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May 23, 2012

Israelis arrested for human organ trafficking

Ten Israelis were arrested on suspicion of human organ trafficking.

Tuesday’s arrests of alleged participants in an international organ harvesting ring came after an undercover operation of several months.

The Israelis arrested allegedly recruited poor Israelis to sell their kidneys for relatively meager sums for use in surgeries in Azerbaijan, Kosovo and other countries. They are also expected to be charged with extortion and tax evasion.

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Giving as a fountain of youth

Al Azus has found his fountain of youth, and he’s not keeping it a secret. In fact, the 92-year-old philanthropist recently published a memoir whose title all but gives his formula away: “Live Longer by Giving.”

Azus has donated time, energy and millions of dollars from his successful envelope-printing company to Los Angeles social services agencies including Vista Del Mar, the Hollenbeck Youth Center and the Los Angeles Jewish Home. With Hedi Azus, his wife, he funded a children’s recovery room, family waiting room and pediatric assessment program at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. He has spent untold hours playing games and his clarinet with the children of Home-SAFE, a division of Vista Del Mar. To date, Home-SAFE’s Family Resource Center and Vista’s new school services building bear Al and Hedi’s names.

“I really believe I’m living a lot longer because I keep on giving,” Azus said at his home recently. “It’s my biggest pleasure in life. It makes me feel good.”

Azus penned his latest book with Loren Stephens, owner of Write Wisdom memoir publishing company. Stephens helped Azus write his first book, “Life Is a Game: Bet on Yourself,” in 2003 and in 2010 picked up his narrative again to tell the story of Azus’ altruistic spirit, forged during a life of hardship and tragedy.

“There are people with more money than Al has, but not nearly the heart that he has,” Stephens said. “This book is really a primer for people — it’s a sermon on how to be generous, how to live like Al has lived.”

Chapter 1 describes the origins of Azus’ philosophy: “Poverty can make you generous.”

Born in Chicago, the oldest of four children in a Sephardic Turkish family, Azus got his first job at age 8 and continued working throughout his school years. The Great Depression was under way, and his family was on welfare.

When Azus was 14, he went to work for Didech Brothers suit makers. One of his jobs was to deliver finished suits to customers, rain or shine. Before Yom Kippur one year, he had to deliver a suit to a good customer during a blizzard. Azus had no coat or boots and arrived at the client’s shoe store shivering and wet. The owner looked at the holes in Azus’ shoes and promptly handed him a new pair. “I always dreamed that someday I would find a way to give to children in the same way that so many generous people had given to me,” Azus writes.

At 21, Azus enlisted in the U.S. Army Air Corps during World War II. When he returned unscathed from his four-year service, he knew he had to pay his good luck forward. “I thought, ‘I’ve got to do something. I’m on borrowed time,’ ” he recalled. After the war, the consumer industry was booming. Azus worked as a salesman, peddling refrigerators, dishwashers and vacuums door-to-door. Later he sold stationery, gambling on his natural gift for sales to build a livelihood on commission. It turned out to be a lucrative bet.

Clients would tell him they had trouble getting high-quality printed envelopes. He found a printing machine for sale for $750, took on a partner and founded Alna Envelope Co. in 1954. Slowly, doggedly, he grew his business into an industry giant.

And then, as the story goes, he decided to give back.

Children’s agencies have been Azus’ largest philanthropic cause. “Everyone is looking for love,” he said. “I find that with kids in need.”

Azus has funded programs at the Hollenbeck Youth Center for decades. Often, he would hire youths in need of income to work at Alna. Some still work at the company after 35 years. Not only did he help start careers, he also underwrote a multimedia program at the center to give kids trade training — so they could bet on themselves, as Azus had.

“Believe me, I receive a lot more than I give,” he said.

Last year, Al and Hedi Azus were honored at the ribbon cutting for Vista Del Mar’s new school services building. The couple donated $1.3 million for the project, just part of the $3 million they have given to the Cheviot Hills organization since the 1980s.

For Azus, the gift is personal.

Years before Alna, Azus’ first wife, Serene, died of tuberculosis. The Korean War was hurting his appliance store and he had just bought a house in Pacoima for his family that he could no longer afford. Azus was forced to seek help to care for his son and daughter, ages 3 and 2. He’d heard about Vista and asked if they could help his family. “They said, ‘We’ll help you — that’s what we do,’ ” he recalled. His children lived in foster care for two years, until he remarried and was able to make a home for them again. Azus never forgot the agency’s hospitality.

