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Jewish Journal

Connect. Inform. Inspire.

June 21, 2001

To Go or Not to Go?

Leave a Comment / Israel, Opinion, Rob Eshman /

The controversy over the issue of visiting Israel this summer has come to affect four American Jews to whom I am particularly close: my wife and two children, and myself.

My wife’s brother lives on a kibbutz in the Negev, where he moved some 20 years ago. His middle daughter is celebrating her bat mitzvah, and the whole Levy clan, from Boston to New York to Los Angeles, has long been planning to celebrate with her.

Then Intifada II broke out, and so did the debate within our family: Should we go or should we stay?

A few members of the extended family opted to stay home. Others haven’t wavered in their decision to go. But a good portion have offered a qualified yes. Their tickets are exchangeable, and they’re waiting to see if things calm down before boarding the flight to Lod.

Our phone calls and e-mails and dinner-table conversations echo the larger debate taking place between America and Israel. Is it safe? Does canceling demonstrate a lack of support to family and friends? Do we have the right to take our children to potentially dangerous areas to demonstrate that support?

Ephraim Sneh, Israel’s minister of transportation, blasted away at American Jews whose only demonstration of support comes over "bagel breakfasts" from the safety of their conference rooms. The organizers of the Maccabiah Games only this week decided to go ahead with this year’s international games (see page 12), but other youth groups have canceled scheduled trips or seen the numbers of participants drop. The groups that are going — Birthright Israel, the Conservative Movement’s United Synagogue Youth, the Orthodox Union’s National Conference of Synagogue Youth, Chabad — become instantly noteworthy.

But a nation cannot live on depleted solidarity missions alone. Israel is suffering from a 50 percent drop in tourist traffic during what was expected to be a Millennial Year boom, and thousands of Israelis in tourism and its affiliated industries face layoffs. "The tour groups have basically vanished from Israel," a Netanya hotelier told our correspondent Larry Derfner — and she said it before the Tel Aviv disco bombing.

Beyond the economic impact, there’s the sense among Israelis that we American Jews are fair-weather patriots. We’ll happily pose for snapshots atop those rusted tanks on the Golan Heights, but don’t ask us to get within 10,000 miles of live fire. "In a summer when Americans flock to see ‘Pearl Harbor,’" wrote Glenn Yago, Milken Institute director of capital studies, on his return from Israel last week, "FDR’s lesson about what we should fear is worth remembering. Canceling trips to Israel couldn’t send a worse message."

Against such powerful arguments — and good old Jewish guilt — is the fact that Israelis themselves have curtailed their travel within their own country. There are parents in Tel Aviv who won’t send their children on school trips to Jerusalem, and others who refuse to visit friends in Netanya or Efrat. If Israelis won’t let their kids walk the streets of Jerusalem, goes one good dinner-table argument, why should I?

The answer to these questions is necessarily more personal than political, and entwined with all the other complications of travel abroad: time, money, work, health. Those who ultimately decide not to make the trip now shouldn’t be derided, guilt-tripped or second-guessed. The bottom line is support, and there have always been other ways to express it besides being there.

One suggestion, offered by Jonathan Friendly of Jewish Renaissance Media, is for parents who have opted not to send their children this summer to contribute a portion of what they would have spent on the trip toward a "Promise Postponed" endowment that could help subsidize trips by less-affluent kids next year.

Another is to participate in Israel activities offered by synagogues, local federations and organizations in the coming months. Yet another is to take some time this summer to further educate yourself and your children about Israel. True, being there makes a more powerful statement, but our actions here can still speak volumes.

To Go or Not to Go? Read More »

The Rebbetzin

Leave a Comment / Blogs, Education /

Didi Carr Reuben was not keen about the idea of dating a rabbi, and on her first official date with Rabbi Steven Carr Reuben, she was desperate for a way to get out of it.

"He’s a cute guy, but I couldn’t see cuteness," says Didi in her husky voice and Bronx accent. "All I [imagined] was a guy who was 98, 3 feet 2 inches, with a white beard, smelly; three teeth, davening in another language."

Little did this aspiring pop star know that two years later she would marry the rabbi, and eventually serve by his side as a rebbetzin of Kehillat Israel in Pacific Palisades for more than 15 years.

The rabbi had noticed her striking looks and spirit when she auditioned as an entertainer for a banquet at his former synagogue. In the middle of their first date, Didi, thinking she had found an ingenious way to ward him off, looked him straight in the eye and said: "I’m an atheist, hard-core."

She waited for him to immediately scamper out, but instead, he assumed a rabbinic pose and simply said, "Frankly, I don’t give a –."

For Didi, that’s when the date began, she told The Journal. At that point, she found out she and Steven had a lot in common — in particular, that they both think outside the box. "He introduced to me a new notion of God," she says.

