March 18, 2020

Original Farmers Market Says Their Grocery Stores Will Remain Open

Leave a Comment / Los Angeles, Online / Aaron Bandler

The Original Farmers Market announced on March 18 that their grocery stores will remain open amidst the coronavirus outbreak.

According to a press release, all of the market’s bars are closed and the restaurants have been modified to takeout only.

The Market hours have also been changed from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. Monday through Saturday and 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. Sundays and parking is free.

“All Farmers Market merchants are taking the utmost precaution when it comes to hygiene, cleanliness and wellness,” the press release states. “The health, well-being and overall satisfaction of our customers remains the number one priority.”

The Market’s modifications are in response to Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti’s March 15 directive closing all bars in Los Angeles and requiring restaurants to be takeout only. The directive lasts until March 31.

“I encourage all Angelenos to help support these critical small businesses — the restaurants we love in our neighborhoods — by continuing to order from them or getting takeout or delivery,” Garcetti said at the time.

Los Angeles County Department of Health Director Barbara Ferrer announced on March 18 that the county has seen 96 new cases over the past 48 hours, putting the current total at the county to 190. She added that the number of cases likely will increase in the coming weeks as testing becomes more widespread.

Ferrer urged individuals to follow social distancing guidelines.

“You can assume that for every case where we’re testing people, there are maybe five to 10 cases in all of our communities of people who haven’t been tested, that are in fact infected with COVID-19 and able to transmit that to others,” she said. “This is the time for universal precautions.”

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Meet ‘Flavors from Afar’: A Restaurant That Employs Refugee Chefs

Leave a Comment / Community / Esther D. Kustanowitz

The March 5 meeting of the Temple Emanuel of Beverly Hills board of directors was held at an unusual location — a yet-to-be-opened restaurant and catering company called Flavors from Afar, located on Fairfax Avenue near San Vicente Boulevard, alongside a cluster of Ethiopian restaurants in the area known as Little Ethiopia.

Flavors from Afar is a social enterprise launched in 2018 by the Tiyya Foundation, a nonprofit that provides community support for families of refugees, low-income immigrants and displaced Americans, in response to government funds shifting away from refugee aid. To expand their youth and family programs in Los Angeles, the Tiyya Foundation was housed at Temple Emanuel for approximately two years. As Flavors from Afar grew away from programming and acquired more catering jobs, Tiyya co-founder Meymuna Hussein-Cattan told the Journal, it spun off into its own for-profit entity; all profits from Flavors from Afar help to sustain programming at the Tiyya Foundation.

When Temple Emanuel decided last summer to sell its building at 8844 Burton Way, former board member Diane Vanette, an early connection between Tiyya and the temple, told the Journal she “spent the summer trying to empty the building,” including a professional kitchen that served a school full of kids. “If we were going to empty the building, we needed to give everything we could to someone who could use it,” she said.

At the board meeting, which the Journal was invited to attend, Hussein-Cattan told attendees, “Flavors from Afar was made possible by your temple.” She also thanked the board for providing initial housing for the catering business and donating its kitchen equipment to the restaurant.

The restaurant was scheduled to officially open to the public on March 21, with a grand opening event sponsored by Temple Emanuel, the Sun Family Foundation, Oxfam, MAJOR (Muslim and Jewish Organized Relief) Fund and the Little Ethiopia Cultural and Resource Center. However, that changed when Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti announced on March 15 that in an effort to curb the fallout from the novel coronavirus COVID-19 pandemic, all restaurants must close to dine-in customers through March 31.

“Instead of a festive international sampling event, we have shifted gears to encouraging takeout instead,” Hussein-Cattan told the Journal in an email on March 15. “Our doors will be open but we will only prep in the back. No buffet stations or sampling stations. We don’t want to expose the chef to a lot of people [and] we want our staff and customers to feel safe.”

