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April 29, 1999

‘Hatred Is a ‘Process’

The tragedy that has engulfed Littleton, Colorado, is in fact a wakeup call for America — too many of our schools have become killing fields. The question is whether we have gotten the message, and what our response should be.

Undoubtedly, over the next few days and weeks, a national debate will take place over what the Columbine High School massacre tells us. Some say teachers need more training in early detection to be able to recognize loners and students with extremely low self-esteem who could be walking time bombs. Others point a finger at parents, who should know if their garage is being used to build pipe bombs or if their children are obsessed with the thousands of hate sites on the Internet.

Last August, the federal government distributed a guide on safe schools, recommending smaller facilities and classes. Following the massacre, Attorney General Janet Reno said there was a need for more counselors to be placed in our schools. Other experts insist that the answer lies in beefed-up security and doing something about the huge arsenal of handguns accessible to students.

While most of the above have merit, I do not believe that they speak to the heart of the issue. As The New York Times editorial page commented, “It’s not what we keep from a child that will save him, it’s what you put into him in the first place. “

The question we have to ask ourselves is: what kind of an education do we seek for our children? Webster’s dictionary defines “educate” as “to develop mentally or morally by instruction.” America’s schools certainly develop our children mentally. But do they develop them morally as well?

In the late 19th century, Herbert Spencer wrote, “Education has for its object the formation of character.” Spencer was right. An education should be more than just a grade and a school should be more than just a place that dispenses it.

In January 1942, 14 men attended the Wannsee Conference at a mansion outside of Berlin. The purpose of the meeting was to figure out the best method of murdering the world’s Jewish population. Eight of the men present at that meeting that plotted Hitler’s “Final Solution” against the Jews held doctorates, graduates of Germany’s finest universities. They had the education, but were void of any trace of human character.

What happened in Littleton was not spontaneous. The bullets and bombs that went off last Tuesday were really set off years before. Hatred is a process, a malignancy that grows. Unchecked, it can eventually take over a young person’s mind.

Following the Littleton massacre, I wrote to President Clinton asking him to take the lead in calling for the establishment of a tolerance and sensitivity curriculum to be put into place in America’s schools. The time has come to pay some attention to character by making sure it is as important as math and science in the development of a young person’s learning experience.

Schools should not have to shoulder the responsibility of parents but neither should they be exclusive clubs that engage the mind while ignoring the heart.

Education must be about the formation of character.

It is more than just exposure to brilliant ideas and the ability to analyze data and reconcile contradictions. It must also be about life experiences that have a lasting impact on the soul of the students.

When I was a student in high school, a revered sage, the Ponevicher Rav, Rabbi Joseph Kahaneman whose students and family were wiped out in the Holocaust, addressed us one day. He leaned forward, his voice barely audible. He spoke less than 30 minutes, but I never forgot his message. “I stand here before you,” he began, “for probably the last time in my life. I am sure that I will not be back here again. So please be so kind as to pay attention to these final remarks that I have for you.” He went on to cite references from the Talmud regarding our responsibility to the world and to each other. This was not Einstein’s theory of relativity and it wasn’t a Shakespeare sonnet, but it was sincere and honest and touched every student in the beis medrash and had a lasting impact on my life.

Schools have a responsibility to expose their students to cognitive as well as emotional enrichment. The impact from such a dual exposure can be gleaned from the unforgettable story of Littleton coach David Sanders, the father of four who herded his students off to safety and took two bullets to the chest. As he lay mortally wounded, his students took out his wallet so that he could gaze at the faces of his family he would never see again.

That coach was a master teacher. His lessons will never be forgotten. Not even by thousands of young people who never knew him or sat in his class.

It is exposure to that kind of well-rounded education, “to develop mentally and morally,” that might prevent future Littletons.


Rabbi Marvin Hier is the dean and founder of the Simon Wiesenthal Center.

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Israeli Election: Who Cares?

Israeli voters go to the polls on May 17 in what could be the most critical election in the young nation’s history. But many American Jews, perplexed by the ever-shifting lineup of personalities, parties and positions, are reacting with a collective yawn, according to community leaders around the country.