At the time, Didi was an actress (appearing in ABC’s 1977 television series "Sugar Time," among other shows) and a divorced mother of one. She had not stepped foot in a synagogue for 20 years. But after that magical first date, Didi found a new love, a new God, and ultimately a new career — that of a rebbetzin.

"If I had known what it was like to be a rebbetzin, it would have been exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up," she says.

That is, if she went by a nonstandard definition of the term. Didi, now 52, doesn’t act — or look — like the stereotypical modest and shy rebbetzin.

The license plate on her car reads "REBOTZN" — with the "O" in the shape of a heart. She is opinionated, provocative, sometimes raunchy; and her attention to fashion and appearance lends glamour to a role that is often considered devoid of glitz.

Her musical talents, sense of humor and boldness are useful in her social activism and community service. She works on the musical aspects of synagogue life, visits and entertains the sick, and is very active with her community’s teenagers, openly discussing sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll as part of their confirmation classes.

She seems to be doing something right. Since the couple moved in at Kehillat Israel in 1986, the number of families has risen from 225 to over 900. And Rabbi Steven Carr Reuben was recently installed as president of the Southern California Board of Rabbis and received honorary doctorates of divinity from both Hebrew Union College and the Reconstructionist College in Philadelphia.

But the added prestige and growing community haven’t tempered Didi’s outspoken personality.

Her husband laughs off his wife’s unconventionality. "She’s a New Yorker; she speaks her mind," he says. "I’m proud of who she is and I love who she is — all of her — you can’t separate one piece from another."

The Rebbetzin Read More »

Rabbis’s Wives

Leave a Comment / Education /

Thirty-five years ago, when Elliot and Marlynn Dorff got married, he was a rabbinical student and she was a recent college graduate with a degree in French. She also was fluent in Hebrew, and had augmented her secular studies at Barnard with coursework at the Jewish Theological Seminary. But because four children were quickly born to the young couple, Marlynn Dorff never planned on a professional career. She continued her Jewish studies mostly because she "needed something outside of the house," she says.

Once the Dorffs moved to Los Angeles, where Elliot joined the philosophy department of the University of Judaism (UJ), Marlynn accepted part-time posts as a religious school teacher. After she earned UJ graduate degrees in education and Judaic studies, her professional status grew, culminating in a 16-year stint as the Bureau of Jewish Education’s (BJE) day school specialist.

Marlynn Dorff is typical of local rabbis’ wives who have made their names in the field of Jewish education. (Some rabbis’ husbands — like Michael Zeldin of Hebrew Union College, whose wife is Rabbi Leah Kroll — have done the same.) Dorff’s interest in Judaica predates her marriage by many years. She is passionate about spreading Jewish knowledge to future generations. Viewing her husband as her best resource, she hardly feels threatened by his career success.

Still, especially given Elliot Dorff’s international stature as rabbi and scholar, at times, she says, "It’s harder to have my own identity in the field."

Once, when Marlynn traveled to Israel for a grant-writing project, a professor introduced her as "Elliot Dorff’s wife" — completely omitting her own name and credentials. But for Marlynn, prestige is less important than personal satisfaction. That’s why she’s leaving her BJE administrative post to return to the classroom.

Most rabbis’ wives who are career educators must juggle their professional roles with their obligations to their husbands’ congregations. "Maybe if I had been a man I would have gone into the rabbinate," said Lois Rothblum. Instead, she married Moshe Rothblum, who, for 30 years, has occupied the pulpit at Adat Ari El.

Lois currently holds a trio of UJ positions: director of the educational resources center, coordinator of the Hebrew department, director of teacher education. Through a teaching gig in Adat Ari El’s religious school many years ago, she found her own niche in Moshe’s congregation: "I could meet the congregants on my own terms, not as an appendage of my husband."

Like Rothblum, Sharene Johnson feels no pressure to be an old-fashioned rebbetzin who spends her days toiling without pay on behalf of her husband’s congregation. Her spouse, Rabbi Gershon Johnson, heads Temple Beth Haverim in Agoura Hills. "Because it’s a new congregation, we’re setting the tradition," Sharene says. As the full-time Judaic studies coordinator of Kadima Academy, she contributes after-hours to Beth Haverim by leading a book club and women’s study group.

"I don’t think it’s an obligation. It’s just a nice thing to do to make our community grow and be strong," she says.

The way she divides her time could be far trickier in a small town, where issues of loyalty and competition would inevitably surface. "I would feel awkward being the educator at the nearest Conservative synagogue to my husband," she admits.

As the Judaic studies principal of Heschel Day School in Northridge for the past three years, Judy Taff flies home to Sacramento every weekend in time to serve Shabbat dinner to her family. Her husband, Reuven, has served as rabbi of Mosaic Law Congregation in Sacramento for six years.

