Tirat Zvi: From Wingate to Lazar and Levin

Shortly after nine o'clock on Thursday August 6 a bus trundled past the largest kosher meat-packing plant in Israel, coming to a stop near the center of the religious kibbutz of Tirat Zvi. Sixteen young men and women emerged, taking their first steps into the community they will call home for the next year.



For at least one of the new kibbutzniks, however, stepping off the bus was not simply about arriving at a new home. The moment I arrived in Tirat Zvi was the first time I understood what my aliyah really represents. My aliyah is not about arriving at the airport or spending a week in Jerusalem. That is, my aliyah is not about being in Israel. It is all about making a difference in Israel. For better or worse, the army is where I have chosen to start making the difference. And so it is only when I arrived at the kibbutz that I will call home throughout (most if not all of) my army service, I truly felt my aliyah had begun.

My fifteen fellow garin members and I are hardly the first volunteers from abroad to commence our service in defense of the Jewish State from Kibbutz Tirat Zvi. Our garin only exists in Tirat Zvi thanks to Lazar Berman, an American who moved to the kibbutz six years ago as he began his service that would culminate as a lieutenant in the Givati brigade. Lazar's "host mother" on kibbutz enjoyed the experience so much that she invited Garin Tzabar to launch their first religious garin in Tirat Zvi in 2007. Several of the fifteen volunteers that made up that first religious garin remain on the kibbutz, including two members of elite special forces units.

Lazar was joined on Tirat Zvi by another young American volunteer, a nineteen year old from Pennsylvania named Michael Levin. When Michael was killed in the summer of 2006 in the Second Lebanon War, his unassuming courage and love of Israel left a deep impression on many in the Jewish world. A fellow camper of Michael's from Camp Ramah in the Poconos was so inspired by his courage that she decided to follow his example. Today she is a member of my garin, preparing to enlist in the Israeli army in three months. Everyday she joins the rest of our garin for breakfast and dinner in a room known as Mo'adon Michael, named after the fallen soldier by his family in America and friends on the kibbutz.

Lazar and Michael, and in a sense every Israeli soldier for the last sixty odd years, are truly following in the footsteps of the first English speaker to come to Tirat Zvi and volunteer his service in defense of the Jewish state. Seventy years ago, one of the most unusual men of the twentieth century drove up to the gates of the kibbutz. Bearing a trunk full of arms and a biblical passion for the Zionist cause, Orde Wingate immediately revolutionized the fighting style of the Jewish military forces. From his base in Tirat Zvi, Wingate led the boldest kibbutz members on daring raids against marauding Arab gangs. Known as the Special Night Squads, Wingate's original tactics so influenced the fighting philosophy of the incipient Jewish army that Israeli military hero Moshe Dayan later said "Wingate taught us everything we know."

Living in Tirat Zvi, home to Israel's major meat-packing factory and the highest recorded daytime temperature in Asia (53.9ºC; 129.0ºF on June 22 1942), is not always easy for a vegetarian like myself who grew up in the frozen tundra of Minnesota. Bearing the legacy of Wingate, Berman and Levin in mind helps, reminding me that this smoldering kibbutz along the Jordanian border has been the staging ground for others who shared my determination to defend the state of Israel. As Michael Levin said, "You can't fulfill your dream unless you dare to risk it all."

A Traitor Among Us

For the next three months I will be living on kibbutz with fifteen others, nine guys, six girls, half of whom have completed college. Our garin [group] is fairly old by the standards of Garin Tzabar, as the secular groups are largely composed of 18 year olds fresh from American public high school. The extra years translate into a fairly mature vibe in our garin: we josh around with the best of them but also maintain a disciplined approach to preparing our bodies and minds for the army. The extra years and college degrees also add to the diversity of our garin. Several of us speak a second or third language, have lived or traveled across Europe or the Middle East, or bring other unusual experiences to the table. The religious nature of our garin adds yet another element to the group heterogeneity. Within the broad confines of religious Judaism, every member of our Garin has their own spiritual biography. Many are ba'alei teshuva, religious Jews who came to their faith from a secular background. Others were raised within a religious home. Some have even studied, like me, in a yeshiva in Israel.

