A culture of high quality consumption in a relaxed, social space—akin to the growing third wave coffee culture—is the idea fermented with the new beerah boutique (Hebrew for “craft beer”) culture in Israel.  These microbrew havens are reflecting a shift in the Israeli bar culture—from a pub serving a handful of beers like Goldstar and Tuborg with “chasers” of liquor—to a consumer culture interested in products made with high quality ingredients and individual attention.

For a water-strapped country whose first microbrewery opened in 2005 (Dancing Camel Brewery), Israel seems to be doing quite well for itself. Accordingly, the folks at Beer Market claim there to be almost 100 craft breweries operating in the country. (Do not forget Taybeh, a great brewery from Ramallah that has been crushing it for the past 8+ years.)

Fortunately, there are scores of unique Israeli craft beers available in bars throughout Israel, and as more Israelis develop a preference for these better, local beers, this list will only grow. Until more bars start to serve craft beer on tap, join your new Israeli friends at the bars below. L’chaim!

Beer Bazaar (Shuk HaCarmel, Tel Aviv)

Take a break at the shuk with a cold treat at Beer Bazaar. With eight craft draft options and a cooler of over 70 varieties ranging from more traditional wheat and IPAs to Belgians, smoked, blondes, and ciders, there’s plenty here to keep you happy. BB TLV is full of young adults, with a sprinkling of more senior patrons, drinking together as if it were a café or backyard barbeque.

Evenings at Beer Bazaar exude a comfortable and familiar feel, that of a neighborhood bar for hanging out with best friends.

1 Rambam, Tel Aviv. 36 Yishkon St., Tel Aviv.

Beer Bazaar (Shuk Mahane Yehuda, Jerusalem)

BB Jerusalem is located in the narrow, covered portion of the shuk and pulses with a different, louder energy than its Tel Aviv counterpart. Despite the fact that most of the street’s shops close for the evening, there’s a surprising vigor in the shuk at night. The crowd here feels more diverse than the Tel Aviv branch; it’s full of American expats, Israelis, Arab Christians, and yeshiva students of all ages. Beer Bazaar Jerusalem offers craft beer lovers a break from the stiffness of much of Jerusalem, a mutuality of people from a host of backgrounds, and a really different (great!) way to experience Mahane Yehuda.

Going to Beer Bazaar during market hours will feel like you are at the market. If drinking a craft beer will help ease your tensions—yalla. If you are new to craft beer or can’t decide, you can get a flight of four 200 ml drafts for $12. ½ liter of craft beer is $7.65, and liters are $14.50. They also sell bottles.

3 Etz Chaim, Jerusalem.

Café Halutza (Jaffa)

In the corner of Jaffa’s Noga neighborhood sits Café Halutza, a delightful neighborhood restaurant with Israel’s best craft beer deal. While a ½ liter of Malka Beer is regularly $6.35 (good deal!), a second ½ liter is only $3.20! In addition to this draft, they also have bottles of Hahalutz, a small brewery from Beersheva.

Beyond the beer (sometimes there is another reason to go somewhere), this is a worker cooperative restaurant. All of the employees are educators in youth movements, schools, and other informal education programs. Profits from the restaurant support the Dror Yisrael Educator’s Kibbutzim and all tips are distributed to a different educational program each month. The food is “kosher,” very vegan-friendly, and quite good. This is a great café to grab a coffee, snack, or best-priced ½ liter drafts in the country.

Poriah 12, Jaffa.