This arrangement developed unexpectedly, because the Taffs were seeking a Jewish education for their son beyond what Sacramento could provide. Judy upholds her place in her home congregation by hosting youth sleepovers, holiday parties and a Shabbat afternoon backyard basketball league. During Passover, 50 guests attend seders at the Taff table.

There are weekends, however, when special school events keep her in Northridge. Taff insists, "If you have a good attitude and you want it to work, it will work. This just brings another beautiful dimension into our lives."

Even today, some trained educators are so committed to husband and family that they work sporadically, or not at all. Matty Bryski, whose husband, Moshe, leads Chabad of Conejo, teaches part time, but feels her first responsibility is to her seven children. Robin Shulman, whose spouse Ron is the rabbi at Congregation Ner Tamid of South Bay, saves her teaching skills for her home congregation and summer programs at Camp Ramah.

In some cases, the role of rebbetzin/eductor proves especially enduring. Miriam Wise, whose late husband, Aaron, was Adat Ari El’s head rabbi from 1947 until his retirement in 1978, cherishes the title of rebbetzin emeritus. In the congregation’s early years, she taught women’s study groups without pay. She still enjoys teaching in various settings while continuing her nurturing role within the Adat Ari El family. As she puts it, "Every woman wants to give what she can to promote what her husband is doing — if she thinks it’s important."

Wise’s self-image underwent a shift circa 1960, when she earned a California teaching credential from Cal State Northridge. Though she had always loved basking in her husband’s glory, at CSUN, "I almost felt I was becoming a whole person again. I proved to myself that I could make it on my own."

Rabbis’s Wives Read More »

Remaining Humble

Leave a Comment / Torah /

No one likes to be criticized, especially when it comes from someone in your own family. Children hate it when parents tell them how to live their lives. Parents hate it when their own parents tell them how to raise their children. Husbands hate it when their wives criticize how they spend their weekends. No one enjoys being criticized.

So it comes as no surprise that when Moses faces the greatest criticism of his career as a leader this week, he strikes back with all the force he can. And what makes it more than merely idle jealousy is the fact that the one doing the criticism is also a member of his extended family, a man from his own tribe, someone who was part of the leadership elite of the Israelites.

The man, Korah, accuses Moses of arrogance — the sin of acting as if he is holier than (read — "more important than") everyone else. He challenges Moses by throwing his own teachings back at him, saying, "How can you act like only you have a special relationship with God and at the same time teach us that all of Israel is ‘a kingdom of priests and a holy people’?"

One of the most remarkable aspects of this rebellion was that it cuts to the heart of what is undoubtedly the single most important personality trait that Jewish tradition ascribed to Moses, namely, his humility. In fact, the rabbis of the Talmud remind us that it is written in the Torah itself that Moses was the humblest of men and that his personal humility was one of the main reasons God chose him to become the one who led the Jewish people from slavery to freedom.

Each of us has the tendency to see the best in ourselves and the worst in others. Yet the rabbinic tradition holds up humility as one of the most important qualities that a leader can possess. There is a famous Midrash in which each of us is to imagine that we have two notes from God in our pockets — one says, "The whole earth was created for my sake," and the other says, "I am but dust and ashes." Each day as different situations arise, we are to reach into our pockets and pull out either one or the other of these notes.

When we begin to act with arrogance or look down upon another, "I am but dust and ashes" will remind us that every human being we encounter has his or her own unique spark of the divine within. When we are beset by doubts and begin to focus on our own human frailties, "The whole earth was created for my sake" will remind us that we, too, are created in the divine image and as such have fundamental worth and value.

The reason that tradition depicted Moses as one of the most humble of all leaders was to serve as a model for each of us in our daily lives. If even Moses, the greatest of all leaders in Jewish history, was able to remain humble and recognize that he was simply a vehicle for God’s work in the world, then we too have the obligation to see our hands as God’s hands, our eyes as God’s eyes, and our hearts as God’s heart. Each time we relearn that lesson and recognize God as a power that works through each of us, we may be inspired to encourage those around us to feel better about themselves and to discover their own inner spark of the divine as well.

Remaining Humble Read More »

When Booty Calls

Leave a Comment / Singles /

Sometimes, a Booty Call can sneak up on you.

Case in point: a second date with a guy I met at a bookstore. He was running late, called to say he’d have to baby-sit his niece and nephew and wouldn’t be available until after 10 p.m.

No problem, I said, grateful to be able to watch the tail end of a "Law & Order" rerun.

He arrived, and I got a little nervous when, instead of sitting in a chair or on the couch, he sprawled out on my rug, making himself very, very comfortable.