“Al is always one to say, ‘What can I do? What do you need?’ ” Vista Del Mar president and CEO Elias Lefferman said. “He cares genuinely. He says, ‘I’m here because kids need things.’ Acts of kindness and generosity by people like Al make all the difference.”

Azus doesn’t want the recognition, doesn’t care for plaques on the wall. “I have trouble being honored,” he said. “I hate to brag.”

His only concern, said Hedi Azus, is whether he’s doing enough. “The community needs so much, and Al wants to make sure he has enough money to cover it,” she said.

Yet Azus’ generosity doesn’t only benefit strangers. In “Live Longer by Giving,” he also writes of the importance of giving to family and employees. Before they were widespread, Azus started pension plans for his workers. He has helped them buy homes, care for their children and meet living expenses. In return, they have shown him professional and personal loyalty: In 1985, when Azus had quintuple bypass surgery, they all donated blood for his operation.

Family is especially meaningful to Azus. Serene was only 25 when she died, and he never got over her. His second wife, Harriet, died of cancer. His daughter, Rhonda, died several years ago after a lifelong struggle with mental illness. He talks about his remaining children and grandchildren with protective fondness. Of Hedi, to whom he has been married for 35 years, he writes, “With [her] by my side, everything is possible.”

Azus has given copies of his latest book to friends, family and employees, and distributed a limited run to colleagues at his favorite charities.

He still goes to his downtown office on Wednesdays. He reads his two books often and says he marvels over “what one person can do.”

“It’s amazing — starting out with no money at all and now giving away millions,” he said.

Even at 92, Azus said, giving is easy. Coming to terms with the challenges of age is the hard part. “Is living longer a curse or a blessing?” he wondered. “I can’t walk. I have health problems. I’ve lost so many loved ones. But it’s a blessing if you can do something for other people.”

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Documentary traces changes in kibbutz life

Back in the 1930s and ’40s, when Diaspora Jews desperately needed a symbol of Jewish strength and pride, the brawny, sunburned kibbutznik became the poster image for the new Jew emerging in Palestine.

Two generations further on, the straightforward picture has become blurred. The kibbutznik astride a tractor has been largely replaced by the high-tech entrepreneur as the face of modern Israel, and most kibbutzim have had to drastically change their outlook and functions in order to survive.

The history and contradictions of this social, ideological and economic movement are explored in the 79-minute documentary “Inventing Our Life: The Kibbutz Experiment.”

The film, richly studded with black-and-white footage of early kibbutz labor and celebrations, provides a useful, unsentimental look at kibbutz life, from the founding in 1910 of Degania Alef, the flagship commune, to a more recent phenomenon, the urban kibbutz.

Toby Perl Freilich, the film’s director, producer and writer, discovered kibbutz life in the 1970s, while visiting her younger sister, who, to the horror of her immigrant parents, had decided to chuck the American dream and live in a kibbutz.

For her documentary, Freilich visited some 25 of the existing 270 kibbutzim and selected five for closer examination.

The first is Kibbutz Ein Shemer, between Haifa and Netanya, founded in 1927 along the pure ideological lines of a communist commune, a realization of a vision that the Soviets never accomplished.

All property and assets belonged to the kibbutz; children were, for the most part, raised in a group away from their parents; and committees regulated lifestyles and settled disputes. In return, members received all of life’s necessities, from food and clothing to education and health care.

Among the original settlers was Aliza Amir, who proudly declares, “Without the kibbutz there would be no Israel.”

This is no exaggeration. Although in 1948, the year of Israel’s independence, kibbutz members made up only 5 percent of the then-600,000 Jewish population, their ranks were the source of the new nation’s political leaders, ideological shapers, the shock troops of the Palmach and the officers of the defense forces.

Yet another veteran pioneer, David Ben Avraham, is less upbeat. None of his five children has stayed in Ein Shemer, and, voicing the fears of fellow old-timers, he asks plaintively, “How will we survive if our children and grandchildren leave us?”

