Haaretz reports that eight Palestinian students in Gaza lost their Fulbright scholarships to pursue advanced degrees in the United States because the Israeli government denied them exit visas. This denial is unjust, foolish, and short-sighted. If Israeli policymakers want to discourage hatred and extremism among Palestinians, this goal would best be served by facilitating rather than closing off opportunities to study in the United States.
Right-wing Knesset member Yuval Steinitz (a member of the opposition Likud Party) offered this flimsy and utterly unconvincing justification for the government’s refusal to grant exit visas: “We are fighting the regime in Gaza that does its utmost to kill our citizens and destroy our schools and our colleges. So I don’t think we should allow students from Gaza to go anywhere. Gaza is under siege, and rightly so, and it is up to the Gazans to change the regime or its behavior.” Not only is Steinitz’s statement a non sequitur, it is also the same reasoning used by some British trade unionists to justify a blacklist (misleadingly described as a “boycott”) of Israeli academics and their institutions. The principle espoused by Steinitz and the British boycotters is the same: that scholars should be punished for the policies of the governments under which they live. As my union has pointed out (here and here), this is a dangerous notion that all educators ought to oppose, out of professional interest as well as moral considerations.
To Israel’s credit, the move has stirred up criticism and opposition here, even from the right. Natan Sharansky, the former Soviet dissident, political prisoner, and activist in the campaign to free Soviet Jewry, who is considered quite hawkish (he opposed Israel’s disengagement from Gaza in 2005), spoke eloquently about the foolishness of the decision. “We correctly complain that the Palestinian Authority is not building civil society,” he said, “but when we don’t help build civil society this plays into the hands of Hamas. The Fulbright is administered independently, and people are chosen for it due to their talents.” The chairman of the Knesset’s education committee also spoke out against the decision, criticizing it as “collective punishment” that was “not in keeping with international standards or with the moral standards of Jews, who have been subjected to the deprivation of higher education in the past.” The New York Times reports that the education committee has asked Olmert’s government and the military to “reconsider the policy and get back to it within two weeks.” Let’s hope this bad precedent is overturned before it causes any more harm.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Following in Mark Twain's Footsteps
As I mentioned in my inaugural post, I began reading Mark Twain’s The Innocents Abroad when I came to Israel in January. The book is essentially a travelogue of a five-month “pleasure excursion” that Twain took to Europe and Palestine in 1867; he wrote it for a San Francisco newspaper, which in return paid for his fare on the steamship Quaker City. I am now nearly finished with the book -- it has taken me roughly as long to read it as Twain took to travel through Europe and Palestine, so I almost feel as though I have been reading his travel reports in “real time.” I highly recommend it; it’s interesting and very funny, so much so that it sometimes made me laugh out loud.
Now that A. and I are planning some “pleasure excursions” of our own in modern-day Israel, I had the bright idea of revisiting some of the places that Twain describes and comparing notes with him here, in my own on-line travelogue. I thought of it as a kind of “virtual dialogue.” Since The Innocents Abroad was an inspiration for this blog, it seemed only fitting to follow in his footsteps. And by now, after reading some 430 pages of Twain’s travel reports, I feel like I’ve been one of his traveling companions and have gotten to know him over the past five months. Reading a new chapter feels a little like receiving a letter from a friend.
Once I began to think through this idea, however, it dawned on me that it wouldn’t be as easy as I thought. For one thing, some of the places that Twain visited simply don’t exist anymore. For instance, in chapter 46 he describes Lake Hule, the Biblical “Waters of Merom.” However, Israel drained Lake Hule and its surrounding swamps in the 1950s for agricultural purposes. A small portion of the lake and swamp region was re-flooded as part of a restoration project in the 1990s, creating present-day Lake Agmon, but it is much smaller and shallower than the original lake.
Another problem is that many of the sites Twain visited are located in the West Bank. He “stopped to lunch” at Shechem, the site of Joseph’s Tomb and Jacob’s Well, which is now the Palestinian city of Nablus. (Israelis are currently not allowed to visit Joseph’s Tomb, which Palestinians vandalized and demolished in 2000. [For two updates on Joseph's Tomb since this post was originally published, see here and here. -W.Y., June 13.] Incidentally, Nablus is also the home of the Samaritans, whom Twain describes and who still live there.) Twain “passed Shiloh, where the Ark of the Covenant rested three hundred years,” and which is now the site of an Israeli settlement and the Palestinian town Turmus Ayya, 28 miles north of Jerusalem on Route 60. Twain visited the “shapeless mass of ruins” at Bethel (“it was here that Jacob lay down and had that superb vision of angels”), about 10 miles north of Jerusalem, which is now the site of the Palestinian village of Beitin and an adjacent Israeli settlement. Twain even camped at Jenin, which achieved notoriety during the second intifada as a major source of suicide bombers, provoking an Israeli military incursion in 2002. I’m not too keen on traveling to any of those places in light of the latest travel warning from the U.S. State Department: “The security environment in the West Bank remains volatile. Violent demonstrations, kidnappings, and shootings are unpredictable and can occur without warning. The Department of State urges Americans to defer travel to the West Bank at this time.” Mark Twain had much less to worry about; he feared the “quixotic heroism” of his traveling companions more than the “fierce Bedouins” that supposedly lay in wait for them: “They have their hands on their pistols all the time, and every now and then, when you least expect it, they snatch them out and take aim at Bedouins who are not visible, and draw their knives and make savage passes at other Bedouins who do not exist. I am in deadly peril always, for these spasms are sudden and irregular, and of course I cannot tell when to be getting out of the way.” I only wish the terrorists of today were as imaginary as Twain's Bedouins.
