Dear chaverim v'mishpocha,
I'm writing this latest post from Ben-Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv, where I'm about to catch a flight to New York via London to see A. and take care of some urgent business in the Big Apple. That means no posts from Israel for a week, but I promise to begin posting again regularly once I've returned.
By the way, some of you know the funny story about my visit to a McDonald's in Jerusalem three years ago, where -- given my extremely limited knowledge of Hebrew at the time -- I could only manage to demand "Eyfo ha-dag?" ("Where's the fish?" as in McFish sandwich) from the bewildered girl behind the counter. At the airport today, while waiting for my flight, I went to a kosher McDonald's here and was able to order something called Arochat McKebab (a McKebab Meal), all in perfectly understandable Hebrew with no bewilderment. It's a small accomplishment, to be sure, but I feel that I have now redeemed myself. :-)
Lehitra'ot.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Purim sameach!
Last Thursday night and Friday, all of Israel was celebrating Purim, the Jewish holiday that celebrates the events described in the Book of Esther.
Purim is a carnivalesque holiday with analogues in many other cultures: for instance, Halloween, Mardi Gras, masquerade balls, or the Brazilian Carnivale. Like all such holidays, it involves a playful and satirical inversion of the normal social order, a temporary turning of the social world upside down. This can take all kinds of forms, from cross-dressing (I saw a few men in drag on Ben-Yehuda Street) to donning the costumes of royalty such as Queen Esther (commoners imitating elites). I also saw secular Israeli Jews dressed up as ultra-Orthodox religious Jews -- a particularly interesting inversion in a country where secular and religious Jews often clash. These kinds of reversals and inversions are also part of the Book of Esther itself. For example, the villain Haman is hanged on the very same gallows that he had constructed to execute the good guy Mordecai. Sociologists and anthropologists have written a lot about the meaning of this kind of holiday. While some have seen it as a kind of safety valve that allows ordinary people to rebel in a ritualized, regulated, and non-threatening way, others have suggested that carnivalesque holidays always retain the potential to subvert the existing social order.
I attended an outdoor public reading of the megillah (the Book of Esther) on Rothschild Avenue on Thursday evening (and yes, I "heard the whole megillah," as the expression goes). But the real festivities took place on Friday. Here is Ben-Yehuda Street, right around the corner from my apartment, on Friday afternoon:
The Purim festivities included music:
Some people celebrated in a religious way. Here are people putting on tefilin (phylacteries) to pray below a picture of the late Rabbi Schneerson:
And if praying doesn't work, maybe zipping around the streets of Tel Aviv on rollerskates with a yellow banner that says Moshiach (messiah) will hasten his coming:
Other people celebrated in a more secular way:
But kids always know how to have the most fun:
Of course, no carnivalesque holiday would be complete without outlandish costumes:
Even the Christian Santa Claus (Saint Nicholas) came to celebrate the Jewish holiday. (Perhaps he was in town for Easter, which fell on the Sunday after Purim.) This is doubly carnivalesque: women dressing as men, and Jews dressing up as a Christian icon.
Purim is a carnivalesque holiday with analogues in many other cultures: for instance, Halloween, Mardi Gras, masquerade balls, or the Brazilian Carnivale. Like all such holidays, it involves a playful and satirical inversion of the normal social order, a temporary turning of the social world upside down. This can take all kinds of forms, from cross-dressing (I saw a few men in drag on Ben-Yehuda Street) to donning the costumes of royalty such as Queen Esther (commoners imitating elites). I also saw secular Israeli Jews dressed up as ultra-Orthodox religious Jews -- a particularly interesting inversion in a country where secular and religious Jews often clash. These kinds of reversals and inversions are also part of the Book of Esther itself. For example, the villain Haman is hanged on the very same gallows that he had constructed to execute the good guy Mordecai. Sociologists and anthropologists have written a lot about the meaning of this kind of holiday. While some have seen it as a kind of safety valve that allows ordinary people to rebel in a ritualized, regulated, and non-threatening way, others have suggested that carnivalesque holidays always retain the potential to subvert the existing social order.