Flavors from Afar’s catering was helmed by 11 chefs from nine countries in 2019: Afghanistan, Egypt, Eritrea, Iraq, Kenya, Syria, Somalia, Venezuela and Guatemala. At the board meeting, chef Malia Hamza, a single mother whose six children regularly participate in Tiyya activities, served Somali food and spoke about how her family fled the Somali Civil War, lived in a refugee camp in Kenya and then arrived in the United States when she was 7 years old.

“Every one [of the chefs] has unique foods that are not in mainstream culture, and all are dealing with displacement and trauma in different ways,” Hussein-Cattan told the board members. “It’s been beautiful. We’ve watched these chefs feel inspired to talk about their skills, their talents; something they know how to do.”

“Everyone has unique foods that are not in mainstream culture, and all are dealing with displacement and trauma in different ways. We’ve watched these chefs feel inspired to talk about their skills, their talents; something they know how to do.”— Meymuna Hussein-Cattan

“The part that I would emphasize is that these programs aren’t just writing a check to somewhere distant, but it’s really building a relationship,” said Peter M. Siegel, Temple Emanuel’s primary point person for the Tiyya partnership.

In 2018-19, Temple Emanuel had been hosting monthly events with Tiyya catering for chefs to practice their skills and their storytelling as they addressed attendees, talking about their work, telling their refugee stories and discussing their aspirations.

“It was a great opportunity for them to be in a safe environment but one where they also had to learn the business and how to do it efficiently so they could make a living doing it,” Siegel said. “It’s not a handout. It’s really a job that they’re learning, a skill that they’re learning.”

This year, Tiyya is launching a pilot concept to help refugees join the hospitality industry. On graduating, they could find jobs in kitchens throughout Los Angeles and Orange County, or be hired by Flavors from Afar.

Board co-president Geoff Wharton said it was the first time Temple Emanuel had held its board meeting outside the synagogue. “It underlines to everyone the importance of what we’re doing; that it’s not just a commitment for the rabbi but for the larger community,” he said. “It’s part of a bigger value system of social justice and consistent with the values of having an institution stand for something.”

Board co-president Myra Lurie added, “One of the key values of our synagogue is social justice, and we feel that especially helping the stranger and giving aid to those who are less fortunate is really living the Jewish values that we hold dear and which guide us as a synagogue.”

“Our heart has always been with the stranger,” Vanette said in a separate phone call with the Journal. “As we know, that’s particularly a struggle around the country and in Los Angeles. We have focused a lot of our social justice work with people who are struggling.”

“The model we have is one of doing things — getting them done and showing people,” Siegel said.

Added Wharton, “I think there’s a general reluctance to talk about good work, but if we do something good we should let people know — not to take credit, but to let people know that this is our values system and if they want to be part of it, they can join and make the commitment.”

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The Moment My Life Changed

Leave a Comment / Community / Roberto Loiederman

During Bob Porter’s funeral at Mount Sinai Memorial Park, as the rabbi talked about the man’s family and his virtues, I recalled how Bob and I met 65 years ago.

It was 1955 and I was in 10th grade at a technical high school in Baltimore, headed for an engineering career, like my brother. This was my parents’ expectation, as well as mine.

One day, another student joined me at lunch. We both lived in Forest Park, a largely Jewish neighborhood far from our high school, so we vaguely recognized each other. He said his name was Bobby. I told him mine name was Roberto.

“Same name,” he said with a sly smile. He pointed to himself: “Bobby.” He pointed to me: “Bobbo, right?” We laughed and shook hands. He told me his last name was Porter. “Porter?” I asked, implying it didn’t sound Jewish. He shrugged, saying his dad changed it from Krichinsky.

Every day after that, at lunch, Bobby and I met. We talked about poetry, music, art and movies. We raged against 1950s conformity. We were two 15-year-old beatniks-in-training.

One day, in early 1956, he invited me to his house. There, I met his friends. Bobby was the hub, and these guys gathered at his place every weekend. Once I was in Bobby’s house, I never left.