"Do you have an Aleve?" he inquired.

"Is that like an Advil?" I asked.

"No, no. It’s nothing like an Advil. It’s way, way better, it’s…" he trailed off, in that defeated, my-dad’s-a-doctor-and-you’d-never-understand- basic-pharmacology sort of tone.

I gave the guy a subpar Advil for his "headache," and he ambushed me with, "Do you have any wine?"

Now, I know what you’re thinking. When a guy comes over to take you out for a drink, and instead requests Aleve and a bottle of wine, perhaps he’s not really going to work out.

Luckily for him, I can turn giving a guy the benefit of the doubt into a six-month relationship. I give out slack like Mother Teresa gave out hugs to leprous babies. He’s got a headache, I thought. Poor guy. Can’t face driving to a bar. He can’t be that bad, I told myself. He went to Harvard (as Harvard alum generally point out in some unit of time shorter than a nanosecond after meeting you); he reads Stephen Jay Gould, he teaches at a Jewish day school. Is this the profile of a player?

I poured him a drink, and we talked for a couple of hours. I started to relax, as there were no other obvious dating violations to ignore. That’s when he took himself on an uninvited tour of my apartment.

"How much do you pay for this place?" he asked, strolling down the hallway into my bedroom. I followed him nervously and watched, horrified, as he flopped down on my bed. On my bed.

When he pulled out the old "I think we’re both attracted to each other," it all came together; there was the headache, the stopping by at a late hour to not take me out for a drink, the flopping on my bed. This, my friends, was a textbook Booty Call.

"What’s the problem?" he asked. To which I replied that I’m really not a Booty Call kind of girl, that I’d need to get to know him, that there would have to be some sort of courtship.

"Like, what, you want me to come over and paint your bathroom or something?"

That would be a start.

I walked him out, and I’ve never wanted to Lysol my bed so much in my life. Nothing had happened, but I was still two degrees of grossed out away from slumping down in my shower with a loofah and some Ajax. Of course, we have another date next week, but that’s something I’ll have to take up with a well-qualified therapist.

Just a week before the ill-fated Accidental Booty Call, I met a guy at a party. He had enormous hands and, for a guy that handsome, a decent sense of humor.

"Would it be OK if I kissed you right now?" he asked.

"Uh, no," I said. Embarrassed, he pointed out that several women had given him a dressing down for not — well, dressing them down — fast enough.

The point is, everyone’s in a big hurry, aren’t they? I have to include myself. While I’m not into Booty Calls, I have been guilty of wanting to rush the emotional quotient of relationships, as in: add water, make instant boyfriend.

If I were writing a doctoral thesis, I might suggest that my generation is influenced by our consumer society, by fast modems, cell phones, PalmPilots, Amazon.com and Federal Express. We’re accustomed to convenience. We want our social lives to be as trouble-free as getting a Happy Meal at the drive-through, extra sauce, hold the bathroom painting.

Somewhere inside of us, we must know that the important things can’t be rushed. Still, we rush. Maybe we’re not just hurrying to get to the good stuff, but also sparing ourselves the emotional exposure that comes from getting to know someone, putting in the time.

Let’s look at the case of Mr. Aleve. Let’s say he had taken me out for that drink, painted my bathroom, met my mother, petted my cat, written me a love letter or two. What if, after all that, I rejected him? Now, this is unlikely, due to my aforementioned affinity for slack-giving, but he doesn’t know that.

When you rush in, you get to the soft chewy center with a minimized output of emotional energy. You risk little.

You just never reap the rewards of plodding effort and dedication, the kind of dedication you need to stage a prison break, write a novel, grow an orchid, forge a friendship, or even just paint a bathroom.

When Booty Calls Read More »

Tolerance Reigns in Iowa Town

Leave a Comment / United States, Worldwide /

Aaron Goldsmith is back where he started — on a city council in a seat that at first was given to him, then challenged by some of his neighbors, and finally supported by voters.

The embattled councilman, a Lubavitch Chassid, endured months of gossip and a flurry of anti-Semitic hate mail while trying to hold on to his seat in the small town of Postville, Iowa.

But on April 24, the voters came out in force to show their support for Postville’s first Jewish council member. Nearly 52 percent of the town’s 1,047 registered voters cast ballots during the special election, choosing Goldsmith by a comfortable 325-216 margin.

“It’s amazing. Usually we get about 5 percent coming out for a council vote,” Postville Mayor John Hyman said. The political controversy surrounding Goldsmith — the likes of which this small farm town had never seen — evidently accounted for the turnout.

It all started Dec. 26, when the City Council, by a 4-1 vote, appointed Goldsmith to fill a midterm vacancy.

