Friday night, Friday night, and I, your servant, go to the Jewish community in Prague for a strictly kosher Shabbat dinner, a meal to which I was invited by the rabbi's family, and of course who am I to refuse. The rabbi himself would not be present at the dinner, I was told, but a man named Martin would show me to my table when I arrived.
The community house, I find when I arrive, is closed and closed. I knock on the door, but only the echo of the click of my hand answers me. What will happen? I keep knocking, but there is no sound and no answer. Neither Martin nor Martin.
A demonstration in solidarity with the hostages in Prague, this month, photo: Reuters
Across the street are two bored men looking at me as if I were a strange creature whose eyes had never seen before. I keep knocking, watching them look at me, and then they cross the road towards me.
"Who are you?" they ask.
Fat man, I tell them.
"Why are you here?"
Because I want to go in.
"Do you know what it's here?"
Yes, the Jewish community house.
"And why do you want to come in?"
To eat.
"What's your name?"
I give them my name, and they check their lists.
"You're not on the list," they say.
Martin is waiting for me inside, I tell them.
"Which Martin?"
Martin!
"What's his last name?"
Such a Czech name, very Czech.
"What's the name?"
I don't know Czech and I don't know how to pronounce it. Please go inside, ask for Martin and he will explain to you how to pronounce his full name.
"What is this week's Torah portion?"
Excuse me?
"What is the name of this week's Torah portion today?"
Are you serious? If you want to know if I'm Jewish, then please listen: When I was eight days old, a really small baby, I was circumcised. Are you Jewish?
"Nope. Did you have a bar mitzvah?"
Yes. After the circumcision, they gave me a bar mitzvah.
"What was the affair at your bar mitzvah?"
You exaggerated.
"What was she?"
For you will go to war on your enemies and you have seen in her captivity a beautiful woman and have taken her as a wife. Rings right?
"You can come in."
I'm getting in.
The clock at the Jewish Community House in Prague, Photo: GettyImages
Who am I to judge?
Inside, in the entrance lobby, I must unfortunately disappoint you, there is not a single handsome woman. The building is old fashioned, although quite pleasant, but I don't recognize a single living soul in the area, not even ugly.
I walk towards the dining room.
The place is almost empty but Martin, praise God, hangs out there.
Martin is a tall man, a doctor by profession, and a mehadrin Sabbath observant. The key to his house, for example, is part of the belt of his trousers so that God forbid he does not pass, God save us and save us from the grave offense of shaking on Shabbat.
We sit down to fulfill the mitzvah of eating Shabbat dinner together, but Martin doesn't have much appetite. "From October 7," he tells me, "I can't sleep at night. I worry all the time. How did this happen?! How did it happen that Hamasniks entered Israel by the thousands, murdered, raped and burned Jews in their hundreds, and no one stopped them?"
I have no idea, my dear.
"In the Czech Republic there are groups of Israelis on Facebook trying to connect with each other-"
What do you mean Israelis on Facebook?
"Israelis who left Israel because of the war."
What, are there any? Mouth?
"Yes."
A few?
"I don't know exactly."
A group of young people enters, boys and girls, all wearing tip tops. Where did they come from? Are they the Israelis? Not exactly. On Shabbat, Martin tells me, there is a conference of European Jewish students in Prague, and they come from all sorts of places. These farmers, if you ask me, came to this conference to look for mates.
There are Jews who travel deep to find a match – and there are those who come to Prague.
It's quite complicated, if you've ever tried, to find a good Jewish woman. Luckily, I get to talk to one of them, a handsome woman who seems religious to me, and she tells me that she lives in Germany, and that her sister immigrated to Israel about a year ago. How does it convey the war? "She's not in Israel now. She doesn't want to be there at war."
A new immigrant who left?
"What, do you think it's wrong that she left?"
Who am I to judge?
"What do you think?"
I don't imagine that the average Israeli would be crazy about your sister, what do you think?
"I really have to go now, sorry, but hopefully we'll see each other in the future."