In short, there are stories a plenty I could share about any of the fifteen characters that make up my garin. Only one, however, is going to earn some words in this brief writeup. The reason is obvious enough, just check out what two bloggers had to say about the decision of this particular member of my garin to move to Israel:

That kid is a traitor and should be stripped of his U.S. citizenship...The loyalties of such people should be known and whenever they seek to advocate on behalf of Israel from the speaking position of an American then it should be stated that they are not Americans are should not lecture us. (see here)

To me, Tzvi is more of a traitor than anything else. And a quitter to boot. He ups and leaves his country to fight for a taliban-like military in Israel (given what most “elite” units are engaged in) without a thought for the people who made the recommendations to get him into West Point (one has too get at least two recommendations to get in – and they have to be convincing). Does it mean he has been lying to his officers and classmates all this time about where his patriotism lies? (see here)

The enmity is aimed at my new friend Tsvi, who left behind a promising American military career as a West Point cadet to realize his dream of defending the state of Israel. Tsvi did not make the decision lightly and he remains attached to the values and peers he left behind in the US Army's premier officer academy. Anonymous bloggers tend to see the world in black and white. Tsvi's decision to switch his military ties to Israel strikes a few online loudmouths as traitorous, even treasonous. After personally being selected and trained by the US Government for one year, how can this young American simply turn his back on his native country?



I have the dual advantage of knowing Tsvi and of having made a similar decision to seek my fortune in Israel rather than pursue the future in the US security and foreign policy community that is almost expected of graduates of the Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies (SAIS). Like Tsvi, I understand that coming to Israel is about realizing my potential rather than rejecting the land of my birth, a country I continue to admire deeply. It is simply naive to accuse Tsvi, myself and everyone in our garin of traitorous loyalties to the United States. We have mixed identities, like everyone else, and as we unravel our dreams it is asinine to expect us to dance to the tune of some single-minded, self-appointed interpreter of American patriotism.

Seeds of the Sabra: Opening Day of Garin Tzabar

Crazy decisions are supposed to be easier to make, more reasonable to accept, when not made in isolation. A crowd lends support, usually a good thing unless the presence of others allows the sort of groupthink that famously scuttled the planning of Kennedy’s advisers during the Bay of Pigs fiasco. When I arrived at Tel Aviv University’s Smolarsh Hall on Thursday August 6 for the ceremony that would commence my path towards military service, the presence of over 250 other youngsters only made my head spin. It was and remains hard to imagine how so many young Americans are prepared to voluntarily enlist in the Israeli Army. I am impressed, moved and honestly a little unsettled that my decision is really not as singular as I may have supposed.



The ceremony in Tel Aviv marked the start of Garin Tzabar (literally, the “Sabra seeds,” or the “Sabra unit”), the program that is facilitating the process that will lead to my enlistment in the Israeli Army in late November. Garin Tzabar is a program run by Israel’s major youth movement (Tzofim) that places groups of new immigrants on Kibbutzim, where they live together for three months before individually serving in the army for a minimum of two years. The program was initially designed to encourage the children of yordim, Israelis that have moved abroad, to serve in the army and remain in Israel.

Three years ago a religious group was added to Garin Tzabar for the first time, located on the religious kibbutz of Tirat Zvi in the Bet She’an Valley. This year there are two religious groups, both of which largely draw their members from new immigrants rather than the children of former Israelis. Despite the growing number of religious participants, the program remains something of an anomaly in the religious world where many motivated youngsters who choose to serve in the army do so through Machal (a program for non-Israelis oversea volunteers who serve for a year and a half) or on their own after making aliyah.



