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May 27, 2004

Danger Lurking in U.S.-Israel Linkage

Israel and the United States have more in common than ever as both nations fight the terror scourge. That’s good news, but Jewish leaders would be wise not to get smug about it.

True, this growing commonality may lead to a new understanding in Washington of the difficult decisions Israeli leaders have had to make for years. But linkage also has some big potential downsides.

The war in Iraq could produce a sharp public backlash against U.S. involvement — in that particular conflict and in a region that is hard on traditional American naivete. And that backlash could taint U.S.-Israel relations if the public links failed U.S. policies with Israel.

This is dangerous territory, because so many chronic Israel bashers have made a cottage industry of blaming pro-Israel forces for U.S. involvement in Iraq, from former Republican presidential candidate Pat Buchanan to Sen. Ernest Hollings (D-S.C.), who recently pointed the finger at a cabal of Jewish neocons he said wanted the war to help Israel.

That kind of linkage is inflammatory nonsense.

Polls show U.S. Jews were less supportive of the Iraq venture than Americans in general before last year’s invasion, and that skepticism has remained constant since President Bush prematurely declared "mission accomplished." Almost no major Jewish groups expressed any public views on the war, and few privately lobbied in favor of it.

Still, there is a persistent perception — last echoed by Hollings — that a group of Jewish neoconservatives somehow manipulated a gullible administration into the war to serve Israel’s interests. That kind of warped thinking could become more prevalent and more dangerous as the American people tire of the rising body count and the unending financial drain of the war.

A different kind of linkage is taking place, because of the obvious similarity between U.S. and Israeli policies in their respective wars against terror. The nightly television images tell a powerful story: U.S. forces in Iraq and Afghanistan are doing the same things Israeli troops have been doing for years in Gaza and the West Bank — maintaining an occupation against an enraged population, inflicting unintended civilian casualties in bitter urban warfare and holding large numbers of terror suspects without trial.

That commonality will make it harder for the United States to criticize Israel for tactics the United States is employing in Iraq and Afghanistan. But what happens if U.S. public opinion turns sharply against the war?

Israelis can’t afford the luxury of turning their backs on a terror threat that is an everyday part of their lives, but very few Americans, so far, have been affected by our confrontation with this menace. We could turn our backs on a fight we could come to loathe — and on those who are still fighting it.

A backlash against the war isn’t inevitable, but it will become increasingly likely if the United States cannot work out an effective transfer of power in June and if the current violence deepens. It could accelerate if the prison abuse scandal intensifies — a scandal that seems to suggest that Americans, too, can get sucked into the vicious irrationality of that part of the world.

And that backlash could rub off on Israel, increasingly seen as the United States’ partner not just in the war on terror but in the controversial means used to wage it. While there is no antidote to such a backlash, Jewish leaders can work now to minimize it.

They can avoid gloating over the fact that the United States has adopted may Israeli tactics it previously criticized. That may feel good today, but it could come back to haunt the pro-Israel movement, if the Iraq venture continues to go sour.

They can continue to make it clear that whether Bush’s decision to make Iraq the second battle in the war on terrorism was correct or not, it had nothing to do with a desire to protect Israel.

They can react sharply and with hard facts to those politicians who express their loathing for the war by blaming it on Israel, on pro-Israel organizations or on cabals of Jews, not on the president who was apparently determined to overthrow Saddam Hussein from day one of his administration.

Hollings’ comments last week could have been a teaching opportunity for Jewish groups to remind reporters that Jews are just as divided about the war as Americans in general. Instead, Jewish groups, with the exception of the Anti-Defamation League, were mostly mute.

It’s one thing to say this nation and Israel are involved in a common struggle against international terrorism; it’s something quite different to say that the terror war somehow justifies all of Prime Minister Ariel Sharon’s policies.

The United States and Israel are partners in this global fight, but the leaders of both countries have linked other agendas to that war. That multiplies the possibility that the new linkage may ultimately undermine U.S.-Israel relations.

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Buck Stops at Prisoner Torture

Why am I not surprised at the news of the mistreatment of Iraqis in an American version of Saddam Hussein’s prisons, crimes, which in fact, occurred in the very same Baghdad prison that was notorious as a torture center in pre-occupation Iraq?

Take a group of American men and women in their 20s, mostly with high school educations, move them thousands of miles from their families, place them in dangerous situations amid an alien culture, provide them with little understanding of why they are there other than patriotic platitudes, surround them with a population that apparently hates them on sight and you have all the necessary conditions for what has been going on for some time behind the razor wire and the sandbags surrounding Abu Ghraib.

This is not intended to condone such conduct, but to explain it. Before joining in the deserved and universal condemnation that greeted the photographs and reports from Baghdad, it would behoove us to place them in context. And the most important context is that of war itself.

The purpose of war is to destroy the enemy by any means possible. It is not to die for your country but to make the enemy die for his. To this end, you bomb, shoot, explode, kill, maim and, in general, act in ways that would get you imprisoned or worse as a civilian.

Now, suddenly, you are expected to break all of the laws you were taught to respect back home and to do so with the full backing and approbation of the state, your friends and family.

The condition of war, in short, creates serious problems of cognitive dissonance in citizens of democratic societies. One of the reactions to this conundrum is to lash out in anger at the nearest targets available for blaming for the situation.

If they are helpless to strike back, and your superiors ignore or even encourage such behavior, so much the easier. My guess is that the offending troops slept well at night, much relieved of their anxieties.

I recall one incident from Israel’s War of Independence that occurred a few days after we wrested Beersheba from the Egyptians. Some of the Egyptians we had captured were kept in the courtyard of a mosque, and suddenly, one of our soldiers started tossing hand grenades over the fence and into the crowd.

No one moved to stop him, and when he used up his grenades, he walked away. I don’t know the toll of dead and wounded, but it must have been considerable.

It turned out that his brother, in another unit, had been captured by the Egyptians, cut up into pieces and left on a road for us to find. However inexcusable, one can understand the context of his action. I don’t think he was ever punished for it, and he was quietly discharged from the service.

The same happens in all armies. You need only read of the constant humiliations suffered by Palestinians at Israeli checkpoints, or the willful physical damage caused by soldiers breaking into Palestinian homes (the same complaint voiced by many Iraqis) to understand the mindless cruelties that even the most disciplined military units commit against the enemy, deserving or not.