Mother Commander
And when the handsome woman who is not in captivity comes out, three people enter and sit in the dining room - a father and his two children, a son and a daughter. Dad has hair the length of his exile, that is, under his brothel, and he and his children are waiting for a waiter to serve them Shabbat dishes: a small challah, potato salad, chicken schnitzel, potatoes, and a slice of cake. Is. And half a glass of wine.
They speak among themselves, and their language is Hebrew.
Why, I ask, do you have such long hair?
"Don't you like it?"
I was just asking. It's not a sight you see every day. Why really?
"My wife doesn't want me to cut my hair."
What do you do in Prague? Are you one of the Israelis who left Israel because of the war?
"Yes."
Why did you leave?
"Because there's a war and it's dangerous."
How do your friends, or your children's, feel about leaving?
He stares at me, as if I suddenly started talking to him in Czech.
Children, I ask his children, where would you rather be now, in Israel or in the Czech Republic?
"In Israel," they both reply.
Why are you here?
"Mom doesn't want to be in Israel because of the war."
What do you think your friends will say when you return to Israel after the war?
הם לא עונים.
מה אתה חושב, אני שואל את בעל השיער, יגידו החברים שלך כשתחזור לארץ בשוך הקרבות?
"מה אתה חושב?" הוא עונה לי.
אין לי מושג, אבל אני לא משער שיקבלו אתכם שם כגיבורי העם היהודי ששבו הביתה.
"תודה שאתה אומר לי את זה, זה גורם לי לחשוב. אתה יודע, אני לא רציתי לעזוב, אבל אשתי רצתה".
ואתה מקפיד לציית לאשתך?
"כן", עונים הילדים. האמא היא המפקדת בבית.
הם גרים כרגע אצל משפחה מקומית, בעל השיער מספר לי, ואולי בשבוע הבא הוא יחזור. לבד. רק הוא.
מעניין אם המפקדת תאשר את זה.
הכירו את הרוב הדומם
והנה זוג צעיר מגיע ומתיישב לו לידנו. הם מארה"ב, הם מספרים לי. האשה סופרת, או משהו בסגנון, והגבר מגדיר את עצמו כמדען. ככה, מדען. הוא לועס חלה, אוכל תפו"א, ומדבר: "אני מאמין בשלום".
יהיה שלום?
"אם יחלקו את ישראל לשני חלקים, האחד ליהודים והאחד למוסלמים, יהיה שלום. רוב המוסלמים, הרוב הדומם, שתדע, רוצה שלום".
למה אנחנו לא שומעים את הרוב הזה, במיוחד בימים אלה?
"כי הוא דומם".
למה הוא דומם?
"כי זה מה שהוא, ולכן קוראים לו הרוב הדומם".
מאיפה אתה יודע שהרוב הזה קיים?
"כי לא שומעים אותו. הוא דומם".
ומאיפה אתה יודע שהרוב הדומם רוצה שלום?
"זה הרי ברור. הוא הרי דומם!"
לולא היה היהודי האמריקאי הזה מדען הוא לבטח היה נזקק לטיפול פסיכיאטרי, אבל מאחר שהוא מדען הוא כמעט משכנע.
ידידי המדען, אמור נא לי: כמה מוסלמים אתה מכיר אישית?
"אישית אני לא מכיר אבל אני יודע".
אתה דובר ערבית במקרה?
"לא".
איך האוכל פה, אתה אוהב?
כן, הוא אוהב, ומיד מכניס לפיו עוד תפו"א, עוד אחד, ועוד אחד –– ואז הוא דומם.
עבדכם הנאמן, ויש האומרים מפונק, לא מסוגל לאכול את מה שמוגש פה, קם מכיסאו וחוזר ללובי הנעים.
והנה למולו צ'כית שמדברת יידיש, יפת תואר בת 80 או משהו, והיא מוקפת בחברותיה. יש בקהילה, היא מדווחת לי, ישראלי שגר פה כבר עשר שנים והוא בקשר עם הישראלים שמייד לאחר פרוץ המלחמה ברחו מישראל. "הוא יוכל להכיר לך את הישראלים האלה. ביום ראשון אני אקשר ביניכם".
מצוין.
יז'יל'ה מוכר ספרים
בחוץ גשום, אין אזעקות, ועבדכם הולך לדירתו הצנועה שליד התיאטרון הלאומי. לא, לא הבימה.