Soon after the appointment, Postville retiree Arlin Schager circulated a petition challenging Goldsmith’s right to the seat. Echoing some townsfolk who said officeholders should be elected rather than appointed, Schager said citizens should “decide for themselves who they wanted for a councilperson.”

The petition forced a special election in which Schager’s daughter, Tracey Schager — who had hoped to be appointed to the seat — ran against Goldsmith. “I never thought it would drag on this long, or be such a big deal to everyone,” she said.

The days after the election, Goldsmith says now, brought a sense of relief. “Neighbors got back to being neighbors again, and there was a bounce in everyone’s step,” he said. “People said the air just felt friendlier.”

Today, Jews and gentiles alike stop Goldsmith on the street to shake his hand and say they’re glad he won. And the support wasn’t limited to Postville. “I got a flood of international calls from some very influential rabbis, who told me that the positive impact of this election is being felt worldwide,” Goldsmith said, pointing to framed articles about him on his wall.

Diversity is a new buzzword for Postville, whose 2001 census showed a 54 percent jump in ethnic populations from 10 years ago, the largest increase in Iowa. The town was primarily white and Christian until 1988.

Then a kosher meatpacking plant opened, bringing Chassidic families to the rural region — along with job-seeking immigrants from Mexico, Eastern Europe, the Philippines and elsewhere.

Hyman welcomed Goldsmith’s addition to the council, saying, “He’s an incredible asset for us, for our diverse population, and it did my heart good to see that the people of Postville agreed.”

The election gained national attention as the town polarized on questions of race and religion. Some saw Postville’s Jews as standoffish, while others considered the townspeople bigoted.

The town already had been the subject of widespread outside attention, including a book by University of Iowa professor Stephen Bloom. In “Postville: A Clash of Cultures in Heartland America,” Bloom contended that the Chassid’s insular ways don’t “work at all in a tiny, cohesive town of 1,500, where people depend on one another to survive.”

As for Goldsmith, he’s glad to be able to get back to city business and his own company, Transfer Master Products, which manufactures adjustable beds.

One of his goals is to help Postville’s immigrants move toward owning their own businesses and homes. “I want to see this town revitalized, by not only welcoming these people to town but helping them to make the next step — taking pride in their part in the community,” he said.

All is calm in Postville now, but the divisiveness could return as the November general election nears. Goldsmith is undecided about whether he’ll seek the full term. “I’m taking it a day at a time right now,” he said. “This whole process took a big toll on me.”

For now, he said, “The only goal I have is to finish what I started — energizing the city and moving it forward.”

One thing is for certain: Regardless of whether Goldsmith sets foot in the political arena again, this election will leave its mark on him and on Postville for years to come.

“We were just this nothing little town, and then all of a sudden it was like struggling for, and then winning, the World Series,” he said. “It’s a victory everyone can be proud of.”

Tolerance Reigns in Iowa Town Read More »

UJC Launches Campaign

Leave a Comment / Israel, Worldwide /

The umbrella of North American federations is set to unveil a multipronged, $4-million solidarity campaign titled "Israel NOW — and Forever."

The United Jewish Communities (UJC) project — which should receive final approval by late July — combines various advocacy, education and fundraising activities and will last until winter, said Gail Hyman, UJC’s vice president for marketing and public affairs.

"We understand there’s a great desire for a national program," Hyman said. "We have a responsibility to listen to our community and to offer the kind of program that will resonate from coast to coast. And unfortunately, that takes a little time. But now we have the support, and we’re ready to act."

The first step will be this weekend’s "Solidarity Shabbat" of UJC leadership in Jerusalem, where the group will meet with Israeli leaders and hammer out final details of the campaign.

Among the other campaign highlights:

  • Heavy promotion of solidarity missions to Israel.

  • Advocacy- and media-training for campus and community activists, in conjunction with local Hillels and Jewish community relations councils, "to train their leadership to become strong advocates on behalf of Israel," Hyman said.

  • A fundraising initiative to assist all Israeli families directly affected during the violence by death, injury, property destruction or psychological damage — and perhaps even economic support for small-business owners. "We understand there are lots of children having great difficulty," Hyman said.

  • A media tour that will take Israeli spokesmen and U.S. Middle East experts — scholars, journalists and other opinion-shapers — into key communities across North America to meet with local media.

  • A major mission to Israel, called "Journey to Solidarity I," to be held Sept. 9 to 14.

  • Production of 1 million leaflets, to be distributed Sept. 17 in all synagogues during Rosh Hashanah, to remind Jews of the need for solidarity. "As we sound the shofar this year, it will also be a call to action for every Jew in North America," Hyman said.

  • A Solidarity Shabbat on Sept. 22 and 23 that will reach out to synagogues, churches and university campuses to show that "support for Israel extends beyond the Jewish community," Hyman said.

