A relatively recent addition to the landscape at Har Herzl is the Monument to the Memory of the Victims of Terrorism that lies at the western edge of Israel's national cemetery. The stark stone walls surrounding an empty plaza are marked by granite plaques listing Jews who have died in the Holy Land in terror attacks between 1860-2009. A bevvy of Israeli flags flutter over the site that boasts a magnificent view of the Jerusalem hills.  

What is most remarkable is the blank wall that continues on from the 2009 plaque. It's just a given that the space will be filled--the next terror victims are walking among us today. There's no doubt that if we return a year from now, that space will be filled with the names of additional Jews. Who knows: if the Shalit-Hamas prisoner deal is struck we may need quite a bit more space on that wall.

The 29th of Cheshvan is not a particularly noteworthy day for most Jews in the world. But for Jews from Ethiopia, this date has long been observed as one of their main holidays, known as Sigd--a day celebrating their connection to Jerusalem and commitment to Jewish unity—the ultimate Zionist holiday.

In 2008, the Knesset finally recognized Sigd as a national holiday, and this year many more journalists and non-Ethiopian Israelis could be seen enjoying the festivities in Jerusalem.

For the 120,000 who emigrated from Ethiopia during past decades, the 29th of Cheshvan is a combination fast day, day of thanksgiving and gathering of the clan.

Dozens of kessim (Ethiopian Jewish religious leaders) make their way to the Western Wall to celebrate the day that expresses their yearning for Zion and their gratitude for the Torah. The slender figures cut an elegant path through the plaza in front of the wall. Swathed in simple white robes, tallitot draped over their narrow shoulders the kessim are accompanied by an entourage that includes an escort holding a colorful umbrella over each of their heads. 

The Ethiopian women arrive separately, clothed in their distinctive white dresses adorned with colorful hand embroidered trim. Shoulders cloaked in white shawls, heads covered with colorful head scarves, the women advance shyly toward the kotel to take part in the prayer service marking Sigd here in the holy city.

Prior to their mass aliya, generations of Ethiopian Jews yearned for Zion and expressed their longing in the annual Sigd festival. Jews would walk for days to arrive at a mountaintop where thousands would join in prayer and listen to Torah readings.

Following the afternoon prayers and the blowing of the shofar, the community would descend from the mountain to partake of a festive meal. The holiday has its origins in the time of the prophet Nehemiah, when the entire Jewish community assembled in Jerusalem for a day of fasting and confession. The day also commemorates the covenant between God and the Jewish people at Mt. Sinai.

For many young Ethiopian Jews now living in Israel, the mountain top Sigd exists only as a story recounted by their parents. Children were not included in the observances in Ethiopia because of the three-day trek to get there and to preserve the solemnity of the day.

Today, Sigd is celebrated at the kotel and then at a mass gathering at the Haas/Sherover Promenade in Jerusalem's Talpiot neighborhood. From the promenade there's a clear view of the Temple Mount, and thousands of Ethiopians of all ages come together to commemorate their unique holiday. Mingling with the colorful costumes and umbrellas of the elders, are the khaki, green and white uniforms of dozens of young Ethiopian men and women serving in the Israel Defense Forces. Younger teens, largely ignoring the hours of religious chanting of the elders, are socializing and decked out in a variety of trendy clothing on this festive day with overcast skies. Ancient Geez chants make themselves heard over the gaggle of street Hebrew as the day progresses.



Rabbi David Yosef, a kes of the Ethiopian community, a diminutive man with a silver beard who wears a knitted kippa, tells visitors on the Tayelet about his extraordinary life story and explains where Sigd fits into the life of Ethiopian Jews.

Rav Yosef graphically describes how men and women would separately observe the ritual of ascending the mountain for the great Sigd gathering. He points out that the tradition of Sigd was handed down by oral tradition. "Many Jews believe that we didn't know from the oral tradition," he says. Rav Yosef carefully explains the Ethiopian Jewish engagement and wedding ceremonies and asserts that their practice conforms to the Mishnaic description in Tractate Kiddushin (part of the Oral Law) of what constitutes proper Jewish betrothal.