As a group, we went to parties, drank booze, wrote poetry, drew pictures, then drank some more. When lubricated with liquor, we shouted out scraps of literature to one another: Dylan Thomas, Allen Ginsberg, James Joyce, Henry Miller. Bobby’s dad somehow managed to get hold of a banned copy of “Tropic of Cancer,” which fascinated us.

During the summer of 1961, Bobby — now called Bob — and I hitchhiked to California. At a San Francisco day-labor office, we told a clerk we wanted to pick fruit with migrant workers. A noble idea, but we lasted just one day. Sweaty and tired after picking pears, Bob found a note in his pocket with the phone number of the clerk at the labor office. She put us up at her place in the Fillmore district and called us her “Baltimore Orioles.”

During that same trip, Bob and I hitchhiked from San Francisco to Los Angeles. While in Carmel’s 17-Mile Drive, an area of the super-rich, I noticed the roadside mailbox of a nearby mansion with the name of Porter.

“Hey,” I jokingly said, “why don’t you knock? Tell them, ‘You’re Porter, I’m Porter, maybe we’re related.’ ” Without missing a beat, Bob said, “What they’ll probably say is, ‘That can’t be. You see, our real name is Krichinsky … and our only relatives are in Baltimore.’”

By 1963, Bob and I were living in San Francisco. Bob was welcoming with everyone, and it’s through him I met several people who became lifelong friends. One helped me get my seaman’s document, so in 1966, I started working as a deckhand on merchant ships. By then, Bob was an artist and writer in Manhattan, and whenever I was there, between ships, I stayed at his loft.

During the late 1970s, I lived in Israel, but Bob and I always kept in touch. During visits to the U.S., I stayed at his place, and close friends I’d met through Bob stayed at my apartment in Jerusalem.

By 1981, a couple of our Baltimore “brothers,” whom I’d met that fateful day at Bob’s house in 1956, were Hollywood producers, so Bob and I moved to L.A., where we were together again — this time, as writing partners, developing TV shows and writing episodes.

“Bob was welcoming with everyone, and it’s through him I met several people who became lifetime friends.”

During these last four decades in L.A., the Baltimore brothers and our families — our wives, children and grandchildren — have been my extended family. We got together often, to celebrate holidays, special events and rites of passage. And Bob was the linchpin.

A year ago, Bob was diagnosed with an aggressive strain of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Treatment seemed to help — until it didn’t. He died on Feb. 4 while three of us, lifetime friends, morosely sat at a bar, like orphaned kids, and mourned our Baltimore brother.

At Bob’s funeral, as the rabbi talked, I think about the summer of 1958. Bob had turned 18, but I hadn’t yet. Driver’s licenses back then didn’t have photos, and since we were the same height and weight, with the same color hair and eyes, I borrowed his license to go to New York so I could get into bars. For a month in 1958, I was Robert Porter.

But I wasn’t. Not really.

Bob had an omnivorous intelligence, fascinated by diverse topics ranging from mushrooms to the New York art scene, Greek myths to obscure Russian novels and so much more. He never boasted or complained. He was a funny, self-deprecating storyteller and an excellent listener — a man’s man, yet sensitive. He had a proud, natural grace that made people want to be with him.

Although he was an atheist, he was Jewish at heart, so there was a funeral service at Mount Sinai. While his remains were solemnly positioned in their resting place, I thought about how arbitrary life is: What if Bob had not invited me to his house that day in 1956? What would my life have been?

I cannot imagine.

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Ripple Effect: The Wall

Leave a Comment / Blogs / Naomi Ackerman

My middle daughter ran a full marathon, an experience that could fill 10 blogs.

It was exciting, amazing, stressful, brilliant, and an all-around exhilarating experience.

My favorite take-away is one particular moment that holds in it so much beauty, making it truly profound.

Toward the end of the marathon my sweet, fierce girl hit a wall and felt she could not go on.

A dad of one of her friends who was cheering her on saw her face and immediately knew. He jumped in and started to run with her. She told him that she wanted to stop and that she wanted to sit down. He told her absolutely not. He said it’s not an option. He simply said, “Come on girl. Run with me.” And run she did and crossed the finish line.

