New Photos [January 29]!!!
January 29th, 2006A Jewish and Democratic State
January 29th, 2006The question which has pre-occupied my mind and the minds of the Dorot community after recent discussions is: can the State of Israel be both “Jewish” and “democratic” at the same time? Perhaps a more accurate question would be: can the State of Israel be a “Jewish” state and a “Just” state at the same time? I make this qualification simply because I think that most of us (even Israel’s great detractors) would agree that the political and social system is, at least on its face, a democratic one. That is to say, clearly both the parliamentary system of legislative representation and the cannonization of citizen’s rights without a formal Constitution almost perfectly mirror the legal institutions of the United Kingdom which we widely regard as a democratic country!
Thus, the core issue remaining (even if we were able to magically end Palestinian terror and the heavy-handed responses to it by the Israeli military establishment) is one of assessing the logic and social consequences of setting up an ethnically hegemonic state. Israel is a state designed for and run by one class of citizens. The question is one of ethnic nationalism tied to a geographic area: can any nation or ethnic people (non-Jewish included) claim to control the political and social affairs of a given geographic area and remain consistent to liberal principles of equal justice for all of its citizens under the law? That is to say: can the classical Zionist proposition - that the Jewish people, in light of history and the Holocaust, contain a natural right to secure, self-determined sovereignty over the Land of Israel - hold up to its promise of true freedom, rights and complete equality for all of its citizens, including an Arab population which approaches nearly 20 percent of the total population?
For my friends who hail unabashedly from a new-Left or strictly post-modern standpoint, the answer to this question is a no-brainer: NO!!!
But for myself and a majority of Jews (hailing from all different points on the religious and political spectrum) as well as non-Jews who sympathize with Jewish claims of persecution and solidarity, there’s an added dimension of complexity. For, as Jews, we see ourselves as bound together both in our traditional, ritualistic yearning for a return to Israel as well as a crisp consciousness of our vulnerability as a people who have suffered thousands of years of persecution.
However, for mainstream American Jewry and its established supporters amongst the echelons of political, financial and social power, the conventional wisdom has been to unqualifiedly support the State of Israel as a sovereign home for the Jewish nation. Reinforced both by America’s sense of shared vulnerability and connection to Israel after the 911 attacks as well as a sharp rise in anti-Semitism and rabid anti-Jewish violence throughout the world (check out the new movie “Proctocols of Zion” or just recall recent denials of the Holocaust by nearly-nuclear Iranian President Ahmadinejad), the continued existence and safety of Jews in Israel has been seen as a zero-sum, all-or-nothing proposition. In the name of freedom, democracy and security, Israelis must be safe.
But for myself, mainstream Israelis and a large segment of American Jews, the threshold for what can be done to the minority population in the name of “Jewish rights” and “preservation of the Jewish people” is becoming rapidly diminshed with an honest and closer examination of the facts, policies and social trajectory of the State of Israel.
I am still in the process of fleshing out a more complete and robust understanding of how (if at all) to square Jewish claims to Israel at the expense of deeply-entranched discrimination within Israel and inside the Occupied Palestinian Territories, but I intend to pose a few questions and propositions that I am currently wrestling with. I don’t have all of the answers, but I am unshakingly convinced that we must address these questions if we truly and honestly seek to reconcile a Jewish imperative towards peace and justice for all inhabitants of this land.
First, I think we need to evaluate the extent to which we, as Jews, are prepared to accept the real price paid by our neighbors and Arab residents by actions we take in order to protect ourselves. Check out one of many resources (The Alternative Information Center, The Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions, B’Tselem) to see the well-documented patterns of torture, abuse, restriction of movement, humiliation and confiscation of land and resources derivative of Israeli military orders, settlement policy and wide-spread de-humanization of the “other” in the minds of Israelis.
“But,” as some argue, “you seem to be focusing on the Occupied Terrorities and the issue of the Palestinians. Assuming that a two-state solution is reached [which looks less and less promising with both the recent election of Hamas in the West Bank and the relentless Jewish settlement, incursion and ghetto-ization of the West Bank], can’t there be complete equality between Jews and Arabs in a finalized State of Israel?”