מעל דלת הכניסה לתיאטרון אני רואה שלושה דגלים: דגל ישראל, דגל צ'כיה, ודגל אוקראינה. הצ'כים, אם אני מזהה נכון, לא דוממים.
אני מתיישב לי בנחת ברחבה שליד התיאטרון ולהפתעתי מגלה שמימיני ומשמאלי יש שני פוסטרים: הפסיקו את רצח העם בפלשתין, קורא האחד, והשני קורא לעצור את רצח העם בעזה.
בין שני שלטים. מחוץ לתיאטרון הלאומי, צילום: איזי טננבום
אינני יודע למה, אבל כל מה שאני יכול לחשוב עליו ברגע זה הוא: מהי באמת פרשת השבוע?
אשר לא תהיה, פרשה זו או אחרת, השבת עוברת לה במהירות וביום שלמחרת אני על הטלפון עם הישראלי המחובר לישראלים שעזבו, או ברחו, מישראל לצ'כיה. כמה מהם יש פה? אני שואל אותו.
"למיטב ידיעתי בסביבות מאה משפחות".
האם תוכל לקשר אותי איתם?
הוא ישים מודעה בקבוצה, הוא אומר, ואלו שירצו לדבר איתי יעשו זאת.
כמה מהמאה יסכימו לדבר? ימים יגידו. בינתיים אני צועד לאיטי מעבר לדירתי, נכנס לחנות המוכרת ספרים ישנים - כן, יש פה כזה דבר - ומשוחח עם המוכר, צ'כי מתורבת העונה לשם יז'י, ולו זיפי זקן מקדימה ופוני מרשים מאחורה. יז'י, ממה שאני יכול לשפוט, הוא איש שמאל. איש ימין, בואו נאמר גבר בעמיו, לא יעביר את זמנו במכירת ספרים ישנים.
יז'י, מוכר הספרים, צילום: איזי טננבום
מה אתה חושב, אני שואל אותו, על מה שקורה במזה"ת בימים אלה?
"חמאס הוא ארגון טרור, זה ודאי, וצריך לחסל אותו. אבל אני לא אוהב את הממשלה הנוכחית בישראל".
גם אני לא, אבל זו לא השאלה. השאלה שלי היא: מה דעתך על תגובת הצבא הישראלי בעזה?
"ישנן שתי דרכים לחסל את חמאס. הדרך האחת היא מה שהצבא הישראלי עושה עכשיו, רק שהרבה פלשתינים יאבדו את החיים שלהם וזאת בעיה. הדרך השנייה היא להכניס חיילים בצורה נקודתית, עוד פעם ועוד ופעם ועוד פעם, רק שאז הרבה ישראלים יאבדו את החיים שלהם וזאת בעיה".
Only those who read and sell old books can speak so eloquently.
Were there large demonstrations against Israel in the Czech Republic, as in other European countries?
"Nope."
Why not?
"Because we don't have Muslims."
Is that the whole reason? I once heard that in general the Czechs are mostly pro-Israel, isn't that true?
In Jiri's opinion, this may be true of the country's older people, but not of its younger people.
Is he right?
I go outside and meet six young men, three boys and three girls, sitting on a bench under an ancient tree, smoking and chatting.
Their average age, they tell me, is 17. They still don't know what they want to do in life, and for them the future is so far away that it's a shame to waste thoughts on it. Have they heard of the war between Israel and Hamas? Yes, they answer, they've heard, but they don't know too much about it outside of the fact that many of their peers in the United States and Western Europe support Hamas. Do they also support Hamas? Five of the six tell me that they support Israel in principle, and the sixth doesn't want to answer. Why are they different from their peers across the border? They have a warm feeling for Israel, they explain to me, but they don't know why they have this feeling.
I go to the local university, where I meet a group of students studying theater, and ask them which side of the conflict they support. Out of 15 students, three do not want to answer, two support the Palestinians and <> support Israel.
Why? Like this.
The Czechs, I notice, are ready to answer the questions of the foreigner in their country. Will the Israelis who have just settled here also be willing to answer my questions?