The recent debate between Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu and Yitzhak Mordechai, the former defense minister and now centrist party candidate, was riveting theater in Israel, with most pundits giving the contest to the challenger; the daily outpouring of polls showing Labor Party candidate Ehud Barak leading Netanyahu are breakfast-table reading for countless Israelis.

But, in this country, the attitude seems to be a collective “who cares?”

“There’s almost no enthusiasm and very little interest, except for small groups of activists on the right and the left,” said American University political scientist Amos Perlmutter. “There’s been almost no effort to mobilize most American Jews who are not on the extremes.”

The result, he said, is epidemic indifference here about a political battle that could determine the fate of the faltering peace process and shape the character of a nation still trying to determine what it means to be a Jewish state.

Jewish leaders cite a long list of likely causes, starting with the fact that few Jews here see compelling reasons to invest their emotions in the bruising contest half a world away.

“People don’t see a threat to Israel,” Perlmutter said. “If it’s not in the news, people here think it doesn’t exist. On the peace process, people here are just resigned. They think it will end one way or another, and they don’t see how they’re part of it.”

The pluralism battle and the treacherous line the candidates have to walk through Israel’s religious minefields have also sapped interest among the non-Orthodox.

“The issue that, rightly or wrongly, concerns the American Jewish community the most is pluralism,” said Marshall Breger, a professor of law at the Catholic University of America and a consultant for the Israel Policy Forum, a pro-peace process group. “Since none of the three major candidates is dealing with that issue, interest in the election is declining among American Jews.”

Mordechai cast the deciding vote for recent Knesset legislation that bars Conservative and Reform Jews from serving on local religious councils, disappointing some potential American supporters. Barak, some Reform and Conservative leaders here say, has been far too timid in standing up against Orthodox forces in Israeli politics.

Many Orthodox activists look through the opposite end of the telescope, but see a similarly fuzzy image.

“In my own congregation, people are very interested in what will happen,” said Betty Ehrenberg, director of international relations for the Orthodox Union, a group that is generally critical of the Oslo process and opposed to the effort to reduce the power of Orthodox authorities in Israeli life. “They’re very worried about territorial compromise. But they don’t attach enough of a clear-cut policy to any of the candidates. Maybe they’re feeling a little cynical; they seem to feel that things will fall where they will fall, and there’s not much anyone can do about it.”

The increasing Americanization of the campaign, she said, is also a factor.

“People see that, in Israel, the focus isn’t on the big issues, but on personalities, on name-calling and finger pointing. The big issues are getting lost in the shuffle. So the imaginations of American Jews have not been captured. There’s a lot of concern about the issues, but not that much about the election.”

Michael Kotzin, director of the Chicago Jewish Community Relations Council, pointed to another factor: the rise of a new generation of leaders who are not part of Israel’s founding mystique.

“In the past, there were historic connections to the candidates — Golda Meir, Menachem Begin, Yitzhak Rabin,” he said. “But this is a new generation, and they don’t resonate with American Jews in the same way.”

Jews here, he said, are increasingly baffled by Israel’s complex political system — democracy, but in a barely recognizable form.

“There are so many parties, so many candidates, it’s hard to understand what the system is,” he said. “Most people still don’t understand about the runoffs, about the Knesset elections. And as the Israeli commentators have pointed out, sharp differences between the candidates’ positions have not been rendered.”

Disillusionment with the candidates themselves is another factor. It’s no surprise that pro-Oslo activists loathe Netanyahu. But with Mordechai and Barak threatening to split the anti-Netanyahu vote, many are frustrated with their unwillingness to unite to unseat the prime minister, said Seymour Reich, former president of the American Zionist Movement and a former chair of the Conference of Presidents of Major Jewish Organizations.

“There’s clearly confusion and disillusionment,” he said. “The multiplicity of parties Balkanizes the electoral system, which creates great danger for Israel as a democracy. We’re concerned, but we feel impotent.”

Barak’s lackluster campaign style and his status as a relative unknown to American Jews has added to unease among Jews here who typically support Labor candidates.