The media are quoting the parents of the accused soldiers as refusing to believe that their sons and daughters could commit such atrocities. That is an understandable reaction, and they are probably right.

At home, they would never have acted in that way. They live in communities where everyone knows everyone else, community norms are respected, religion acts as a damper on aberrant behavior and from which they escaped by joining the military.

As of this writing, the Army has scheduled courts-martial for some of the easily identified of the troops and reprimands for others.

Harry Truman had a plaque on his desk that read "The buck stops here." In these situations, the responsibility for such behavior lies first with those who committed the indecencies. More goes to the unit’s commanding officers who condoned them. But beyond that, the blame must be shared by those political leaders who sent men and women into situations for which they were culturally unprepared, poorly motivated and badly trained.

The rest of us should be asking ourselves how we elected such people to office. In the end, the buck stops with us.


Yehuda Lev is a former associate editor of The Jewish Journal.

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Barbaric Acts Kill Palestinian Sympathy

I know there are many Palestinians out there who are sickened and ashamed by what happened in Gaza to the remains of the six dead Israeli soldiers.

I don’t hold them responsible; I don’t associate them with those acts just because they are Palestinians or Arabs, not in any way.

In fact, I think it’s important now to remember Arabs like the Palestinian man who drowned in the Sea of Galilee a couple of years ago trying to save a drowning Israeli boy. I remember a Jaffa Arab who was killed in 1992, I think, trying to stop a wild man from Gaza who was slashing at Jewish children with a saber.

An old Iraqi Jewish woman in Ramat Gan once told me how her neighbor back in Baghdad, a rich Sunni Muslim, had sheltered her family and scores of other local Jews from a pogrom, and had told the rioters that if they wanted to kill the Jews in his house, they would have to kill him first. A lot of Jews who survived the 1929 pogrom in Hebron could have described the same kind of scenes.

There are some Arabs who have a humanity and courage that is rare to find in any society — including, by the way, among Jews. Then there are many Arabs, although I can’t guess what proportion, who are just ordinary decent people.

But there are some Arabs living in the Middle East who are, to say the least, indecent. They do things that Jews here or anywhere else don’t do, no matter the provocation — and Jews over the years have had their provocations, including some even worse than anything faced by the Palestinians.

There is no shortage of Israeli soldiers who have done despicable things to Palestinians — although less despicable, on the whole, than what soldiers in most, if not all, other armies have been known to do to their enemies.

The point is, we are living next to a society that is, for all its decent people and even its righteous gentiles, different from ours in a crucial way: some of its members are out and out monsters.

Their behavior is utterly demented, yet they’re perfectly sane. Worse, they’re not only tolerated, they’re cheered by many of their peers. And the decent members of Palestinian society seem powerless to stop them or prevent them from coming out again and again.

I’m an Israeli leftist who hates the occupation, and there are a lot of things the Palestinians do that I’m willing to put down to circumstances, to this long tragedy we’ve been living in. Zionists, after all, deliberately killed plenty of innocent Arab civilians in the ’30s and ’40s.

But there are no circumstances that mitigate this reveling in the body parts of the enemy, the grabbing and parading of Israeli bones and gore as trophies. That’s something that can’t be traced to politics, and there is no political solution for it.

Wherever this behavior comes from, it didn’t begin with the bone-snatching in Gaza’s Zeitoun neighborhood. In this intifada, it began with the crowd dancing on the blood of the two soldiers lynched in Ramallah. It resurfaced when two boys in Tekoa were bludgeoned literally to a pulp. It gets reprised every time a crowd of Palestinians gathers to celebrate another bus full of Israelis getting blown apart.

This prominent feature of the intifada has hollowed out any idealism I once had about “making up” with the Palestinians and becoming good neighbors. While there are so many I’ve met whom I would love to have as neighbors in my apartment building, and a great many more I haven’t met who are in no way monsters, as far as the Palestinian nation goes, I want a hard border between them and us, and separate national lives — because of what we were reminded of at Zeitoun, because Palestinian society allows that element to flourish.

I’m afraid that this deformed face of the intifada has withered the idealism of a lot of people on the Zionist left. I don’t think it’s made anybody a fan of the occupation, or changed their ideas about where the final borders should be, but it’s blighted the spirit of the peace movement. Speaking for myself, it’s deadened my heart toward the Palestinians.

As much as ever, I’m still filled with rage at Israelis who enjoy abusing and humiliating innocent people. I still have no tolerance for sadism. But my attitude has become sort of abstract, a matter of conscience alone, because while I still feel fury at the bullies, I no longer feel compassion for the victims.

If I knew that the civilians being treated viciously were not enthusiasts of Hamas, Islamic Jihad or Al Aqsa Martyrs Brigade, that they did not root for the violent deaths of Israeli children, then my heart would go out to them as before.

But since the intifada began, I know there’s a very strong chance that a given Palestinian goes around hoping that the suicide bombers will get through. So unless I know otherwise, I’ll believe in his human rights, but I can’t feel any sympathy for him. Too much candy has passed between Palestinian hands for that.

Sympathy for the Palestinians and shame over their repression were the animating emotions of the Israeli peace movement, but the eager barbarity of the intifada has removed much of that shame and about all of the sympathy. What remains for peaceniks is a hatred of injustice and brutality, and a yearning for security, but a numbed heart.

To all the brave and humane or even just decent Palestinians out there, I’m sorry. In no way am I blaming you. I just hope you won’t blame me, either.


Larry Derfner is the Tel Aviv correspondent for The Jewish Journal.

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The Attack on Secularism

The new book "Freethinkers: A History of American Secularism" (Metropolitan Books), by writer and social critic Susan Jacoby, is a historical work but it is also an unabashed polemic on an acutely topical issue: the role of religion in public life in modern-day America. In the opening pages, Jacoby cites President Bush’s presiding over an ecumenical prayer service at Washington’s National Cathedral three days after the Sept. 11 attacks as evidence of "the erosion of America’s secularist tradition." The book’s publicity emphasizes this theme: The publisher’s press release and four of the six blurbs (including ones from eminent writer Arthur Miller and historian Arthur Schlesinger) assert that free thought in America is under "unprecedented attack" from a rising tide of official religiosity.