I attended an outdoor public reading of the megillah (the Book of Esther) on Rothschild Avenue on Thursday evening (and yes, I "heard the whole megillah," as the expression goes). But the real festivities took place on Friday. Here is Ben-Yehuda Street, right around the corner from my apartment, on Friday afternoon:
The Purim festivities included music:
And dancing:
Some people celebrated in a religious way. Here are people putting on tefilin (phylacteries) to pray below a picture of the late Rabbi Schneerson:
And if praying doesn't work, maybe zipping around the streets of Tel Aviv on rollerskates with a yellow banner that says Moshiach (messiah) will hasten his coming:
Other people celebrated in a more secular way:
But kids always know how to have the most fun:
Of course, no carnivalesque holiday would be complete without outlandish costumes:
Even the Christian Santa Claus (Saint Nicholas) came to celebrate the Jewish holiday. (Perhaps he was in town for Easter, which fell on the Sunday after Purim.) This is doubly carnivalesque: women dressing as men, and Jews dressing up as a Christian icon.
Chag sameach (happy holiday), everyone!
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Marx in Israel
German Chancellor Angela Merkel is in Israel this week. Today she met with Shimon Peres, Israel’s current president and the winner (with Yitzhak Rabin and Yasser Arafat) of the 1994 Nobel Peace Prize. According to press reports about the meeting, Peres stressed the need to create jobs in the West Bank and improve the infrastructure of the Palestinian Authority in order to further the peace process between Israel and the Palestinians.
This view – that economic development and cooperation are the primary means to achieve peace and reconciliation – is consistent with what Peres argued in his 1993 book The New Middle East. There he suggested that common markets and free-trade zones could help to achieve in the Middle East what the European Economic Community achieved for the war-ravaged nations of Western Europe after 1945. If France and Germany, once bitter enemies, could be brought together in this way, why not Jews and Arabs?
This may sound like a neo-liberal vision (neo-liberal in the European sense of free markets and free trade), but it reflects an assumption inherited from Shimon Peres’s political roots in socialist Zionism. As Karl Marx put it: “In the social production of their life, men enter into … relations of production” that constitute “the economic structure of society, the real foundation, on which rises a legal and political superstructure and to which correspond definite forms of social consciousness.” Peres, it is worth remembering, started his political career as a protégé of the great socialist, trade unionist, and Zionist statesman David Ben-Gurion. And, as Shlomo Avineri notes in his book The Making of Modern Zionism, Marx’s materialist conception of history was central to Ben-Gurion’s thinking: “Ben-Gurion always realized the prime importance of economic infrastructures.” This was the basis for Ben-Gurion’s vigorous opposition to the right-wing Revisionist Zionism of Vladimir Jabotinsky, which sought to establish a Jewish state through military power rather than the slower and less glamorous work of establishing a viable economic foundation. Interestingly, this old debate now seems to shape contemporary discussions of how to deal with the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. While Israel’s right wing (the ideological successors of Jabotinsky) emphasizes above all the use of military power to counter Palestinian terrorism, Shimon Peres focuses his attention on building what he hopes will be an economic foundation for peaceful coexistence.
Only taking this approach, noted Peres, in lieu of providing weapons or monetary donations to the PA, which only served to increase corruption and bureaucracy, will truly bolster chances for a lasting peace in the region….
Displaying the full length map proudly adorning his parlor, Peres also introduced the German chancellor to his “Peace Valley” project, proudly noting the new industrial zone to be established in [the Palestinian town of] Jenin thanks to a major monetary contribution from Berlin.
This view – that economic development and cooperation are the primary means to achieve peace and reconciliation – is consistent with what Peres argued in his 1993 book The New Middle East. There he suggested that common markets and free-trade zones could help to achieve in the Middle East what the European Economic Community achieved for the war-ravaged nations of Western Europe after 1945. If France and Germany, once bitter enemies, could be brought together in this way, why not Jews and Arabs?