On the other side of the political divide, some hard-liners are unhappy with Netanyahu’s performance even as they continue to support the basic policies of his government.

“Look, he’s done a lot of the right things, but he’s inconsistent and unpredictable,” said a leading Jewish conservative. “Many feel that supporting [Knesset member Benny] Begin is a waste, since he can’t possibly win, but that Netanyahu has not proven a particularly effective advocate on behalf of those who put Israel’s security and integrity first. There isn’t the enthusiasm for him there was four years ago.”

But the problem may run deeper than simply the upcoming election. Numerous observers, including some prominent Israeli officials, have noted a pulling away from Israel among American Jews over the past decade; the 1999 campaigns may just be accelerating that process.

“The real problem is a diminished interest in Israel overall,” said Rabbi Seymour Essrog, president of the Rabbinical Assembly, the central group of Conservative rabbis in this country.

He said the “turnoff” is the product of a number of factors, including the current government’s position on religious pluralism and the sagging peace process, as well as more positive factors — including Israel’s economic successes and indisputable military superiority in the region.

“The average Jew is just totally removed from it,” he said. “There’s relative peace and prosperity in Israel, and people have their own issues to deal with at home.”

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The Columbine Connection

Before I get to the Jewish connection in the Littleton, Colo., murders, a statement of empathy.

In the early hours after the killings at Columbine High School, a terrifying vulnerability swept over me and virtually all the parents of adolescents in my group. As soon as the kids went off to school, we called the administration to check on security, just in case. Then we called each other and shivered. In the days that have passed, I’ve been hearing the fears of parents, the tortured vulnerability we all share, as our children take up lives of their own. Adolescence takes a toll on the family. In some cases, our children stop talking to us for months or years; in others, it’s a daily hormonal roller coaster. Most of our children come back to normal life; a few do not. But last weekend, the parent’s role seemed like that of passenger on a pilotless plane that never quite lands.

There, but for the grace of God, it could have been my kid. But could it really?

The talk shows are blaming the Klebold and Harris parents for the massacre. Our secular priests of the air point the finger: Where were those affluent, suburban adults when the bombs were being built, the shrapnel and guns being collected? The answer is irrelevant: You can be in the next room and still not be close enough to your teen-ager. I was a guest on such a talk show myself when a psychologist called in to say that the murders were caused by parents who didn’t give their kids “unconditional love.” I told the shrink to bug off: I wanted to call the Klebolds and Harrises, the bereft, astounded parents of the two killers, in sympathy. You did everything you could, I wanted to say.

How well do I know my own child? When I ask her what’s wrong, I sometimes accept the answer, “Leave me alone.” Who am I to judge another’s “unconditional love”?

By Sunday, empathy had been balanced by other emotions: namely, shame and disgust. News reports said that one of the mass murderers, Dylan Klebold, was in fact a son of a Jewish mother and a Lutheran father. Susan Klebold trained the handicapped for employment. Dylan’s great-grandfather was a prominent Jewish philanthropist in Columbus, Ohio. According to The New York Times, Klebold, 17, attended his family’s seder this month and asked the traditional four questions.

So now I have to look at this mass murder through a different lens. Only 20 days after the seder, on Adolf Hitler’s birthday, Klebold and Eric Harris opened fire on their classmates and teachers at Columbine High. Neo-Nazi rhetoric had been part of their secret patois; Klebold and Harris spoke to each other in German and congratulated each other at the bowling alley with “Heil Hitler.” Why Hitler? Why Nazis? And how did this perversion of logic happen to one of us?

This is not an easy line of inquiry, this acceptance of Klebold as one of “us” when others want to push him away. I suggest: There’s something in that family situation that we have to face. A family celebrated the seder; they had a heritage. What will we make of it?

My point is this: Whatever Nazi rhetoric means to non-Jews, it means something intensely more complex to troubled Jewish kids. Klebold’s resort to violence may have been an anomaly, but his fascination with Nazis, and his easy use of hate speech to transform himself from victim to aggressor, is not rare at all. One lesson of Columbine is to take seriously the dark side of the Jewish community’s preoccupation with the Holocaust, the inevitable counter-response of our community’s obsession with its tragic past.