  • A major outdoor rally in New York on Sept. 23, with a concurrent rally possible in Los Angeles. New York was chosen not only because of its huge Jewish community but because it is America’s media capital, Hyman said. The UJC also "wants our voices heard by members of the United Nations," which will be convening their General Assembly just days later.

UJC Launches Campaign Read More »

Arabs Against Arafat

Leave a Comment / Israel, Worldwide /

"I look at my little boy, and I ask myself, ‘What did he do to me that he should deserve this punishment?’ I tell you, if I could leave here tomorrow for America, I would."

We’ll call the speaker Mahmoud.

He is a taxi driver who lives in an Arab neighborhood of Jerusalem. He is a member of what could be called, if not the Palestinian silent majority, at least the Palestinian silent but substantial minority.

"We should have taken Barak’s offer. But the Arab leaders screwed us, they wouldn’t let Arafat accept the deal," says Mahmoud. He’s not a Zionist, no lover or even respecter of Ariel Sharon, and he doesn’t think the Israeli right, especially the religious right, will ever be prepared to make a "peace of the brave" with the Palestinians.

But neither is he a lover or respecter of the intifada. "It’s gotten us nowhere. We’re worse off than we were before," he says. At the start of the intifada, Mahmoud owned a clothing shop in the Old City. Now, with the Palestinians living in destitution, Mahmoud’s customers are making do with their old clothes.

He has taken to driving a cab for a Jewish-owned company, driving into the West Bank killing fields with Israeli license plates. "I don’t worry too much. If it’s my time, it’s my time," he says.

With a slight break in the action and a flurry of would-be peacemaking since the Tel Aviv discotheque bombing, a reality check on the Palestinians — the regular people, not the politicians — shows that a pall has come over them. They are deeply ensnared by a Catch-22.

On one hand, the intifada has brought them nothing but 500 or so deaths, thousands upon thousands of injuries, and the suffocation of their daily lives by torrents of Israeli soldiers surrounding their cities and villages. Politically, the intifada has destroyed whatever flexibility existed in the Israeli body politic, ousting the country’s most conciliatory prime minister, Ehud Barak, and leaving in his wake Ariel Sharon.

Yet for all the futility promised by a continuation of the intifada, giving up on it and trusting in negotiations with Sharon may seem, to Palestinians, as the greater of two evils. Sharon offers the Palestinians nothing, compared with what Barak was ready to give them; after choosing guerrilla war instead of Barak’s offer, if the Palestinians were to throw down their guns and sit down at Sharon’s table, they would be the laughingstock of the world. It would be tantamount to surrender. Peace may not be an option for them.

All one hears in the media from Palestinian leaders is hard-line talk: insisting on full Israeli withdrawal from the territories, totally blaming the Israeli side for the violence. The crowds at funerals and political rallies likewise show no give, only fight. But there are other Palestinian voices, Palestinians who don’t have to toe the party line, who are thinking more practically about their futures and the futures of their families, and these Palestinians sound like the kind of people Israel, or at least the pre-intifada Israel, could have made peace with.

"It’s too bad we didn’t take Barak’s offer. But Arafat was afraid that if he tried to share Jerusalem, the Moslem world wouldn’t have allowed it," says Khalil Ansar, a resident of the West Bank city of Tulkarm, on his way home from another day’s work inside Israel. The right of return didn’t have to be such a great obstacle, he says. "I think the Palestinians who are living abroad should stay there. It’s inconceivable that somebody who lives in Israel should be made to give up his home to somebody who lives in Lebanon," Ansar says.

As for Arafat, Ansar says, "His time is finished." Asked whom he favors as the next leader of Palestinians, Ansar mentions the West Bank security chief Jibril Rajoub and Palestinian diplomat Abu Mazen.

When people speak of Palestinian moderates, these are the first two names mentioned. Asked if there is a party or movement that speaks for people like himself, Ansar says, "Yes. It’s called the Peace Movement." It even has a leader, although Ansar does not know the leader’s name.

Yet even among these moderates, the suffering of the intifada has taken its toll. Taher, who lives in a Palestinian village near the Green Line, has worked for Israelis and served Israeli customers for some 20 years. He has many, many Jewish friends. Yet, these days, an anger has come into his expression that wasn’t there before.

A few weeks ago his sister, in her mid-30’s, was having chest pains and was driven by her husband towards Ramallah, where she was to be taken to a hospital. "But they were turned back by the army before Ramallah, and she died in the car," Taher says. His son recently did $10,000 worth of remodeling for an Israeli homeowner in Beit Shemesh, but after paying the young man a little over $1,000, the Israeli refused to pay more, threatening to call the police if the young man persisted in demanding money, Taher says.