Ben Avraham has put his finger on the kibbutz’s sorest spot. As Israel has turned from a socialist to an entrepreneurial capitalist society, most of the second and particularly the third generation are abandoning the egalitarian dream for the challenges and rewards of a freer, more competitive and individualistic outside world.

In this sense, the kibbutz history parallels the fate of the utopian communities in America built before and during the 19th century. Few such enclaves could retain the fervor and idealism of their founders beyond one or two generations.

In the late 1960s, the stability and image of the kibbutz movement started to disintegrate. There were bitter internal political splits and growing dissatisfaction with the collectivized lifestyle.

Kibbutzim built large swimming pools, much envied by city dwellers, and many assumed large debts, which they could not repay when the economy soured in the 1980s.

The kibbutzim that have best met the challenges of survival are those that adapted to the new social and economic realities of Israel. These days, almost all kibbutzim have added an industrial and manufacturing component (frequently high-tech), reward managers with higher salaries and have returned responsibility for child rearing to the parents.

There are some cautiously encouraging signs for the movement’s survival. Recent statistics puts kibbutz membership at an all-time high of 140,000, though the figure is somewhat deceptive — considering the tenfold increase in the country’s Jewish population since 1948, the percentage of kibbutz members has actually dropped from 5 to 2.3 percent.

Over time, many kibbutzim have transformed themselves from purely collective to semi-privatized communities. This change, for instance, allows many young couples who work in outside jobs to live and raise their children in the open kibbutz spaces.

Another interesting development is the formation of a few urban kibbutzim, such as Kibbutz Tamuz in the city of Beit Shemesh, west of Jerusalem. Its members hold a range of city jobs but pool their resources and strive for the equality and social cohesion of the old rural kibbutz model.

As the film’s subtitle indicates, Freilich considers the kibbutz an ongoing “experiment,” the outcome of which is yet to be determined. “My film ends with a question mark,” she said. “The jury is still out on the final verdict.”

Freilich’s resume includes numerous awards for the documentaries “Secret Lives: Hidden Children and Their Rescuers During WWII” and “Resistance: Untold Stories of Jewish Partisans.” Her largest financial support for the kibbutz film came from the Foundation for Jewish Culture.

“Inventing Our Life” opens June 8 at Laemmle’s Music Hall in Beverly Hills and Town Center in Encino.

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Garcia Lorca’s art, death inspire genre-expanding opera

When Federico Garcia Lorca was a child, long before his ascension to the heights of Spanish literary circles, he idolized his mother’s gift for playing the piano. The young Garcia Lorca studied piano, hoping that he shared some of his mother’s talent, but Garcia Lorca would never become an influential musician. It was through the pen that he found his voice. Nevertheless, Garcia Lorca’s first works, with titles like “Nocturne” and “Sonata,” drew heavily upon his musical background, and throughout his short life, his poetry and prose would reflect an obsession with music and rhythm, with Beethoven and Chopin. So it seems natural that nearly a century later, a man who was inspired by Garcia Lorca’s words would turn his life into music. 

When Osvaldo Golijov was a child growing up in La Plata, Argentina, he read Garcia Lorca’s plays and poems and found himself entranced. When the composer was commissioned to write an opera for the Tanglewood Music Center, in 2003, he turned back to his childhood hero for inspiration.

“I grew up with his poems and loved them, and also his plays, so they were a part of my life for as long as I can remember,” Golijov said in a phone interview from his home in Massachusetts.

“When looking for a subject for an opera, I realized that he [Garcia Lorca] had predicted his own death in his first serious play, ‘Mariana Pineda,’ and I thought together with David [Henry] Hwang, who wrote the libretto, that it would be a very dramatic and operatic idea.” And so, “Ainadamar” was born.

“Ainadamar,” meaning “Fountain of Tears” in Arabic, tells the story of Garcia Lorca’s life, and his death at the hands of the Falangists, through the eyes of the actress Margarita Xirgu, his onetime lover and colleague. “The idea is that the entire opera occurs while Margarita hears the ballad of Mariana Pineda, this folk ballad,” Golijov said. “And while she hears, she remembers her entire life together with Garcia Lorca, his death and so forth. It’s like a moment that explodes three times.” 

Compacting the narrative was paramount to Golijov in constructing the piece. “The idea is that in music … you listen to a song that is three minutes, and within three minutes you can relive your entire life. That’s the power of music.”