As I said, it was an absolutely extraordinary experience.

She will say that her friend’s dad saved her life.
I told this lovely, marvelous man who I love to no end, how grateful we are. He shrugged and laughed, “It’s really no big deal.” He is such a stellar human being.

They say when you run a marathon you always hit a wall when you feel like you can’t go on.

We all hit walls in our life, walls that seem too hard to climb, walls that seem unbreakable, walls that make us want to sit down and never move again.

But do we have someone to take our hand and help us power through them? Do we have enough humility to take the hand when it is being offered to us? Or can we be the person who gives the hand to someone else?

One of my daughter’s teammates said she never sees the wall, only the ladder on the wall.

“Every wall has a ladder. You just have to find it, and then climb.”

She is 16 and wise beyond words.

In one of the lockup facilities where I spent several years the walls were not in the imagination of my students. They were real and, quite frankly, depressing.

I felt that it was my job to reduce the weight of the presence of the walls; even though these were walls that one couldn’t break through or climb over. Again and again I reminded my students that outside life is waiting for them.

I kept bringing in things like food and music, thinking that is what will help lift the weight of the walls.

All of those things were good and made the youth I worked with feel seen and heard, but I know that what really blew them away was when people would travel a considerable distance to see them for the culmination show.

“When you are behind the walls, Ms., you are forgotten,” a girl told me. “It’s easy not to see us, because we are hidden behind the walls.”

“Well,” I would say. “Let’s make sure you never come back here.”

But I knew saying that is so much easier than doing it. Sometimes a kid would get out and be back in less than a week.

“I will share your stories and we will let people peek inside the walls,” I would tell them.

“You matter!” I add.

I think the hardest thing faced by the precious kids in the lockup facility is that sitting behind the wall made them feel unnecessary and abandoned. If the figurative wall made my beautiful daughter running in the marathon want to sit down in the middle of the street, the actual wall for my incarcerated kids made them feel like sitting down and ending their life.

I would do everything I could to make things better. What l realized with the help of these kids is that actually walls are not broken from the outside in, but from the inside out.

The walls really aren’t supposed to be broken.

We are supposed to walk through them.

“You know what, Ms.?” a kid once asked me.

“I am the master of my thoughts.

I am the master of my attitude.

And you know what else?” he added. “When your guests came to see me, I realized that I can paint the picture for them and then put that painting on the wall.”

So, as we are all hunkered down at home, spending long periods of time with our family inside the walls of our homes, let’s remember that we are the masters of our thoughts and our attitude. We have the power to paint the picture we want to see.

Be safe. Be wise.

Stay healthy. Be as calm as you can.

We will get through this. I am sure.

Naomi Ackerman is a Mom, activist, writer, performer, and the founder and Executive Director of The Advot (ripple) Project a registered 501(c)3 that uses theatre and the arts to empower youth at risk to live their best life.

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The Cauliflower Cult

Leave a Comment / Food / Sharon Gomperts and Rachel Emquies Sheff

Cauliflower is having a moment. The cruciferous darling of the culinary scene is starring on restaurant menus all over the world — and Israeli chefs can take the credit. The craze started with celebrity chef Eyal Shani’s much-loved and lauded whole roasted cauliflower. Then mega-star chef Yotam Ottolenghi took it to the next level with his popular Cauliflower Cake.

The trend went mainstream with cauliflower crust pizza and Trader Joe’s cauliflower “rice.”

Whenever Rachel and I see friends, we’ll plan dinner at Shiloh’s Steak House on Pico Boulevard because we’re just completely obsessed with its roasted cauliflower and tahini.

Considered a nutritional superfood, cauliflower is rich in protein, fiber and vitamins B and C. The compounds common to all cruciferous vegetables (broccoli,
cabbage, kale, Brussels sprouts) protect cells from DNA damage. With all the keto, paleo and gluten free diets out there,
cauliflower is the right vegetable at the right time.