He blames the failure of the cease-fire on the Israeli side. "Arafat has done everything he can do. The Tanzim also agreed to the cease-fire. But when the settlers enter a village, break windows, uproot olive trees and start shooting, where is the cease-fire?" Taher asks. His moderation is cracking. His forecast is gloomy. "There are bad times ahead," he says.

On this point, there is no division of opinion, here there is true unity between Palestinian moderates and Palestinian militants — no matter whether they support the intifada or wish it would end, whether they believe in peace with Israel or hate the idea, virtually all Palestinians see it as an impossibility.

Arabs Against Arafat Read More »

Sharon Champions Restraint

Leave a Comment / Israel, Worldwide /

Prime Minister Ariel Sharon, elected four months ago on a pledge to restore Israel’s sense of security, finds himself holding back the dogs of war as Palestinian militants continue picking off Israelis on West Bank roads and firing mortars at residential communities.

After Palestinian Authority President Yasser Arafat’s Fatah Party took credit for murdering two Israelis this week in drive-by shootings, Sharon found himself under intense pressure from his right wing to stop complying with Israel’s end of the cease-fire and to unleash a punishing — perhaps even mortal — blow to Arafat’s Palestinian Authority.

Due in Washington for talks early next week, Sharon, however, has chosen to heed the broad international consensus on maintaining the cease-fire agreed to last week, in the hope that diplomacy and political pressure will impress the Palestinian Authority.

"I am not going to drag this nation into war," Sharon declared at a meeting of his Likud Party on Monday. "This is not the time. This would be a grave mistake."

Members of his party looked grim and downcast. One of them, a West Bank settler, heckled Sharon, insisting that settler leaders do "not want war — just security."

The next day, at the funeral of one of the murdered Israelis (38-year-old Doron Zisserman) settlers spoke openly of their bitter disillusionment with the man often depicted as Israel’s arch-hawk, whom they supported in the elections for prime minister earlier this year.

"What kind of cease-fire is this?" asked Rabbi Chaim Druckman, a leading figure in the National Religious Party and the settlers’ movement. "We cease, and they fire."

Compounding the outrage for Israelis, Fatah officials said the group’s militia would continue attacking Israelis, arguing that the cease-fire applies only to those areas under sole Palestinian control, not to Israeli settlements and surrounding areas.

Zisserman, a father of four, was shot Monday by a Palestinian sniper as he was driving into the West Bank settlement of Einav.

The attack took place as a funeral was being held for Danny Yehuda, a 37-year-old father of three young children who was killed in a drive-by shooting earlier that day.

Likud critics told reporters that Sharon had fallen under the spell of his dovish foreign minister, Shimon Peres of the Labor Party.

They offered this view despite the fact that Sharon and Peres feuded openly at Sunday’s Cabinet meeting over Sharon’s refusal to let Peres meet with Arafat. Sharon has repeatedly stated that there will be no negotiations until the Palestinians halt all attacks on Israelis.

According to another analysis, Sharon is adopting a policy of restraint because there is no clear recipe for a successful Israeli military campaign against the Palestinians, no matter how widespread the desire for revenge.

The past nine months of conflict, during which the Israel Defense Force (IDF) has tried all manner of weapons and tactics, have shown the complexity of the military challenge that guerrilla warfare presents to a regular army, especially in areas of high population density such as the Gaza Strip.

Moreover, many messy so-called "successes" on the ground are wiped out by the price Israel pays in the court of international opinion.

Some analysts believe Sharon is merely waiting until evidence of Palestinian belligerence is so overwhelming that the Israeli response is met with broad international understanding. Under this scenario, Sharon does not believe Arafat will adhere to the cease-fire, but must give Arafat every opportunity to demonstrate his treachery.

In addition, attempts to contain the violence by a broad array of foreign diplomats plainly are having an effect on Sharon.

UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan told CNN on Tuesday that a remarkably broad international consensus is evolving around the cease-fire negotiated last week by CIA director George Tenet.

Annan’s high personal standing in Israel has enabled him to engage Sharon in a meaningful diplomatic dialogue. Annan, who visited the Middle East this week, said the United States, European Union, Russia and other world powers are united behind the cease-fire.

This is noteworthy in a conflict that for decades put superpowers and other nations at odds as they sought to wield influence in the region.

According to another view of the situation, Sharon’s restraint is born of his desire to maintain the close relationship he has forged with the young Bush administration, which clearly would like the cease-fire to take hold.

According to this view, Sharon therefore will continue to grit his teeth and rein in the IDF — at least until after his visit to the United States next week.

Arafat’s motives are similarly opaque. Charitable souls say that after the June 1 disco bombing, he realized Israel had reached the end of its tether and was about to respond with massive force, perhaps toppling the Palestinian Authority itself.