He finishes his story by noting that Sigd was essentially a way of remembering Jerusalem and strengthening Jews in a difficult galut (Diaspora) situation. But the holiday is just as relevant today. "We missed Jerusalem for thousands of years," Rav Yosef notes. "Today, in Jerusalem, we celebrate...but just as we say ‘Next year in Jerusalem' at the Passover seder, so too at Sigd we pray for a rebuilt Jerusalem." 

Just behind him, two young men preside over a table full of information about the rebuilding of the Temple and a large picture of a dozen kessim standing in front of a reconstructed Temple.

Amongst the crowd that grows by the minute as more and more buses disgorge Ethiopians from all over the country are one or two “mixed” couples—generally non-Ethiopian men with Ethiopian women. Representatives of all the major youth movements in their signature white or blue shirts have a prominent presence and consist of many teens of Ethiopian origin who mingle comfortably with everyone.

Next week some American Jewish immigrants will gather to celebrate Thanksgiving in Israel—you can be sure it won’t be nearly as well-attended, meaningful or colorful as today’s Sigd commemoration.

I remember when I first heard about the dream community that would rise out of the dust and ashes of Neve Dekalim, the largest of the 22 Jewish communities destroyed by the Gaza "disengagement" of 2005.

It was in the cramped room occupied by Rachel and Moshe Saperstein on the 6th floor of the Jerusalem Gold Hotel. Along with hundreds of their former neighbors, the Sapersteins spent 10 months attempting to take the first steps in recreating a semblance of a normal life after they were forcibly removed from their home and the meaningful lives they had built in the Gush.

Rachel would sit on her bed in the hotel and tell anyone who would listen about the new community that would be in a place where their presence would make a difference; where ecological concerns would be paramount and all kinds of educational institutions would be developed to help preserve the values and lifestyle that marked Neve Dekalim. There would even be a hotel and spa, she assured me. By the time they finally left the Jerusalem hotel in June 2006 to go to their "temporary" pre-fab homes in Nitzan near Ashkelon, Rachel and her friends had already pinpointed the Lachish area as the place where they would put down their new roots.

Yesterday, the first step of that dream became a reality as hundreds of people joined the former Gush Katif pioneers in the laying of the cornerstone for the new community of Bnei Dekalim in the beautiful eastern Lachish area.

As the electrifying blasts of an over-sized shofar were sounded by Arik Davidov standing atop a Caterpillar earth-mover, the crowd hushed to take in the views over the rolling landscape that extend to the Hebron hills in one direction and down to Gush Katif and the Mediterranean the other way.

In the presence of a couple of Knesset members(Nissim Slomiansky and Tzipi Hotovely)a slew of rabbis and various members of the local regional councils, Minister Ariel Attias, Minister of Building and Construction told the crowd that the Gaza disengagement was a "mistake" and noted that his ministry had invested 170 million NIS in Bnei Dekalim.

Representatives of the neighboring local councils enthusiastically welcomed the development of the new yishuv and its potential to boost the local population of this sparsely populated area within the Green Line.

But it was left to Rachel Saperstein to relate in English a brief history of Lachish. Rachel explains that Lachish is generally regarded as the second most important city in the southern kingdom of Judah. It enters the biblical narrative in the battle accounts of Joshua, Sennacherib and Nebuchadnezzar.In fact, on the winding, scenic two-lane road that leads from the main Beersheva-Kiryat Gat highway to Bnei Dekalim, we pass the archeological site of Tel Lachish that is now surrounded by acres and acres of lush grapevines that belong to the small communities long the road.

Lachish was known as the defense center and fortress that monitored entrance into the Judean Hill Country from the west and southwest. Dating from between 598-589/88 B.C., the Lachish Letters, describing the Babylonian conquest of Judah, illustrate the kind of Hebrew used at the time of Jeremiah.

According to , "when Nebuchadnezzar established the Babylonian domination of Judah in 588-587 B.C., the southern outpost city of Lachish was one of the last remaining Judean cities to be taken (Jer 34:6,7). The Jews had arranged for relay communication between Lachish and Jerusalem by means of smoke signals at Azekah, fifteen miles from Jerusalem, and Lachish, thirty-five miles distant. Letter 4 of the Lachish Letters reads: "We were watching for the smoke signals of Lachish…because we do not see Azekah." This indicated that Azekah had already fallen to Nebuchadnezzar. Soon after this, Lachish would capitulate."