Rachel and I love to include this versatile vegetable on our menus in soups, stews and vegetable purees. Rachel’s favorite cauliflower recipe, Karnabit Frita, evolved from two great cooks: her mother-in-law Becky Sheff and celebrated Sephardic cookbook author Stella Hanan Cohen. Both women dip the cauliflower florets in egg and flour (or matzo meal for Passover), then fry. In the Rhodesli tradition, Becky Sheff bakes the cauliflower smothered with a tangy, lemony tomato sauce. Cohen makes a Karnabit Frita stew; she adds tomato sauce, potatoes, celery, carrots and spring onions and simmers on the stove. Always served over rice, this dish still elicits drools of delight from friends in the Ladino community.

My Curry-Roasted Cauliflower borrows from a staple of Indian cuisine, the magical pairing of curry and cauliflower. Roasting makes the cauliflower crisp and the spices add a rich, nutty depth that amuses the palette. The garbanzos and cashews add a meaty texture. Serve it hot over rice or as a bright salad garnished with cilantro and parsley.

CURRY-ROASTED CAULIFLOWER
1 head cauliflower, cut into florets
1 15 1/2-ounce can garbanzos, drained
4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon curry powder
1 tablespoon turmeric
1 teaspoon garlic powder
Salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste
1 cup cashews
1/2 bunch fresh Italian parsley, minced, for garnish
1/2 bunch fresh cilantro, minced, for garnish

Preheat oven to 425 F.

Line baking sheet with parchment paper.

In large bowl, toss cauliflower florets and garbanzos with oil and spices.

Arrange on baking sheet in single layer.

Bake till cauliflower is tender, about 25 minutes.

Add cashews and toss.

Garnish with greens, if serving as a salad.

Serves 12.

KARNABIT FRITA (FRIED CAULIFLOWER)

1 large head cauliflower

For coating:

1/2 cup all-purpose flour
2 eggs, lightly beaten

For sauce:
1/4 cup olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
3 stalks of celery, sliced
1 large potato, diced
1 cup tomato sauce
1 cup water or vegetable stock
Juice of one lemon (2-3 tablespoons)
Salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste
Rinse and trim cauliflower.

Soak in boiling salted water for 5 minutes, then cut into florets.

Roll florets in flour, then dip in egg.

In deep frying pan, heat oil and fry florets until golden on all sides.

Drain on paper towel.

Preheat oven to 350 F.

In large pot, sauté onion until soft.

Add sliced celery, diced potato, tomato sauce, vegetable stock or water.

Simmer for 15 minutes.

Pour sauce into baking dish, then add fried cauliflower.

Pour lemon juice over top and sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Cover with foil and bake for 30 minutes.

Uncover and brown for 10 minutes to thicken the sauce and crisp florets.

Serves 12.

Sharon Gomperts’ family hails from Baghdad and El Azair, Iraq. Rachel Emquies Sheff’s family roots are Spanish Moroccan. Known as the Spice Girls, they collaborated on the SEC Food Group and community cooking classes. Visit them Facebook at SEC FOOD.

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Tylenol, Media, and Coping Mechanisms

Weekly Parsha: Vayakhel-Pekudei

Leave a Comment / Torah / Salvador Litvak

One verse, five voices. Edited by Salvador Litvak, Accidental Talmudist

On six days work may be done, but on the seventh day you shall have a sabbath of complete rest, holy to the LORD; whoever does any work on it shall be put to death. –Exodus 35:2

Rabbi Miriam E. Hamrell
Senior Rabbi, ahavattorahla.org

Traditionally, I talk to my siblings every Friday before Shabbat. We catch up and bless one another with a peaceful Shabbat. Last week, my brother sounded very tired. I asked him if he was OK. He took a deep breath and slowly said, “You know, Shabbat is a genius idea.” “Really?” I asked jokingly. “Yes, he answered. “We create time to rest and see family and friends. Thank God we have a Shabbat every week.” He was 100% right!

