Two Independence Days on Shabbat
For the first time in seventeen years, both the Fourth of July and the Fifth of Iyar fall out on Shabbat. [David Ben-Gurion proclaimed Israel’s independence on Friday May 14, 1948, but as befitting a Jewish State, the Hebrew date is the one that is observed.] This occasion provides us with a clear understanding of the differences between Jews living even in the world’s most remarkable democracy and Jews living in the national home of the Jewish people. Because when the Fifth of Iyar falls out on Shabbat (as it did this year), Israel’s Yom Ha’Atzmaut is pushed up to Wednesday night-Thursday so that celebrations do not conflict with Shabbat (this “pushing up” also happens when the Fifth of Iyar falls on a Friday, lest celebrations conflict with preparations for and/or the onset of Shabbat). But on Friday night July 4th, many American Jews who would like to be at a fireworks display will be unable to attend because of their observance of Shabbat. Precisely because I feel so American, my exclusion from key American experiences hurts so much and the sense of at-homeness I have in Israel feels so good.
I know that there are many Orthodox Jews in America who love the challenge of it all, who get a special thrill at arranging things so that their religious commitments do not conflict with their Americanness. Such American Jews, if they are fireworks aficionados and want to attend a display this year, may rent an Airbnb on Friday night July 4th that is walking distance to fireworks. They will glory in their having both kept Shabbat restrictions and seen fireworks. Despite the fact that there may not be a synagogue within walking distance of their Airbnb, and despite the fact that they may have to compromise on the quality of their Shabbat meals, by golly they will have done it: Americanness aligned with observant Judaism.
Having grown up Modern Orthodox in Brooklyn, I fully appreciate the energetic spirit with which observant Jews rise to the challenge of embracing both Americanness and Judaism. I also know how thrilling it is when aspects of Americanness become newly available to an observant Jew. This typically happens with food. To see true joy is to see American Orthodox Jewish teenagers greet the announcement that M & M’s, Oreos, and Skittles are now under rabbinic supervision. And for sheer cultural symbiosis, what can match biting into a kosher hot dog while watching a Major League baseball game (about a dozen stadiums now have kosher concessions). I know the feeling. Forty-six years ago, when I was finishing high school at an Israeli yeshivah program, I traveled two hours by bus from Jerusalem to the center of the country to a kosher Kentucky Fried Chicken. Forget the fact that the chicken was mediocre: I had eaten Kosher KFC! Back then, I would have gone even further for such an incredible combination of Jewishness and Americanness.
Alas (in terms of my future in America), I was bitten with Aliyah fever. On August 19, 1979, eleven days after my 18th birthday, as I was waiting to board my flight back to the United States, I wrote in my diary: “I really have to come back to this country; it’s the only place for a Jew to live.” While I respect and even marvel at the lengths to which many American Jews go in living out their two nationalities, for me, my life here over the last 28 years has borne out the dream of my teenage self.
Wherever you are on Shabbat night July 4th: Happy Holiday!
Teddy Weinberger is a contributing writer to Jlife magazine. He made aliyah with his family in 1997 from Miami, where he was an assistant professor of religious studies. Teddy and his wife, Sarah Jane Ross, have five children.