I chose to enlist in the army through Garin Tzabar rather than independently or via Machal for a number of reasons. Machal was out because that program is specifically designed for non-citizen volunteers and my commitment to serve in the IDF is part and parcel of my desire to make aliyah and live in Israel. Enlisting on my own would have allowed me to choose where I would live for my first year in Israel. Moreover I would not have to participate in the many group activities that make up the Garin Tzabar schedule in the months leading up to the army. I could have lived my own life in Jerusalem, helping to advance China-Jewish ties while improving my Hebrew on my own time.

Independence has its place, especially at age 24 when I have grown used to living on my own in cultural meccas like New York, Beijing and Washington. I chose the Garin, however, because I truly preferred everything it offered to the alternative. I want to live in a kibbutz environment. I want to enter the army three months after making aliyah, rather than waiting the eight months or more regularly required of new immigrants. And I want the challenge and opportunity of living within a group setting. Not simply because it will be nice to have like-minded individuals to come home to after tiring weeks in the army. And not only because learning to live with a group can be so important for success in the army.

Ultimately it comes down to my preference to live within a tight-knit community where my life can be as defined by how I give to the group as much as by my own personal development. It is an outlook on life that I have been grappling with for years and that I am not ready to abandon faith in just yet.



My faith in Israeli ceremonies, meanwhile, remains buoyant after the opening event for Garin Tzabar. After throwing food, drinks and shirts at all 250 of us, the Garin staff filed us into a large auditorium for a few speeches. The highlight of the ceremony, however, were the half dozen patriotic song and dance numbers performed by the Tzofim dance group. The dancers were pretty to look at but most of my fellow starry eyed volunteers followed my lead, grabbing some shut-eye for the long road ahead.

Mind or Body in Service to the State

Seven years ago I stood in the shade of Har Meron, in the northern Galilee, torn between two futures. One would test my mind, promising a journey of steady intellectual stimulation. The other course would challenge my body, pushing me to a new level of physical strength. The first path, to my 17 year old mind, meant a future apart from Israel, a future dependent on the restrained crafts of writing and reason. The second path pushed my proto-Zionist thinking one step further, linking a future of physical challenge with dwelling in the land of Israel.

The fact that my indecision seven years ago was prompted by a choice between a three day writing or hiking seminar hardly matters (can you guess which seminar I chose?). And while true, I am not trying to call attention to my dodgy tendency to over-dramatize the simplest of decisions. My intention is only to provide some context for the choice I face with the Israeli army, whether to enlist in an analytical position where my knowledge of China and Chinese could be put to some use or to serve in a more traditional combat role. In short, modiin (military intelligence) or a sayeret (the elite infantry units). Mind or body, body or mind.

A combat unit, in particular the infantry, is a realization of the army service I have envisioned serving in since childhood. The teamwork, the discipline, the exhaustion—all are experiences unique to combat that would challenge me like never before, pushing the limits of my mental and physical strength.

Serving in the secretive realm of military intelligence would, of course, also have its share of inimitable challenging experiences. Moreover the opportunity to utilize my Chinese and China knowledge within the Israeli government would no doubt be of immeasurable benefit for my career after the army. Most importantly, putting my Chinese to use would probably be the more effective use of my skills in service to the state of Israel. While there are countless Israeli eighteen year olds that could leave me in the dust in a sprint, very few enlist with an advanced degree in the language and politics of the world’s next superpower.

In many ways the choice I face is a question that all Israeli immigrants confront when they decide to enlist in the army with a college degree in hand. Can and should I put my advanced knowledge to use? Or will I be cheating myself of the army experience I expect, the experience I arguably need to best integrate into Israeli society? Perhaps the questions ring a shade higher in my mind because the skill-set I am bringing to the army is so unusual. Those same skills, however, led me to the sunny heights of Hebrew University on Wednesday August 5, introducing me to an individual who would finally set my doubts at ease.