Our Chasidic masters teach us to look at our verse carefully. It describes our weekday work as a passive effort, “six days work may be done,” not “six days you shall do work,” meaning, we know that our work, our source of sustenance, is only a vessel through which we receive God’s blessings. We need to stay vigilant on the source of our blessings.

One of the ways to do so is to carve out time. Can one really carve out time? Yes, if we choose to! By ceasing work on Shabbat, we are carving out a sacred space to receive and enjoy. We create a certain balance for reflection and an opportunity to connect and create space for God to dwell among us. We create a space dedicated to Shabbat — the eternal gift to humanity that is qualitatively different for each one of us.

May we all be blessed to experience the aha moment my brother had, realizing the important blessings of Shabbat in our lives. Amen.

Rabbi Elliot Dorff
American Jewish University

The owners of Rockefeller Center in Manhattan own the land that contains 50th Street between Fifth and Sixth avenues. That street is open to the public every day during the year except Christmas, when the owners of Rockefeller Center close it to reassert their property rights to the land. The Sabbath is like that: God creates and owns the whole world (e.g., Deuteronomy 10:14; Psalms 24:1 and 100:3).

As the owner, God gives us license to use the world for our purposes six days out of seven, but on the seventh day God reasserts God’s ownership of the world and demands that we cease using it for our purposes. This assures that work, as important and valued as it is in the Jewish tradition, does not become our idol, the center of our lives and the only thing we care about.

Instead, the Sabbath reminds us that we need to recognize that God, family and community need to be essential parts of our lives. To use an image suggested by Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan, on the Sabbath we are like painters who step back from our painting to gain perspective on what the painting of our lives is now and what it should become in the week ahead.

We may not physically die if we do not do that kind of reassessment and reconnection with those near and dear to us each week, but we do indeed die morally, psychologically and spiritually if we let work rule our lives completely.

Rabbi Nolan Lebovitz
Adat Shalom

Most Torah commentators read this as part of the context of our instructions for building the Mishkan. For even something as significant as the construction of the Mishkan, Shabbat must still take precedence. This paradigm of six days of work and one day of rest is crucial for us. Most focus on the uniqueness of our Shabbat customs, but we can also focus on the extraordinary accomplishment of our work. In constructing our new sovereign nation-state, our founding thinkers grasped both aspects of this relationship.

One of the themes of Theodor Herzl’s “The Jewish State” and “Altneuland” is his vision for the industrious ingenuity of the Jewish people who return to the Land of Israel to build our society. One of Ahad Ha’am’s most famous quotes remains, “More than Israel kept the Sabbath, the Sabbath kept Israel.” Much like Zionism lives between these two incredible thinkers, so too does the Jewish tradition reside within this powerful notion of a calendar. For six days we should work, and not just any work — extraordinary tasks like building the Mishkan, writing literature, curing disease. Then we must rest, and not just any rest — a unique rest with family, community, eating, drinking … and did I mention challah?

For in the end, we will have the most holy accomplishment and Godliness will dwell among us all. This is how we built the Mishkan and how we built the State of Israel. This is not a strategy. This is simply who we are.

Kari Gila Bookbinder Sacks
Licensed Clinical Social Worker, case manager, Chai Lifeline; therapist, meaningfulbeingtherapy.org

Dedicated to my loving Father, Meir Hirsch ben Hashya.

If a person standing in the opulent presence of a king turns his attention away, he will surely forfeit his life. What a foolish mistake to make at such a fateful moment. As children of the King of Kings, we, too, at times diverge from our life’s purpose, losing touch with our inner light. Fortunately, our King — Who is also a compassionate, forgiving Father — is always there to turn to when we need to return to ourselves.

In this verse — between the first Yom Kippur and the building of the Sanctuary — HaShem gives us a loving “wink,” as if to say, “My children, don’t make the mistake of forfeiting your spiritual life by getting lost in the darkness of the workaday week. Rest and renew yourself with Me on Shabbos, and your soul will remain ignited.”