Even if A. and I can’t revisit all the places that Mark Twain describes, we can at least go to some of them: Banyas, Capernaum, Tiberias and the nearby “ancient warm baths” (now part of the Hamat Gader Park), the “Plain of Esdraelon” (the Jezreel Valley), Nazareth, and of course Jerusalem. We start with Jerusalem next week!
Now that A. and I are planning some “pleasure excursions” of our own in modern-day Israel, I had the bright idea of revisiting some of the places that Twain describes and comparing notes with him here, in my own on-line travelogue. I thought of it as a kind of “virtual dialogue.” Since The Innocents Abroad was an inspiration for this blog, it seemed only fitting to follow in his footsteps. And by now, after reading some 430 pages of Twain’s travel reports, I feel like I’ve been one of his traveling companions and have gotten to know him over the past five months. Reading a new chapter feels a little like receiving a letter from a friend.
Once I began to think through this idea, however, it dawned on me that it wouldn’t be as easy as I thought. For one thing, some of the places that Twain visited simply don’t exist anymore. For instance, in chapter 46 he describes Lake Hule, the Biblical “Waters of Merom.” However, Israel drained Lake Hule and its surrounding swamps in the 1950s for agricultural purposes. A small portion of the lake and swamp region was re-flooded as part of a restoration project in the 1990s, creating present-day Lake Agmon, but it is much smaller and shallower than the original lake.
Another problem is that many of the sites Twain visited are located in the West Bank. He “stopped to lunch” at Shechem, the site of Joseph’s Tomb and Jacob’s Well, which is now the Palestinian city of Nablus. (Israelis are currently not allowed to visit Joseph’s Tomb, which Palestinians vandalized and demolished in 2000. [For two updates on Joseph's Tomb since this post was originally published, see here and here. -W.Y., June 13.] Incidentally, Nablus is also the home of the Samaritans, whom Twain describes and who still live there.) Twain “passed Shiloh, where the Ark of the Covenant rested three hundred years,” and which is now the site of an Israeli settlement and the Palestinian town Turmus Ayya, 28 miles north of Jerusalem on Route 60. Twain visited the “shapeless mass of ruins” at Bethel (“it was here that Jacob lay down and had that superb vision of angels”), about 10 miles north of Jerusalem, which is now the site of the Palestinian village of Beitin and an adjacent Israeli settlement. Twain even camped at Jenin, which achieved notoriety during the second intifada as a major source of suicide bombers, provoking an Israeli military incursion in 2002. I’m not too keen on traveling to any of those places in light of the latest travel warning from the U.S. State Department: “The security environment in the West Bank remains volatile. Violent demonstrations, kidnappings, and shootings are unpredictable and can occur without warning. The Department of State urges Americans to defer travel to the West Bank at this time.” Mark Twain had much less to worry about; he feared the “quixotic heroism” of his traveling companions more than the “fierce Bedouins” that supposedly lay in wait for them: “They have their hands on their pistols all the time, and every now and then, when you least expect it, they snatch them out and take aim at Bedouins who are not visible, and draw their knives and make savage passes at other Bedouins who do not exist. I am in deadly peril always, for these spasms are sudden and irregular, and of course I cannot tell when to be getting out of the way.” I only wish the terrorists of today were as imaginary as Twain's Bedouins.
Even if A. and I can’t revisit all the places that Mark Twain describes, we can at least go to some of them: Banyas, Capernaum, Tiberias and the nearby “ancient warm baths” (now part of the Hamat Gader Park), the “Plain of Esdraelon” (the Jezreel Valley), Nazareth, and of course Jerusalem. We start with Jerusalem next week!
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Final grades are in!
Received yesterday in the mail from Tel Aviv University (click on the letter to enlarge it):
It's the report card I've been expecting for my Hebrew class! As you can see, the university informs students of their final grades in Hebrew only, which makes the report card the real test of how much they've learned. Despite some unfamiliar words and bad penmanship (can you believe my chutzpah, chiding sabras for their poor handwriting?), it was not hard to understand the gist of it. In brief, I earned 98% for the intensive four-week ulpan that began in mid-January and 97% in the longer but less intensive follow-up course from February to May. I'm still far from fluent, but I'm reasonably sure those grades are high enough that my colleagues in Wisconsin won't consider revoking my tenure.