I think it’s a good question. My response would be: will this future State continue its current policies which, in the name of building a Jewish state, allocates resources, budgets, educational infrastructure, housing benefits and high-level jobs to Jews as a matter of public policy? Will land continue to be “owned by the Jewish people” (as it currently is by the Jewish National Fund and other para-governmental trusts) and claim at the same time to be equally and fairly accessible by all citizens (including Arab and Bedouin citizens who are continually denied housing permits?)
It seems harder and harder these days to claim, as many do, that “No, no no, Eric, you’re wrong: Arab citizens do in fact have equal rights in law, it’s just that, like Blacks in America or any other minority in the world, they just don’t receive equality in practice.”
But I question this assumption. When one looks at the actual laws and modes of ownership, resource distribution, government-enforced racial identification (did you know that all citizens in the State of Israel have a line on their I.D. card that denotes their religion?), I wonder if we can still argue with integrity that all citizens do actually have equal rights under the law?
Regardless of where you come out, I think it’s a debate that we need to be having in Israel, America and especially in American Jewish communities that play a pivotal role in the trajectory of Israeli policies through their financial and political support for the State of Israel.
New Photos [January 3]!!!
January 3rd, 2006I have three new photo sets posted (click on the links below):
My fabulous trip to Turkey with Robbie
The Dorot community trip to Haifa (”Democracy and the Jewish State”)
My Succah Building Disaster of 2005 (nothing went right)
Check ‘em out!
Burning Man in Acco
December 1st, 2005Well not quite Burning Man, persay, but definitely some cool pyrotechnics on the beach of one of Israel’s oldest cities. A few hundred people gathered in anticipation of a visual-art production by the famed Israeli troupe “Zeke” entitled, “Twenty” in order to commemorate the troupe’s 20th year of production. My friend Joe and I joined some other friends up in Acco for the annual Acco Alternative Theatre Festival, and among other things, saw this mini-version of “burning man.”
As seen in the photos that Joe took, the scene began as a single, inverted cone of approximately 20 feet tall which sat propped atop a stage on the beach during sunset.
Suddenly, fire works began to go off to the rhythm of a drum-base/trance mix and shortly thereafter, the wooden cages surrounding the inverted cone were lit on fire. After several minutes of burning, the cone itself was then lit on fire to reveal a glass encasement underneath. Inside the glass was what appeared to be a model of Jerusalem with the Dome of the Rock protruding above a miniture walled-city. Then, the city walls were lit on fire inside the glass encasement, and after several minutes of burning, all that remained was a large pile of charred material surrounding the sphere in the center. Troupe members then sprayed the mound with water as it began to spin around and around, and as the sand-like remains of the model city’s walls degraded with the water spray, a small figure of a man (who’s head, it turns out, was the sphere protruding in the earlier display) was the only object remaining at the conclusion of the pyrotechnics display.
Strange you say?
This and oh-so-much more were par-for-the-course at the Acco Festival. Afteward, we saw a show called “Babel” which billed itself as a show composed of characters who all spoke different languages and then conveyed the theatrical message through non-verbal communication (which was very, very promising). Sadly, though, we were mistaken! What we did get was the most unusual production which began, rather uniquely, as a show where the audience actually participated in the story. We, the “American investors” were being taken for a tour of a new, grand development project that was being built - presumably, the tower of babel or some metaphorical derivative thereof. It was apparent, through a few short dialogues between the characters and a quick movie “fundraising pitch” that this new housing complex would be clean, sterile, upper-class and secure from the “rift-raft” and hooligans who wonder the earth. Thus, what we were presented with was an icon, I would say, of American or global corporate culture embodied in this new housing development.
Then all hell broke loose.
The central narrator (who, it turned out, spoke English throughout the entire show and explained rather bluntly the “hidden” subtext of every scene) was both a transvestite version of God and also a symbol for American corporate culture (you figure that one out). The characters, none of whom represented any archetypes nor served as appropriate foils to one another, then began to “cleanse” themselves and engage in a project of renewal in order to join the corporate droans in their construction enterprise.
