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April 15, 1999

‘Forward’ Thinking

Like many a success story, it all started as a joke.

Dave Golding, a major Hollywood publicist, asked neophyte photographer Phil Stern to document the filming of “Guys and Dolls.” As a favor to his father, who worked on The Forward, Golding asked Stern to photograph Marlon Brando reading a copy of the Yiddish-language paper.

What began as a lark became a three-decade obsession for Stern, who always kept a copy of the newspaper handy and ready for any opportunity to stage a shot of an unlikely celebrity reader. A batch from The Forward series is currently on display at the Workman’s Circle.

“That [group of photos] was a departure,” says Stern, 79, who started out as a combat photog in World War II. “My work gave me access to these people. They are all the most improbable pairings: Spencer Tracy…Alfred Hitchcock reading the Daily Forward. They are all…choreographed from an evil-minded photographer.”

Over the years, Jack Lemmon, Jimmy Stewart, Jean Simmons and James Garner all followed suit. Stern was often surprised at the willingness of many stars to pose with the paper.

“People like Sinatra, who normally would not do it…he was delighted; he jumped at the opportunity,” he said.

Hanging out on the sets of movies, Stern frequently befriended the stars he stalked with his 35mm. He playfully referred to Kirk Douglas as “Kirkala” and remembers a time, on the Yugoslav location for “The Light at the Edge of the World,” when he won over star Yul Brynner with a knapsack filled with mussels.

“I love mussels, and so did he,” says Stern. “I went to a market and brought back a knapsack [filled with] mussels, and [Brynner] had a big trailer with a kitchen in it…. He cooked up mussels with the wine sauce and the dip [etc.], all made from scratch. It was a gourmet tour de force.”

These days, Stern spends most of his time snapping pictures of his grandchildren. He finds today’s entertainment culture alien to his sensibilities, and although he recognizes and admires talents such as Jerry Seinfeld and Robert De Niro, he does not lament missing his chance to photograph them. Instead, says Stern, “I’m recycling my youth,” referring to the archives of his past photography he is in the process of cataloging. Since retreating from Hollywood’s front lines in 1983, Stern and his vintage material have been in hot demand, particularly images he took of Hollywood martyrs Marilyn Monroe and James Dean.

Says Stern, “I get queried almost every day.”

Proof positive (or, in his case, negative) appears in a recent New Yorker, which featured one of his Marilyns. The current Hollywood issue of Vanity Fair also boasts a Stern classic — Sammy Davis Jr. and Kim Novak.

Unlike Dean and Brando, Stern never got to know the former Norma Jean Baker, but is proud of his extensive professional relationship with the legendary sex symbol. “I don’t say that in the sense of arrogance in any way; I have a track record…magazine covers, posters.”

Phil Stern will appear at The Workmen’s Circle on Friday, April 23, at 7:30 p.m. Also at the event, the film, “The Jewish Daily Forward: From Immigrants to Americans,” will be screened. Call (310) 552-2007 — Michael Aushenker, Community Editor


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Dreaming C’s

Either the apocalypse is coming, or I’ve been living in Los Angeles too long. Last night, I woke up from the most vivid dream, the kind that feels like it lasted all night, the kind of dream that feels like a journey through every emotion.

I dreamt that I had gotten a breast enlargement.

In the dream, I agonized over the decision — the size, where the scars would be. When I awoke from surgery, I felt the breasts, a solid C cup, overly firm, scars across the sides. They were heavy, swollen. I pondered the things I could wear, the bikini tops, the low-cut sweaters. I was going to draw attention. Cars would stop as I passed. I had arrived.

Until the thought hit me: What had I done? I was stuck with these things forever. They sat up high and surreal on my chest. Everywhere I went, they would follow. Special bras would have to be bought. I couldn’t run, couldn’t sleep on my stomach. I would have to accommodate and explain these for the rest of my life. A terror gripped me, and I awoke in a sweat.

Smacking the snooze button, I ran to the mirror. The familiar 36B breasts were back. I was relieved, but a little disappointed, too.

Oddly enough, the dream followed the pattern of a recurring nightmare I’ve had for several years, in which I give birth to a child, go through pain, labor and finally elation at this glowing little baby in my arms before the thought paralyzes me: I will be responsible for this thing for the rest of my life, and I can’t take it back.

That nightmare seems normal enough for a woman in her 20s, but the breast dream — what was that all about?

Considering I grew up in California in the era of rampant breast enhancement, I was remarkably free from breast envy, for a girl with an athletic body and a pretty flat chest.

The French say the perfect breast should fit into a a champagne glass, and that saying pleased me well enough. I was never self-conscious, never wanted to buy into another reason for a woman to feel insufficient. I would never have considered risking major surgery to transform my body into some distorted, grotesque male fantasy. It seemed absurd and sad.

But I moved to Los Angeles, and, two years later, the dream.

Jung said a dream is like a letter from the unconscious to the conscious mind, full of symbolism and waiting to be opened. So I thought about it.

It’s always been clear to me that beauty opens doors, but never so obvious as it is here. Any pragmatist can see that beauty, perhaps in the form of a pair of surgically enhanced breasts, eases one’s way through life.