Bogart Red (Givatayim) and Bogart RG (Ramat Gan)

Come to Bogarts for the craft beer—6 taps of Israeli craft beer (Jems) as well as bottles from Negev, Bazelet, and others—but stay to relax outside of the bustle of Tel Aviv. This suburb of Givatayim, a 5-minute bus trip from Azrieli or Arlozorov, is a rapidly yuppifying community. Sitting at Bogart, you’ll be hard-pressed to find any tourists, patrons over 40, or e-bikes on sidewalks (the bane of Tel Aviv life). Sitting outside at high-top tables, each group is noshing, rolling cigarettes, or both. The music transitions between smooth jazz, blues, and Mizrahi pop… a clear favorite, as there is often dancing and cheering from the staff, customers, and pedestrians when the local pop stars start crooning. The bar honors its roots as Israel’s first DVD rental shop—named after Casablanca’s Humphrey Bogart—by reusing old DVD racks, posters, and some original old design elements. In addition to a solid happy hour special 9 pm Sunday-Wednesday, they often host live music.

Katnelson St. 55, Givatayim. Sderot Yerushalayim 5, Ramat Gan.

Porter and Sons (Sarona, Tel Aviv)

Porter and Sons is without a doubt Israel’s premier location for craft beer on tap. With 50 different taps offering no fewer than 17 Israeli craft beers and ciders, this is the draft beer king of Israel. If you’re new to (craft) beer, navigating this Israeli beer heaven may seem daunting. Don’t be afraid— Israelis want to help you expand your drinking habit, and there’s a chalkboard map to help direct your beer choice based on taste preferences. Also, the staff at Porter and Sons is very proud of their selection and generally enjoys talking with customers about the different beers (in English and Hebrew), giving a tour of their keg room, and offering tastes.

This brasserie (not kosher) tries its best to be a traditional English pub, staying open until the last customer stumbles out and leaning heavily on hearty, yet upscale pub grub.

They also have an amazing unlimited draft beer happy hour.

14 Ha’Arbaa St., Tel Aviv.

Perla (Florentine, Tel Aviv)

Situated in the heart of the über-hip Florentine neighborhood of Tel Aviv is Perla, a 25+ bar that is without a doubt one of the most conventionally hip places to grab a craft beer in Israel. With a beer menu organized by drinking “mood”—Native Israeli, Brave, Easy-drinking, and Nostalgia—and complimented by an exhaustive list of liquors, you’re expected to take your drinking seriously. The 9 Israeli craft drafts and 15 European options are briefly described in the menus, encouraging people to choose a beer without asking too many questions (which would be difficult over the loud music). This is a quintessential Florentine neighborhood bar, where the prices are a little steep and the pulse is quick; partying goes until very late. Beers cost around $9 for a 14 oz glass (smaller than a US and Imperial pint). From 4-7:30 pm there is a buy-one-get-one happy hour, making weekday drinking a much more economic time to explore Israeli craft beer in Florentine.

Florentine 8, Tel Aviv.

Beer Market (Shuk Sarona, Tel Aviv)

Tel Aviv’s newest shuk, the Sarona Market, is a gourmet assault of the senses. This market has everything; it’s like Chelsea Market eloped with the Grand Central’s Great Northern Food Hall and birthed a darling haven for Silicon Valley expats.

At the far eastern entrance of this clash of culinary cultures sits Beer Market, a haven for craft beer lovers and exhausted market-goers alike. With six taps, 100 different bottles, and a very knowledgeable staff, this is one of the meccas for Israeli beer. If you’re interested in the history of homebrewing in Israel, the movers and shakers in the local boutique business, and anything else hopped in Israel, this is a great place to start. Beer is reasonably priced with a bottle selling for $5.80, a 400 ml glass for $6.85, and a 1.5 liter pitcher for $24.

Birateinu (Jerusalem)

Less than a block from the Mamilla Mall is this unassuming Israeli craft beer spot. With a constantly changing selection of 6 taps, most of which are rarely found outside of brewery taprooms, Birateinu prides itself in always offering something new and delicious from Israel. Draft beers are reasonably priced at $7 for ½ liter, $5.75 for a 1/3, and $4.50 for a highball glass. In addition to the taps, they have scores of Israeli bottles available in refrigerators and shelves to drink on the premises or to take home. They host special release parties for breweries, and this is a place to celebrate and learn about craft beer in Israel (like Beer-D in Jaffa or Buster’s in Beit Shemesh). If you fall in love with their creative beers, they have brewing workshops and plenty of supplies for homebrewing.