More than 50 years after the fact, the assimilated Jew may not be prepared to deal with the truth of Jewish history. Especially when it’s downplayed at the dinner table and taught dispassionately by schools as part of state-mandated Holocaust curricula. This dynamic is highly combustible. The family passes down Judaism Lite, a watered-down, benign view of a free people, while the classroom shows storm troopers and concentration camps. What’s a young, naive mind to make of this horror? I argue that our adolescents are deeply troubled when the erotic allure of Hitler and evil (a staple of American media) hits them at the very moment they see themselves as outcast/victim/avenger.

Assessing the impact of Hitler and Nazism on our youth is long overdue. Some years ago, I put together an anthology of stories by young Jewish women; Anne Frank and the fantasy of hiding in the attic, dominated the submissions.

The Holocaust is potent stuff, as explosive and addictive in its way as lethal drugs and alcohol. It has invaded the mythology of our times, in ways our community never intended. At the very least, as teaching the Holocaust increasingly falls to the schools, we must give our teachers some insight into the Jewish students who may be a special part of the lesson plan.


Marlene Adler Marks, senior columnist of The Jewish Journal, is author of “A Woman’s Voice: Reflections on Love, Death, Faith, Food & Family Life” (On The Way Press). Excerpts of her book will be featured in “Momma, Mommy, Mom,” this Sunday, at 7 p.m., at UJ’s Gindi Auditorium. 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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Preparing for the Worst

Mark Levin knows about as much as anybody about Jews in the former Soviet Union. But sitting in his office during a recent chat with reporters, he admitted he had no easy answers to the toughest question of all: When should Jewish leaders push the panic button and do everything possible to convince Russian Jews to get out while the getting is good?

The issue took on more overtones of urgency this week with a new wave of bombings in Moscow and growing U.S.-Russia strains over the NATO air war in Kosovo; the prospect that U.S. and Russian forces could clash over enforcement of an embargo on Serbia added to the sense of crisis.

“The political, economic and social conditions continue to deteriorate,” Levin, executive director of the National Conference of Soviet Jewry, said. “We do not believe we’ve reached the stage of mass exodus. But that doesn’t lessen our concern or our preparation for all possible scenarios.”

He conceded that the point at which Jewish leaders should actively promote a massive rescue effort is a blurry one, and cautioned against statements that could lead to panic among an aging, anxious Russian Jewish population.

But Jewish leaders across the spectrum are acutely aware that there is a danger they could wait too long in urging Russian Jews to head for the lifeboats.

The situation in Moscow grows more chaotic by the day. The economy continues its free-fall; big loans from the International Monetary Fund may stave off disaster for a few more months, but there is no longer much hope of serious economic reform by the battered, besieged government of President Boris Yeltsin.

Nationalists and retread Communists continue to infiltrate the political mainstream, capitalizing on the spreading economic misery and on Russia’s demise as a world power.

The extremists are poised to improve their position in the 1999 parliamentary elections. Predictions are risky, but it is not inconceivable that they could produce a candidate capable of replacing the retiring Yeltsin in 2000.

Bigotry and scapegoating are on the rise, with prominent officials openly voicing a conspiracy-minded anti-Semitism that echoes down the corridors of Russian history.

And U.S.-Russian relations are in a tailspin, pushed over the brink by Moscow’s support for the government of Serbian President Slobodan Milosevic and the rise of an ominous new anti-Western sentiment.

The new diplomatic strains have significantly reduced the ability of officials here to use their diplomatic leverage to protect minorities in Russia, especially the Jews. Many Russian Jews are making preliminary inquiries about emigrating, but few have done more than that.

So what are the options for Jewish leaders here?

Levin points to the most obvious: continuing to work with U.S. officials to keep the human-rights agenda a part of the U.S.-Russia diplomatic mix. Soviet Jewry groups have been surprisingly successful in that effort, but it will be significantly harder as U.S.-Russia relations erode.