But apparently, the audience participation was just left at the door as there was never again any mention of the actual building or of our investment in it. And then, the characters began gyrating wildly and free-form dancing in these bizarro dream-like sequences marked by loud music, yelling and a strobe light. There was the not-so-subtle and nonsensical racial in-fighting between, for example, a German factory foreman ordering around a Japanese immigrant worker, and a fight between an Israeli Arab who beats his wife and a Gazan resident who was just liberated by the Israeli Disengagement … it just didn’t add up at all.
The show ended without much of a conclusion and then Joe turned to me and said something to the effect of “that was the kind of bullshit we produced in my middle-school theatre class.” Not too far off, I thought.
We also saw an obscure Japanese actress, Kazuko Hohki, in a one-woman performance entitled “My Husband is an Astronaut.” It was a very cutesy one-woman show telling her story as a Japanese office clerk who found her dream (to meet an English man) one day on a sales visit by some English businessman. The delivery was absolutely outrageous and hilarious, if not alone for her dry-wit and amateur singing. I think I was alternating between laughing with her and laughing at her. The whole story was an overlay for a classic Japanese story about a duck who came from another world and … well, to be honest, to complete this last sentence would betray just how delightfully outrageous the whole thing really was!
The city of Acco, normally a poor and struggling town of Jews and Arabs, was truly alive for its biggest event of the year. It was really exciting to see the old city (see pix) and walk around the old sites and the market. We had delicious a delicious Arabic-style milk that’s served piping hot and topped with a sprinkling of coconut, cardamon and cinnamon. The streets were packed with vendors selling hummus, fresh baked pita bread, homemade crafts, and the weather was a brilliant departure from the cold rain in Jerusalem.
Then afterwards, we spent the weekend at Neil’s house on Kibbutz Tuval, relaxed, drank tea, ate cakes, hiked during the day, and slept the rest of Shabbat away!
Hungarians of Mosaic Faith
October 14th, 2005As part of the Dorot Fellowship in Israel - the fellowship currently funding my studies, volunteer work and Hebrew study in Israel - we took a group trip to explore the Jewish experience in modern-day Budapest, Hungary (see the pictures here). The purpose of the trip was to explore the Jewish community’s confrontation with post-enlightenment and post-modern society in a location outside the communities in America and Israel, with which all of us have already had first-hand experience.
“How was Budapest, Eric?”
Perfectly reasonable question to ask, especially since I’ve done my fare share of travels in the last few years: “How was your vacation in Japan?” or “How was your trip to London?” But honestly, this time, I was stranded without the proper words.
“Well, it was intense, deep, profoundly troubling and to be honest, I’m not sure what to do with it” was my response.
I had always imagined my own family history and that of the entire Jewish migration from Eastern Europe to America as that of Dorothy in Oz: from black storm clouds into magnificent iridescence. From smoke, destruction and gloom into brightness, clarity and color. I imagined Jewish life in the Pale of Settlement (the area of Eastern Europe, stretching west from Moscow into central Hungary and Austria, in which the Jewish people resided for 2 millennia) as one of cloudy grayness. I imagined a time of filth, hunger, isolation, desperation and hopelessness - a time when there was no such thing as social ascension or hope for a future.
My trip to Budapest did almost everything to reinforce this impression.
After having left the “90 degrees, unlimited visibility and 0% chance of precipitation” in Jerusalem, I stepped off the tarmac and into a thickly-clouded, overcast sky. A drabby, cold and persistent rain enshrouded me and never seemed to let up (although it did for a while) for the duration of my trip.
So what exactly happened here?
Like any Jewish community in Eastern Europe, the Jews here faced centuries of second-class citizenship, frequent exile, mass slaughtering by Crusaders and the traditional blood-libel and “classic” anti-Semitism that characterized most of European society.