3 Yanai St., Jerusalem.

Glen Whisk(e)y Bar (Jerusalem)

Don’t be too surprised to know that Jerusalem’s biggest whiskey bar (over 100 whiskeys) is also one of its best beer bars. At the corner of history, you can enjoy an Israeli IPA, Amber, wheat, stout, and so much more from the tap or in a bottle. Though the bar is known for their whiskey, consumed mainly by recent male olim and tourists, it is known as a fun place for students, soldiers, and others to hang out. Easily accessible by most transportation in Jerusalem (it’s next to Mamilla), and open until late in the morning, as well as on Shabbat, this is always a good choice for drinks in Jerusalem, especially late night.

18 Shlomtzion HaMalka, Jerusalem.

Bardak (Jerusalem)

Pizza and beer is a winning combination anywhere in the world, but in Israel, the pizza is often disappointing. So, if you find yourself in Jerusalem and looking for great pizza and beverage match, go to Bardak. A delicious and creative menu of pies pairs well with their crowd-pleasing taps and nearly 20 bottles of Israeli boutique beer.  Offering a basic primer to craft beer, Bardak provides “slices” of tastes, providing a brief description for their taps: wheat, lager, amber, porter, strong ale, and IPA.  Though the pizza is expensive relative to other pie options in Israel, it’s well worth it. And the beer is very reasonably priced with liter-sized pitchers for $15. Nestled between the First Station, Mishkenot Sh’ananim, Rehavia, and Talbiya, Bardak is accessible to all of Jerusalem. It’s a late night hangout for youths, families, and tourists alike (who doesn’t like good pizza!?). Though most customers are Israelis (surprising for this area), this kosher dairy restaurant is very English friendly. Like most Israeli restaurants and bars, the place is quite deserted between 3 and 8 pm.

38 Keren HaYesod, Jerusalem.

Libira (Haifa)

In the city of coexistence, equality, and public buses on Shabbat, sits Libira, an exciting brewpub in the heart of the downtown port district. In this industrial warehouse-like space, soft lights illuminate the massive, dark canvases (~12 m²) of the beer labels.

Even though all of the draft beer is made in house, you could imagine it travelling thousands of miles from its muses. In homage to these traditional methods, Libira makes a Bavarian “Weiss,” German “Double Pils,” British “Bitter” ale, Irish “Smoked Stout” ale, and Belgian “Strong Golden” Ale. Despite their pedigree, these beers are approachable for beer drinkers of most any experience.  If buying a whole glass seems intimidating, you can get a flight of 150 ml tasters ($9.75 for 5 tastes). If you love the beer, you’re also welcome to purchase bottles at the great price of $17.15 for a six-pack.

The kitchen is a local favorite, offering classic and modern seafood dishes, upscale bar snacks, and a very popular burger that go well with the beer.

Sometimes Libira even runs out of a beer (the Bitter goes fast), which must say something about the quality of their brews.

Maayan Habira (Haifa)

You know there’s something special about a bar that opens at 10 am and closes before the 5pm happy hour, which is why I joined the Haifa sailors and longshoremen for a beer and bread at Ma’ayan Habira. This large bar, which caters primarily to the men who work(ed) in the port in the early morning, is a vestige of years past, serving complimentary bread and horseradish (shtetl nostalgia fit well here) with beer and black coffee. With the craft beer and demographic shifts in the neighborhood, there are increasingly younger crowds, but this is primarily a bar for an older generation who has been coming here since they opened in 1962.

This unofficial historical landmark is the only non-religious space to offer p’tcha, kishke, gefilte fish, and Friday cholent/goulash.  They count 4 Israeli craft taps amongst their 28 drafts, which is only dwarfed in bar space by their selection of 75 different whiskeys.

Food and drink aside, the eclectic décor of old brass instruments, collector beer steins, and a massive fresco of a medieval soldiers/monks drinking Israeli beer is worth the visit.