The history in Jacoby’s book is fascinating. She makes a convincing argument that, contrary to the assertions of many conservatives today, the Founding Fathers did, in fact, intend to create a secular government. The Constitution’s lack of any reference to God or divine sanction was not an accidental oversight, or an omission of something that everyone implicitly took for granted anyway. On the contrary, the godlessness of the Constitution, along with its rejection of a religious test for public office, was a source of major controversy during the ratification debates. Religious traditionalists warned that the Constitution’s irreligiousness would bring God’s wrath down on American citizens — in language reminiscent of claims by some of their modern-day descendants after Sept. 11 that God withdrew his protection from America because Americans have turned away from him.

Jacoby also cites evidence that Thomas Jefferson championed religious liberty not only for different religious denominations but for nonbelievers, and that James Madison wanted not only the federal government but the state governments to be prohibited from making laws that would either interfere with or promote religion.

And yet Jacoby’s account also demonstrates that today’s antisecularist backlash is far from unique — rather, it’s part of a cyclical pattern that has persisted throughout American history. At the end of the 18th century, the climate in which the Founders’ Enlightenment rationalism flourished, gave way to the first "religious reaction." Indeed, Jacoby acknowledges that "had the Constitution been written in 1797 instead of 1787, it is entirely possible that God, not ‘we, the people,’ would have been credited with supreme governmental authority." Jefferson’s and Madison’s secularist views became a political liability; Thomas Paine, the British-born American patriot, was vilified and ostracized because of his opposition to organized religion.

Of the Civil War, Jacoby writes that "the intensity of the Christian imagery associated with the Union cause [was] never equaled before or since the war." ("The Battle Hymn of the Republic" is a prime example.) Even in the late 19th century, which she calls the "Golden Age of Freethought," when outspoken atheists and agnostics such as attorney and orator Robert Ingersoll enjoyed success as public speakers, tolerance definitely had its fairly narrow limits. In an editorial after Ingersoll’s death, The New York Times noted — with approval — that his irreligion had effectively barred him from a career in public service for which he was otherwise highly qualified.

The present-day backlash against secularism is a reaction to the decline of traditional religion in the 1960s and ’70s, and to the secularist victories in the courts — from the ban on school prayer to the legalization of abortion. Despite the religious revival of the past 20 years, in some ways our society is more secular than it ever was. With a few exceptions, the courts have maintained fairly solid barriers to religious intrusions in the public sphere (sometimes, arguably, to the extent of discriminating against religion). Jacoby deplores the use of tax-funded vouchers for parochial schools as an unprecedented breach of the church-state wall — but it’s useful to remember that for most of our history the curriculum of public schools was explicitly infused with Protestant Christian teachings.

Jacoby makes a powerful plea for a civic language that does not exclude nonbelievers. She notes that while religious references in public life today are emphatically nonsectarian and inclusive toward Jews, Muslims and Hindus, the nonreligious constitute a far larger segment of the population than any of these religious minorities. This is an important reminder. Intolerance toward atheists and agnostics, who are often viewed as less moral or even less patriotic than believers, remains one of the few forms of socially accepted bigotry.

But, for better or worse, there is nothing new about this bias. We live in a time of tension and conflict between secularists and religious traditionalists. As "Freethinkers" demonstrates, this tension is as American as apple pie.


Cathy Young is a contributing editor at Reason magazine. Her column appears regularly in the Globe.

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Like a Jew in a Bagel Store

I’m no longer a virgin. To Israel, that is. This single babe just returned from her maiden voyage to the land of milk and honey. And all I can say is — there were a lot of honeys. Jewish men everywhere.

In the restaurants, on the streets, in the shops — I didn’t know where to flirt first. Forget a kid in a candy store, I was like a Jew in a bagel store. I’ll take a dozen — hot ones if you have them. Israel is a single Jewish girl’s fantasy.

Take one of my Tel Aviv adventures. I was downing a Maccabee Beer in a disco on the pier when it hit me: Every guy in this club is Jewish — they’re all fair game. The cute guy in the corner, the tall guy drinking Goldstar, the fine guy who asked me to dance and the young guy who could not ask at all. Every man here has a "for sale" sign. This must be what the rest of the world feels like — everyone they meet is a potential mate.

In Los Angeles, it’s all about the Jew-crew prescreen for me. When I get to a bar, first thing I do is a lap. OK, first thing I do is a shot. Second thing I do is a lap. Once I locate the hot guys, the real fun begins. Will the real Slim Schwartzie please stand up? OK, it’s not that bad. But without a secret password or members-only handshake, I have to do some fast detective work to uncover the boys’ roots. I open with subtle overtures like, "Where’d you go to school? When’d you graduate? When was your bar mitzvah?" Sometimes I slip in the, "Hi, my name’s Carin. What’s your last name?" or the ever-popular "Can I buy you a drink? Are you circumcised?" We even turn it into a drinking game, "Name That Jew." Every time you correctly ID a Jew in a bar, you pound a beer.

Some guys pass the Tribe test, but in a room of 100 random American men, statistics say I’ve narrowed my options to 2.2 of them. One of them is probably hitting on the 21-year-old blonde who’s up for a WB pilot and the other is usually a band geek without an instrument.

By dating only Jews, I really limit my pool. We’re not talking Olympic-size pool or even kiddie pool. Picture the small plastic pool you can purchase at Toys R Us. No — picture a bathtub. That’s my sample size.

So why put myself through that? Why restrict myself to .02 percent of the single men in the world? I haven’t always. In college I dated and fell love with an incredible Catholic guy. I told myself we’d work the religion thing out, we could compromise. But eventually I realized I didn’t want to compromise. Not about this. Judaism is an essential part of my life, it’s Carin to the core. I’d be lying to myself if I said it wasn’t. So now I only pick up Jews. Cuz’ you never know when that flirt’s gonna lead to a date, and that date to a relationship and that relationship to a puffy white dress and a drunken wedding hora. So for me it’s Heeb or nothing.