Rachel Saperstein closed her remarks by noting:

"The Kings of Israel built glorious cities here and Bar Kochba the revolutionary found refuge here..
We, the expelled people of Gush Katif will build in this grand tradition.
What an honor. Come and join us!"

There are already 60 families who will pioneer the new community. Eventually, 500 families will make Bnei Dekalim their home and become the center of the revitalized Lachish region, fulfilling the mitzvah of settling the land.

For Rachel Saperstein and her neighbors it's no longer a dream but the dawning of a new reality.

I spent yesterday in Shechem and Ramallah with a small group of journalists. I'm working on a few articles from the trip, but in the meantime, take a look at some of the photos (there are almost 100, so too many to post to the blog) at http://web.me.com/jbalint1/Site/Photos.html#grid

What you'll see are two cities completely controlled and patrolled by Arabs; not a Jew or IDF soldier anywhere in sight in either place. Arab police officers, armed and in full uniform are on most street corners. Building and commerce is going on at an incredible pace--we visited the 12-story Nablus Municipal Mall, complete with cinema and the Palestinian Securities Exchange office, both of which would not be out of place in California.

Despite all this, it's "the occupation" that's on everyone's lips in Shechem and Ramallah as they cite the difficulties of moving into the 21st century while somehow under Israel's thumb.

As we drove in our van with PA license plates between Shechem and Ramallah we encountered the remnants of Israel's control in Samaria--the dreaded checkpoints. Since last June, Israel has dismantled and abandoned hundreds of them, and the remaining ones are supposed to protect Israeli Jews living near their Arab neighbors from attack.

At the Tapuach checkpoint outside Shechem,the jumpy soldiers hastily called a close-down in both directions just as we approached. After about 10 minutes of uncertainty, we were summarily waved through. Later we learned that an Israeli was evacuated by helicopter to hospital after he was shot by Arab terrorists a couple of miles south of where we were, between Shvut Rachel and Kida. 

While we were wandering around enjoying the sights and color of Shechem's Old City, I remembered that the terrorist responsible for the Park Hotel seder night bombing in Netanya as well as the Dolphinarium horror in Tel Aviv came from Shechem.

Nevertheless, the well-dressed officials in Ramallah and Shechem still intone the same old tired rhetoric about our desire for self-preservation somehow impeding their efforts to go about building their state. 

I couldn't help recalling the slogan on the back of an Arab cab in Halhul that I saw a few months ago: "Life is Not Everything." 

I'm reading a fascinating old book about Jerusalem--Jerusalem is Called Liberty written by Walter Lever, an English professor and rabidly secular British Jew, who arrived in Palestine with his wife and two children in September 1947 to take up a teaching position at Hebrew University.

Lever's narrative, published in 1951, spans the tumultuous period between the fall of 1947-1949. The young professor is drafted into the Civil Guard and courageously plays a role in defending his neighborhood of Beit Hakerem. He routinely rides in the armored convoys traveling between Jerusalem and Hebrew University's Mt Scopus campus. He describes the agony of the siege of Jerusalem and meticulously chronicles the despicable behavior of the supposedly neutral British Mandatory authorities.

For Lever and those who lived through that extraordinarily tense period, the idea of Jews walking freely around the walls of the Old City protected by a Jewish police force and army would have seemed completely preposterous. Yet that's exactly what occurs here in Jerusalem every erev Tisha B'Av for the last fifteen years. Last night, the walk organized by the indefatigable Women in Green started out across the street from the American Consulate, where hundreds gathered to read the mournful words of Megillat Eicha written by the prophet Jeremiah. We're there to mourn the long litany of national tragedies that has befallen the Jewish people around this date all through Jewish history. While Yom Kippur is the day for personal reckoning, Tisha B'Av is the occasion for some national soul-searching over what led to our various ancient and more recent disasters. Several in the crowd hold placards in English with slogans like: The US Consulate is an Illegal Settlement

As the marchers move off following a huge banner proclaiming a slogan of allegiance to Jerusalem, organizer Nadia Matar reminds the crowd that this is not a social event. In fact, no reminder is necessary, as the restrained mass of Jews soberly sets out to encircle the gates of the Holy City. Scattered amongst the marchers are a significant number of non-observant Israelis. Women wearing pants walk side by side with others whose hair is carefully covered with a scarf or hat. The predominant languages are French and English, but over the years, the march has developed its own loyal following with little advertising needed to bring out Israelis from all walks of life. There are wheelchair "marchers" and a number of octagenarian walkers, some supported by younger relatives, who all manage to reach the end of the hour-long route.