Yitzchok Shichor is not simply Israel’s preeminent scholar on China. In a wide-ranging academic career spanning the last forty years, he has also emerged as one of the top Western experts on the Chinese military, as well as China’s policies in the restive Muslim areas of Xinjiang and Sudan. Shichor interest in China began much like my own, drawing off an intellectual curiosity and strategic concern for how the rising Asian power would impact the Middle East.

I met with Shichor on Wednesday afternoon, in his office at the Hebrew University’s Truman Institute. We spoke for nearly an hour about why China has recently blacklisted Shichor from visiting the country (the professor contributed to a academic treatment of Chinese policies in Xinjiang, a work someone in Beijing took offense to) and how to blend scholarly and activist impulses in advancing understanding between China and Israel (Shichor’s pithy take, “At 65, I am too old for this activism”).

Finally I posed my questions: (a) Are Chinese intelligence analysts really needed within the Israeli security establishment and (b) Could he put me in contact with the necessary government intel offices. The first question would provide the answer to whether or not I should defer combat for a desk position. As a senior Air Force officer informed me over Shabbat a few days earlier, combat is the most important position in the army but other tasks—such as designing Israel’s advanced weaponry—are more necessary. The question then, is whether Chinese intelligence work is one of those necessary tasks.

Shichor began laughing as I made my request. His mirth, he explained, came because when he was my age, studying in the early 1970s for an advanced degree on Chinese politics at Hebrew University, the Mossad approached him and asked if he could assist them in gathering data on a country that Kissinger and Nixon had just returned to international relevance. Shichor literally founded the country’s intel operation on China. And after returning to academia following two years of government service, his students have filled the ranks of the Defense Ministry, military intelligence and the Mossad’s various needs for analysts of China and East Asia.

So, professor, is the pen mightier than the sword? Will it be mind over body, intel rather than combat, for this young Zionist over the next two years? Nope, answered Shichor. Outside of the Mossad, the professor explained, there really is not much of a need for China analysts. Serve where you wish, advised Shichor, and if you and the Mossad are interested in each other in two years, so be it.

I walked out of the professor’s paper strewn office. It was Tu B’Av, the Jewish Valentine day. The sun was shining on the desert curves of Judea. My heart was no longer torn. I was home.

Kibbutz Galuyyot, Live & On-Camera

"Ladies and gentlemen, you are now watching kibbutz galuyyot, live and on camera."

It was difficult to keep from smiling when I heard an official from Nefesh B'Nefesh, the aliyah assistance organization, announce the words in his smooth Australian accent. Less than a month after my own aliyah, I was back in the very hall where Natan Sharanksy and hundreds of others had welcomed me with such warmth. Except this time around I was here to welcome the new immigrants. Apparently word had gotten out that I would be at the airport as Prime Minister Bibi Netanyahu had also shown up to greet the new voters. Surrounded by hundreds of my fellow Israelis, I clutched a flag in one hand while my eyes scanned the crowd of new arrivals for the half dozen or so who would be joining me on kibbutz in a few days.



Kibbutz galuyyot, ingathering of the exiles, is one of those magical phrases that strums all the heartstrings in the Jewish repertoire. The first string is plucked from the Bible, from the book of Devarim, where the Divine promise is established that Israel's scattered remnants will be "gathered together," and restored to prosperity in their ancestral homeland. Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel add a prophetic urgency and later the sages propounded that the promise of Israel's return "is equal in significance to the day on which heaven and earth were created." For centuries the concept lies dormant in Jewish prayer until it is embraced by Israel's founding fathers and boldly stated in the opening words of Israel's Declaration of Independence. And today, following sixty years of aliyah from the ends of the year, kibbutz galuyyot is happening before my eyes, live and on camera.

Back in Israel...for Good

I left China on Sunday July 19, just as the Jewish Studies seminar moved south to Shandong University for two more weeks of intensive Jew-scholarship. It was time I returned to Israel, time to get myself together and work on my Hebrew before I would report to kibbutz on August 6.