It’d be easier if I went outside the Jewish circle. I’d meet more men, I’d go on more dates, I could be married by now. But not under a chuppah. And there’s the snag. Dancing in that Tel Aviv club, I realized what it feels like to have my choice of any man at the bar. It feels amazing — I love the multiple choice. But more importantly, I realized what it feels to be in a bar packed with fellow Jews. The connection I felt to the people in the room — these were my peeps. And my future husband, he’s gonna be one of us. While dating only Jews limits my choices, it’s the only choice for me. Which is why I loved Israel’s all-you-can-date buffet. I was dancing on a platform in that Tel Aviv club when my friend, Amy, introduced us.

"Carin, this is Eli."

I owe Amy big time. In the movie of his life, Eli was hot enough to play himself. He had a cocky smile and a tight little Israeli boot-camp bootie. I didn’t have to hunt for the hecksher before we started kissing. In Israel, you know the guys are kosher.

If only it were that easy in Los Angeles. I’m back in Hollywood and trawling the scene for Jewish men. It’s frustrating, looking for mensch in a haystack. I miss my Israeli all-access pass. When a date goes poorly in Los Angeles, we say there’s always more fish in the sea. But in Israel, there’s a whole sea of Jewish fish waiting to be caught.


Carin Davis is a freelance writer and
can be reached at sports@jewishjournal.com.

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Face to Face

Before he was the Buddha, or Enlightened One, Prince Siddhartha lived a luxurious life behind the walls of his family castle. But each time he ventured out, the legend goes, he discovered the lame, the halt, the dying. His squire, Chandara, convinced him to ignore such things, as the world was full of suffering. Then his wife gave birth, and Siddhartha, at 29, was struck by the inexplicable mysteries of life and death. Late one night, he kissed his sleeping wife and newborn son goodbye and wandered out of the palace with Chandara to find the answer to how one overcomes suffering.

I read this legend in the home of my friends, John and Jip, in Seattle last weekend, and it struck me why I would make a lousy Buddhist. I imagined Siddhartha’s wife as she awoke the next day and was told her husband left her and her newborn to find the meaning of human suffering. I imagined what if Siddhartha’s wife was Jewish. He did what? He wanted to find out what? Suffering? Let him stay, I’ll show him suffering….

My friend John is a school librarian. Jip — her name is pronounced Jeep, the sound of a young bird — was born and raised in a village near Chaing Mai in Thailand. She was working as a nurse in a refugee camp on the Thai-Cambodian border when she met John, who was teaching English at the camp.

She came with him back to Seattle, where she earned her master’s in public health at the University of Washington. They married. Not long afterward, doctors diagnosed Jip with multiple sclerosis.

That was 13 years ago. Now Jip — a beautiful, bright, luminous, raven-haired and almond-eyed 42-year-old — is a quadriplegic. She has lost feeling below her chest, lost the use of her arms and legs, and she has gone almost completely blind. Her limp, recalcitrant body is confined to a medieval assortment of wheelchairs, body lifts and standing platforms.

Weekdays, home-care aides come and assist her. Nights and weekends, John tends to her. The financial toll of home-care on a middle-income couple is simply bankrupting.

The emotional toll is something I tried my best to fathom, as I watched John manipulate Jip’s spasmodic legs, lift her in and out of their car for a picnic, bring her food and drink. They disappeared behind their bedroom door for hours, as he bathed and dressed her and took her to the bathroom. This was my weekend; this is their life.

They have friends, literally. Their community of Quakers has formed a "care committee" to provide practical and spiritual support. The committee makes sure someone brings over dinner four nights each week. The committee meets on Sunday to help them strategize on medical treatment, deal with mundane errands, help make life-and-death decisions. It is bikur holim, the prescribed act of visiting the sick, taken to yet another level. "They’re there for me as much as for Jip," John told me.

John and Jip’s home has acquired many of the same books my cousin’s apartment had after he was diagnosed with ALS, or Lou Gherig’s disease: "The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying," Anne Lamott’s "Traveling Mercies," numerous volumes by the Dalai Lama and the Vietnamese Buddhist teacher, Thich Nhat Hahn, books on healing and nutrition.

If there are no atheists in foxholes, there are few dogmatists facing serious illness. In the cereal aisle of American spirituality, people can pick through great traditions to find the little parts that work for them — antioxidants, acupuncture, meditation, snippets from the kaballah, quotes from Thomas Merton. Whatever works. To be fair, though, Jip was a practicing Buddhist long before she ever walked into a Barnes and Noble.

When John disappeared with Jip into their room, I plunged through their books; I needed them all. Intellectually, I know people have been on this wheel of birth and suffering and death for thousands of years, and no one has figured it out, no one has escaped, and no one has resigned him or herself to it.

Faced with what John and Jip have to endure, I was wondering if any of those books on their shelves offered, well, The Answer. When my cousin was dying, I’d read many of these same books, but the wisdom doesn’t stick, and every anguish seems fresh and inexplicable.

I read like a fiend but stopped short when I came to that story of Siddhartha. I know little of Buddhism and apologize in advance for insulting readers who do, but it struck me that John and Jip, by staying put, by facing the suffering in their own home, were on a path as holy and transcendent as any Prince Siddhartha undertook.

If Siddhartha were Jewish, I’d like to believe he would have turned back to the castle to be with his wife and son. The Book of Isaiah speaks of a time when God will "swallow up death forever … and will wipe away tears from all faces." But that will be then, this is now.

In the face of sorrow, suffering and death, Judaism puts aside the big questions for prescribed practices: rituals, traditions, prayers. Confronting her father’s long and difficult illness, historian Deborah Lipstadt reflected once that Jewish traditions are "the exact antithesis of the tendency to separate oneself from reality." Understanding is not the aim. The key is to face it, not fear it.

John, a young and vibrant man devoted in his care to his ailing wife, was the embodiment of that. If Suffering thought it could scare off this son of the Midwest with gentle blue eyes and broad smile, it thought wrong.

As for any Big Answer I sought, the closest I came was on the flight back to Los Angeles. I was watching the movie, "American Splendor," about the middle-aged Jewish American comic book author Harvey Pekar. "Life seems so sweet and so sad," Pekar says, "and so hard to let go of in the end."