You caught me on the suitcases
Three days after my request was brought to the attention of these Israelis, whether in their Facebook groups or WhatsApp groups, one and only one replies that she is willing to share her story. Her name is Natalie, she's an epidemiologist, and she's on her way back to Israel, she tells me.
What is her story?
Well: her husband is a colonel in the standing army, and they were in the north on October 7. Her place of residence is Lapid, a community near Modi'in, within easy reach of her cousins.
As soon as the war began, her husband went to his camp, and she was left alone with the children. The first thing they did was go to Haifa, and after spending one day in the city they continued. "From Haifa we drove to Lapid, via Highway 6, and all we saw on the way were only military vehicles. When we got to Lapid, we didn't know what to do, and we kept hearing 'booms.' The next day, on 9 October, we started receiving warnings that terrorists had infiltrated the community and ordered us not to leave the safe room. A few days later, we started receiving messages about funerals, some of them from people I knew personally. I went to a funeral on Mount Herzl, which was postponed because there were so many funerals at the time.
Then there was an alarm and we were told that our only option was to lie on the surrounding graves. It was seven o'clock in the evening, and then a barrage of rockets started from everywhere and I didn't know if I would even be able to go home, or if I would have to stay with the graves. My husband called and asked me to fly somewhere safe, maybe in the US, but there were no tickets.
So I went to Ben Gurion Airport, not knowing where I would go with my children. I stood in line for four hours and a clerk at the desk told me: 'Tickets to Prague have been cleared for tomorrow, for seven in the morning.' I didn't want to fly, but my husband wanted me to fly with the kids, because he said it was very dangerous to stay in Israel. So we flew to Prague. And now we're here. But we're coming back in two days, because the children's school has resumed as usual, no more with Zooms, and I don't want them to miss their studies."
So Natalie, the only one in her generation willing to talk.
People of the Century
Who are the other Israelis, the people of silence?
I join their Facebook group, and read there from one who is still in Israel but wants to leave:
"I really, really want to leave Israel physically and not spiritually.
I don't hate my country, my heart will always stay here and I will contribute from afar as much as possible, I just don't physically want to be here, at least as long as Hamas and Hezbollah exist!
My school is in no hurry to kick out terror supporters, so I'm even afraid to live there in dormitories and study there with all these Hamas supporters... I hope you won't judge me and only address my question, because you won't change my mind, saying in advance that I served in the army, so calling me an enemy of Israel is wrong."
Hebrew here is not among the best, and Facebook participants respond. Here are some examples:
"I'm just here to say that I sympathize with you very much, you don't have to apologize for what you're feeling.
I think we live in a country where life is not suitable for those who don't want to live by the sword.
You can love her from afar. The most important thing is our soul and feeling safe."
And here's more:
"Before I go to say what I say, it's important for me to say that I love Israel infinitely and until the day I die. But you're not alone, your feelings are perfectly legitimate. Gather yourself in your bag and get out of the country. First of all. Start organizing about life on the go. Your soul and your life are more important than a piece of paper or a passport stamp. Israel will always be waiting for you if you want to return, and wherever you go, Israel will be with you because there will be Israelis who will help you and be there for you. We are not a state, we are a people and we are a community - all over the world. The first thing you should do is get on a flight. You'll get along and love the new life – wonderful. You won't succeed – life in Israel will be waiting for you with open arms."
As they say: brotherhood.
There are also, a minority in the minority, who are against. Here's an example:
"You're doing exactly what Hamas and Hezbollah want. There is no greater gift to Hamas and Hezbollah than what you wrote."
And there are also posts like this:
"At 16 p.m. in the new Jewish cemetery, we will hold a short ceremony in memory of the fallen and murdered in the events of October 00. This is an intimate and relatively short ceremony accompanied by local police. We would love to see everyone who can come, light a candle and take part."
The people of the century don't want to talk to me, but I learn something about them: It is very difficult for these silent Israelis to be in the cemetery on Mount Herzl in Jerusalem, and prefer to get on a plane and go to the new Jewish cemetery in the Czech Republic. A grave here, a grave there; The main thing is that we be next to a grave.
But here, in the Golem city of Prague, we need to know what this week's Torah portion is.
shishabat@israelhayom.co.il
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