Itzhak David Goldberg MD, FACR is Professor Emeritus at Albert Einstein College of Medicine.
“Jerusalem of Gold” (Yerushalayim Shel Zahav) is more than just a song—it is a poetic expression of longing, loss, hope, and redemption.
How the cisterns have dried
The marketplace is empty
And no one frequents the Temple Mount
In the Old City.
And in the caves in the mountain
Winds are howling
And no one descends to the Dead Sea
By way of Jericho.
Naomi Shemer wrote the song for Israel’s 1967 Independence Day several weeks before the Six-Day War. Shemer, who grew up in the secular Kibbutz Kineret was exposed to Jewish texts by traditional European teachers and her songs were infused with motifs from the Talmud and Midrash. This song resonates with the biblical Eicha (Book of Lamentations), in which Jerusalem is described as a widow mourning her former glory. The first three verses function as a modern-day lament, mourning not only past destruction but also the contemporary reality of division and loss.
Right after Independence Day, the Egyptian army crossed the Suez Canal into the Sinai Peninsula and closed the Gulf of Aqaba to Israeli shipping. The tense three weeks, “the waiting period”, leading to the outbreak of the Six-Day War, commenced on May 15th, 1967. During this period of existential uncertainty, Israeli society came together in an unparalleled way and experienced an extraordinary sense of national unity. In a historic move,
Prime Minister Eshkol formed a National Unity Government, bringing Menachem Begin and his allies into leadership for the first time. This unity government mirrored the collective recognition that Israel’s survival transcended political rivalries. Religious and secular Israelis, often divided in their daily lives, found common ground in prayer and collective resilience. Synagogues filled with worshippers from all backgrounds, and non-religious Israelis joined in reciting Psalms and prayers for the safety of soldiers.
Shortly before Shabbat, during this tense period when army units were constantly changing locations to avoid detection, we, a group of IDF soldiers, found ourselves in Tiberias. On Shabbat morning, we attended services in a small shtibel. An elderly bearded man approached us and inquired where we were planning to eat. Once he realized that we had no arrangements for a Shabbat meal, he insisted we be his guests. To our great surprise, he immediately unlocked his grocery store on Shabbat and set up a beautiful table. As we were having the meal, he hovered over us, encouraged us, and blessed us “And he was standing over them”- the way Avraham was hovering over the angels that came to visit him.
His admiration and love for us was overwhelming and mirrored the unity in Israeli society.
There were no “Others” during this period, only Israelis who were united in their existential battle for survival.
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Acher:
“Once Rabbi Meir taught on Shabbat in the study hall in Tiberias and Elisha his teacher passed by riding a horse …”
A compelling passage in the Talmud (Chagiga 16b) presents a poignant exchange between Rabbi Meir and his former teacher, Elisha ben Abuyah—later known as "Acher"-the “Other” after his apostasy. The reasons for Elisha’s apostasy are debated in the Talmud. Some sources suggest that he was troubled by the suffering of the righteous.
The scene unfolds on Shabbat in Tiberias, with Acher riding his horse while Rabbi Meir walks beside him. As they near the outskirts of the city, Acher warns Rabbi Meir to turn back, cautioning him not to transgress the techum, the Shabbat traveling boundary of 2,000 cubits.
Rabbi Meir responds with a pointed challenge: “Then return yourself as well.”
Acher, however, refuses. He recalls a chilling divine pronouncement:
“Have I not already told you what I heard from behind the Divine curtain that God calls to His wayward children, ‘Return, return’—all except for Acher?”
This encounter echoes into a key moment in Elisha ben Abuyah’s life, found in both the Babylonian Talmud (Chagiga 15a) and the Jerusalem Talmud (Chagiga 2:1), with a striking textual difference. In the Jerusalem Talmud, the bat kol (heavenly voice) declares: “Return, wayward children—except for Elisha ben Abuyah.” In contrast, the Babylonian Talmud records it as: “Return, wayward children—except for Acher (the Other).”
Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, known to his myriad students as "The Rav" zts"l, suggests that this distinction is deeply significant. He argues that the Babylonian Talmud’s wording is deliberate and the correct one—Acher could not repent, but Elisha ben Abuyah could. The bat kol was not barring Elisha from return; rather, it was challenging him to shed the identity of "Acher" and reclaim his true self. The obstacle to repentance was not an external divine decree but an internal one—his self-perception as irredeemably "other”- an alienated figure estranged from the covenantal community.
In this reading, the tragedy of Acher is not that he was denied the path of return but that he believed it was impossible. His transformation into "Acher" was not merely a title; it was a psychological exile, a self-imposed barrier between himself and reconciliation with God and the Jewish community. The voice from Heaven did not close the door on his repentance—it urged him to reopen it.
In a 1960s address by Rabbi Soloveitchik to the Mizrachi convention, the Rav spoke about the struggles of the Religious Zionist movement with secular Israelis:
“Year after year, we have collaborated with the freethinker; we saw the tragedy of Acher. Deep inside each one of them, we believe, there is a captive Elisha b. Abuya …We often fight against the “Others”, we struggle with them bitterly…we do not forget for even a moment that within these Others deeply hidden in the depths reside shades of Elisha Ben Abuya which will finally rouse and purify themselves….Then will come to pass the great miracle “…That all Thy children will be blessed of the Lord, and great will be the peace of Thy children.”