This may sound like a neo-liberal vision (neo-liberal in the European sense of free markets and free trade), but it reflects an assumption inherited from Shimon Peres’s political roots in socialist Zionism. As Karl Marx put it: “In the social production of their life, men enter into … relations of production” that constitute “the economic structure of society, the real foundation, on which rises a legal and political superstructure and to which correspond definite forms of social consciousness.” Peres, it is worth remembering, started his political career as a protégé of the great socialist, trade unionist, and Zionist statesman David Ben-Gurion. And, as Shlomo Avineri notes in his book The Making of Modern Zionism, Marx’s materialist conception of history was central to Ben-Gurion’s thinking: “Ben-Gurion always realized the prime importance of economic infrastructures.” This was the basis for Ben-Gurion’s vigorous opposition to the right-wing Revisionist Zionism of Vladimir Jabotinsky, which sought to establish a Jewish state through military power rather than the slower and less glamorous work of establishing a viable economic foundation. Interestingly, this old debate now seems to shape contemporary discussions of how to deal with the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. While Israel’s right wing (the ideological successors of Jabotinsky) emphasizes above all the use of military power to counter Palestinian terrorism, Shimon Peres focuses his attention on building what he hopes will be an economic foundation for peaceful coexistence.
Peres (left) and Ben-Gurion (center) in 1969.
Monday, March 17, 2008
E pluribus unum
Dear chaverim v’mishpocha, the past two weeks have been eventful despite my lack of posts. The weekend before last I had a very late brunch – more lunch, really – with my friend S., her fiance T., a gay friend of hers who was celebrating his birthday, and a half dozen of his friends at a funky, laid-back Indian restaurant in Tel Aviv. Afterwards it occurred to me that the whole scene was in many ways a testament to the vibrant ethnic and cultural diversity of Israel. Shirin’s family immigrated to Israel from India, not Europe, and there is far more tolerance of homosexuality here in Israel than the rest of the Middle East, where it is severely and often violently repressed. Of course, one can find violent hostility to gays in Israel too, especially in ultra-Orthodox Jewish circles, but homosexuals are still able to live more freely, openly, and securely here than anywhere else in the region.
I have also been traveling outside of Tel Aviv since my last post. Last Thursday I made a return trip to the city of Rishon LeZion. I remember going with my friend D. to a cheap but amazingly good falafel stand there run by Iraqi Jews (Jews who had immigrated to Israel from Iraq) ten years ago. And three years ago I went with some fellow Madisonians to a nice fish restaurant near Rishon LeZion that overlooks the sea. The reason for my latest trip was to attend a lecture by my colleague H. at HaMichlalah LaMinhal (the College of Management) in Rishon LeZion.
I hoped to do a little sightseeing before the lecture. After all, Rishon LeZion has an interesting history. It was founded by Jewish chalutzim (pioneers) from Russia in 1882, fifteen years after Mark Twain's visit to Palestine. Its name (meaning “First to Zion”) comes from Isaiah 41:27. Apparently there is a history museum there and some historical sites for tourists to visit, but unfortunately I didn’t find myself anywhere near what they call the Old City (which is admittedly not so old). I suspect that I was in the newer parts of Rishon LeZion that were built in the 1980s, because the area around the central bus station and the college looked very American to me: sprawling instead of compact and walkable, criss-crossed by highways, and filled with residential apartment buildings and shopping centers. Not very appealing, if you ask me.
H.’s lecture was on pragmatist conceptions of the self, emotions, and protest movements, and it was admirably clear, well organized, and interesting. (I wish I could say that was true of all the sociology lectures I have attended, but unfortunately these qualities are not as universal as one might hope.) After the lecture, I joined H. and some Israeli colleagues for dinner and ended up by chance at the same fish restaurant I went to three years ago. There I discovered that one of the Israeli sociologists who joined us had received his Ph.D. from the University of Wisconsin, which gave us a chance to swap stories and compare notes about it.