4 Natanzon St., Haifa.

Agnes Pub (Hod Hasharon and Tel Aviv)

A hip Tel Aviv spot in the Old North, this brasserie is modeled after the love child of a New York deli and Brooklyn gastropub. Alongside the eight Israeli taps ($8-$9 for a ½ liter), they offer greasy sandwiches that would make any heavy drinker happy, ranging from a vegan patty to a bevy of beefy burgers, a BLT, and a mustard-laden reuben.  And like any hip Tel Aviv restaurant these days, they have a house specialty cauliflower option (lightly fried, served with a basil aioli). Starting with the after-work crew and lasting late through the night, this restaurant bar in Tel Aviv and Hod Hasharon is helping to build a stronger culture of boutique beer drinkers in Israel. They occasionally host special brewery nights where they celebrate the release of new Israeli craft bottles and breweries. If you’re looking for a reuben and a beer, this is your place. And even if you don’t want the reuben—still worth it.

Ibn Gvirol 129, Tel Aviv. Bnei Brit 4, Hod Hasharon.

—Avery Robinson

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There are so many intricacies to the existence and the politics of the small Middle Eastern country known as Israel that it’s nearly impossible to find someone who feels exactly the same way you do. There are those who condemn Israel’s military occupation of the West Bank and Gaza as apartheid and those who liken all Arabs and Palestinians to terrorists, and plenty of those at various points along the lengthy spectrum that divides the two extremes. In a stirring new documentary, based on a 90-minute one-man play, one actor and writer brings every opinion to one place, and it’s a formidable experience.

To truly capture every side and angle, Aaron Davidman portrays seventeen different characters, all with unique backgrounds and perspectives on what Israel means to them. Davidman changes his clothes occasionally, and sometimes his accent or inflection too, but this qualifies as a 90-minute lecture, rant, verbal exploration – however you want to define it. Davidman speaks quickly and with intention, jumping from one character to another with no warning and with furious intensity.

Davidman, an American Jew who doesn’t even speak with an Israeli accent, may not seem qualified on paper to analyze the situation. But it’s clear within the film’s opening minutes during an immensely powerful extended scene in which he covers the full spectrum of views that he absolutely knows what he’s talking about. He offers no judgment and presents all facts and opinions as such without putting special emphasis on any of them. He begins by trying to pinpoint the origin of this whole conflict, using the phrase “you might say” to suggest “The Catastrophe” of 1947 or “The War of Independence” in 1948 or further back when the British intervened during World War I. He intermixes tragedies and terrorist attacks which the Palestinians and the Israelis each claim without any warning, citing an irrefutably long list of potential causes for this permanent unrest.

Davidman has answers for every question and assertion – not a definitive breakdown of who is right or who is wrong, but rather the counterpoint that someone who does not agree would inevitably offer. One character he plays blames the Palestinians for inciting terror, and another shoots back that the settlements are the problem. About halfway through the film, Davidman encounters himself seated at the other side of the table and engages in a heated debate about the merits of Hamas and Fatah and who the true threat really is. One version of Davidman interrupts the other to note that he can read him like “a playbook for the American Jew,” to which his debate partner shoots back, “You’re an American Jew!”

This film drudges up a lot of problematic thoughts and elements that make the question of how to resolve this worsening conflict seem all but impossible. A reenactment of a pro-peace rally quickly turns to chants of “Death to the Jews!” as Davidman chimes in with the quiet objections of the peaceful protester who feels out of place and trapped when that becomes the prevailing sentiment, overtaking the true desire for harmony among peoples.

Just when it seems like there is some topic or argument that has not been mentioned, Davidman ensures that it comes bubbling up to the surface. The subject of the Holocaust becomes contentious when one Davidman character tries to anticipate his opponent’s next point and earns contempt for knocking down parallels between the Jews and the Nazis by reaching even further than his opponent had planned to, stopping short at the notion that the Palestinians have been oppressed and subjugated for fifty years. In rare moments like that, all of Davidman’s personalities take a moment to pause and acknowledge that not every argument can be addressed in a way instantly that feels truly complete or right.