In Kol Dodi Dofek, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik delineates two fundamental covenants in Jewish identity: Brit Avot (the Covenant of the Patriarchs) and Brit Sinai (the Covenant of Law). Brit Avot represents the shared historical and national destiny of the Jewish people, encompassing even those who do not fully observe religious law. Brit Sinai, in contrast, embodies the commitment to Torah and mitzvot. Rav Soloveitchik contends that while secular pioneers may not adhere to Brit Sinai, they remain integral to Jewish destiny through their participation in Brit Avot.
“We are confronted with a singular phenomenon. The Almighty has paved the way for the return to Zion through people who have cast off the yoke of Torah and mitzvot. Can we possibly deny that their accomplishments in rebuilding the land, in defense, and in the establishment of the State, constitute the actualization of a divine plan?”
There are no innate Others in our covenantal community.
In 1935 the Rav visited Kibbutz Kineret, established over a century ago, where Naomi Shemer grew up. The Kibbutz is located seven kilometers from Tiberias. In an edited transcript of a 1959 recording by Rabbi Aaron Goldscheider, the Rav recounts his experience:
“I visited a Stalinist kibbutz called Kvutzat Kinneret,… I remember it was a very hot day. The workers were in the fields, the vineyards, and the orange groves, working very hard. When I arrived, they called me “rav, rav, rav” in a half cynical, half sarcastic way. They had a cynical approach to American Jews in general, and particularly towards an American rabbi.”
Assuming that the kibbutz kitchen was not kosher, the Rav declined an offer of fresh grapes. To his surprise, the kibbutz members assured him that they maintained a kosher kitchen. They recounted a previous Shabbat visit from Rabbi Kook. Aware that their kitchen was not kosher, Rabbi Kook brought his own challahs and wine for Shabbat. Throughout his stay, he conducted himself with respect and restraint, refraining from criticizing their secular practices, even as they engaged in activities such as cooking and sewing. Following Shabbat, he joined them in dance and storytelling, fostering a sense of mutual respect and connection. His empathetic and non-confrontational approach left a profound impression on the community, ultimately motivating them to kosher their kitchen and adopt certain religious observances.
There were no innate “Achers” for Rav Kook or The Rav in this secular Kibbutz.
The Rav had a special relationship with a Conservative Rabbi in Boston. While the Rav did not attend Rabbi Shubow’s funeral nor any ceremonies honoring him conducted in the conservative temple, he had great love and respect for him:
“I must say that Rabbi Shubow combined strength and majesty of Judah the lion with the disarming charm of Joseph the handsome son who was like the blossoming plant by the spring-well. I mentioned before that he had a hold on people; one had to like him. Some even loved him. I belong to the second group. He had a therapeutic effect upon my shifting moods and quickly alternating states of mind. He used to dispel gloom, alleviate pain of sorrow, and bring me a message of light and life. Whenever I saw him, he elicited a smile from me. There was something comforting, soothing, and healing in his homo absconditus; there was joy, enthusiasm and also a child in that Judah the lion and Joseph the charmer.” (1)
Rabbi Meir Twersky, the Rav’s grandson, commented on the Rav’s eulogy for Rabbi Shubow:
“To strike such a balance requires greatness. The Rav, in all his wisdom, righteousness, and self-awareness, was great enough to forge a true friendship—a friendship filled with respect, loyalty, and even love— without ever sacrificing the truth that is Halakhah. It takes true greatness to walk such a fine line; to refuse without rejecting; to decline without deriding; to forego without forsaking. In short, the Rav would never allow ideological differences to uproot his friendship with R. Shubow; and he would never allow friendship to uproot his ideological convictions.”(1)
There was no innate Other in this unusual relationship.
Post October 7th, many Israelis shed their Acher persona; return to tradition, unity, respect, and love permeated the fighting IDF and large segments of Israeli society, including the released hostages.
Isn’t it time for the political governance and the legal system to discard their toxic narrative? To shed the perception of Acher?
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The elderly grocery owner was feverishly opening boxes and cans of food, encouraging us to eat. “Perhaps we will celebrate Shavuot at the Kotel” he proclaimed. This declaration astonished us. Everyone assumed the war would be with Egypt and perhaps with Syria but not with Jordan. How would we reach the Kotel?
Miraculously, the righteous storekeeper was prescient. On Shabbat June 10th, we soldiers prayed at the Kotel and walked through the narrow alleys of the Old City singing Jerusalem of Gold. On June 13th, tens of thousands of Israelis celebrated Shavuot at the Kotel. This celebration became a powerful symbol of Jewish resilience and unity, with people from all walks of life coming together to celebrate and pray.
We have returned to the cisterns
To the market and to the marketplace
A ram's horn calls out on the Temple Mount
In the Old City.
And in the caves in the mountain
Thousands of suns shine …
“Our story tells of a glorious past that is still present, because it has not vanished, a future which is already here and a creative present replete with opportunity and challenge.” (The Rav)
Source:
[1]. R. Soloveitchik and R. Shubow: A Eulogy Rediscovered, a Friendship Reexamined Addendum: Text and Context by R. Mayer Twersky By: Jonah Steinmetz Ḥakirah 30 2021,page 31.