There were more friends to see at the end of the week. Last Friday my friend and colleague M. arrived in Israel from Wisconsin, and I had a good time showing him around Tel Aviv and trying out some of the local restaurants with him. But the highlight of this week came already on Sunday in Jerusalem, where -- after M. found himself at the head of a Palm Sunday procession earlier in the day -- we met another of our Wisconsin colleagues and his wife for dinner. At some point it hit me how amazing and extraordinary the whole scene was. I could hardly believe it. Was I dreaming? Every year for thousands of years, Jews have concluded their Passover seders with the words “Next year in Jerusalem!” There we were, three Jews and a Muslim raising our glasses and proclaiming “THIS year in Jerusalem!” I couldn’t help but think how privileged I was to live in these times, and I couldn’t help but find some hope for peace in the laughter and camaraderie of this mixed company.
Hinei mah tov u'mah naim:
Shevet achim gam yachad.
(Rough translation: Here is what is good and what is pleasant: to sit together as brothers.)
I have also been traveling outside of Tel Aviv since my last post. Last Thursday I made a return trip to the city of Rishon LeZion. I remember going with my friend D. to a cheap but amazingly good falafel stand there run by Iraqi Jews (Jews who had immigrated to Israel from Iraq) ten years ago. And three years ago I went with some fellow Madisonians to a nice fish restaurant near Rishon LeZion that overlooks the sea. The reason for my latest trip was to attend a lecture by my colleague H. at HaMichlalah LaMinhal (the College of Management) in Rishon LeZion.
I hoped to do a little sightseeing before the lecture. After all, Rishon LeZion has an interesting history. It was founded by Jewish chalutzim (pioneers) from Russia in 1882, fifteen years after Mark Twain's visit to Palestine. Its name (meaning “First to Zion”) comes from Isaiah 41:27. Apparently there is a history museum there and some historical sites for tourists to visit, but unfortunately I didn’t find myself anywhere near what they call the Old City (which is admittedly not so old). I suspect that I was in the newer parts of Rishon LeZion that were built in the 1980s, because the area around the central bus station and the college looked very American to me: sprawling instead of compact and walkable, criss-crossed by highways, and filled with residential apartment buildings and shopping centers. Not very appealing, if you ask me.
H.’s lecture was on pragmatist conceptions of the self, emotions, and protest movements, and it was admirably clear, well organized, and interesting. (I wish I could say that was true of all the sociology lectures I have attended, but unfortunately these qualities are not as universal as one might hope.) After the lecture, I joined H. and some Israeli colleagues for dinner and ended up by chance at the same fish restaurant I went to three years ago. There I discovered that one of the Israeli sociologists who joined us had received his Ph.D. from the University of Wisconsin, which gave us a chance to swap stories and compare notes about it.
There were more friends to see at the end of the week. Last Friday my friend and colleague M. arrived in Israel from Wisconsin, and I had a good time showing him around Tel Aviv and trying out some of the local restaurants with him. But the highlight of this week came already on Sunday in Jerusalem, where -- after M. found himself at the head of a Palm Sunday procession earlier in the day -- we met another of our Wisconsin colleagues and his wife for dinner. At some point it hit me how amazing and extraordinary the whole scene was. I could hardly believe it. Was I dreaming? Every year for thousands of years, Jews have concluded their Passover seders with the words “Next year in Jerusalem!” There we were, three Jews and a Muslim raising our glasses and proclaiming “THIS year in Jerusalem!” I couldn’t help but think how privileged I was to live in these times, and I couldn’t help but find some hope for peace in the laughter and camaraderie of this mixed company.
Hinei mah tov u'mah naim:
Shevet achim gam yachad.
(Rough translation: Here is what is good and what is pleasant: to sit together as brothers.)