Beauty is within. Bodies of all shapes are beautiful. Our bodies are just the hand dealt to us in a game of gene poker; they don’t represent our spirit or our talents or what we have to give the world. These things I know and have been told about since I was old enough to ask my mother to teach me how to shave my legs. Still, there’s no erasing the inexorable experience of watching a roomful of men become stunned, speechless and momentarily still when a gorgeous winner of the genetic lottery glides into a room.

I think in many women my age there are two warring wants: There’s the desire to make our mark as individuals and be free of the shackles of facials and waxing and the silly search for the perfect lip shade. Underneath lurks the inexplicable desire to stop traffic with the sheer force of a pretty face and a perfect body.

I’ll never forget renting a documentary on Sylvia Plath when I was in college. There were the depressions, the intense inner life, the angry, lyrical poems. But what haunted me were the stills of Plath posing as a model, lithe in Capri pants, for the Smith College yearbook. I was stunned. Plath herself was caught in the same conundrum.

Two women I know, about 10 years older than myself, tell me that there will be stretch marks to come, drooping and the occasional unfortunate hair to be plucked as the breasts age. I will have to steel myself against comparisons with some air-brushed ideal whenever a man sees me naked. It will only get harder to assure myself that breasts are just a feature like any other, designed for a purpose, appealing at any size.

Wouldn’t it be easier just to save my pennies and wake up one day in a recovery room to a perfect rack?

Hence, the dream. The unopened letter is just a note from the back of the brain to say, Guess what, read all the feminist books you want, go as far as your courage and intellect can take you. But make no mistake, the struggle that began in puberty remains.

Junior high. The boys rate the girls in the class, ranking them from one to 10. I don’t know what I want more, to merit a high score on the pretty list or to beat out Moukie Moore in the spelling bee. High school. I know the answer, but I don’t raise my hand in class, because Alan Aranofsky might think I’m a geek or my voice might sound funny when the answer comes out. I scribble it in my notebook. College. I’m working my way through school and getting straight A’s in two majors, but I’m also scooping ice cream and I can’t stay away from the mint chip. I’m chubby and round-faced, and nothing else seems to matter.

Here I am, years later and still hearing the silent ratings from one to 10. As much as I hate myself for it sometimes, I still feel good when I look good, and life comes more easily to me.

I won’t be getting the breast enlargement, but my girlfriends tell me there’s a $72 bra made in Italy that is a magical investment. It lifts and separates. The underwires don’t dig. It looks natural, and with a deftly placed combination of silk and latches and straps, it gives you a slightly better silhouette than your genes may have had in store for you. Best of all, at the end of the day, it comes off.


Teresa Strasser is a twentysomething contributing writer for The Jewish Journal.

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Birth Pangs

The other day, I got a sample of Pampers in the mail. It doesn't happen very often now, fortunately. For a while there, almost every day brought free diapers, coupons for baby food, baby lotion, baby photographs. I passed them on to my sister, who has a year-old son, and told myself that it's not their fault. How could they know, after all? It's just that I'm on some kind of list — a “new mothers” list, probably through my doctor's office — and so they keep sending me these products, products I'd rather not think about just now.

It happens to people all the time. That's one of the things you learn when it happens to you. Suddenly, you're part of a new sisterhood, a new brotherhood — people who have gone through a miscarriage, lost a baby, suffered a stillbirth. You had no idea how many people around you had such an experience, because most of them never said a word. Only now, when it happens to you, do they let you in on their secret.

They tell you about their losses because they want you to know they understand. They don't think you're ridiculous for mourning over something that wasn't even really a baby — just a coiled-up ball of life, maybe half an inch long. Except that, for you, of course, it was a baby, and it belonged to you, and you loved it. They understand the crushing sense of failure, and the guilt, and the questions that you know are irrational and pointless but you ask yourself anyway: Did I do something wrong? Could I have prevented this if I'd taken better care of myself, stayed off my feet, cut down on stress?

Later, when the pain eases and you stop tormenting yourself with questions, you find yourself dwelling on one simple idea: how many people have walked this path before me. How very common pregnancy loss is, and what a miracle it is to carry a healthy baby to term.

“Women don't need to lay tefillin,” a traditional Jew once said to me. “Your womb is your tefillin. Your power to nurture new life within your body is what connects you to God.”

If we come to this week's portion expecting a lyrical celebration of women's special bond with the Creator through the miracle of childbirth, we may be sorely disappointed. Parashat Tazria spells out all that the Torah has to say about rituals for the new mother — eight verses in all. For more than a month, she must undergo “blood purification,” forbidden to touch any sacred object or enter the holy sanctuary. After her period of separation, the woman brings two sacrifices — a burnt offering and a sin offering — and she is then reintegrated into the community (Leviticus 12:1-8).

Nothing of the joy and wonder of childbirth seems to rise up from this brief legal passage; it speaks instead of ritual impurity, isolation, purgation. But under the dry, compressed language courses a river of emotion. The emergence of a new human being is awesome, tremendous — a mysterious, soul-shattering event. Surrounded by blood taboos whose precise meaning we can no longer decode, childbirth in the Torah is fraught with danger, electric with the energy of life and death, touched by the sacred. It changes a new mother permanently — separates her from who she was, and from all those around her. For a while, she withdraws, dazed and disoriented, from normal life; her world consists of nothing but the baby. Only gradually does she return to herself and her community. Spiritual, psychological and cultic processes merge in the Torah's ritual of reintegration.