Throughout the ninety minutes of director Dylan Kussman’s film, Davidman creates a number of characters with backstories that explain their views and the many events in their lives that brought them to their current place and perspective. Inhabiting and fleshing out those roles proves undeniably intriguing, and Davidman is particularly chilling when he begins passionately singing, chanting both Muslim and Jewish prayers with a convincing familiarity and spiritual commitment. Those moments, however, are not quite as strong as when Davidman simply spits out information and presents facts he has heard in his amassment of research for this film.

This film’s title has biblical origins related to wrestling with God, and the choice of Jerusalem as what is to be wrestled, since this film addresses all of Israel, is particularly poignant. A visit to the Wikipedia page for Israel, the most editable of all electronic sources, states numerous times that Jerusalem is the capital of Israel but that it is internationally unrecognized. Jerusalem is a hot topic that encompasses all of what Israel is, and for many is representative of the country as a whole.

There is no doubt that Davidman is still wrestling. By laying all of these clashing conceptions out and speaking them to an audience, Davidman underlines the importance of conversation. If just one person can come to at least hear what someone else says, perhaps there’s hope for peace. Even if that may not be possible or realistic, this is a fascinating character study of an immeasurably large population with a riveting central performance.

Wrestling Jerusalem will have its World Premiere at the San Francisco Jewish Film Festival on July 27.

Image source: Aaron Davidman in Wrestling Jerusalem

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Is this the definition of irony? A tiger named Chana at Jerusalem Biblical Zoo has apparently eaten her two cubs, reports The Times of Israel.

Chana was a famously barren biblical character who begged God for a son, and was granted Samuel. Unlike her namesake, however, this Chana—a rare Sumatran Tigress—doesn’t seem to have trouble conceiving, but she does seem to have a tough time parenting: two previous sets of cubs died, and she abandoned one cub after birth. (Sylvester was rescued and transferred to a zoo in France.)

All seemed to be well early last week, but when zookeepers entered the enclosure on Friday, Chana’s five-week-old cubs were gone—presumed eaten. (Side note: We’re curious to know how authorities ruled out the possibility of theft. No doubt a zoo is a tough place to break into, but anything’s possible…?) The cubs were Chana’s fourth litter delivered at the zoo, conceived after she mated with a tiger named Avigdor. (These names!)

Says veterinarian Nili Avnei Magen: “This is disappointing and very, very sad… We truly thought we were beyond this and that she was on the right path, and we had already planned the next stage. We will learn the lessons.”

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Yay! The internet Gods have bestowed upon us a pre-Christmas amuse-bouche gift: episode 3 of the bizarre-but-delightful anime web series, Israel, Like!

In case you missed it, the series was launched by the Israeli embassy in Tokyo back in November as part of a campaign to attract Japanese visitors to the Holy Land. It presents an oddly neutered, pareve version of Israel (no war or Palestinians, only Ashkenazi Jews, and abundant Dead Sea cosmetics), as explored by two sisters: the savvy but troubled Noriki, and the infantile, co-dependent Saki.

I know, I know, I’m not exactly selling it right now, am I? But though there’s plenty to critique, Israel, Like! is also oddly compelling. The portrayal of Israel as a land of exotic foods, good weather, and good-looking soldiers—minus the conflict—is wistfully utopian and idealistic, like a tourism reel from the 1950s. And there’s a strong current of dramatic tension pulling you through the stream of hasbara: Will Noriki reconcile with her husband? Will Saki ever learn to fend for herself? Will the two sisters make it through the trip without killing each other?

In episode 3, those questions are meaningfully teased out for the first time: Noriki ditches Saki for a couple of days of quiet marital brooding, and Saki flips out—only to be rescued by a Japanese-speaking, manga-loving, 20-something Western male stereotype called Itai. Jachnun is savored, the kotel is visited, and a lot of feelings are felt. Plus—there’s a surprise visitor from home and a kind of suspenseful ending.