But something entirely different developed within the experience of Hungarian Jews: a progression towards an ultra-Hungarian nationalism amongst Jews that was unparalleled in the Pale of Europe. Unlike the Jews of North Africa or Russia, Jews were steadily given more and more freedom to participate in public commerce, to purchase property, to assume roles in government and even to fight in wars on behalf of Hungarian national ambitions. From the time that Jews received the “Edict of Toleration” by Josepth II in 1782 to pre-WWI life in Hungary, the Hungarian Jews became the envy of Jewish communities Europe-wide for their ability to improve their lives, influence public life, attain positions of respect and create scores of new Yeshivot (Jewish centers of learning).
The slogan “Hungarians of Mosaic Faith” became the namesake of Jewish Hungarians during the turn of the century. It was estimated that at one point during the late 1800’s, as many as 250,000 or ¼ of the Budapest population was Jewish. Along with the flowering of economic and political life heretofore unknown to European Jews, the Jewish community’s interaction with secular and Christian society also created a new amalgamation of Judaism called “Neologue” Judaism.
The Neologue community, unlike its Western European and American counterparts (who believed that Jewish thought, law and ritual observance should modernize in accordance to the enlightenment), actually remained traditional and committed to the long-held Rabbinic tradition of Halacha (“Jewish law”). What they did (or at least, how they perceive themselves) was to merely apply a small face-lift on the outside. Their idea was to “Christianize” the Jewish facade (for example, making its synagogues appear more like cathedrals and introducing organ music into its service) while remaining committed to Jewish tradition on the inside.
Coupled with the Jewish assimilation into secular society, the Jewish experience in Budapest marked an unprecedented integration of Jewish community into the secular world outside.
Which is exactly why, as I learned from all the people that I met in Budapest, no one could believe the unbelievable. No one foresaw such a rapid, ruthless and unquestioned accession to German Fascism which saw Hungary’s own “SS” (not the Germans) round up 600,000 Jews and send them to their deaths without even needing to be coerced. The famous commercial artery through the center of town, the river Danube, was called the “Red Danube” due to how bloody its waters became after the mass executions of 100’s of untold Jews on the river’s banks.
And then came Communism which was meant as a sincere attempt to rectify the wrongs of Fascism. The logic, like that of many European countries, was that the answer to racism and genocide was to simply rid society of any religious or ethnic labels whatsoever through the implementation of utopian, equal, Communist ideals. So a Communist revolution, favored heavily by the Hungarian Jewish community as a response to their near-complete decimation, occurred only 10 years later but soon became totalitarian, exclusively “Hungarian” and anti-Jewish by the latter half of the century.
The so-called Iron Curtain was lifted only 15 years ago with the collapsing of the Berlin Wall, and what we saw in Hungary last week was a re-awakening: a country still trying to put the pieces together and make sense out of the last 6 decades of traumatic history.
Like I said, the sky remained grey and heavy even when the sun was out in Hungary.
Well - that’s not entirely true. There were some glimmers of sunshine during my week there - small patches of “color” that popped up in the most unlikely of places.
For example, the architecture of the city was stunning: neo-Gothic castles, cobblestone thorough-fares and large, stone-hewn buildings that exuded a deeply regal history. Buildings like the century-old Parliament building with ornate adornments or the old Hapsburg castle atop Budapest dwarfed the engineering “feats” of the West.
We also encountered a lovely Jewish community at the Peshti Shul, a small modern Orthodox community located in an apartment tucked away alongside the old Jewish Quarter. We were welcomed into their cozy social room for Shabbat dinner and served a delicious chicken Marsala in honor of the Shabbat theme: French Judaism. Pal, one of the community members, gave a lecture on the French-Jewish existentialist Emmanuel Levinas. The next morning, we went to religious services followed up by a delicious home-made meal of Hungarian chullant (an Eastern-European Jewish stew that’s slow-cooked in a crock-pot overnight) and talked to all the different people there. Gabi, a young man who studied Jewish philosophy in Israel for 14 years was telling us about his efforts to build a community Beit Midrash (Jewish center of study) with new books, lectures, teachers and a resurgence of traditional learning unseen in Hungary for 75 years. Baruch, a baal teshuva (“returner to the faith”) related his story of discovering his Jewish identity and then studying Hebrew, Torah and Jewish tradition for many years in order to create a new, Orthodox Jewish identity.