Much has been written of Golijov’s casting a woman in the role of Garcia Lorca, but according to Golijov, it was more a matter of convenience than a conscious choice. “The truth is, there was not any ideological statement or anything; it was a very practical thing. I was commissioned by Tanglewood, and I was working on a different opera that was an all-women cast, and then things were not cooking, so I decided to contact David [Henry Hwang] and start a whole new project, but we were stuck with all women because the women had already been chosen,” Golijov said, laughing.

In fact, according to Golijov, the original idea was that Garcia Lorca wouldn’t even appear in “Ainadamar.” “The idea was to do an opera … about [Garcia] Lorca, but without [Garcia] Lorca. But, then I went to review the audition tapes for the young singers from Tanglewood, and I was really struck by Kelley O’Connor’s voice. … She had this incredibly mysterious and dark voice that was both a woman and a man. And I called David, and I said there’s this woman that actually sings in a very dangerous way. And he said, if you want to reconsider, we can have [Garcia] Lorca played by her.”

O’Connor’s performance was widely praised, and “Ainadamar” ended up winning two Grammy awards in 2006. This month, the work is being restaged by the Long Beach Opera as part of its 2012 season, again with a woman as Garcia Lorca, this time Peabody Southwell, who made her debut with the Long Beach opera in Leos Janácek’s “The Cunning Little Vixen.” “Ainadamar” will have its second of two performances in Long Beach on May 26.

If “Ainadamar” seems a natural choice of subject for a Spanish-speaking Jew who grew up idolizing Garcia Lorca, the piece that brought Golijov his first big international exposure would seem a much more puzzling piece for a man of his background to tackle: “The Passion of St. Mark.”

“It was clearly a very difficult choice for me, and my first reaction when asked to do it was ‘no,’ ” Golijov said. “But then I reconsidered.” The idea of challenging himself was appealing, but he had absolutely no idea where to start.

“I froze in fear for a couple of years, and then I remembered this great painting of Rembrandt’s, ‘Jeremiah Lamenting the Destruction of Jerusalem.’ My great-grandmother had a reproduction of the painting in her kitchen, and I always thought, looking at her face and looking at the painting, that Rembrandt had captured the Jewish soul in the truth that evaded every Jewish painter that I knew. And Rembrandt was not Jewish but was living among the Jews. I was not Christian, but I grew up among Christians in Argentina, so I said, well, obviously, I’m not Rembrandt, and I don’t have that talent, but if part of ‘The Passion’ would have a truth about Christianity that would be comparable to the truth about Judaism that Rembrandt’s paintings had, that would be a good enough reason for me to do it.”

Golijov’s work on “The Passion of St. Mark” brought him acclaim from around the world and opened up doors for him in the world of classical music. But for a man whose early work heavily reflected his Jewish upbringing, he never forgot his roots.

Asked whether he feels there’s such a thing as Jewish music, Golijov paused before answering. 

“The problem with answering that question is that if I say yes, there’s such a thing as Jewish music, it will be misinterpreted, because people will immediately try to associate it with surface things in the music — does it sound like my bar mitzvah? But it’s not anything like that; it has to do with an attitude, with a perspective, with a point of view. It can be as diverse as Mahler and Gershwin, to Bernstein.”

Golijov, who spent several years in Israel studying at the Rubin Academy under Mark Kopytman in the 1980s, credits his experience in the Holy Land with much of his musical awakening. “It was like a second childhood. … I mean childhood as the time of discovery, not only of life, but also of music or whatever else will occupy you later in life.” 

He said his time there was spent “discovering all the Sephardic music that I didn’t know in Argentina … most Jews there are Ashkenazi … but also the Arab music, the Christian music, and also the culture. This collision of civilizations was seminal in my life.” 

The Jewishness of his own music is subtler. “It’s not noticeable when people look for those melodies or harmonies or rhythms, it’s noticeable because of the way in which things unfold,” Golijov said. “Jewish music is a point of view, it’s a way of experiencing the world that is translated into the music. It’s so diverse that it’s impossible to give a definition.”

Golijov said he often draws on ethnic music from around the globe for inspiration. “All those cultures are part of the human experience. If you think of us having a soul and the soul having a map, like the world has a map, that’s what I try to do. If I’m going to a melancholy region, what music aches [with] that melancholy better than any other? So I study it and I try to make it part of my palette.”