Isn’t it wondrous that the words Shabbat and teshuvah (return, atonement) share the same Hebrew letters? Shabbat reconnects us to our true selves, giving us pause for the important questions: “Who am I?” and “What am I living for?” If we journey through this wonderful, whirling world, mindful of Our King who always has open arms for us, we are truly living! Shabbos is a window to our Inner Royalty as individuals and a community, inspiring us forward with renewed integrity, purpose and joy!

Thank you, God, for the Torah and the “Divine Winks” that make life worth living.

Rabbi Aryeh Markman
Executive Director, Aish LA

The elephant in the room is why do I have to die if I don’t keep Shabbos? It sounds so primitive and vengeful, unless the key to my existence is hiding somewhere in the idea of Shabbos.

Shabbos is biblical code for a relationship with God, which is the whole reason of our being created. The Torah is saying that I’m not living unless I unplug from the grid and refrain from all creative human actions once a week. By eliminating worldly distractions, my Creator will become apparent to me and I will regain my true self in the ensuing calm. And is there a fate worse than death? How about ignoring the opportunity to realize the purpose of our existence until it is too late? A forfeited life, a self-imposed death sentence. Yikes!

It’s almost impossible to be put to death by a Jewish court of law for not keeping the Shabbos. The judicial requirements are too exacting to be fulfilled in the real world. So the Talmud says that it is God instead who imposes the death sentence at some point. Hmmm. But are you not willing to die for something? Your love, your children, your values? Encased in Shabbos is the truest version of life itself, a gift awaiting our discovery.

Have no worries. Torah promises your world will be waiting for you, intact, 24 hours later. In the meantime, you will have lived your reason for being and added additional meaning to your life. Isn’t that a deal we shouldn’t refuse?

Weekly Parsha: Vayakhel-Pekudei Read More »

Poem: Pandemic

In Israel, Utilizing Coronavirus for Political Gain

Leave a Comment / Israel, Rosner's Domain / Shmuel Rosner

The expression was most recently popularized by Rahm Emanuel, chief of staff to former President Barack Obama. “You never want a serious crisis to go to waste,” he said. The original quote included this explanation: “And what I mean by that is an opportunity to do things that you think you could not do before.” Such as health care reform.

Emanuel was not the first to say such thing. The late British Prime Minister Winston Churchill used it in a slightly different way: “Never let a good crisis go to waste.” And what I learned this week (from “Freakonomics”) is that a 1976 article in the journal Medical Economics also carried a similar title: “Don’t Waste a Crisis — Your Patient’s or Your Own.”

Politicians are the masters of crisis and opportunity. Niccolo Machiavelli made the following statement about leaders: “Without an opportunity, their abilities would have been wasted, and without their abilities, the opportunity would have arisen in vain.”

Churchill was surely a reader of Machiavelli, and so is Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. Two weeks ago, Netanyahu seemed like a winner in Israel’s election, the third in less than a year. Then his luck changed somewhat. The numbers weren’t as good as initially believed. He has a strong bloc of 58 supporters, and an opposition of 62.

Then opportunity knocked. Not health care reform but a crisis in the field of public health: The coronavirus forced Israel to take extreme measures to safeguard public safety. It also forced two politicians to consider an unexpected opportunity.

For Benny Gantz, leader of the Blue and White Party, crisis means that his very bold and controversial move — teaming up with radical Arab members of Knesset to form an anti-Netanyahu majority — didn’t grab the headlines as it would under normal circumstances. Sure, it angered many Israelis and delighted others. But most people’s attention was elsewhere.

For Netanyahu, the crisis offers an opportunity to look like a leader of a country rather than a hack running to save his own skin. It gives him a good way to fashion an argument for keeping things as they are rather than changing horses in midstream. That is, for him to remain prime minister for now, in a unity government.

For Netanyahu, the crisis offers an opportunity to look like a leader of a country rather than a hack running to save his own skin.