Jewish leaders can make sure the refugee infrastructure is in place in case widespread, rapid emigration becomes necessary. That’s one reason Jewish groups have been so determined to preserve refugee slots that, in recent years, have not been in high demand. That could change overnight if the anti-Semitic talk in Russia produces anti-Semitic action; having extra slots available could save lives.

Leaders here can work to make sure that Russian Jews do not lose the automatic presumption of refugee status, a policy legacy of the refusenik era.

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Comic Riff

It’s Day 1 of rehearsal for the new and improved version of Richard Krevolin’s “King Levine,” scheduled to reopen at the Tiffany on May 1. But for star Sammy Shore and director Joe Bologna, it’s The Joe and Sammy Show.

Sammy, the comedian who used to open for Elvis and Bob Hope, is remembering the time he hired Joe, the actor and director, to write comedy for him 40 years ago.

“He kept me out of the big time,” Shore, 68, complains.

“It wasn’t that difficult,” Bologna retorts.

Now the two old-timers are wandering outside the rehearsal space, wondering where the producer is with the key.

“Usually, we break a window,” Shore tells a reporter.

“Or kick in a door,” says Bologna.

When the producer finally arrives to open the door, Bologna and Shore make the reporter sit onstage while they yuk in the front row. “You’re onstage now,” Shore says, gleefully. “We’re watching you,” says Bologna.

About four years ago, Shore called his pal Bologna while working with Krevolin on the one-man show that would become “King Levine,” a comic riff on Shakespeare’s “King Lear.” The play tells of a grumpy bialy king who divvies up his bagel biz among three daughters, only to be carted off to the Jewish old age home, or “old Jew hell.” Initially, Krevolin wanted Shore to play all four characters, which “was giving me a headache,” Shore says.

Enter Bologna, who, with wife Renee Taylor, was writing his own comic riff on Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet,” “Love is All There Is,” a film about rival Italian catering families in the Bronx. Bologna agreed to direct and help shape “Levine,” while Shore “kept calling every five minutes and breaking my chops,” Bologna says.

Bologna the director had to keep a tight reign on Shore. Levine’s monologues were a snap for the comic, who’s used to working the audience. “But Sammy the stand-up is this ingratiating guy who wants people to love him,” Bologna says. “And King Levine isn’t lovable.” Bologna imitates a few Shakespearean quotes the irate character shouts in the play, mit hecksent. Shore looks outraged and complains, “Now he’s doing me, the S.O.B.”

The comic grumbling aside, the Shore-Bologna chemistry works. “King Levine” played to rave reviews and sold-out crowds at the Odyssey; it will move on to Florida and perhaps off-Broadway after the Tiffany run.

Shore likes that the play is showing at the Tiffany. The theater is down the block from The Comedy Store, which he co-founded with then-wife Mitzi in 1972, but deeded away in the divorce. “I want her to see my name on the marquee, and think, ‘I should have stayed with Sammy!'” Shore quips.

“King Levine” plays Thursdays through Sundays at the Tiffany through July 1. For tickets and information, call (310) 289-2999.

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The Golem in Our Midst

The great rabbi of 16th-century Prague, Rabbi Yehuda Loew, received word of a coming blood libel, an attack on his community. So he prayed for divine help. In a dream, he saw 10 Hebrew words in alphabetical order: “Create a Golem of Clay, Destroy Those Tearing Israel’s Heart.”

After seven days of fasting and praying, he took his son-in-law and his disciple, at midnight, and went to the banks of the river Moldau. Out of river clay, he fashioned a man, and under the creature’s tongue, he placed a slip of paper inscribed with the secret, unutterable name of God. On the creature’s forehead, Rabbi Yehuda wrote, “Emet” — “Truth.”

They circled the creature seven times, reciting sacred incantations. The creature came alive. Rabbi Yehuda commanded, “Stand,” and the creature stood. They dressed him in servant’s clothes and brought him home. As three, they had come; as four, they returned. Thus was the Golem born.