(Click here for episode one, and here for episode two.)

(Image: YouTube)

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I’m not an observant Jew. Maybe if I’d grown up in Montreal or New York or another Western capital, where WASPs drop “oys” like ice in scotch, and where being openly Jewish is a non-issue—maybe then I’d attend Kol Nidre or give up beer for Passover.

But back in the USSR, I knew next to nothing about Judaism. Religious practice as a whole was marginalized, and if you happened to be Jewish, keeping it to yourself was a survival skill. The sum total of my knowledge of 5,775 years of Judaism was equal to the contents of the cardboard box that landed on top of my dresser every spring. The box contained the spoils from my father’s clandestine run to the city’s old shul, which operated unofficially on some holidays. There, on Passover, a handful of resolute Jews lined up for boxes of matzoh to take home to their families. The matzoh sheets were stacked inside the boxes underneath pink paper napkins. As soon as one of those boxes arrived at our apartment, it was stuffed on top of the dresser to be accessed with caution, away from gentile eyes. To my non-Jewish friends, who sometimes spotted a renegade piece of matzoh lying around, I would nonchalantly offer said piece as a cracker. Frankly, that’s what it was to me anyway: a Jewish cracker.

We fled the USSR in 1988, when I was 16—thousands of Soviet Jewish refugees leaving in a modern-day Exodus. On our way to the States we were stationed in Ladispoli, a sleepy coastal town outside of Rome, where we waited for our U.S. visas. There, on the Mediterranean shore,we learned for the first time about Jews as a people. A Chabad mission was set up in town, headed by Rabbi Hirsch, who worked morning, noon, and night reaching out to every lapsed Soviet Jew. That spring, we sat down to our first seder inside an Etruscan castle. Hundred-foot tables were filled with families like ours, and we finally heard the story behind the matzoh we used to hide under the pink napkins. For many Soviet Jews, that first seder marked the beginning of their return to their lost faith. For me, it marked the beginning of a life-long love affair with jarred gefilte fish.

That year, I also heard the sound of the shofar for the first time. My main memory of that Rosh Hashanah was the rabbi talking about praying to be sealed in the book of life for another year, and the obligation to purge one’s pockets of ‘sins’ into the nearby canal. I had 2,000 liras in my jeans, which I lifted from my dad’s wallet earlier that day with the intent to buy licorice. Despite the Rabbi’s passionate sermon, there would be no purging on my end. I was not giving up my stolen licorice money, High Holidays be damned.

We finally made it to Chicago. No longer scared of being outed as Jews, we were now discovering what it meant to be Jewish. We settled in West Rogers Park, a predominantly Jewish neighborhood filled with synagogues and kosher pizza parlors. But there was so much more than Judaism for a curious a 17-year-old to explore: my daily existence was divided between running to painting classes at the School of the Art Institute in the morning, and running the cash register at Dog On It (a kosher wiener joint) in the afternoon. My classmates introduced me to their friends as “Inna, she’s from Russia.” There was no time to think about being Jewish: I was too busy trying to fit in as a Russian among non-Jewish, non-white, non-conformist art students.

I suppose the physical proximity to all things Jewish precipitated a gradual awakening of my Jewish identity. The Jewish holidays arrived in West Rogers Park with a bang; religious or not, you were greeted with a “Gut Yontif” at every turn. My first Yom Kippur in Chicago was appropriately bleak: my grandmother had just died in a Chicago hospital. She’d been ill for most of her life in the USSR, and arrived in the U.S. too late to benefit from Western medicine. Dog On It was closed for the holidays, so I spent my day shuffling around the neighborhood. I tried thinking about the meaning of Yom Kippur and my babushka being with God, but the concept felt as foreign to me as the rest of America did at the time. There was no God with her or me that day, just the bad weather and the reality of her death and—a combination that felt almost clichéd.