The good news from my two weeks in Jerusalem is that I set up a bank account (Leumi), health insurance (Clallit), phone (Orange, through an extra cheap Garin Tzabar plan) and even got the ball rolling on my Sal Klita, the financial assistance [read: buckets of cash] new immigrants receive from the government.

Even better news came with my running, as the right knee pain that has kept me from running since late May was largely absent on my return to Jerusalem. When my right knee first locked up back in May I was quietly desperate, scared that the very marathon I had run in early May to prepare me for the army would instead destroy my ability to serve in a challenging combat unit. With no one in Syria to advise me how I should heal my knee, I stretched every day, swore off running and prayed. The morning after my brother's wedding the pain returned, reminding me I was still in trouble. Fortunately the same cousin who welcomed me at the airport is one of Israel's most active physical therapists. She provided me with kinesio tape, a new type of adhesive bandage designed to mimic human skin and heal sore muscles. The tape and some new stretching techniques gave me the confidence to run for the first time in Beijing. Back in Jerusalem, I have continued running every morning, pounding the hills as I cross through Rehavia and run circuits in Gan Sachar.

In general though, I have not made much use of my two weeks in Jerusalem. Israeli TV and a few lame efforts at a conversation book are the extent of the disciplined approach I had hoped to take to studying Hebrew. My flagging attention is enough to make me question at times whether I was wise to bounce from China a week early and miss the second part of the conference in Shandong. Those decisions are for the past. For now I have set my eye on the future and look forward to starting my new life on kibbutz the second week of August.

Greeting and Meeting China-Jewish Pioneers

When I left Beijing on July 19th I was under the impression that for the next two years I would no longer be involved in advancing ties between China and the Jewish world. I thanked Seth for giving me the chance to attend the Israel Studies Seminar at Peking University. And then I carefully packed away the business cards from the many Chinese Jewish scholars I had met in Beijing and said goodbye to China.

China, it turns out, is not ready to say goodbye to me! The four weeks since my return to Israel have been chockfull of happenings related to the burgeoning realm of China-Jewish ties. There are the fascinating individuals I have met, from Israel’s top academic on China to a passionate activist filled with ideas for developing the China-Jewish relationship. And then there are the professional opportunities that have come my way, including unexpected invitations from the midst of Iraq and the depths of the Prime Minister’s Office here in Jerusalem.

Before I had even returned from China, the founder and director of PresenTense, a magazine and summer institute devoted to fostering incipient Jewish social entrepreneurs, reached out to tell me I had to meet two young women, both whom were participants in this summer’s institute. I met the first of these remarkable women, Manuela, shortly before she departed Jerusalem for Beijing. Manuela is a Brazilian-American reporter based in China’s capital, where she mostly writes on food and environmental issues for Newsweek and other publications. She came to Israel this summer seeking support for an online information-sharing platform called Agritech that would promote the exchange of agricultural technologies between China and Israel. We spoke of how I could advance the project, settling on a vague role that if nothing else will keep me in touch with Manuela.

The second PresenTense fellow, Rebecca, was far more ready to have me suit up and contribute to her cause. Like Manuela, Rebecca comes at her interest in all things China-Jewish from an international background, having been raised in Liverpool and studied in Japan and China. In October 2008 she helped start the Israel-Asia Center, an advocacy organization providing better understanding and maximization of strategic partnerships and cooperation between Israel, the Jewish people and Asia - with a particular emphasis on China. The Center’s work, most of which currently involves education and the media, is right up my alley. And in Rebecca’s words, “the next two, maybe five, years are when everything will happen.” I have my doubts that in three years time there will be nothing left for me in the dynamic realm of advancing China’s ties with Israel and the Jewish world. Regardless, Rebecca’s offer is another sobering reminder of what I am sacrificing in enlisting in the army for the next two years.