Chabad Lubavitch (the Lithuanian-now-American Chasidic movement of Messianic Jews who dispatch their youth to different parts of the world to spread Judaism and Jewish community to un-affiliated Jews) set up a lovely day-school for Jewish community members. We also had a lively and delicious meal with their students inside their newly-renovated synagogue located inside the old Jewish Quarter.
The Dohany Synagogue, perhaps the most famous and beautiful architectural gem of the Hungarian Jewish community (see the pictures here), was built in the late 1800’s to mimic a massive Catholic Cathedral. Beautiful, light-colored bricks on the outside and gold-encrusted columns with benches made from Lebanese wood on the inside. It was truly an awe-inspiring and magnificent site to see.
And our tour-guide, Aggie! She was perhaps the most incredible part of our trip! Chocked-full of hilarious stories and snide, off-hand comments about the city, Aggie also related her own personal story of uncovering her Jewish past and negotiating both her love for Hungary and her desire to see Jewish life beyond its borders. Plus, she had the cutest English accent, a wonderful sense of humor and a real ability to make boring sites really interesting.
But the inescapable reality was that, for me, Budapest remained hopelessly bound-up in Kansas: the Jews of Hungary remain trapped in a tornado that never quite went away.
Of the historic population of Jews that once lived there, only an estimated 5,000 are active in the Jewish community and a purported 70,000-100,000 Jews live assimilated. Either they are so assimilated that they don’t even know that their family was Jewish or they are too scared to reveal their identities for fear of endangering their lives and businesses.
Indeed: the architecture was pretty. But it was also fading, with dark water streaks, broken corners and dotted with medieval gargoyles and haunting remnants of feudalism. The beautiful, imperial Hapsburg castle was exactly that: imperial. For all of its grandeur, it remains a symbol of power that saw no end to the needless subjugation of the Jews, Gypsies and anyone else who refused to abide rigid Christian dogma.
The Peshti Shul community was cozy and interesting. But it was also unanimous in its pessimism. Our translator at the synagogue sees the community on an inevitable plunge into non-existence. Students of any talent want to study in Israel or America - not in Budapest. Community leaders would rather prioritize their professional life and secular studies than engage in traditional yeshiva-style learning. The community struggles every week to make a minyan (a traditional quorum of 10 Jewish men needed to begin daily prayers).
The Dohany synagogue is indeed a grand testament to Hungarian Jewry’s golden age. But it’s just that: a reminder of what was and what no longer exists. I attended Friday night services at the Dohany Synagogue, and the vast majority of those present were either Israeli or American tourists. The Chazzan of the synagogue (the musical leader) gave us a private tour of the Aaron Kodesh (the place in which the Torah scrolls are kept) and, before closing the ark, he sang a chilling rendition of Etz Chaim He (“A tree of life”). The words of the song, taken from a few versus in Proverbs and Isaiah, says it all:
It [the Torah] is a Tree of Life for those who cling to it and those who support it are happy. Its ways are
the ways of pleasantness and all its paths lead to peace. Return to us, G-d, and renew us like the days of
old.
As he cantillated “Renew us like the days of old,” I think not a single person in the synagogue didn’t feel the sincerity and passion with which he sang these chillingly self-referential lyrics. It was beautiful but also profoundly sad to witness the pangs of loss and anguish from a man who experienced the decline of his community first-hand.
And Aggie – the jewel of our trip who brought smiles to all of us with her laughs and stories – Aggie carried a burden. After hearing our Dorot group process our experience in Hungary, she told us very sincerely that she wanted us to have patience and to try to understand that Hungarian Jews are finding their way, albeit slowly. For a bright, cheerful and hopelessly optimistic group of American Jews to come into her community and project American ideals of “happiness” and brightness onto a society plagued by warfare is simply unrealistic, she told us.
And she was right.