Skeptics, however, believe Arafat is not motivated even by this level of self-preservation but merely chose the cease-fire as a tactical step until international attention moves from the Middle East to other issues. Under this scenario, Arafat then will ratchet up the violence little by little, gradually undermining the cease-fire without openly repudiating it.

Arafat told reporters this week that he had given strict orders to prevent attacks on Israelis, adding that Palestinians "do not commit acts of violence."

If this sort of Palestinian "pacifism" continues at this pace, however, observers here and abroad say a violent Israeli retaliation is inevitable.

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Visiting the Sick

Leave a Comment / Health, Womans Voice /

You’d have no trouble finding me in the treatment area of Cedars-Sinai Cancer Center. Even from a distance, mine is the little roomlet that rings with soft laughter and the sound of — well, yes — a party going on.

How dare I have fun during chemotherapy? It’s not that I look forward to seven hours of treatment. But with four of six rounds behind me, I no longer feel I’m heading into an abyss.

I load up my suitcase with fresh flowers, pretzels stuffed with peanut butter (nurses love them), chocolate-covered peanut butter cups (Leslie, my friend from college, loves them), Raisinettes (I love them). As I pack I’m thrilled that the whole day’s dance card is filled. I will not be left alone.

My small room looks just like any other, with a bed, three chairs, a television and videoplayer. But it’s my friends that make the experience one of pleasure and healing.

Yes, you’re right, I’m heading down my favorite river: Denial. I’m letting my friends distract me from the fact that I have lung cancer for which the word "cure" does not exist.

Certainly I know from A to Z what a typical chemo day brings: large doses of anxiety over whether my white-blood-cell count will be high enough to qualify me for treatment, coupled with large doses of Zofran, the high-octane anti-nausea drug that makes Carboplatin and Taxol tolerable. I will sit until past sunset with my portacath plugged like I’m some electric coffee pot into an IV drip filled with poison trying to kill the bad cells without killing me.

But why should I dwell upon such puny details when I know that Diane, a romance writer and swell raconteur, is driving me to my CAT scan? Leslie is bringing lunch. And before Jill, the Cedars art therapist, has a chance to take out her brushes, I will see Cynthia, Susan, Rona, Marilyn, Marika or any number of surprise guests. Soon enough, we’ll be laughing and talking as if I weren’t as bald as a cue ball and the nurse wasn’t monitoring my blood pressure every 15 minutes. Yes, even in chemotherapy a girl can still have fun.

This is not the attitude I started with. My initial bias was to tough it out alone, to attend my own funeral, working grimly through long months of my illness with my trusty laptop; to let one friend sit with me for the long day to watch "Silence of the Lambs."

But even if I didn’t have Chemo Brain incapable of focus, that scenario does not fit me. And it does not adequately fulfill the Jewish principle of bikkur cholim, visiting the sick.

Bikkur cholim is designed as a community effort, a way in which we all, sick and well, face mortality together. The Talmud states that a person who visits the sick removes one-sixtieth of the illness. Either Cynthia could visit me 60 times or 60 people can visit me once, which is what happened during my lung surgery when intensive care was filled to overflowing. It drove my surgeon crazy, but soon I was feeling fine.

I’ve learned that my illness is not mine alone, after all. It has caused my terrified friends and fellows to schedule long-overdue physicals, begin exercising and get chest x-rays. Who knows, maybe I’ll save their lives, just as they, through their visits, are saving mine.

And yes, I do believe that visiting, like prayer, is saving my life. The story is told of Yochanan Ben Zakkai, a great healer. One day Ben Zakkai became ill. He was visited by Rabbi Hanina, who held out his hand. Ben Zakkai took the hand and stood up. Why couldn’t Ben Zakkai stand up by himself? Because a prisoner cannot free himself from prison, notes the Talmud, especially from the prison of fear, which, along with travel and sin, are the three elements that destroy a person’s health.

That’s why, as Rambam explains, every sick person needs visitors, except those suffering intestinal disease (gas embarrasses the patient) or headaches (conversation creates a racket).

I know people can get through chemo alone. I’ve heard about the lawyer with the laptop whose practice never missed a beat. She put no demands on anyone. But she gave no one the privilege of service, either. The rules of visiting are simple: stay upbeat. Avoid morbid gossip about, say, others who just died of lung cancer. Enemies and depressed people stay away.

During chemo no. 4 last month, the conversation rivaled the best soirée in town: it included the wisdom of the Bush administration, the problems of picking a middle school and college, the question of whether women need breasts after child-bearing, the value of Botox injections, memories of an affair with Warren Beatty (not mine), reviews of the best movies and theater shows, and advice on how to get a film produced in Hollywood.

Some of the best times of my life have happened during treatment. Imagine that.

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