Then I went to Israel. In Ladispoli I’d met some Israelis who had come specifically to encourage the Soviet Jews to immigrate to the Holy Land. Some of those “ambassadors” were particularly good looking, and I decided that Israel was worth a visit. So, during my second year in Chicago, I saved my cashier money, enrolled in an overseas program at the Hebrew University, and flew to the land of milk and honey—and good-looking people.

In Israel, the divide between religious and secular Jews felt bigger than the divide between Jews and Arabs. A Jew like me would get frowned upon for wearing a sleeveless shirt on a bus full of religious Jews, while on her way to visit an Arab friend. Still, a measure of superstition infiltrated secular Israel on Yom Kippur: no one got behind the wheel that day, just in case there was a God, and He decided—God forbid—to punish you for driving. On the eve of Yom Kippur, crowds poured into the streets in every neighborhood and children skateboarded safely on car-free roads. People fasted because, you know, tradition. I fasted too, out of solidarity. God knows I didn’t do it out of faith.

I returned to Chicago a year later only to find that my family now kept kosher and went to shul on Friday nights. There was no picking up the phone or driving on the Sabbath. I didn’t get answers to how it happened—it just did. That’s when I first felt conflicted over competing definitions of Jewishness. I had just spent a year in Israel and felt more Jewish than ever; but I simply didn’t see how giving up the car on Saturdays would make me a better Jew. My parents eventually downgraded their religiousness and found a middle ground, which balanced their yearning for a Jewish identity with their modern-day needs. My brother continued on a religious path. Today he’s an Orthodox father of seven living a few blocks from our first home. He goes to the same shul, keeps kosher, and observes all Jewish holidays. As I write this, he’s probably saying selichot.

Perhaps the closest I came to the Jewish faith was during my return to the former USSR a few years ago. I came to Kiev to work as an advertising executive and went to shul on Yom Kippur to see for myself the state of post-Soviet Jews. They had come a long way from lining up for camouflaged matzoh; there was even jarred Manischewitz gefilte fish at break-fast. On that Yom Kippur, I felt thankful for their freedom and mine, though I still wasn’t sure who I was thanking.

On this Yom Kippur I’ll walk around my city as I often do, remembering past Yom Kippurs. I won’t be asking for forgiveness or praying to be sealed in the book of life. I will be thinking of that early Yom Kippur morning in Jerusalem, 20 years ago. I saw an old lady who seemed lost. She summoned me over and asked, “Is today Yom Kippur?” I said yes. “Oh good,” she said, “I’m glad I forgot to eat.”

I’d like to think God was good to her for another year.

Inna Gertsberg is an advertising writer. She lives in Toronto with her husband, two sons and a cat. You can follow her on Twitter at @twigstr.

(Main image: Yossi Gurvitz via Flickr)

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Rachel Fraenkel, mother of murdered Israeli teen Naftali Fraenkel, has offered her condolences to the family of 16-year-old Palestinian Muhammad Abu Khdeir, reports The Times of Israel. Abu Khdeir was kidnapped and murdered by Jewish extremists in Jerusalem on July 2, in a brutal vigilante attack following the murders of Israeli teenagers Naftali Fraenkel, Eyal Yifrach, and Gilad Shaar in June.

Below is an excerpt from Fraenkel’s statement:

“Even in the abyss of mourning for Gilad, Eyal, and Naftali, it is difficult for me to describe how distressed we are by the outrage committed in Jerusalem–the shedding of innocent blood in defiance of all morality, of the Torah, of the foundation of the lives of our boys and of all of us in this country.

Only the murderers of our sons, along with those who sent them and those who helped them and incited them to murder–and not innocent people–will be brought to justice: by the army, the police, and the judiciary; not by vigilantes. No mother or father should ever have to go through what we are going through, and we share the pain of Mohammed’s parents.”