Rebecca’s involvement in the Israel-Asia Center began after she met perhaps the most intriguing individual (quite a title, considering the folks attracted to this line of work!) active in developing ties between China and the Jewish world. Australian born, Israeli by choice, and with academic experience at a slew of universities (Bar-Ilan, Sydney, Cambridge) and yeshivot (Har Etzion in the Gush, Yeshivat Nir in Kiryat Arba, Tomchei Temimim of Lubavitch, a Satmar Hasidic beit midrash, the Hartman Institute—you get the idea, everywhere!), Avrum E. was a pretty intriguing guy before he fell into the China game. And so when he accepted an invitation to teach Jewish mysticism and philosophy at Shandong University in 2005, advancing China-Jewish ties quickly became his new driving passion.

Avrum’s passion was on full display when we spoke until late into the night on July 27. After stating in no uncertain terms that I had to stay in Jerusalem rather than move to kibbutz for the next three months, Avrum spoke with lighting in his eyes about a seemingly endless number of ideas to jumpstart China-Jewish relations. As much as his ideas appealed to my own interests, the most lasting impression I have of our meeting is the man himself. Innovative scholar, pioneering activist, and most of all, a man afire with big plans for the future. Role-model, anybody?

The next person I met with may lack Avrum’s vast academic background. But her incomparable personal history and unusual insight made meeting Vicky W. a highlight of my final week in Jerusalem. Vicky’s story starts in southern China but really got going when she moved to New York from Switzerland ten years ago. “Once I was in New York it didn’t take me long to take the next natural step and become Jewish,” Vicky joked in describing how she become fascinated by Judaism and promptly converted with an Orthodox rabbi seven years ago. Her next decision was equally courageous: Vicky moved to Israel shortly after her conversion, having concluded that there was no better place to live a Jewish life. Over the course of our two hour meeting, Vicky spoke to me at length about how to succeed as a new immigrant to Israel. I found the advice deeply compelling, although eventually I got Vicky to speak about her professional experience over the last few years in the China-Israel scene. Vicky spoke of having to reassure Israelis that was not an illegal immigrant. She also described visiting her parent’s home in Guangzhou when she realized that Israel is now the only place in the world she feels truly at home.

I imagine that my own path down the road of China-Jewish ties will not bring me into conflict with quite the same challenges faced by my new friend Vicky W. Whatever my path is, however, I have no doubt that the folks I met in my last week in Jerusalem will prove integral in the road ahead.

Jerusalem Through Her Eyes

Imagine if you had no memory of the first time you laid eyes on the person with whom you will spend the rest of your life. Friends ask how you met and you have no answer. "Its like she was always by my side" is the best you can offer. Or if you take another second, you may compare the lack of any definitive virgin memory to a child's relationship to his mother. Yet again, she was simply always there.

I do not know whether mother or wife is the more apt metaphor to capture the full flavor of my affinity for Jerusalem and Israel. But I do know that I cannot for the life of me recall my first visit to the land and city I today call home. My family visited Israel regularly during my childhood. The first visit may have even come when I was less than a few months old, as was the case with my three week old younger brother when he traveled to Israel for Chanukah in 1990. Whenever it was, that magical moment when I first laid eyes on the walls of the Old City remains a memory I can only conjure in my imagination.

Fortunately there is a halfway station between reality and desire. And while I have not figured out exactly what that station is, I do know that it is found in friendship. Found, that is, in the emotional trust one creates via sustained communication with friends. The key idea here is that only communication has the power to bring to life our thoughts and dreams. And so only through sharing the ideas that occupy our mental lives do these ideas become real, become true.



On Sunday August 2 I had the chance to engage my lost memory of encountering Jerusalem for the first time when I showed a close friend around the city. There are many ways of communicating outside of speech-- sharing my altneuland, the Old New city of my past and present, with a close friend is certainly among them. As we looked over the city from the tayelet overlook in south Jerusalem, her living experience conjured my own buried memory. Her first sight of the morning light dancing off the Old City walls became my own. Her first ascent to the Temple Mount, first prayer at the Western Wall, first stroll towards Damascus Gate--all were wholly her own experience and yet in my sharing them with her, they also in some sense became my own.