At the tail end of the 20th century, human reproduction has become “domesticated” — subject to scientific understanding and manipulation. But for the Torah, birth retains its primal strangeness and elemental power; it is outside the human domain; it belongs to the Holy One.

We are taught: “One must offer a blessing over the bad just as one offers a blessing over what is good” (Mishna Berachot 9:5). I'm still wondering what blessing can come from the loss of a baby. But maybe pain, as well as joy, can awaken us to the miracle of birth. Maybe if we learn how often things go wrong with the intricate, elegant process by which life comes into the world, we'll cherish, all the more, those times when everything goes blessedly, stupendously right.


Rabbi Janet R. Marder is director of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations, Pacific Southwest Council.

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Tom Friedman’s New World Order

It was 1984. A tough, tight-lipped Israeli army colonel was leading a small group of journalists on a tour of southern Lebanon, where Israel was in the midst of a war. The journalists wore army-issue flak jackets. They listened and took notes, as if taking dictation. One correspondent, Thomas L. Friedman, challenged the officer repeatedly. The colonel stonewalled him. But Friedman’s questions were sharp and unrelenting. “He’s going to end up wanting to talk to me,” Friedman said to a Reuters reporter, “because tomorrow whatever he says is going to be on the front page of The New York f—— Times.”

Arrogant? A little. Blustering? A bit. Right? Absolutely. By the end of the press trip, the colonel and Friedman were deep in private conversation.

When, in the course of a phone interview with The Jewish Journal, Friedman is reminded of that exchange, he laughs. Perhaps because he has a book to promote; perhaps because he has an upcoming appearance in Los Angeles to discuss (see box); perhaps because he’s a bit older, the man is anything but abrasive. But the swagger isn’t entirely lacking, and that’s as it should be. Friedman’s first book, “From Beirut to Jerusalem,” received the Pulitzer Prize for international reporting. It is widely considered one of the few books you’ll ever need to read to understand Israel and Middle East peace. His new work, “The Lexus and the Olive Tree” (Farrar Straus Giroux, $27.50), takes on a slightly larger subject: the entire world.

A new book on globalization hardly matters. The buzzword and its various interpreters have been with us for more than a decade now. But a new book by Thomas Friedman really does matter. As the foreign affairs columnist for The New York Times, he is one of the most influential journalists in print today. Taken together with his regular columns on the Times’ editorial page, “Lexus” will no doubt serve as a kind of Baedeker to the new millennium. It is provocative, wide-ranging and clear — you can feel your I.Q. ping up a couple of points even as you read it.

And it will doubtlessly influence the people who make decisions about our world. “There is no one who combines a better mix of insightful analysis and good policy judgment than Tom Friedman,” Aaron Miller told the Journal. Miller is Deputy Middle East Coordinator on Arab Israeli Negotiations at the U.S. State Department.

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An Arab Prime Minister?

For the first time ever, an Arab citizen of Israel is running for prime minister. He is first-term Knesset member Azmi Bishara, one of the leading intellectuals in the Arab world, and one of the most provocative politicians of any ethnicity in Israel.

Bishara’s candidacy is opposed by the Palestinian Authority, which fears that he will take Israeli Arab votes from Labor leader Ehud Barak and thereby help Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu win again.

The conservative Israeli Arab political establishment is also against Bishara’s candidacy. To them, he is acting the “upstart,” striking out on his own without first gaining support from community elders, and thereby leapfrogging his more experienced Arab colleagues in the Knesset.

Yet recent polls showed that Bishara is by far the most popular choice for prime minister among Israeli Arab voters, who cast more than 10 percent of the ballots in the last election.

Even before entering the Knesset in 1996, Bishara, 43, a philosophy instructor at the West Bank’s Bir Zeit University, made a considerable impact on Israeli politics. In the early 1990s, a provocative idea began filtering into the national debate over Israel’s character as a Jewish, democratic state. The notion was that a formally Jewish state was inherently discriminatory against its 900,000 Arab citizens, and that the only way to equality was in transforming Israel from the state of the Jewish people into a “state of all its citizens.”

A corollary to this idea was that Israeli Arabs should not only have full equality with Israeli Jews, but also “cultural autonomy” — a sort of local version of Black Power, which argues that Israeli Arabs have a fundamentally different, even contradictory, political identity to that of Israeli Jews, and that they should be able to freely develop that identity by, for instance, running their own school system and radio and TV stations as they see fit. The chief originator and popularizer of these ideas was Bishara.

Ever since he began talking about running for prime minister two years ago, he’s been gathering enemies on the right. Knesset member Michael Kleiner, head of the Knesset’s Land of Israel Front, proposed a bill that outlawed all non-Jewish candidates for the post. The Knesset secretariat, however, determined that the bill was racist and removed it from the agenda.

A little more than a month ago, Bishara set off a new storm by declaring that the Islamic guerrilla organization Hezbollah, which is fighting Israeli soldiers in southern Lebanon, was “a brave organization that had taught Israel a lesson — it can have occupation or it can have peace.”

He stood by the statement even after a spate of Hezbollah killings of Israeli soldiers, and even after Attorney General Elyakim Rubinstein opened an investigation into whether Bishara had broken the law with this utterance.

Bishara emphasized that he was not “rooting” for Hezbollah to kill Israelis.