“You know, I am happy here despite all of your impressions. You wouldn’t think it, from the gray-cloudiness that Eric talked about or the images of the Danube being bloody with the bodies of my ancestors – but to be honest, if you don’t grow up with these images, just like I didn’t, then they don’t keep you from living your life. I see Budapest for what it is, but I live a happy life and I see beauty here.”
And then, and I’ll never forget this moment in my entire life, she broke down into tears crying in a soft whisper: “And I’m so ashamed to be happy here.”
Hungarian Jews are tormented by the past. They live in a place where they were herded like cattle to their deaths and never really apologized to or validated. And at the same time, they’re Hungarian; they’ve no choice but to stay and try to build a new life.
And myself? I’m left cold from the weather, damp from the rain, exhausted from the traveling, troubled by the hopelessness, upset that my people continue to live amongst a nation that never made amens for slaughtering them.
And ultimately, I’m confronted yet again with my own story.
What exactly were my own great-grandparents feeling when they left Poland? What was it like to live there? Was it just like Budapest? What were the specific reasons that they left and how did they view themselves as Jews before and after coming to the New World?
And on a more personal note: why isn’t this story as important for my own parents to learn about and to talk about as it is for me? Why does this desire to uncover our family’s European roots only seem important to me?
And at the very same time, despite the questions and the frustration, I feel only lucky, fortunate and grateful that I’m an American …
The Big Easy
September 9th, 2005In the midst of all that is happening in my life, I really haven’t had the chance to comment on something that touches me daily as one who lived in New Orleans for 6 months last year.
I’m absolutey outraged and feel utterly puzzled by what seems to me like a first-rate denial of basic humanitarian services by our government, federal and local. It seems that the best of economic favoritism and an utter lack of preparedness, for what Army Corps of Engineers deemed a certainty in the event of a hurricane with the magnitude of Katrina, has plagued our government, at both federal and state levels.
If you don’t know what I’m talking about, read Maureen Dowd to better understand my anger. There is simply an undeniable connection between the tax cuts passed by our government (President Bush and Congress) and the subsequent cuts to legitimate, smart and vital public works projects such as revamping the 60-year-old levees in a major urban metropolis.
I’m not just disgusted and angry: I’m sad. I lived in New Orleans and it’s a special, unique place that will never be the same, if not at all.
I remember meeting many characters along the way when I was in NOLA: from the crazy waiters at my restaurant owned by the legendary Brennan family, to the silly Tulane girls who lived across the street from me, to my friends Gabe, Liane, Matt and Clark who accompanied me to all the hot spots and little hidewaways that only New Orleans can claim. To canoeing in the bayou with my friends, to camping alongside a country pond in Mississippi.
I think you should all watch the first-hand account of one of my most beloved and fondest memories: Charmaine Neville. Performer, singer and sister of Aaron Neville, Charmaine embodies everything New Orleans. She’s a big, black, beautiful, powerful and friendly jazz artist who welcomed my friends and I every week into her set at Snug Harbor on Frenchman street. She would give me a big hug and ask me how I’m doing (I’m not sure if she even remembered who exactly I was!) and invite us to stay after the show to hang out. Click here to see her story first-hand if you see or hear nothing else about the miserable neglect that doomed so many thousands of poor, minority residents in the city.
But to see an even more detailed account of the true callousness and cold, military indifference given to good people just trying to survive and flee their living hell by foot, check out this account by two emergency medics who were at a national training conference in New Orleans.
These stories say it all …
Baruch Ben Menachem z'’l
September 9th, 2005Today, my friend Gaby and I, accompanied by many of the truly wonderful students, teachers and faculty at Ulpan Etzion in Jerusalem, attended the funeral of Baruch Ben-Menachem z'’l (known as Bret Taback to his friends and family in America). Baruch studied alongside Gaby in one of the higher-level Hebrew classes, and on many occasions, she told me how worried she was about him, how she and her teacher and various other faculty members had reached out to him to see if he was ok and to offer him a hand.
