Peace and Wholeness in Yerushalayim

The title of this post likely implies more insight than you are about to encounter, but two things have happened this past week that have led me to write this: (1) a friend requested that I talk more about my daily experiences and (2) I saw two shows that made me think differently about living in Jerusalem. (Warning: this post contains information on the new Batman movie, so if you haven’t seen it, wait till later to read!)

Many of you know that on Tuesday, July 22, a man driving a tractor purposely reeled into oncoming traffic. Several people were injured; thankfully no one was killed. All of the students in my HUC class are physically safe, though a few were near the location of the incident. We are all taking care of one another and being cautious.

I’m not telling you this to alarm you (let me stress: I am doing absolutely fine, and the city nearly immediately returned to all its normal functions) but to give a sense of what it is like to live in a place that does face frequent violence and constant tension between extreme factions, each of which believes the other has no right to exist.

So in the midst of “Arab” versus “Jew,” I did what any sane person would do: I went to see some drama.

Last Saturday, after Shabbat ended, several friends and I walked over to Beit Shmuel, a center for Progressive Judaism (Reform movement worldwide) here in Ir HaKodesh, the holy city. Sitting comfortably in our cushy seats in a perfectly air-conditioned theater, we laughed when the curtain rose and five drag queens posed in outlandish outfits. Calling themselves “Peot Kedushot”—“Holy Wigs” or “Holy Curls”—these gay-identified men of various ages lip-synched and sang a range of songs, from Israeli pop to American musical.

It was in many ways a typical drag show: much posing, lots of makeup, gorgeous legs, and catty jokes (at least, I think they were catty jokes: the entire show was in Hebrew). But in other ways this show was nothing but typical: just a few roads away from the walls of the Old City, Peot Kedushot challenged many laws, rules, and expectations in this city driven by a conservative,even ultra-orthodox, interpretation of Jewish law (which includes injunctions against both cross-dressing and homosexuality). Graffiti around the city announces “Homosexuals very dangerous for children” and “Homo=goy” (that is, non-Jew). Enter Peot Kedushot. In a medley of songs from Sister Act, a nun, an Orthodox Jewish woman, and an observant Muslim woman sang praises to their respective gods and viewed the others’ piety with skepticism and sometimes anger. In an aside, one performer informed the audience that there are three religions in Jerusalem: Yahadut, Islam, v’piguya—Judaism, Islam, and terror attack. But it was the finale that left us in awe, amazement, and admiration.

A spotlight shines on one performer. “She” removes her wig; a bald head reminds us that this person with glittery red lips and full breasts is a man. Another performer enters and the spotlight moves to her; she is wearing a leotard and tights, his smooth body hiding his gender. A third performer: fishnet stockings, a half-leotard, bare chest, smeared make-up. He was a glamorous woman, and he is a middle-aged man. A fourth: tight shorts and a bra that is soon removed, little makeup. He no longer looks like a ballerina, though his skills en pointe were certainly impressive. The final performer, perhapsthe most “feminine” of the group, the one who achieved the most “realness”: boxer-briefs, bare legs and feet, no makeup whatsoever. A cute boy—young and fresh-faced. They stand in a row at the edge of the stage, defiant faces, a fire in their eyes. “I am still a man,” they sing.

A few nights later, I joined more than half of my classmates at Jerusalem’s largest shopping mall to see the new Batman movie. For the most part, I found it entertaining in that easy, action-movie way: just sit back and watch the good guys clobber the bad guys. But I was also watching in Jerusalem, and sitting with my classmates, some of whom are having a particularly hard time adjusting to life in a city that is, underneath its resilience, on edge. In one crucial scene, two ferries –assumed safe—carry people out of Gotham City, where the Joker has threatened death and destruction. Then the Joker’s voice announces that each boat is rigged with explosives. One ferry, loaded with criminals from Gotham’s prison, has the detonator for the other ferry, loaded with innocent men, women, and children—and vice versa. At midnight, the Joker says, he will blow up both ferries, no matter what. But if the people on one ferry decide to detonate the other, the Joker will let the passengers on the first ferry live. It’s a classic “prisoner’s dilemma.” The ferries cannot communicate with one another, and they have to ask themselves: What will the others do? Shall we all die together, or do we save ourselves?

Several arguments are put forth, and the civilian ferry puts it to a vote, coming down in favor of blowing up the prisoners. On the prisoners’ boat, a riot is about to erupt. In the end, one of the civilians holds the detonator in his hand but ultimately cannot bring himself to press the button. A tough criminal approaches a police officer on the other ferry and quietly demands the detonator so that he can “do what should have been done” already. The audience expects him, of course, to blow up the civilians. Instead, he throws the detonator out into the water.

It wasn’t the dilemma itself that made me think about Jerusalem and terror attacks and heated conflicts. After the criminal tosses out the detonator, clearly making the moral and ethical choice, a few audience members at the Jerusalem mall clapped. I don’t know who they were or whether they were politically conservative or liberal, but these residents of a city under seige cheered for doing the right thing.

Jerusalem is a confusing place, maddening even. It is beautiful and familiar and strange and ugly. There is homophobia and there is a gay community center. There are ultra-orthodox communities who angrily force outsiders to leave and there are welcoming progressive Jewish synagogues. My prayer for this year is that I will get to know Jerusalem in all its layers and complexities, beneath its wigs and costumes, to come to know the true character of its people: people who long for wholeness and for peace.