“I’m very sorry over each young person, Lebanese or Israeli, killed in south Lebanon. I would have to be mad to think it is good for young people to be killed,” he said. But he insisted that the Israeli presence in southern Lebanon was an invasion of foreign territory, and that Hezbollah was right to fight against it. Bishara also pointed out that he is by no means a “follower” of Hezbollah.

“They are a religious movement — Islamic fundamentalist, probably fanatic,” he said.

Bishara is a thoroughly secular Christian, an ex-communist who earned his doctorate in East Germany. Starting out in politics at his Nazareth high school, he continued as a leading Arab student activist at Hebrew University, where he took his share of blows from right-wing Jewish students on campus.

In recent years, Bishara’s proposal to make Israel a “state of all its citizens” has joined Jewish law, or halacha, as a rising ideological challenger to Zionism. The idea has gained wide allegiance among Israeli Arabs.

With a personal style that offsets intensity with dry humor, and with his forthright presentation of new, radical ideas, Bishara holds great appeal for Arab intellectuals, and even for some left-wing Jewish ones.

Taped to the wall opposite the door of his Knesset office — the first thing a visitor sees — is a photocopy of a painting of the late Egyptian leader, Gamal Abdel Nasser, father of “pan-Arabism” and bitter enemy of Israel. Next to the picture of Nasser is a poster of Mordechai Vanunu, the imprisoned Israeli nuclear tattletale whom Bishara called “the first citizen to link concern over Israel’s future with concern over the future of the region as a whole.”

Bishara is a striking figure, with the look and something of the air of one of those defiant, dashing young European intellectuals. He has a modified Zapata mustache, a sweep of thick, black hair, and smokes cigarillos. In an interview in his Knesset office, Bishara, wearing a blue-green suit, leaned back with relaxed elegance behind his desk, with a permanent brooding look on his face. (An unnamed colleague was quoted once as describing Bishara’s political stance as “somewhere between George Habash and Giorgio Armani.”)

He knows he’s not going to be elected prime minister. He said that he’s running because none of the other candidates are taking Israeli Arab issues seriously enough. But Bishara has made it clear that he wants Netanyahu out. He indicated that if Center Party leader Yitzhak Mordechai drops out of the race and supports Barak, he might do the same so that Barak would have a shot at an absolute majority and victory in the first round on May 17.

The major candidates for prime minister have been criticized for excessive vagueness, for steering away from any policy statement that might turn off voters. Bishara’s candidacy will undoubtedly offer a sharp contrast.

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On the Lone Prairie

When I consider author Sara Davidson’s now-so-public love affair with a cowboy who didn’t know about Anne Frank, I can hear my mother saying, “Honey, you could do so much better.”

To which Davidson’s response would surely be, “Show me how.”

Davidson’s new fictionalized memoir, “Cowboy,” about a UC Berkeley/Columbia-educated Jewish girl who “dates down in class,” quickly reached the best-seller list, thanks to a barrage of publicity that focused on the inappropriateness of the relationship. When we talked this week in her Santa Monica home, where a brown saddle sits near the front door, Davidson carried the self-satisfying aura of a woman whose bet had paid off.

Davidson wrote “Cowboy” over three years, on spec, after quitting her job as chief writer on “Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman.” She had no literary agent or publisher willing to take her on. “I couldn’t get a free-lance writing job,” she told me. She has no illusions about the commercial nature of her business, and even appreciates Maureen Dowd’s put-down of the book as “Cowboy Feminism.” “It’s just ink at this point,” Davidson said of Dowd’s New York Times Op-Ed piece. And it sells books.

I wouldn’t be adding to the hype for “Cowboy” but for one thing. Sara Davidson is visiting territory that I have been loathe to mention myself: the sorry mating habits of ambitious, high-living Jewish women in this post-feminist era.

It’s just an awful cheat, I have to say. Here we are, so highly evolved that we’ve quit our therapists and man our own barbecues, and what do we get: the thrill of a bed and a life on the lone prairie. Garrison Keillor, in this week’s issue of Salon, likens the supply of single, “well-read men over 40” to a rare specie of mountain goat. I think he’s being generous. Among Jewish men, the odds are — well, you know them yourself.

As feminists, we used to say that a woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle. But, on second thought, maybe fish do like to pedal.

Sara Davidson’s solution to the problem life on the lone prairie was to go where few Jewish women treadeth — a cowboy poetry festival in Elko, Nev. Her affair with the fictional “Zack,” a man many inches shorter and 10 years her junior, followed two marriages to Jewish men. She had been dating a television producer, the kind of guy you’d expect for a woman who grew up in the Fairfax district. But the relationship just didn’t work.

“I censored myself constantly,” said Davidson, who once rode ponies on La Cienega. “I was always worried he would go away.”

With Zack, everything “works” just fine. He clips her toenails and gives her a back rub and likes to comfort her when she’s down. Moreover, he gives up his rural life for her, just as women used to do for men, and he only whines about it once. In short, there’s none of the competition between them that’s killing relationships these days. Think “A Star is Born,” except Norman Maine is part of the publicity tour.

Still, “Cowboy” often reminds me of the old Jewish joke my parents tell: Behind every successful man there’s a woman…who thinks he’s an idiot. In this case, the woman is in front of the man, and she calls him “a yokel, an insolent yokel.” She grieves that even if she’s paying all the bills, she’ll never get him to a better restaurant than Polly’s, the pie place in Santa Monica. And he’s not successful at all; he can’t even pay his own bills.