Critics of Netanyahu who cry foul when they see him cynically utilizing a real crisis for his own political benefit don’t understand politics. This is what politics is all about. Critics of Gantz who cry foul when they see him cynically allying with anti-Zionists to elect a new Knesset speaker don’t understand politics. This is what politics is all about. When opportunity knocks, politicians must rush to open the door.

Netanyahu risks relatively little but Gantz risks a lot. If either leader fails to form a coalition, Netanyahu stays. If they form a unity government, Netanyahu stays. Only if Gantz forms an unstable coalition in which right-wingers and Arabs sit together, Netanyahu goes. And even in such a case, he might stay the course to see the coalition crumble and lead his party in another round of elections.

If new election is coming, Gantz will no longer be able to play innocent when Likud hurls at him the fact that he was willing to play nice with Balad party supporters of terrorists. Having failed to become the prime minister in three consecutive elections, he also might face a demand from within his own party to give someone else a chance.

What Gantz currently is doing is simple: He is collecting bargaining chips to be in a better position to negotiate with Netanyahu. First, he got the mandate to form a coalition from President Reuven Rivlin. Second, he aims to replace the Likud’s speaker of the House with a Blue and White speaker. Third, he moves forward with a possible plan to form a minority government based on Arab support from the outside.

Is a narrow government really his plan? It could well be his plan B, with plan A being a unity government under terms he can tolerate. Yes, this means he will have to flipflop once more: He flipflopped on Arab support — and now will need to flipflop on sitting with Netanyahu, which he vowed never to do. But hey, this is what crises are for.

Shmuel Rosner is senior political editor. For more analysis of Israeli and international politics, visit the Jewish Journal.

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The Festival Organizer Rolling With the Coronavirus Punches

Leave a Comment / Israel / Natalie Solomon

Odeliyah Razabi is a self-described adrenaline junkie. As the executive producer of some of Israel’s largest festivals, events and shows, she said, “As the producer, you are the head of something so it’s a lot of responsibility. So many people [and] situations. It’s together, but it’s quite alone. I can do 70 calls a day, 100 emails a day. But when I have to make a decision it’s all on me. There’s so many phone calls. Sometimes I want to kill my phone.”

Razabi is the producer of the annual Tamar Festival, which takes place over four days each year at Masada in the south of the country and attracts roughly 10,000 people each day. She’s produced a 4,000 participant marathon at the Dead Sea, corporate events, dance festivals and rock concerts.

The 38-year-old calls herself an “architect of a new reality. Someone comes to me with his or her ideas and then I have to construct their reality. I put players within this game. It has a starting point, an end point, a soundtrack. I have really good connections with everyone I meet.”

Today, though, Razabi finds herself in a new reality in the midst of the global coronavirus pandemic. As of last week, the Israeli government limited gatherings to 100 people. “Social distancing” has become the new buzz term. The live entertainment industry in Israel has been decimated. All of Razabi’s productions have been canceled until mid-May.

“We’re all unemployed at the moment,” Razabi said, adding that as an independent contractor, she is not eligible for most of the compensation salaried employees are receiving in Israel at this time.

“It means I have no income in the foreseeable future. I have to find another way to earn my living. On the one hand, it is very frustrating,” she said, “because this is what I do and this is what my energy wants to do. But on the other hand, it’s an opportunity to be creative.”

Razabi has been on the phone all week, calling myriads of professionals who make large-scale events happen to deliver the bad news. “I can’t say that it doesn’t make me sad,” she said. “When you’re a producer, you work on getting things ‘known,’ so the unknown is the territory you don’t want to be in.”

Nonetheless, Razabi is an optimist and said, “This too shall pass. I’m not willing to give in. I struggle but I can still be creative and be in the ‘doing’ process. It’s an opportunity to leave the comfort zone and meet ourselves in another state of being. When [this is] over, and it will be over, we will have this experience … and it will make us better professionals.”

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In Israel, Utilizing Coronavirus for Political Gain

The Festival Organizer Rolling With the Coronavirus Punches

Jewish Journal