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
No Ivory Towers Here
Of late the news here has been dominated by the escalating violence in and around Gaza – the daily barrages of rockets that Hamas rains down on southern Israel (which are largely ignored by the international community) and the recent Israeli military strikes (denounced by the U.N. as excessive and disproportionate) that are intended to incapacitate, deter, or punish Hamas (it’s not altogether clear which it is). The Israeli military strikes have resulted in a high death toll among the Palestinians, mainly combatants but also many civilians and even children. No reasonable and humane person could feel anything but deep sorrow for the loss of innocent life. But does it mean that the Israeli military operation involved an excessive use of force? Regrettably, civilian deaths are an unavoidable aspect of warfare, particularly when the enemy operates in densely populated areas like the Gaza Strip. To recognize Israel’s right to self-defense is to accept, however reluctantly, the inevitable loss of civilian life that comes with the use of military means. In contrast to Hamas, the Israeli army does not target the civilian population, but is it doing enough to minimize civilian casualties? It’s hard for me to tell. What could the army do differently, short of refraining from military action, to reduce civilian casualties? This is not a rhetorical question. It seems to me that when someone criticizes the Israeli army (or any other) for using excessive force, then it is incumbent on the critic to suggest answers to this question.
Being an educator and not a soldier, I have been most struck by how the fighting in and around Gaza has impacted Israel's universities. It is simply not true that universities are “ivory towers,” least of all in Israel. At the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, where I am a visiting scholar, students staged a protest on Monday against the Israeli military operation in Gaza while other students held a counter-demonstration to support it. And at the Max Stern Academic College of Emek Yezreel (a regional branch of the Hebrew University until 1994), a lecturer stirred up controversy on the same day when she agreed to an Arab student’s request for a minute of silence on behalf of the Palestinians killed in Gaza. (Despite the criticism the lecturer received from the Student Union, I thought she handled the situation reasonably well: While granting the student’s request, she also reminded her that Israelis in Sderot and Ashkelon are also suffering, and she encouraged a discussion of the Israeli military operation afterwards. Had I been in her shoes, I might have handled the situation the same way.) But the violence has affected higher education in Israel most directly and most poignantly at Sapir College in Sderot: Last Wednesday, a rocket fired from Gaza hit Sapir College and killed a student. (Sderot is a town just 40 minutes from Tel Aviv inside Israel proper – not in the occupied territories – which has borne the brunt of the rocket attacks from Gaza.) The day after the attack, Yedioth Ahronoth published this moving statement by another student at Sapir College:
Being an educator and not a soldier, I have been most struck by how the fighting in and around Gaza has impacted Israel's universities. It is simply not true that universities are “ivory towers,” least of all in Israel. At the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, where I am a visiting scholar, students staged a protest on Monday against the Israeli military operation in Gaza while other students held a counter-demonstration to support it. And at the Max Stern Academic College of Emek Yezreel (a regional branch of the Hebrew University until 1994), a lecturer stirred up controversy on the same day when she agreed to an Arab student’s request for a minute of silence on behalf of the Palestinians killed in Gaza. (Despite the criticism the lecturer received from the Student Union, I thought she handled the situation reasonably well: While granting the student’s request, she also reminded her that Israelis in Sderot and Ashkelon are also suffering, and she encouraged a discussion of the Israeli military operation afterwards. Had I been in her shoes, I might have handled the situation the same way.) But the violence has affected higher education in Israel most directly and most poignantly at Sapir College in Sderot: Last Wednesday, a rocket fired from Gaza hit Sapir College and killed a student. (Sderot is a town just 40 minutes from Tel Aviv inside Israel proper – not in the occupied territories – which has borne the brunt of the rocket attacks from Gaza.) The day after the attack, Yedioth Ahronoth published this moving statement by another student at Sapir College:
What you will find if you come to Sapir is reinforced police presence, red signs that include instructions for cases of emergency, and loudspeakers that on occasion sound a hair-raising alarm that gives us less than 10 seconds to seek cover in the face of incoming rockets.
At Sapir College you will not find students sitting on the grass. They are scared to be left without shelter should rockets land. But you will find great fear here.
It happens almost every day: A “Color Red” alert, Qassam rockets landing, and all this followed by tears, mass panic, and concerned phone calls from home. It happens to us during classes, it happens during breaks, and it happens during difficult exams.
We have already sustained property damage to the college before, but this time we are dealing with the worst possible scenario – the death of a student. To my regret, despite our army and the reinforced security deployment at school, I do not have the confidence to say that tomorrow’s Qassam rocket will not hit me or any one of my friends at the college.
Can you comprehend that this is how students in Israel go about their studies?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