Nevertheless — and here’s the rub — he is still a man. A strong, silent, knowing man who turns her life around. It’s an old-fashioned romance, after all.

Is this really what (Jewish) women want? And is this really the best we can get?

The children’s part of the story doesn’t work out so well. Sara’s children detest Zack, not only as children always do the new male in Mommy’s life, but as something of an affront to cultural values that they’d been raised by. If they eventually accommodate to him, we’re left puzzled and grateful there’s a Jewish dad somewhere close by.

Which brings us to Anne Frank, and to us. Davidson uses her cowboy’s ignorance of Anne Frank as a metaphor for the cultural, ethical and class differences between herself and him. This presumably unbridgeable gap is too quickly smoothed over for my taste, resolved by time and love. Sara continues to make Sabbath dinner while Goff, Zack’s real name, participates in her children’s bar mitzvah services and Passover seder. Very nice. Still, when she calls him her “partner,” I’m wondering why this particular partnership works, while ones with men from her own background did not, and what she’s censoring in herself in order to make yet another relationship work.

Somewhere in the brave world to come, post-feminist men and women will come together more easily, and neither will have to cut off huge parts of themselves to find comfort and love. Seldom will be heard a discouraging word…. Home, home on the range.


Marlene Adler Marks, senior columnist of The Jewish Journal, is the author of “A Woman’s Voice: Reflections on Love, Death, Faith, Food & Family Life” (On The Way Press). Her e-mail address is wmnsvoice@aol.com

Her website is www.marleneadlermarks.com.

Her e-mail address is wmnsvoice@aol.comHer book, “A Woman’s Voice” is available through Amazon.com.

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It’s Like…Not ‘Seinfeld’

Peter Mehlman, the former writer and co-executive producer of “Seinfeld,” is sitting at a corner table at Shutters on the Beach, wearing mismatched sweats and a day’s worth of stubble.

He’s sipping Pellegrino and gazing out the picture window at the palm trees and gray sea under a glowering sky.

“Sometimes, if it rains for a few days, I’m ready to get a refund on moving out here,” quips Mehlman, 42, the transplanted New Yorker. “Rain was not in the brochure.”

Don’t get Mehlman wrong. He likes L.A. But, says the man who’s given us such Seinfeldisms as “spongeworthy” and “yada yada,” this city’s comic quirks are ripe for the picking.

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The Warrior and Witness

Ben-Zion Blustein, the teen-age lone survivor of a White Russian Jewish family, spent most of World War II on the run, hiding in the forest, fighting with the partisans against the German occupiers and their local collaborators.

In July 1944, when the Russians liberated the area near Domachevo, he volunteered for the Red Army. His unit was one of the first to enter Maidanek, a slave labor and extermination camp where 360,000 prisoners, one third of them Jews, were starved, bludgeoned, shot and gassed to death between 1942 and 1944.

“I can’t forget what I saw to this day,” says Blustein, now a retired Tel Aviv building contractor. “There were heaps of shoes, glasses, human hair. I saw a group of inmates in their striped clothing. I started speaking to them in Yiddish. One of them shuffled toward me, a shadow of a man. ‘Now I can die,’ he whispered, ‘because I have seen another Jew, who will be able to tell the world what happened.'”

This February, 55 years later, Ben-Zion Blustein kept faith with that shadow of a man. He was the only Jewish witness to testify in Britain’s first war crimes trial, which ended two weeks ago with a life sentence for 77-year-old Anthony Sawoniuk, who was convicted of murdering two Jewish women while serving as a police volunteer in his home town of Domachevo.

Blustein had grown up with Sawoniuk, who settled in Britain after the war and who worked as a rail ticket collector. The Germans captured Domachevo in June 1941. Only a dozen survived out of a Jewish population of 5,000. Blustein described Sawoniuk to a hushed London court as behaving “like a cruel and lordly master” toward the Jews.

The war began in earnest for Blustein on Yom Kippur 1942, when the Germans and their allies started the slaughter of Domachevo’s Jews. Blustein’s family hid in a hole they had dug under their home. As the Nazis closed in, his stepfather took a lethal dose of morphine. His mother, brother and sister were caught and killed on the spot.

Only Ben-Zion escaped, though he was soon captured and put to work with a handful of other Jews grooming horses for the German soldiers. He never forgot his mother’s parting words: “If you come through, try to live a normal life. It’s no shame for a man to cry, but don’t forget how to laugh.”

By the time he reached the newborn Jewish state in 1948, Blustein had earned the right to laugh — though first he fought in one more war, with the Israeli army, before he could rebuild that normal life. The comforts of his light, airy flat in the lower-middle-class suburb of Givatayim did not come easily, but they came. And with them the proud, defiant photographs of his Polish-born wife, Clara; son; daughter; and seven Jewish grandchildren.

In his interview suit and un-Israeli tie, Blustein cuts a short, stocky figure with a sculptured, outdoor face. He tells his harrowing tale in robust Hebrew, pausing now and then to swallow his emotions.