On Sunday, two Palestinians visited the Fraenkel family at their home in Nof Ayalon, where they are sitting shiva for Naftali. A few hours later Yishai Fraenkel, uncle of Naftali, shared his condolences with the family of Palestinian teen Muhammad Abu Khdeir. “We expressed our deep empathy with their sorrow, from one bereaved family to another bereaved family,” he told Ynet news website, according to The Times of Israel. “We expressed our absolute disgust with what had happened. He accepted our statements, it was important for him to hear it.”

Six Israelis were arrested on Sunday for the murder of Muhammad Abu Khdeir, and three have confessed their involvement in the crime. Two Palestinians were identified for the kidnapping and murder of the Israeli teens in June, but are still at large.

Read Rachel Fraenkel’s complete statement here.

(Image: Rachel Fraenkel with Jerusalem mayor Nir Barkat, via Facebook)

Related: Heartbreaking, Influential Moment: Rachel Fraenkel Says Kaddish For Son Naftali

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Shalom, y’all!

Today in fantasy real estate you can’t afford: an insanely huge, luxurious mansion is on the market in Jerusalem, replete with pool, elevator, separate Passover kitchen, and–OMG!—a private mikvah. The house is located on Derech Harakevet, on the border of the upscale Baka and German Colony neighborhoods. It also overlooks the High Line-inspired Park HaMesila. I’m pretty sure the upstairs patio (yes, there’s more than one) is bigger than my entire apartment.

The price? Not listed. Because prospective buyers squillionaires don’t need to ask.

Brings new meaning to ‘Jerusalem of Gold,’ right?

 Image: Protasov AN / Shutterstock

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Breaking: Justin Timberlake is BRINGING SEXY BACK to the Western Wall! (Oh, go on, roll your eyes, but it had to be said.)

JT is set to perform at Tel Aviv’s Hayarkon Park on Wednesday night to a crowd of 44,000. He visited the kotel on Tuesday to pray, and took the opportunity to post a super-meaningful pic to his Instagram account in an appropriately antique-y filter. (Because #JerusalemofGold, amirite?)

“The Holy Land… What an experience. I will never forget this day,” he wrote. Hashtag: Israel.

The photo has received about 200,000 likes so far, and almost 7,000 comments.

Also performing in Israel this summer: Lady Gaga, Backstreet Boys, and The Rolling Stones. We’re hoping for a slew of pics to add to our Celebrity Kotel album.

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The photos have provoked mixed reactions from commenters. Many were perturbed by the segregation of the sexes (there are no pictures from the women’s side of the mechitzah) and the images of small children smoking (not uncommon in some Haredi communities on Purim, though Purim is still a few weeks away). But the joy and vitality also captivated readers, particularly the smiles of the bride and groom.

It’s not the first time photos from an ultra-Orthodox wedding have gone viral on Daily Mail. (See here and here.) Why are these images so compelling? Do they exoticize Hasidic culture? Romanticize it? Disparage it? Tell us what you think.

Images: Getty.

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The news that Natalie Portman is directing a film adaptation of Amos Oz‘ A Tale of Love and Darkness has been received joyously in many quarters, but not everyone’s happy.

Ultra-Orthodox residents of Nachlaot sent a letter of protest to the Jerusalem municipality after learning that filming would take place in their neighborhood—without enough notice for them to vet the scenes: “The film shooting is set to take place on several sensitive streets close to synagogues and yeshivas, and the scenes being filmed should have been examined first to make sure they don’t offend anybody’s sensitivities.”

The Times of Israel reports that graffiti has been sighted in the neighborhood, “denouncing the ‘foreign invasion’… The municipality has said that all the actors involved in the filming will dress modestly while in the neighborhood.”

It’s hard to imagine what Portman (or the city of Jerusalem) would do if anyone actually raised any objections to the scenes. It’s also hard to imagine any other city in the world where residents ostensibly have the right to vet scenes that are going to be filmed in their neighborhood. But! The show goes on. And we can all look forward to seeing Portman on our screens in a year or so as Oz’s mother—speaking Hebrew like a boss.

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