The Golem lived in the rabbi’s house. Strong as 10 men, invulnerable, able to turn himself invisible, he repeatedly saved the community from those who threatened the Jews. But the rabbi worried that someone would misuse the Golem’s powers. Despite his warnings, members of the household sent the Golem on trivial errands. Once they sent him to the river to bring water. But they did not know how to stop him. Soon, all were in danger of perishing in a flood. Only the rabbi’s timely arrival saved them from drowning.

Fearing a calamity, the rabbi brought the Golem to the synagogue attic and commanded him to lie among the old tallisim and prayer books. The rabbi removed the slip of paper from the Golem’s mouth, and erased the first letter on his forehead, changing “Emet,” Truth, to “Met”, “Dead.” And the Golem turned back into lifeless clay.

The Golem is said to rest to this day in the attic of Prague’s ancient synagogue. In fact, he lives. He lives in Israel. He lives among us here in America.

Jewish discourse is awash in harsh anger. Liberals scream that the Orthodox overthrow the foundations of democracy. The Orthodox scream that liberals upturn the foundations of Judaism. The left accuses the right of imperialism. The right accuses the left of treason. Supreme Court justices in Israel have bodyguards out of fear of Jewish, not Arab, terror. Combat flares up, of all places, at the Wall. As the rhetoric rises, one hears the same cry from every side: “What Hitler couldn’t accomplish, you will accomplish!”

We are a bitter and angry people. For 50 years, we have suffered a severe case of post-traumatic stress disorder. But now, a half-century late, our rage is finally coming out. Like the Golem, rage is a gift of God intended to protect us. Rage gives us strength to defeat an enemy. But like the Golem, rage has no discretion. It attacks everything. It doesn’t know how to stop. Without an external foe, our rage is displaced — directed internally; not against them, but against our own. It stands behind a banner of emet, truth. It speaks in the name of God. And it will surely drown us.

“The Lord said to Moses: ‘Speak to the priests, the sons of Aaron, and say to them: “None [of you] shall defile himself for any [dead] person among his people”‘” (Leviticus 21:1-2). This week’s Torah portion begins with this puzzling instruction: We would expect the opposite. When there is a death in the community, the rabbi is among the first we call for help. Why were priests not permitted to attend to the dead? The Ishbitzer Rebbe answered: In the presence of death, one is filled with rage and bitterness. The priest is Oved Hashem, the servant of God, the embodiment of God’s love and care. One so charged cannot carry out his calling with a heart full of anger. Rage and bitterness disqualify him. Only one free of anger may lead and teach the Jewish people.

In the imagination of the Talmud, God prays each morning. And what, the Talmud asks, does God pray? “May it be My will that My love may suppress My anger, and that My love may prevail over My [other] attributes, so that I may deal lovingly with My children.” So may it be for us.


Ed Feinstein is rabbi at Valley Beth Shalom in Encino.

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Where Nobody Knows Your Name

It was a Saturday night, and after watching the Lakers defeat the Warriors, I had no plans. I tossed out the encrusted remains of a Lean Cuisine lasagna and sat back in my sweats, surfing the channels in search of some juicy biography I hadn’t seen before.

It wasn’t so much that I was feeling sorry for myself or lonely, but that I couldn’t help but hear the sounds of Saturday night outside my window. Cars honking and heels clacking and my neighbor’s obligatory weekend salsa music blaring created this sort of moody soundtrack music that seemed to say, “Girl, you’ve got to get out more.”

I had nothing to do. Many of my friends are coupled and understandably prefer to spend their weekends with their significant others. But, to be honest, I was so busy working, I hadn’t even bothered trying to muster any weekend plans for myself beyond yoga and laundry.

As I listened to the goings-on outside my window, I remembered something a girlfriend had said earlier that week, “Sometimes, you just have to take yourself out for a drink.”

So I did.

I slapped on some perfume and lip gloss and headed out to a nearby bar. Alone.

On my way to the Formosa, a busy Hollywood bar, I developed a back story to explain, in case the need arose, why I was out by myself. My fictional plan was that I was “waiting for friends.”