After 10 months in captivity, young Blustein realized that the Germans were preparing to evacuate their camp — and that they were unlikely to take live Jewish prisoners with them. “I was determined to escape,” he says. “I cut the bars of my window with a pair of shears and fled into the forest with a purloined hand grenade and a box of matches.”

Sometimes alone, sometimes with other Jewish fugitives, he lived off stolen potatoes, buried by peasants for the winter. “It was hard even to steal,” he says. “There were dogs in every village.”

By the time winter came, the runaways had no shoes. They bound their feet in rags. The Germans spotted their footprints in the snow and caught them drying the rags over a bonfire.

“When they started shooting, I ran away, alone and barefoot,” he says. “I stopped after about 3 kilometers. I knew that if I couldn’t light a fire, I would freeze to death. I had three matches. I succeeded with the second. As I sat by the fire, I asked myself what I had done, filthy, eaten by lice, to deserve this hell.”

He contemplated suicide but then teamed up with another Jew he encountered in the forest. The pair jumped a villager and threatened to kill him if he didn’t help them. He led them to a hide-out, where they found guns, grenades and ammunition.

“From that moment,” says Blustein, smiling, “we started to live. We held up local drivers ferrying food to the soldiers, and took whatever we needed.”

Later, when the Russians dropped paratroopers to organize resistance, the two highwaymen joined the partisans. “That was the start of our sweet war,” Blustein says with relish. “We blew up trains, phone lines, bridges. We invaded a German camp and fought a pitched battle for six hours. We killed dozens of Germans and took 124 Ukrainian prisoners. We filled 100 carts with weapons and uniforms.”

In July 1944, the Red Army liberated the area. “There was great rejoicing among the partisans. Some went home, others wrote home. The few Jews among us knew there was no one waiting for us. We had no home to go back to.”

So Ben-Zion Blustein ended one man’s war of survival in the uniform of the Red Army, promising a shadow of a Jew that he would tell the world what happened. “Testifying wasn’t easy,” he says, “but I felt better afterward. I felt I had fulfilled my mission.”


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Autism: The New Epidemic

Barbara and Sheldon Helfing never
expected to have one autistic child, much
less two. Their son Leland, now 5, was born
prematurely and began showing signs of a
neurological disorder before reaching his
1st birthday.

“Leland had very poor balance and he
wasn’t yet responding to us with words or
gestures,” Barbara said. “But initially autism
did not come up because he was clearly
interested in his surroundings and in other
people.”

Leland began getting help through the
state’s Early Intervention Program. However,
since the state agency did not require a
diagnosis prior to providing services, the
Helfings had no idea that their son’s
problem might be genetic. When Nathan
was born, the Helfings rejoiced in their
healthy new son, but by the time he was 18
months old, the heartbroken parents could
no longer hide from the fact that their
younger son had also fallen prey to the
disorder.

The Helfings are part of a growing trend that
is affecting the Jewish community in
unprecedented numbers. The statistics
most often quoted in past reports about
autism state that autism spectrum disorders
occur in four to five in every 10,000 births.
However, according to the Autism Society
of Los Angeles, a soon-to-be-released
report on children in the state of California
shows a 400 percent increase between
1986 and 1996 — or one in every 500 births.

In terms of the Jewish community, a study
being performed at Stanford University’s
School of Medicine is looking into how
families of Ashkenazi origin are affected
(see box). Researchers stress that so far
there is no indication that Ashkenazi Jews
have more of a tendency toward autism than
the general population. However,
professionals who work with autistic children
say the overall increase in cases has had a
definite impact on Jewish families.

“While I would not say the Jewish community
is any more hard hit than other communities,
we are certainly seeing plenty of Jewish
families with this problem,” said Dr. John
Lutzker, chair of the department of
Psychology and director of graduate training
at the University of Judaism in Los Angeles.
“I have contact with the (state-run) Regional
Centers and with the school districts and
they cannot put a lid on this. It is indeed an
epidemic.”

Dr. Sandra Kaler, a psychologist
associated with the Neuropsychiatric Unit at
UCLA, agrees.

“The Jewish community has been equally
struck by this and I think there was an
assumption we would not be,” Kaler said.
“Now when I go out to a Jewish preschool to
do an evaluation, I frequently see one or two
children with autism, where before it was
very rare to see more than one.”

Autism is a neurological disorder that
typically appears during the first three years
of life and includes disabilities or delays in
the areas of social skills, communication
and cognitive development. Children can
either be born with the disorder or develop
normally and then regress, usually between
the ages of 18 and 24 months. It occurs four
times more often in boys than in girls (one
reason why scientists suspect a genetic
link). About 70 percent of children with the
disorder also show some degree of mental
retardation. Autism is considered a lifelong
disability, but with early intervention many
children learn enough skills to lead
independent lives.

No one knows for sure what has caused the
skyrocketing numbers of children diagnosed
with autism. Because of the gender bias
and because so many families have more
than one child with the disorder, several
ongoing studies are focusing on the
existence of a genetic link or mutation.
Other scientists are examining
environmental factors like diet, vaccinations
and pesticide exposure.