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Holy Doubt

Rabbi Elie Spitz wrote a wonderful book, titled "Does the Soul Survive?," dealing with life after death, but for me this title is the question that I continuously ask in regard to life after birth. Does our soul survive the journey that we lead it through in our lifetime? How do we know that what we are doing with our life and the way we are trying to sustain our soul is indeed life-affirming? In the instances of blurred vision, how do we embrace the not knowing — the doubt? And beyond all, is there room to serve God from a place of doubt and transform our doubt from a distancing agent into holy doubt that functions as an indicator of intimacy and faith in the One And Only?

Rabbi Mordechai Yosef of Ishbitza (1800-1853), in his unique Chasidic teachings, the Mei HaShiloach, portrays the three sons of Levi, as described in this week’s Torah portion, as three models of serving God. The first, Gershon, is the "Ba’al Yir’ah" — the master of awe and trepidation. The sons of Gershom carry the curtains of the Mishkan (tabernacle), which creates partitions and separates the realm of holy (the Mishkan) from all that is outside of it. Gershom represents our concern to never deviate from God’s will. The children of Gershom will shy away from the unknown, for maybe they will be transgressing God’s will in their actions.

His brother, Kehat, represents his counterpart — the "Ba’alei Torah" — the masters of the Torah. The sons of Kehat, the Levites that carry the Holy Ark on their own shoulders, represent those of us that have mastered their Torah study in such a way that we can bare the Torah on our bear shoulders. We are aligned with God’s will and hence always able to decipher through all that we’ve learned what it is that God wants of us at any given moment.

And the third son, Merari, carries the poles — the foundation — of the Mishkan. He is the spokesperson for those of us who choose the middle road — not overly cautious, not overly daring. The sons of Merari are the "Ba’alei Mitzvot u’Ma’asim Tovim" — the masters of the commandments and good deeds. You will never find yourself questioning their actions — they are exactly who they appear to be. No agony in their journey, yet no ecstasy as well. Masters of simplicity.

Close reading of the Ishbitzer Rebbe uncovers yet another trait other than their parents that they share in common — their doubt in regard to their choice of service. Gershom lives in doubt, for maybe he restricted himself from a realm that God actually desired him to embrace. Kehat questions, "maybe I will go to far, maybe I can’t really always master my Maker’s wisdom and know what is asked of me." And Merari understands all too well what is the meaning of "no pain, no gain" and questions if his service is real and if he lacks growing pains.

For the Ishbitzer Rebbe we embody indeed all three of these paradigms, actualizing them at different junctions of our lives. The one constant element that we take with us is our doubt — our holy doubt — regardless of the path we choose. Our holy doubt is our indication that our soul is still alive and indeed surviving the journey of life.

Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach (1925-1994) used to say, "The world to come is a big movie theater! In one eye you see every moment of your life — your actions, thoughts, desires; your moments of fear and of joy. In your other eye you see every moment of what your life was to be (I hate the word should as in "should have been") — again, every detail of the totality of who you are. When you see two different movies simultaneously, these are moments of hell, and when you see the same movie with both eyes, these are moments of heaven."

I believe that one doesn’t have to die in order to inherit heaven or hell — there are moments in our life that we are in the right place in the right time doing the right thing. These are moments of heaven. There are moments that one of those components is not aligned with the others and those are moments of hell.

There is a part of me that believes that we know to distinguish between these moments. A voice that continuously asks, "Was this heaven, or rather, hell?" There are times the answer is clear. Yet there are also other moments, when my clarity is blurred: the not knowing, the holy doubt seeps in.

When this happens I take refuge in the last verse of our Torah portion (Bamidbar 7: 89): Moshe, in his moments of not knowing, enters into the Ohel Mo’ed — the tent of Meeting — to speak to God. And as Moshe would do, we too, can enter into our own Ohel Mo’ed — the place we encounter God. We, too, try to grasp the murmurs of the Divine as He speaks to Himself.

I have learned from this holy eavesdropping that what we share with God is our faith and our doubt. So many times our "What do I know?" and "Could this really be happening?" is but an echo of the Divine questioning and embracing the unknown in faith.


Reb Mimi Feigelson is lecturer of rabbinic literature at the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies at the University of Judaism.

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Community Briefs

Long-Term Sinai Akiba TeachersHonored

Twenty-nine teachers who have worked at Sinai Akiba Academy in west Los Angeles for at least seven years will receive up to $5,000 a piece for recognition of their long service.

The teacher appreciation award, endowed with a $200,000 gift from high-tech entrepreneur Neil Kadisha and his philanthropist wife, Dora, will pay $3,000 to teachers with seven years or more experience. Teachers with at least 20 years at the school, including 36-year veteran Rivka Shaked, will receive $5,000.

Going forward, teachers receiving the $3,000 award this year are ineligible for additional payments until they reach the 20-year-mark, when they qualify for a one-time $5,000 award.

“These awards are a huge morale boost for our teachers,” said Larry Scheindlin, headmaster at Sinai Akiba. “It is through them that our traditions and values are passed on to the next generation.”

The awards will be officially announced June 1 at Sinai Akiba’s teacher appreciation luncheon. — Marc Ballon, Senior Writer

‘Wall’ Burning Possible Hate Crime

The burning of a mock “security wall,” erected by Arab students on the Irvine campus of the University of California, is being investigated as a possible arson attack and hate crime.

The wall, consisting of stacked cardboard boxes and measuring 6-by-8 feet, went up in flames late last week in the university’s main quad.

UCI’s Society of Arab Students had obtained a permit to put up the wall to protest the security fence built by Israel as a barrier against terrorist infiltration.

“It’s assumed to be a politically motivated act,” but might have been merely a target of opportunity, said UCI spokesman Tom Vasich, according to the Orange County Register.

A signboard for a campus convenience store was set on fire at the same time, but police were uncertain whether the two incidents were connected.

The Southern California chapter of the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR) urged the FBI and police to investigate the wall burning as a hate crime, “because of the ethnic and religious nature of the display and its sponsors.”

There had been no threat or complaint about the wall, which had been standing for a week, Vasich said. — Tom Tugend, Contributing Editor

Nobel Laureate Says Judaism Not toBlame

Human rights activists Shirin Ebadi, the first Iranian and the first Muslim woman to win the Nobel Peace Prize, said that Judaism is not to blame for Jewish violence in Israel, drawing parallels to Christian misdeeds in Bosnia and Muslims in the Middle East who kill in the name of Allah. “Moses was a harbinger of justice and right,” she said.

