Oh, you sons of Moses — with your crooked noses

In slight self-mockery, the young American volunteers who went over in 1947 and 1948 as riflemen, sailors, pilots and nurses to fight for the independence of the Jewish state, sang this song.\n\nNow, 60 years later, they came together again, along with their children and grandchildren, to greet old comrades and tell their stories at the Machal West celebration on Dec. 9.\n\nThere was Mitchell Flint, the honoree of the luncheon at the American Jewish University, who had been shot down over Midway as a U.S. fighter pilot during World War II, fought for the fledgling Israeli air force and served in Korea.

[additional-authors]

Danielle Berrin

January 11, 2008

A Machal Reunion

Oh, you sons of Moses
With your crooked noses
Fight, fight, fight for Israel

If your name is Abie
Join the Jewish navy
Fight, fight, fight for Israel

In slight self-mockery, the young American volunteers who went over in 1947 and 1948 as riflemen, sailors, pilots and nurses to fight for the independence of the Jewish state, sang this song.

Now, 60 years later, they came together again, along with their children and grandchildren, to greet old comrades and tell their stories at the Machal West celebration on Dec. 9.

There was Mitchell Flint, the honoree of the luncheon at the American Jewish University, who had been shot down over Midway as a U.S. fighter pilot during World War II, fought for the fledgling Israeli air force and served in Korea.

Flint had been one of the founders of Machal West (Machal stems from the Hebrew acronym of Volunteers From Abroad) 40 years ago, and he paid tribute to the memory of one of the other founders, ace pilot Rudy Augarten.

“In World War II, Rudy was flying a Spitfire and shot down two enemy Messerschmitts,” Flint reminisced. “In Israel, ironically, Rudy flew a Czech-made Messerschmitt and downed three Spitfires, manned by British pilots of the Royal Air Force.”

Flint and his wife, Joyce, got some extra nachas from son Mike, who served as the lively master of ceremonies. There were plenty of other kudos to go around:

To Esther Shawmut Friedman, president of Machal West, key organizer of the event, with the help of Dillon Hosier and Carolyn Ben Natan of the Israeli consulate; also, to Sharona Ben-Ami and Yehuda Bock, who fought in the Yom Kippur War.

And to Shira Bouskila, the young daughter of Sephardic Temple’s Rabbi Daniel and Peni Bouskila, who sang the American and Israeli national anthems with a verve well beyond her years, while grandfather and Machalnik Maxim Bouskila beamed.

It was left to Yaakov Dayan, the new Israeli consul general, to put the contributions of the American volunteers into historical perspective.

“The story of Chanukah is also the story of Machal,” Dayan said, “and the story of the Maccabees is your story.

“If Israel is about to celebrate its 60th anniversary, it is because you helped to bring that about,” he added. “It is your responsibility to tell your stories, for the sake of Israel and for the sake of your children and grandchildren.”

— Tom Tugend, Contributing Editor

Web editor’s note: Among those American volunteers was a freshly-discharged WWII vet named Tom Tugend . . .

On the Last Day

Looking back on the past two weeks I thought, “there’s nothing Jewish about New Year’s Eve.” It’s a mass-marketed excuse to party, to splurge on champagne and blow Chanukah giftcards on the most provocative attire you’ll wear all year.

New Year’s Eve in the United States is undoubtedly over-hyped and notoriously overrated; yet everybody, no matter their religious or ethnic affiliations, participates. Whether going “all-out” or staying home — one and all make their plans to honor the transition of time.

This year, my sister traveled to Los Angeles from Miami especially for New Year’s. Last year’s cause celÃÂ¨bre was anti-climactic, so we made a pact that this year we’d be together and do it better. But again, it was Dec. 31 and we found ourselves devoid of exciting plans (except of course for the decadent meal we planned in the shopping aisles of Wild Oats). At 11:30 p.m. when we were stock-full of grilled vegetables and salmon, we got all dressed up with nowhere to go.

When we landed a parallel parking spot on the Sunset Strip, after celebrating midnight in the car, the evening took a dramatic turn. Six hours later, after an impromptu invite from a celebrity and his entourage, we deemed the night an unusual success. But it was a shallow achievement: The three parties we traipsed in and out of were lavish, crowded and also sad. With booming music and free-flowing alcohol, everybody seemed happy. But a closer look revealed people too inebriated to walk, women so scantily clad that dancing became vulgar, and so many shattered bottles of alcohol lining the floor that moving became a health hazard. Even Mr. Celebrity himself seemed the most detached of all, not to mention headed straight for rehab. And this is a celebration?

After the wildest New Year’s romp I’ve ever experienced, I’ve changed my mind. A New Year celebration is completely, unabashedly Jewish — and the secular celebrants would do well to cull some lessons from the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah. For one, New Year’s is holy. Rosh Hashanah marks a time of reflection, repentance and forgiveness. It is loaded with meaning and celebrated with value. Sure, it lacks the in-your-face glory of the Bacchanalian revelry that ensues when the clock strikes midnight, but it has all the ethereal qualities the secular New Year lacks. On New Year’s Eve, people go out seeking revelation and wind up disappointed. On Rosh Hashanah, people truly commit to change, rededicating themselves to the things they most value.

In the end, it isn’t the seductive party that brings wish fulfillment — it’s the contemplative process that spiritually transitions someone from one moment to the next, remembering history and looking forward to a fresh future. New Year’s Eve is fun, but Rosh Hashanah is special.