He was very alone and aloof from the community, disturbed by current events and deeply troubled by personal problems in his life. It was chilling that Gaby told me told me quite preciently the morning before he would attempt to take his life, “I think he’s going to crack. He really worries me Eric. I could see him coming into class to shoot up the whole place, just like that guy who went berzerk in Shfaram” (a Jewish man had shot and killed 4 Israeli Arabs on a public bus just a week before). Despite attempts to reach Baruch, he was just too alone and was beyond the point of being able to let anyone else inside.
I was right there when it happened.
I did not actually see his body as it burned since I was sitting in the little park beside the student dormitory, out of view of the classroom building in front of which Baruch ignited himself.
I was sitting listening to my I-POD, reading some of my notes from class when I heard a scream and then a friend of mine running down toward the other end of the property. Then, I saw the security guard running (outside of my vision) towards something I couldn’t see, then back toward the entrance where she fetched a fire extinguisher. It was then that I looked up above the tree line that was blocking my view and saw smoke coming up from behind the trees. The security guard ran down and extinguished the man who was in flames (though I, nor anyone else, knew that there was actually a person there, let alone that it was a person on fire and not just a car or some other object). It was then that me and a few others got up and ran over there. She told a student to call the ambulance and meanwhile, the main mechanic and groundskeeper of the Ulpan went over to the man and tried to talk to him (I walked over as well). We were told not to move him or alter his body position until the medics arrived. I wished at that time that I had taken the first-aid class (which I will be taking in December) with the national emergency response service (Magen David Adom) so that I would’ve known whether or not it would have been appropriate to begin pouring water onto his burn wounds.
In front of me lay a completely charred body that appeared to be dead, totally limp except for a few respirations of his chest and a little movement in his hands. He lay there unresponsive to the questions he was being asked by the groundskeeper.
The groundskeeper asked us to back away from him (which we did) and to begin fetching big buckets of water and wet blankets to try to ease the burns and to prepare his transport into the ambulance.
Honestly, we just thought the guy was trying to fix his car (he was literally right next to a vehicle with charred spots all over it) and that something backfired and exploded in his face. We couldn’t identify him as a fellow student, and then we began to think “maybe this guy was planning an attack on the Ulpan.” The Disengagement from Gaza is fresh on all of our minds and there have been several gruesome attacks on Palestinians and Israeli Arabs in protest of the pullout - why couldn’t this be a retaliation?
It was only the next morning after going into class that I realized that this was suicide.
Needless to say, this has stayed with me and with all of those who knew Baruch or who saw him take such an extreme measure to end his life.
The links to this story in the main newspapers Ha’Aretz and the Jerusalem Post just don’t due justice to what actually occurred beyond the headlines.
That the “made for news” story posted by Haaretz (i.e. that this was merely a political statement about the Disengagement from Gush Katif and nothing more) is just a blatant mis-representation of the facts.
Baruch had lots of different problems and was very psychologically troubled for personal reasons, not the least of which was the Disengagement from Gaza. The lesson to be learned involves a human being who really needed our help, not the easy-out, political answer.
As I sit shocked by what’s going on in New Orleans, at our government’s pathetic inability to respond to the people who most need our help, I’m reminded more than ever that we need to help one another person-to-person, face-to-face. We all hold enormous burdens and personal difficulties, but we have to talk with one another and listen to one another. The personal connection, the “how are you doing today?” the genuine attempts to invite strangers, mere acquaintances and people-next-door into our lives and into our homes: for this, there is simply no substitute and nothing even closely equivalent that can be provided by professional agencies, think-tanks, associations or government entities. This kind of community and “social safety net” that looks out for each another has to be built from person to person, from the ground up.
The Wisdom of Disengagement
August 14th, 2005The Wisdom of Disengagement
For months now, I have been asked the question: “are you for or against the disengagement?” For me, it’s the wrong question to ask. Or, maybe it’s more accurate to say that the premise for this question is a fait accompli. In an ideal situation, the question of whether or not to support this particular disengagement plan would never arise in the first place. For me, it’s the same as the questions raised by our plan of action in Iraq. I was against the war in Iraq because I felt that Iraq did not possess the main threat to American security … but when asked what we’re supposed to do about it now, how am I to respond? I don’t think we should’ve been in there in the first place!