Ebadi’s comments came during a Burkle Center-sponsored appearance at UCLA’s Royce Hall on May 14, which drew about 1,400 people. During her address she also called on the government of Iran to release political prisoners and reform election law.

“Separate the faults of people from religion and culture,” Ebadi added. “Not only are the cultures not in conflict with one another but they have a lot of common ground.” — Adam Wills, Associate Editor

Olympic-Size Anti-Semitism

In the runup to the August Olympic Games in Athens, the Simon Wiesenthal Center has urged the International Olympic Committee (IOC) to vigorously protest to the Greek government the continuing “epidemic” of anti-Semitic rhetoric and hate crimes.

Rabbi Abraham Cooper, the Center’s associate dean, transmitted to IOC President Jacques Rogge a timeline report, citing “anti-Semitic and racist invective [in the mainstream Greek media], which has become a scourge that has reached epidemic proportions, making Greece the greatest net producer of anti-Semitism in Europe today.”

The report, “25 Months of Anti-Semitic Invective in Greece: March 2002 – April 2004,” was compiled by the Center and the Greek Helsinki Monitor.

At the same time, the Wiesenthal Center renewed its advisory on travel to Greece, suggesting that visitors “use extreme caution.”

Despite a series of meetings with high Greek officials, Dr. Shimon Samuels, the Center’s European director, noted that “Greece has done nothing to pursue those guilty of hate crimes, to condemn Nazi-style slurs in the media or even to express its concern at the situation to the Greek people.”

In a related development, Rep. Brad Sherman (D-Sherman Oaks) met Friday with Greek Prime Minister Konstantinos Karamanlis and asked him to reevaluate his country’s policy on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

Specifically, Sherman pressed Karamanlis to state clearly that “the so-called right of return of Palestinian refugees should simply means the right to return to a Palestinian state.”

Sherman added that “I would like to see European countries … state exactly what the King of Jordan told me, that we cannot insist on the right of return for the Palestinians, except a right to immigrate to a newly created Palestinian state.

“A two-state solution means a Jewish and an Arab state, not two Arab states, one formerly known as Israel.”

Sherman is the ranking Democrat on the House Subcommittee on Terrorism, Nonproliferation and Human Rights. — TT

College Library System Gets IsraeliHelp

Following Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger’s visit to Israel, Jerusalem high-tech company Ex Libris announced the sale of its library portal software MetaLib to the California Digital Library, a service that catalogs and collates 26 million books in California’s university libraries. Ex Libris products are in use in about 80 libraries in 50 countries. — AW

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Holocaust Museum to Reopen Doors

The Los Angeles Museum of the Holocaust (LAMH), dubbed the “Wandering Jew of the Community” by one survivor, has lost one more rented home, found interim shelter in another, but is dreaming of a permanent place of its own.

Led by a self-described “quixotic” physician as chairman and a feisty executive director, the museum is fighting tenaciously for its survival and insists that it fulfills a needed mission in Los Angeles and in Holocaust education.

The odds facing the hard-pressed LAMH include its proximity to the high-profile Simon Wiesenthal Center-Museum of Tolerance, diminishing financial backing from The Jewish Federation of Greater Los Angeles and declining involvement by the Holocaust survivors who founded the museum.

Yet, there are hopeful signs. Executive Director Rachel Jagoda has sent out a flurry of grant proposals and has been rewarded with a $100,000 check from the Annenberg Foundation and lesser sums from three other foundations and a German bank. Best of all has been a $3 million pledge from highly respected Holocaust survivor, who wishes to remain anonymous, earmarked as the building block for a permanent museum.

It is the dream of Jagoda and chairman Dr. Gary Schiller that the structure might rise on city-owned land in the midtown Pan Pacific Park, next to the Los Angeles Holocaust Monument.

The museum had its beginning in 1961, when a group of survivors donated artifacts from their concentration camp experiences and founded what was then known as the Los Angeles Martyrs Memorial and Museum of the Holocaust.

The first home was a single room in The Jewish Federation building at 6505 Wilshire Blvd. In 1978, the museum took over an entire floor of the building, and the space expansion allowed it to add extensive exhibits and photo displays, archives and a resource center, in addition to initiating tours and programs for the public and students.

As space in the building became tighter, the museum moved to various other floors, each time to smaller quarters, Jagoda said. In the late 1990s, when The Federation had to temporarily evacuate 6505 to repair earthquake damage, the museum and the community library rented a small separate building on Wilshire’s museum row.

There the museum staged a number of well-received displays, most recently an exhibit on the Nazi persecution of homosexuals, which attracted 5,000 visitors.

The staff and volunteers also expanded the mentor and educational programs at about 60 public and private schools, mostly in the inner city, involving about 2,500 middle and senior high school students.

Early this year, the landlord announced that he was converting the museum building to condos and evicted the tenants. Left homeless, the museum was forced to close its doors March 1 and put the exhibits in storage.

After much frantic scrambling, LAHM signed a lease to take over the street floor of the ORT Building at 6435 Wilshire Blvd., next to The Federation headquarters. There, the redesigned museum is expected to open in June or July.

In the past few years, as annual Federation support for the museum dropped from $189,000 to $120,000 to the current $60,000, relations have soured.

Now facing annual expenses of $400,000 for operations, rent and a three-person staff, the museum leadership has its work cut out. Schiller pins some of his hopes on the Hollywood community, with whom he is planning a major fund raiser.

However, the museum’s support from survivors, its original base, keeps going down. Except for the $3 million pledge, “they haven’t stepped up to the plate,” Jagoda said.

Dr. Samuel Goetz, a survivor and chairman of the museum board from 1995-1999, countered that many of the most active survivors have died, and that others have become frustrated by the museum’s lack of continuity.

A more fundamental question is whether at a time when giving to Jewish communal institutions is flat and demands in Israel and at home are rising, if support for the Holocaust museum is money well spent.

Schiller vigorously answers in the affirmative. The 40-year-old hematologist and oncologist at the UCLA Medical Center, and a noted researcher in leukemia and bone marrow transplants, draws on his own practice for an analogy.

