism is called "intended melody", meaning a melody composed by a great person and he put lofty intentions into it - can suddenly give a different depth to the entire experience. A depth that we did not know.
And again, it's hard for me to explain. After all, we're talking about a world that is beyond words. There are quite a few such melodies. In addition to Chabad melodies, one can also mention the Baal Shem Tov melody, or the melody of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev, or the melody of the awakening of many compassions by Rabbi Maggid of Lutsov.
I'm not talking about Shabbat and holiday songs now. That's a big deal, too, of course. But it's already happening during the feast of the swans, quail, and fish. I'm talking about what's called a "preparatory tune," a tune that comes before the mitzvah, before the blessing, before the big moment, and makes it much bigger. You're welcome to try it at home. That is, in the sukkah.
Happy Holidays! Or as Jason says: "Rejoice, you living ones.".
• The column is published in the newspaper 'Bisheva''