Walking toward the bar, I was overcome with nerves. I told myself that I’d just have one vanilla martini and than go home if the experience was miserable. Jostling through the crowd, I had no idea which direction to face or where to sit or stand. I panicked. Then I heard a group of guys discussing the Lakers game, and I insinuated myself into the conversation. I was in.

For the rest of the night, I hung out with this group of strangers, excusing myself every now and again to look for my “friends.” I had a great time, thanked them for letting me into their circle and went home, my thirst for social interaction quenched.

Exhilarated from the success of my first solo bar foray, I did it again the following week. This time, I ventured into Jones, a slightly more upscale bar across the street from the Formosa. It was rocky at first, when I found myself attempting to make conversation with a couple of insipid schoolteachers from Oakland.

Before long, though, I was rescued by a trio of guys. They were smart, funny, good conversationalists. Last call came too soon. One of them offered to walk me to my car and asked for my phone number.

As it turns out, while he was polite, intelligent and charming, he was also “separated” from his wife, moving, “between projects” and generally had too much baggage to fit under the seat in front of him. He wasn’t Mr. Right, but neither was he “Mr. Goodbar,” the fictional bogeyman of the famous 1977 film about a woman’s desperate search for a meaningful relationship in sleazy pick-up joints.

I wasn’t necessarily looking for a meaningful relationship; I just wanted to get out on a Saturday night. If a guy can sit at a bar and drink a beer and just hang out, why can’t I? Because “good girls” don’t venture alone into drinking establishments?

When I told a couple of male friends that I had gone to a bar alone, they looked at me as if all of a sudden I was sucking down seven bourbons with Mickey Rourke and spiraling into the sexually dangerous and depraved lifestyle of a “barfly.” None of this is true. I’ve never had a one-night stand and don’t intend to, and I’m a nurse-one-drink-all-night kind of bar patron.

The fact is, when you’re alone, you’re more likely to interact with people you might never have met, and they are far more likely to talk to you, without a wall of friends to scare them away. Like traveling alone, it’s an adventure.

Is it dangerous? No more so than going to the grocery store, really. Is it scary? A little, just like a party or any other social situation can be nerve-wracking.

My point wasn’t necessarily to meet a man, but to enjoy the simple human pleasure of being among people, of being part of the pack. I wasn’t a woman on the prowl; I was just taking myself out for a drink. And while I wouldn’t make it a career and I know it makes some people uncomfortable, it beats sitting home and only imagining the good times going on outside my window.


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

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Protect Your Head

Every few years, we Angelenos are reminded that this is Earthquake Country. Then, before the last FEMA check is cashed, we forget.

But not Hannah Givon. Givon moved to Los Angeles from Waterbury, Conn., with her two young children shortly before the 1971 Sylmar quake. That shook her up, but even more shocking was what she discovered in the tremor’s aftermath: a near-total dearth of children’s books about earthquakes. Helping children understand and talk about temblors, she reasoned, would go a long way toward calming their pre-quake anxieties and post-quake fear. Giving them simple safety information about what to do just in case might even save lives.

So Givon wrote, “We Shake In A Quake” (Tricycle Press, $12.95). Though the thoughts behind the book were right and earnest, the brief, colorful children’s book is that and more. It is thoroughly witty, engaging and enjoyable. Featuring bright, post-Seussian drawings by David Uttal, the book follows the adventures of one plucky boy as he rides out one quake and prepares for another. The drawings and sneaky rhymes make all the solid info on earthquake preparedness go down like grape Dimetapp. There are even a couple of stanzas on plate tectonics that stayed with us a lot longer than our Geology 101 lessons: “But now and then these giant plates/May give a sudden shove/Which bumps and shakes and bounces/Whatever is above…”

April is Earthquake Awareness Month, and this book should be on the To Buy list of anyone with young children. (It would also make a swell public-service cartoon, if anyone’s interested.)

Givon, whose grown children now live in Israel, travels to classrooms, synagogues, corporations and safety fairs to read her book and speak with children about earthquake safety. — Rob Eshman, Managing Editor


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