As we approach Damascus Gate, the main entry to the Moslem Quarter, we see that all traffic on Route #1 (the main north/south gateway through the city) has been halted by police as we take over the streets and pour down the road toward the east. This year, we find ourselves crossing the tracks of the light rail system that is endlessly under construction. Spotlights and snipers are visible on the rooftops and although most of the Arab stores are shuttered tight, soldiers keep a tight watch over several dozen Arabs who watch us march by as we pass Saleh el Din Street, the main commercial avenue of eastern Jerusalem. Border police on horseback hold back a few Arabs coming out of Herod's Gate as we stream past.

Walking down the hill we turn to look back at those behind us. People as far back as we can see. We stop to listen to a few speeches in front of Lions Gate, where Israeli paratroopers broke through to liberate the Temple Mount in the 1967 Six Day War.

Looking up to the summit of the Mt of Olives to the east, a huge Israeli flag flutters over the one piece of Jewish-owned property on the hill. All around us and scattered through the nearby Moslem cemetery, Israeli police carrying green glow sticks stand quietly by.

Addressing the crowd seated on the pavement, Knesset member Aryeh Eldad recalls the tragic expulsion of Jews from Gush Katif that occurred on the day after Tisha B'Av in 2005. As Eldad goes on to exhort the crowd to "build, build, build"in defiance of American pressure, a lone elderly Arab makes his way purposefully up the hill through the crowd. Leaning on his stick, his brown robes swaying with his gait, the man proceeds undisturbed through the throng of a couple of thousand Jews.

Rabbi Yosef Mendelevich , former Prisoner of Zion and one of Israel's most unsung heroes, explains that he feels compelled to say Kaddish at this spot just outside the Temple Mount "for the heroes who fell here." He turns to face the site of the Temple and the thousands of marchers who had listened quietly to the speeches rise behind him to gaze up at Lions Gate and join in the response to his passionate rendition of the ancient words of praise and hope.

In front of us we see the Mount of Olives crowned with its Arab and Christian institutions. There's a refreshing feeling of freedom as thousands walk freely down the road above the Kidron Valley across from the ghostly moon-lit tombstones where generations of Jerusalemites lie in repose. Many marchers wander over to the wall to gaze at the Kidron Valley below with Absalom's Tomb and the monument to the prophet Zechariah.

Across the valley we can see the Maale Hazeitim development that acts as a buffer between Abu Dis and the Temple Mount. "Up there the Jordanians had their soldiers stationed…" "When mashiach will come, it will be through that gate over there…" ""Saba (grandpa) fought here in the Six Day War." Snippets of conversation overheard in a hands-on outdoor classroom as parents walk with their children.

Rounding the corner, we look up at the imposing Southern Wall of the Temple with the steps and Huldah's Gate, before making the ascent towards Dung Gate and the entrance to the Western Wall. A bright half moon lights our way. "Look over there," says a young mother to her wide-eyed daughter. "You can see the stairs where the Jews used to go up to the Temple," she says as we walk up the hill in front of the southern wall. Glancing backwards again, the sight of the crowds of people still behind us is awesome. Quiet and dignified, the march has once again gone off without incident.

Watching the masses of faithful Jews still pouring into the Kotel plaza at almost midnight, it's hard not to hearken back to something Walter Lever wrote back in 1951: "To the story of Jerusalem there is indeed no end. Rather do we seem to face a new beginning. Siege and survival, independence and reconstruction, are only preliminaries to the huge task ahead; and the consummation of a millenial dream becomes an awakening to the first morning of our history."