“I am frequently asked why we should spend money to save the life of a 60-year-old cancer patient, when there are millions of kids who haven’t been vaccinated,” he said. “I answer that it’s not one or the other. We have the financial resources to do both.”

As cities with much smaller Jewish populations have shown, there is enough money for a first-rate Holocaust museum, community centers and other needs, if the whole community is involved, rather than relying mainly on a handful of big-time philanthropists, who are hit up for every cause, Jagoda argued.

Nor does Schiller believe that the Wiesenthal Center, whose work he admires, obviates the need for a community Holocaust museum.

“The Wiesenthal Center and its Museum of Tolerance are nonsectarian and deal with universal discrimination and genocides,” he said. “We are focused purely on the Holocaust. We have strong relationships with schools and colleges, and we reach out to parts of Los Angeles nobody else reaches.”

For information, contact Rachel Jagoda at (323) 651-3704or visit www.lamuseumoftheholocaust.org .

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The new face of Russian Jewry

When Tatyana Sharfman applied to immigrate to the United States, she was not yet sure that she wanted to leave her native country of Russia. Her aunt, who had left Russia in 1992 and now lives in the San Fernando Valley, was determined to bring over the rest of the family, and so Sharfman began to fill out the necessary documents.

“She kept asking us, ‘What are you doing over there?'” Sharfman recalled. “We didn’t take it seriously, really, but we filled out some papers just because we had these papers.”

Sharfman knew that it was typically a long process to emigrate from Russia, and she did not really expect to be accepted. However, one day the approved documents were returned by the government, and her family faced a life-changing decision: “To come or not to come?”

Life in Russia was good. Well, maybe not exactly good, but livable. Although Sharfman was a single mother living in an apartment with her parents, she worked as a cardiologist in a local hospital in central Russia, and both she and her father had jobs, which enabled the family to live a fairly comfortable lifestyle.

The decision to leave really came down to the future of her son, Aleksandr. Although he was only 8 years old at the time, Sharfman knew that when he turned 18, he would be required to join the army, a fate she did not desire for him.

“If we were just old people, we probably would have remained there,” she explained. “But when I thought about the future of my Alek, my son, I [was] so concerned about his future in my country.”

So four years ago, Sharfman and her family decided pack their belongings and move to California. She is one of the new immigrants from the former Soviet Union. She did not leave during the last great wave of Russian immigrants, which began after Mikhail Gorbachev came to power and instituted his policy of glasnost. At that time, tens of thousands of Russian Jews fled their homeland and came to the United States, where they largely settled in densely populated urban areas, such as New York and Los Angeles.

According to the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society (HIAS), the greatest number of Russian Jews immigrated to the United States in 1992, with 45,871 arrivals. After the peak, the number of Russian Jews entering the country declined steadily until 2001 — the last year documented by HIAS — when only 2,077 refugees resettled in the United States.

Largely due to the influx of Jewish refugees in the ’90s and the new immigrants who continue to come, the city of Los Angeles considers the Russian community the fastest-growing community in the city. Patricia Villasenor, immigration policy adviser for the city’s Human Relations Commission, said this information is based on the 2000 census, which actually measures population change from 1990.

“According to the 2000 census, one of the fastest-growing communities in Los Angeles County is the Russian and/or Eastern Bloc ethnicities, in particular Russian Jews,” Villasenor reported by e-mail. “Now, this isn’t saying it [is] the largest community but the fastest growing, the total population for Los Angeles County is less than 3.8 percent, but it has grown significantly in the last five years, a growth rate of almost 22 percent.”

Not everyone is convinced that the figures are accurate.

Despite Villasenor’s statement, it is impossible to gauge the exact number of Russian Jews immigrating to the United States, because official U.S. census information only records the number of Russian immigrants to the country. It does not break down groups according to religion.

There are a few guesses, however, and Los Angeles-based demographer Pini Herman of Phillips and Herman Demographic Research estimates that at the peak of the mid-’90s immigration wave, about 8,000 Russian Jews moved to the Los Angeles area annually.

These Jews were fleeing a Russia that offered no freedom of religion. Even the government practiced discrimination as part of its official policy.

However, Sharfman, her parents and son did not flee this earlier Russia. The immigrants who have come since 2000 left a somewhat reformed Russia. At the time they left, there was even a new synagogue built in the town were Sharfman lived.

Sharfman is typical of this fast growing immigrant group, of Russian-born Jews in Los Angeles, especially the San Fernando Valley. These newer arrivals are more savvy, educated, and able to deal with the system. They are not the “poor Russian Jews” from decades past, who needed to be the local Jewish community’s first priority, in getting them out of communist Russia and in resettling them here.

But for people like Sharfman, the new realities of the Russian community present a problem: because they are no longer a priority, sometimes they are left to flounder on their own. And the local Jewish community still needs not to forget them.

“The American Jewish community is not as interested anymore in the immigrants as they were when we were coming, and there is not as much help,” said Helen Levin, executive director of the West Hollywood Russian Community Center who came to Los Angeles in 1988 after being a rufusenik for nine years. She and her husband, Eugene Levin, publisher of the Russian-language newspaper, Panorama, have thrived in their new country, but she fears adjustment may be harder for the new immigrants.

Although it would seem that life in the United States would be easier for the new immigrants, because there are many established sources of information and already a sizable community of previous Russian immigrants, this is not always the case. “Then, there were calls coming in from employers who [specifically] wanted to hire Russian immigrants,” Levin said.

Upon arriving in the United States, Sharfman moved into a small apartment in Van Nuys with her son and parents. In her new country, the 38-year-old doctor was not licensed to practice medicine and has since returned to school in hopes of getting a nursing degree. But first, she had to learn the language.

Sitting at a Starbucks in a strip mall in the San Fernando Valley, the petite brunette, wearing a red shirt under a bright pink vest, blends in with the rest of the morning coffee crowd. It is not until she begins to speak that her broken English, still tinged with Russian inflections, reveals her immigrant status.

Sharfman was never a rufusenik. She did not lose her job when she applied to leave Russia, was not harassed by the government and was not trapped. Sharfman said that her decision to leave Russia had nothing to do with her Jewish heritage.