And unlike Garcia Lorca, who often felt more deeply connected to theater and music than writing, Golijov feels secure in his art. “There is something about music that transcends any need for explanation. I always feel that music is sort of a philosophy that’s understood without a need to read the book,” Golijov said. “Not all music is universal, but all good music is universal.”

“Ainadamar” will be performed by the Long Beach Opera on May 26.

“Ainadamar” will be performed by the Long Beach Opera on May 26. For more information, visit www.longbeachopera.org

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The odd connection between violence and race

In the past couple of weeks, Israeli newspapers’ headlines read “violence.” From murders to stabbings, rapes and even violence toward animals, the summer has brought a storm of violence upon Israel. The papers told the many stories from beginning to end, not leaving a single detail behind, including the criminals’ ethnicity and nationality. Some of the crimes were committed by Israeli Jews, some by Israeli Arabs, some by African refugees.

Indeed, Israel has become the home of hundreds of refugees who have found shelter here. According to the International Refugee Law, if a person requests shelter in a certain state because there is an actual risk for his/her life at their homeland, the state must not deport him/her. The problem is it is hard to tell which refugees have their lives at risk, and which decided Israel is a fine place to live. The latter are illegal immigrants.  Because it is impossible to simply kick all immigrants out, for the fear of dismissing legitimate refugees, there have been several governmental campaigns calling citizens of Israel to report on any illegal immigrant who works here that they might know. There have been some arrests, but even still, there are many illegal immigrants still living here. This is a very complex situation, mainly because of the difficulty of making an assessment on the amount of danger one is facing in his homeland. According to the assessments, as of 2005, tens of thousands of refugees came to Israel, most of them entered through the border of Sinai. Only hundreds of them are defined as such by law, as they face a true danger in returning to their homelands.

In 2009, the then new internal affairs minister, Eli Yishai, began working on dismissing all illegal residents from Israel. Starting with “small portions,” hundreds of families were deported from Israel, to mixed reviews from the press and people. After being the top news topic for months, the refugees issue remained on a low flame, until last week. Due to the involvement of African refugees in a few of the violent cases recently, Yishai, who seems to believe Israel needs a new scandal, said that he “would place all of them, with no exceptions, in prison or a closed facility, and from there, provide them with funds and send them back to their countries” (free translation from Hebrew). He also mentioned that the very few defined-by-law refugees will be allowed to stay here. This comment was related to his opinion on the violence roaming the streets. And yes, this was a very racist comment made by an official who was chosen as a representation of the public. He unwisely claimed that most African migrants in Israel are involved in criminal activity, in a statement that couldn’t sound more random to me. True, according to the Israeli Police, 40% of the severe violent cases reported in Tel-Aviv involved African immigrants. But from that to an overall departure of an entire population, the gap is enormous.

Yishai’s remark goes not only beyond any humanitarian conception, but also beyond what is expected from a Jewish person. The land of the Jews was founded 64 years ago, but until then, for thousands of years the Jews wandered around the world, with no place to call “home.” Rootless, we were constantly deported from places and faced many false accusations and racist remarks. The inclusion of all Jews under the same umbrella soon became a valid perception, which peaked at the beginning of the 20th century. One sad day, when the world was low and people were looking for someone to blame for their troubles, one man decided that everyone who is different from what he defined as “standard” was that “someone.” Throughout the early decades of the 1900’s, when living in Europe became dangerous for Jews, most countries refused to accept Jewish refugees and provide them a shelter. Many years have gone by, and we founded that place where all Jews are safe from empty judgments. As Jews, we know best about being different, and the risk of turning our back to a person in distress. The Jews living in Europe at that dark time, were fat thieves with big noses, and had the blame for WW1 and all that followed. Back then, Europe was a place where human kind was ranked by races. There were no private people with different personalities, just labeled origins.

It is unreasonable that a person whose roots are deep in the Jewish history will make a racist remark, not to mention one of that kind. Deport all African immigrants because they are the reason for the violence level in Israel? To me, other than failing as a Jew, Yishai failed as a human being. A violent person is one who has a troubled personality or a troubles socio-economical status, not one who has a “troubled” ethnicity.

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