Similarly with the upcoming disengagement of Israeli citizens from Gaza. After firing several cabinet members, making political alliances with strange bedfellows and man-handling his own party and own constituents, Ariel Sharon has pushed through (and apparently will not abandon) his plan to disengage Israel from Gaza unilaterally. But the question for those of us who really want to see peace in the region and do believe that settlements such as Gush Katif are, in fact, an impediment to peace is: what are the potential gains by going it alone?
Answering questions from reporters about the outcome of the Israeli disengagement from Gaza, President Bush remarked on Thursday: “First of all, the previous system wasn’t working. There was an intifada, there was death, there was killing. And if you notice, there’s been a calm in attacks.”
But who’s to say this is right? Without any bilateral negotiations between the Palestinians and Israelis, and without any demand that something be exchanged for the withdrawal of Israelis from Gaza, what can actually be said for this drastic, very costly ($1.7 billion) and nationally wrenching plan? With Hamas’ support in the territories growing ever-stronger by the day, is there any real reason to think that simply giving up land with no strings attached will bring about peace? Personally, I think one of the most important opportunities lost by a unilateral disengagement is the chance to make the PA look good and to give to it the political capital that is otherwise being hoarded by Hamas.
Naturally, I’m skeptical. But at the end of the day, I’m hopeful and optimistic that some good will come of all this. For all the shortcomings of this plan, from its questionably “democratic” justification to the complete lack of respect and foresight given for the welfare of the displaced Gush Katif residents, it seems that I support the disengagement with the small glimmer of hope that some good will come and the bedrock of peace might be laid in Gaza if Abbas can pull it off.
But I must say, after getting to know more and more of the “orange” camp (the camp in Israel that sports bright orange ribbons and clothing to oppose the disengagement), I have begun to see the reasons why, unfortunately demonized in left-wing discourse about Israeli politics, the settlers are getting a raw deal.
From numerous sources and articles published in the last few months (I suggest Haaretz’ “Disengagement Page”
On Thursday, I attended an anti-Disengagement rally in Rabin Square (see the pictures by clicking here) and I must say, I can understand why thousands upon thousands have no choice but stand by their families, neighbors and friends who all made a home in Gush Katif at the very urging of those forces now trying to remove them.
But why, ultimately, can I not see myself feeling 100 percent commiseration with the “orange” camp? Mainly, the anti-Disengagement protest seems to be almost completely (not entirely, as I duly note) supported by religious Jews. My friends have pointed out that this is just bad “PR” by the orange camp, that in reality, there are many in the anti-Disengagement camp that are secular Israelis. But the fact remains that very few, if none at all, of the speakers on the stage at Rabin Square stood up without a kippah (traditional headcovering for religious Jewish men) on. I would wager that over 85 percent in attendance were religious.
And why is that a problem?
The same reason it’s problematic for a political party, such as the current Republican Party, to align itself so closely with the Evangelical right: the confluence of religious orthodoxy and public policy, no matter how well-intentioned, always strikes a dangerous chord with me and stinks of using politics as religious subterfuge - i.e. claims that Gaza belongs to the Jews because of our religious destiny (and not because of national, political or modern historical claims). To me, that’s deeply problematic. Just see what’s going on in America with “Justice Sunday II” this weekend, a rally by “America’s faithful” to ensure a conservative, strict-constructionist appointment to the Federal bench.
All in the name of religion instead of sound public policy.
I’d certainly love to hear your feedback - leave comments!
New Pix of E. Jerusalem, Protest and Apartment
August 12th, 2005Just a quick post to give you three links to incredible pictures:
1) A trip I took to East Jerusalem and the surrounding areas, including pix of the separation barrier.
2) Photos I took at an anti-Disengagement rally at Rabin Square in Tel Aviv on Thursday night
3) Pictures of my amazing apartment in Jerusalem!
Posting on the anti-Disengagement rally to follow shortly …