Shabbat Shel Sinim & Heroes for Our Time

I have spent dozens of shabbatot in Jerusalem. Yet August 1, my last Shabbat in Jerusalem before reporting to kibbutz, is the first shabbat that has ever merited the title of 'Shabbat Shel Sinim,' a shabbat of the Chinese.

On Friday night I was on my way back from the Kotel, just past the Tower of David by Jaffa Gate, when I spotted three young Chinese tourists. They were stunned when I asked them, in Chinese, where in China they are from. I was impressed myself when the three visitors from Hong Kong informed me there were traveling the region sans a tour guide, making these the first Chinese backpackers I have ever met in my global travels.

When I pointed to my kippa to explain that I could not accompany them on the morrow to Bethlehem, they asked why my head covering differed from all the Hasids that were passing us on their way home from prayers. For the next thirty minutes we shared a fascinating discussion in Chinese on the peculiarities of Hasidic fashion. The highlight came when one of the Chinese tourists asked me whether Hasidim dress in black furs out of respect for Moses and the other biblical figures that dressed in a similar style in ancient Canaan. No, I regretfully informed them, Moses and friends probably looked like Bedouin. The Hasidim are actually channeling the fashion sense of the Middle Age Polish aristocracy, though in their eyes it is a custom they sustain out of respect for the European rebbes who adopted the dress of their influential neighbors.

I said goodbye to the three tourists and raced westward to the family that had graciously invited me to join them for shabbat dinner. En route I was stopped in my tracks for the second time when I spotted another group of Chinese tourists. They were standing outside the King David Hotel, across from the grand YMCA headquarters in the center of West Jerusalem. Again I asked them in Chinese where they were from. Again they answered Hong Kong with their eyes expressing their shock at the words pouring out of my mouth. I only had time to ask them about their itinerary before I wished them a shabbat shalom and continued my race towards Jabotinsky Street.

Over shabbat I would meet many other fascinating folks. Another guest at my dinner was an elderly Austrian gentleman who father, Dr. Soski, had been a close associate of the pre-state Zionist leader Ze'ev Jabotinsky. At lunch the next day I set beside an American-Israeli who had served as a senior research scientist for the Israeli Air Force for twenty-two years before retiring to become a high school math teacher this past fall.

It was another lunch guest, however, who turned out to be the most compelling find over shabbat. It too me till dessert to realize that the polite elderly man sitting across from me was none other than Ralph Goldman, the pioneering leader of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee. Better known around the world as the Joint, it is largely thanks to Ralph that the organization has so successfully aided Jews across the world over the last six decades.

I was first introduced to Ralph's work this past January, when I spent two unforgettable shabbatot in Addis Ababa by the home of Dr. Rick Hodes. Dr. Rick has devoted his life to caring for seriously ill children in Ethiopia. The Joint has supported his work since he first arrived in the East African country in the 1980s. Surrounded by the dozen or so Ethiopian children Dr. Rick has adopted, I read a book over shabbat called "I Seek My Brethen: Ralph Goldman and the 'Joint'." The book provides a sweeping history of the crises faced by world Jewry in the second half of the twentieth century. At the center of this history is a visionary humanitarian and skillful diplomat known as Ralph by heads of state in Washington, Moscow and Tel-Aviv.

Ralph and I spoke briefly about China, and he agreed that there was so much work the Jewish people needed to do in East Asia. I doubt I made the most of my lunchtime encounter with the sort of genuinely inspiring leader that seems all too rare in today's day and age. But I am thankful all the same for the chance I had. Moreover, it gave me renewed excitement for the many shabbatot that await me in Jerusalem and around Israel in the weeks and year ahead.