Part of the rise in incidence may be
attributed to a change in the definition of
autism spectrum disorders. For many years
it was easy to tell children who fit the classic
diagnosis of autism: An inability to relate to
others, poor or no speech, violent or
self-injurious behavior, repetitive or
seemingly meaningless activities. However,
the diagnosis has evolved to include
children who relate fairly well socially but
who have delays in other areas like
language or fine motor skills. (This is
sometimes called pervasive developmental
delay, not otherwise specified or
PDD-NOS.) On the other end of the
spectrum are children who have solid
communication skills but find it difficult to
relate to other people, sometimes
becoming obsessed with a narrow range of
ideas or objects, a disorder known as
Aspergers Syndrome.

But Lutzker said the change in evaluations
cannot completely explain what
professionals are seeing in their offices.

“It’s an interesting dilemma: Is it that we are
more aware of autism or are there truly
more incidents? I’m inclined to lean toward
more incidents just because of the endless
number of children we are seeing these
days,” he said.

Lutzker, a behavioral psychologist, is a
strong advocate of the discrete trial training
method of treating children with autism.
Discrete trial training (also called applied
behavior analysis or ABA), was designed
by Dr. Ivar Lovaas of UCLA in the 1960s
and uses behavior modification with both
positive and negative reinforcement to
shape the child’s response. Other
developmental professionals prefer using
the newer “floor time” therapy. Created by
Dr. Stanley Greenspan, a psychiatrist at
George Washington University Medical
School, this teaching method is
child-directed — the therapist follows the
child’s lead in playing games and
performing activities that enhance the child’s
communication skills. Many autistic children
also receive speech and occupational
therapies.

Working out a successful treatment plan is
one of the many battles that parents such as
the Helfings find overwhelming at times.
Both their boys have different strengths and
weaknesses and each requires a program
that supports their needs. Therapy, including
a home-based ABA program for Nathan
and Greenspan sessions for both, often
takes up eight or more hours a day for each
child. Ironically, both Barbara and Sheldon’s
professional training makes them
well-suited to the task of raising children
with special needs; Barbara has a Master’s
degree in education (including a credential
in special ed) and Sheldon teaches
psychology at local community colleges.

Barbara said the hardest part is dealing
with family and friends who don’t seem to
grasp what life with autism is all about, the
constant toll taken on the family’s time and
emotions and finances as they research
every option for helping their sons. She tells
the story of a friend who called up in tears
because her daughter had missed out on
getting into a gifted class by two points on a
test. Barbara said it was hard not to laugh
because “I wish for one moment that Leland
or Nathan had a problem like that!”

“What it comes down to is our kids are in a
perpetual toddlerhood,” she said. “Their
mental age is not where their chronological
age is; that’s what makes it more taxing for
us as parents. Other parents spend a lot of
time talking about their kids’
accomplishments and what we talk about
may not seem like much. But the things
other people take for granted, we really
appreciate.”

The family has struggled to find their place
in the Jewish community. Currently they are
not affiliated with any synagogue. Barbara
said when Leland was a toddler she joined
a Mommy & Me class at a large
Conservative temple, but was disheartened
by the response of other mothers when
Leland finally attempted to speak.

“He was vocalizing, making these sounds
that weren’t quite words, but it was the first
time he had even tried to talk,” Barbara
said. “And I saw two mothers pull their
children away from him, like it was
contagious. Instead of applauding that this
child was finally speaking, they reacted like
he had a disease.”

To add insult to injury, when Barbara called
to tell the teacher she and Leland were
leaving the class, the teacher asked if she
could tell the other mothers that Leland was
a special-needs child unsuited to the
program. Barbara said the feeling she got
from the experience was that children who
were different posed a threat to the
reputation of the highly touted,
“academically enriched” program. The
rejection, she said, still hurts.

Sheldon is quick to point out that not all the
family’s experiences with synagogues have
been negative.

“There are some good programs out there,”
he said. “But the general population reacts
from fear — what you don’t know might hurt
you. The misnomer about autistic kids is
that they’re crazed and violent, when in fact
they are so locked inside themselves they
would not hurt anyone.”

Dr. Bryna Siegel, author of “The World of
the Autistic Child,” has seen many Jewish
parents during her tenure at both Stanford
and the University of California at San
Francisco. Siegel, who is Jewish, said the
emphasis on education and the high
expectations of parents and grandparents in
our culture makes it more difficult to accept
a diagnosis of autism.

“The problems Jewish families have in
coping with autism is by and large what I
see in most well-educated, upper
middle-class families,” Siegel said. “There
is a much greater sense of disappointment
in having a child with a disability as
opposed to a working-class family. And
there isn’t as much room in the Jewish
community for these children as, say, in the
Mormon community where they are seen as
a chance for family members to grow
spiritually through love and compassion.
Judaism really doesn’t have an outlook like
that.”

Siegel said that in some cultures where
large families predominate, having a
special needs child is less of a burden
because the work can be shared among
more people.

“But except for the Chassidim, Jewish
families are not having a lot of kids. For
those families, this child may be their only
one, and that can be hard,” she said.

The Los Angeles Jewish community has
been slow to respond to the recent surge of
families with developmentally delayed
children. Few programs exist to teach these
children Jewish culture and values. In the
San Fernando Valley, there are special
needs programs at Valley Beth Shalom,
Temple Judea and Kol Tikvah, but except
for VBS, these programs are limited to a
few hours one or two mornings a week. The
standards of admission for Jewish day
schools such as Abraham Joshua Heschel,
automatically eliminate many children with
disabilities, including autism. Other schools
will only take an autistic child if a one-to-one
aide is provided, which may be out of the
financial range for parents already pushed
to the limit by medical treatments.