This is not to say that there is no anti-Semitism in Russia. Sharfman acknowledged that her sense of safety came from the fact that she did not tell anyone that she was Jewish, and she did not practice Judaism. Sharfman also thinks that she blended into the Russian population, so people did not know she was Jewish.

“I am not look like, maybe completely like, Jewish,” she said tentatively, as if searching for the right words. “Maybe that is why I didn’t feel it so hard, because people, of course, think negatively about Jewish people.”

Sharfman said at times co-workers would tell her negative things about Jews, not realizing that she was also Jewish. Although she does not claim anti-Semitism as a factor in her decision to emigrate, Sharfman is grateful for the religious freedom she found in the United States.

Many of the new immigrants do claim anti-Jewish attitudes play a role in their decision to leave Russia. For Michael B., a 29-year-old doctor who prefers to remain anonymous, it was his Jewish roots that caused him to leave his home in central Russia two and a half years ago and move to the Valley with his brother and parents.

“We had some problems there,” he said. “Well, to be sincere, I didn’t see any future there. I had just graduated from university, and I became a doctor, and I saw that I won’t be able to achieve anything else in my life — to become the head of a department or to have a good salary.”

Michael B. attributes this glass ceiling to the fact that he is Jewish. Although his hometown also had recently built its first synagogue and there seemed to be some movement toward religious tolerance, on a professional level, it is still considered detrimental to be Jewish. In Russia, he said, there are only a few prominent figures in every industry.

“If you are not Russian, this is much harder to obtain any higher position,” he said. “Especially when you are Jewish.”

Michael B.’s grandparents lived in the United States, so when the rest of the family immigrated, they settled in the San Fernando Valley, where they already had family. Although Michael B. did not speak or read much English when he arrived, he began to both learn the language and study for his U.S. medical boards.

As if the task were not arduous enough, Michael B.’s family also had to deal with the added complications of immigrating in the post-Sept. 11 world of strict border policies.

“We had some problems when we came here, because we came right after that incident in New York — Sept. 11 — so we couldn’t obtain our legal documents for a long time,” he remembered. “The INS told us that we came in the wrong time, so we are illegal here because the president ordered to close the borders.”

For many new immigrants the problem is no longer getting out of Russia, as it was in the case of the rufuseniks, it is gaining legal entry to the United States.

Michael B. and his family lived in California illegally for six months without many basic necessities, such as driver’s licenses. At first, they also were unable to rent an apartment, because they did not have Social Security numbers.

“That was a very difficult time for us,” he said.

Despite the hardships, Michael B. studied for his medical boards “day and night” and now is a doctor about to embark on a three-year residency at a Brooklyn hospital.

According to Sima Furman, director of the immigration and resettlement program for Jewish Family Service of Los Angeles, Sept. 11, 2001, marked a turning point in the migration of refugees to the United States.

“The number has diminished since Sept. 11. That slowed the flow to the United States dramatically,” Furman said. “Our numbers are getting smaller and smaller. For this calendar year from January to April, so far we have had only 94 arrivals — and that is from the former Soviet Union and Iran.”

Furman thinks that refugees like Sharfman and Michael B., who are coming to the United States at a relatively late date compared to the vast influx of refugees before, stayed in Russia for personal reasons, such as taking care of an older family member who did not want to leave or perhaps because they did not have enough money to leave. She is not surprised that they are coming over now, however, and cites anti-Semitism as the main reason for leaving.

Even though most people left the Soviet Union because of religious freedom, the new immigrant experience is vastly different from those who came over in the past two decades, said Si Frumkin, a self-described “real old-time Soviet Jew.” Frumkin immigrated to the United States in 1949 and created the Southern California Council for Soviet Jews.

“The people coming over these days, by and large, they are middle age, they are not very poor and they are well acquainted with the system and how to get along,” Frumkin explained. “It is not like 25 years ago. [Now] they are much better informed, they are coming from a society that has become capitalist. In the past, for an immigrant to come here, it was like coming from another planet.”

Today, it is like coming from another country, Frumkin said. The new immigrants not only know about government programs, such as Social Security and Medicare, he explained, but they often speak English and even know about the subtleties of Southern California real estate. For example, he said, they know it is less expensive to live in the Valley than in the city–spreading out from their traditional West Hollywood community.

Herman, the Los Angeles-based demographer, said this is predominantly because of the reduced cost of living.

“For a condominium in the West Hollywood, you can have a house in the Valley,” Levin said.

While the American Jewish community may not be as focused on the plight of Russian Jews as it was a decade ago, the city of Los Angeles considers Russian Jews to be the fastest-growing community in the county. This fact is surprising in light of the well-documented growth of the Latino population in Los Angeles.

At about 3 million and 32 percent of the population, Latinos are the largest population. But according to Villasenor of the Human Relations Commission, the Latino population is growing at a rate of only 3 percent, while the Russian and/or Eastern Bloc population is growing at a rate of 22 percent.

While Villasenor stands behind this math, Furman of Jewish Family Service does not think this information is accurate, based on her own observations.

“I wonder about that,” Furman said of Villasenor’s statement. “In terms of newly arrived refugees from the former Soviet Union, the rate of arrivals has diminished over the years, and the number of refugees has dropped. Our experience is contrary.”

Demographer Herman, an expert on Los Angeles’ ethnic communities, also questions the data. He said that the census does not measure communities based on religion, so there is no way to determine that the 22 percent growth rate from Russia and the Eastern Bloc reflects refugees from the Jewish community.

The fact remains that while their plight is no longer in the spotlight, Russian Jews are still immigrating to the United States, and they still face the same challenges of acculturation as the rufuseniks.

“Even a penny has two sides,” Sharfman says, concerning the process of becoming an American.

She worries that her son will forget how to write in Russian, that she does not speak English very well, that she will not be granted U.S. citizenship. And Sharfman worries that she will not be able to return to Russia to see her friends.

But still, she counts herself as lucky that she now lives in a place where each individual is judged based on abilities and not religious heritage.

“[In America] it does not matter if you are Jewish or Mexican, it just matters who you are, who you are inside, what are your skills,” she said. “Everything depends from you, nothing from your relation to some nationality. It is very nice.”

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