The University of Judaism, however, recently
established a Master’s degree program for
people interested in working with autistic
and abused children, which will put more
knowledgeable, appropriately trained
teachers out in the Jewish community. For
those already in the field, the Bureau of
Jewish Education, at its recent Early
Childhood Education conference, hosted a
seminar on Autism and Aspergers for
educators along with several classes on
evaluating children for speech and language
delays.

But the Helfings’ best advice to other
parents of autistic children is this:

“Know your child, their strengths and
weaknesses,” said Barbara. “Know the law,
or hire someone who does. The truth is, in a
situation like this the playing field is not
even. To the degree you’re informed about
your child, the disorder, what resources are
available and about your rights is the
degree to which you will be able to help your
child succeed.”

Autism: The New Epidemic Read More »

A Reason for Remembrance

Once upon a time, we celebrated holidays and honored men and women and moments from our past as though they were charged with meaning. Armistice Day, Independence Day, Lincoln’s birthday. I remember a Memorial Day, in 1976, when everyone marched through the six-block town to the cemetery and sat respectfully as David Bradshaw, a veteran of World War II, talked intimately about those who had given their life in battle in one or another of our 20th-century wars. It was an occasion for remembering friends and family, for weeping, and for some form of catharsis. It was an honored day, repeated year after year, and made fresh again and again.

Perhaps it is that I now live in a large city, or that our culture has placed such a premium on speed and change, but, today, memory often is something you locate on a chip, and the fragile connections to our past have eroded beyond repair. Many of those familiar celebratory days have been converted to a kind of kitsch culture, and they now are often welcomed for the pleasurable fact that they provide us with a three-day weekend.

Not so Holocaust Remembrance Day, which will be observed this Sunday, April 18, at Pan Pacific Park (Beverly Boulevard and Genesee Avenue in Los Angeles, 1:45 to 3:45 p.m.). Gov. Gray Davis and Israeli Consul General Yoram Ben Ze’ev will be in attendance, as will Harvard Professor Daniel Goldhagen, the keynote speaker, who will focus on the commemoration’s theme — “1939-1999: The 60th Anniversary of Hitler’s War of Genocide.” Goldhagen, as you may remember, is the author of the controversial 1996 historical account “Hitler’s Willing Executioners: Ordinary Germans and the Holocaust.”

Pulling together research material that had been bypassed or slighted by earlier scholars, Goldhagen, in his book, charged that the murderers in Germany were not drawn primarily from the SS and the bureaucrats of the Nazi Party. Rather, he asserted, the brutality and the killing were taken up by all sorts of ordinary German men and women from many walks of life. They fell to their task, said Goldhagen, not because they were under orders or faced death themselves, but because they were part of a national culture that hated and demonized Jews.

It will escape no one at Pan Pacific Park Sunday that 54 years after the death camps were freed, we are witnessing a related set of tragedies in Kosovo, albeit not genocide on the scale or in the systematic way that the Germans went at it under Hitler. Nevertheless, in less than a month, we have seen more than 600,000 “cleansed” from their homeland; an unknown number killed; and many, many more (hundreds of thousands, as reported in The New York Times) uprooted from their homes but still frozen somewhere in Kosovo. And from the limited reports that have filtered back, it seems that “ordinary Serbs” in Kosovo are either cheering on the Yugoslav security forces or are lending a cooperative hand.

So, no, April 18th will not be a “kitsch holiday,” or a day of forgetting.

It should be acknowledged, though, that we American Jews, 50-plus years after the fact, are still having trouble with the Holocaust. Perhaps that is as it should be. But most of us have not yet come to terms with the indifference of America’s elected leaders in the 1930s and 1940s; with the silence of some in our Jewish communities during those frightening years; with our lack of influence; and, yes, with our political impotence in those earlier decades.

Nor have many of us resolved our feelings about Germany, even though we are quick to recognize that most Germans today were either not born during the period of the Third Reich or were mere children. But — in explanation — there has been no opportunity for us to purge our feelings, to cherish the satisfaction of personal revenge, to experience some form of catharsis. All we have been allowed has been to bear silent witness for those who survived, and to mourn those who perished. It is why, Kosovo or not, Holocaust Remembrance Day will be with us — as we stand mute, confounded, enraged — for years to come.

Israelis I have met over the years seem somehow freer. They certainly remember the past, but appear less haunted by it. And that may go a way towards explaining why Israel has developed a number of strong ongoing programs with postwar Germany. And I believe it also illuminates Ari Shavit’s opinion piece (see page 43), in which he declares that Jews the world over carry a special responsibility to aid the displaced victims of Kosovo. Our history forces us to recognize their plight, he urges, and to identify with it. And with our position of strength in Israel and the United States today, he adds, we can and should act as NATO’s conscience. In short, it is the Jews who are obliged to take the lead in seeking aid and remedies for the displaced immediately.

I heartily endorse his column. But I have an additional thought. I wonder if our fury at Milosevic and the Serbs is related to our incomplete feelings about Germany and the Germans, and if our call for punishment and revenge in Yugoslavia might be designed to help bring us a sense of retribution, finally — or at least the illusion of it. —Gene Lichtenstein

A Reason for Remembrance Read More »