Monday, May 26, 2008
(Lag Ba-Omer) לַ״ג בָּעֹמֶר
Lag ba-Omer, a minor Jewish holiday commemorating the cessation of a plague that killed 24,000 disciples of the great Rabbi Akiva, began last Thursday night and continued on Friday. According to one interpretation, the “plague” is in fact a coded reference to the Romans, who bloodily suppressed a Jewish revolt in Rabbi Akiva’s time and eventually murdered the rabbi himself in a particularly cruel and gruesome way that I won’t describe here. The cessation of the plague, accordingly, may refer to a temporary Jewish victory over the Romans in the struggle for national independence and political sovereignty. The name of the holiday simply means the 33rd day (33 was written with the Hebrew letters לג before the adoption of Arabic numerals) of the Omer (the period between the holidays of Passover and Shavuot).
In modern Israel, Lag ba-Omer is a school holiday celebrated with bonfires in the evening (mainly lit by kids and teenagers) and picnics the next day. A. and I were in Rehovot having dinner with some Israeli friends of ours on Thursday evening, but from the balcony of their thirteenth-floor apartment we could see lots of bonfires springing up down below. We saw more bonfires on the beach in Tel Aviv when we returned home. Apparently, it’s customary for children and teenagers to begin pilfering wood from construction sites weeks before the holiday, which led the Tel Aviv Municipality to supply firewood this year. No word yet on whether it reduced pilfering. I tried to take some photos of the bonfires, but none of them came out well.
Lag ba-Omer became known as the “Scholar’s Festival” in the Middle Ages, apparently because the merrymaking of rabbinical students was especially enthusiastic. (Ironically, Akiva was said to be not only unlearned in his early years -- an עם הארץ [am ha-aretz or ignoramus] – but also a bitter enemy of scholars: “When I was an עם הארץ I said, ‘Had I a scholar in my power, I would maul him like an ass’” [Pes. 49b]. No doubt a few of my students and colleagues have had the same thought about me.) A. and I, scholars that we are (though of a secular sort), decided to celebrate the “Scholar’s Festival” with a picnic in the Yarkon Park on Friday. Here are a few pictures of our excursion.
The park:
The scholars:
And the best snack food ever, "Bambah":
In modern Israel, Lag ba-Omer is a school holiday celebrated with bonfires in the evening (mainly lit by kids and teenagers) and picnics the next day. A. and I were in Rehovot having dinner with some Israeli friends of ours on Thursday evening, but from the balcony of their thirteenth-floor apartment we could see lots of bonfires springing up down below. We saw more bonfires on the beach in Tel Aviv when we returned home. Apparently, it’s customary for children and teenagers to begin pilfering wood from construction sites weeks before the holiday, which led the Tel Aviv Municipality to supply firewood this year. No word yet on whether it reduced pilfering. I tried to take some photos of the bonfires, but none of them came out well.
Lag ba-Omer became known as the “Scholar’s Festival” in the Middle Ages, apparently because the merrymaking of rabbinical students was especially enthusiastic. (Ironically, Akiva was said to be not only unlearned in his early years -- an עם הארץ [am ha-aretz or ignoramus] – but also a bitter enemy of scholars: “When I was an עם הארץ I said, ‘Had I a scholar in my power, I would maul him like an ass’” [Pes. 49b]. No doubt a few of my students and colleagues have had the same thought about me.) A. and I, scholars that we are (though of a secular sort), decided to celebrate the “Scholar’s Festival” with a picnic in the Yarkon Park on Friday. Here are a few pictures of our excursion.
The park:
The scholars:
And the best snack food ever, "Bambah":
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Opening of the Second Semester
It has been a busy week in ארץ ישראל (the Land of Israel). While Palestinian rockets continued to slam into southern Israel, the President of the United States came to visit the country (he did not call on us), and Israeli President Shimon Peres hosted the "Jewish Davos" in Jerusalem (we did not receive an invitation, but our friend S. went). Traffic in Jerusalem, reported J. J. Goldberg, which is "impossible on a good day," became downright hopeless. This enraged residents, making the City of Peace decidedly less placid. Yet through some act of divine providence, I managed to avoid this balagan (mess) despite making two trips to Jerusalem on Sunday and Tuesday.
I went to Jerusalem to begin teaching my sociology class at the Hebrew University. The spring semester, postponed because of the university lecturers' strike earlier this year, is just now beginning. I have a very small group of students: only four so far, though a fifth showed up for the second meeting and may join the class. All of them are Israeli, though one was born in America and made aliyah (immigrated to Israel) a few years ago. Despite the small size and the worries expressed by some of them about their English-language proficiency, we had a great discussion about the liberal tradition in America. (I mean classical liberalism, the kind that sought to maximize individual liberty by means of limited government, the rule of law, and a competitive market economy. For a bit of background, see this brief tribute to Louis Hartz that Alan Wolfe wrote for The New York Times three years ago.) Interestingly, despite plenty of historical evidence of illiberal and inegalitarian practices in American history, all of my students defended the Hartzian thesis of a "liberal consensus" in America and rejected the rival "multiple traditions thesis" propounded by the political scientist Rogers Smith (namely, that liberalism is only one of several traditions that constitute American political culture, none of which is dominant). Nobody in America but us liberals? Perhaps my Israeli students idealize America a little; I suspect they are more critical of their own country than they are about America.
The resumption of my teaching role this week coincided with the conclusion of my student role, conveniently sparing me from any potential "role conflicts" (as sociologists say). I had my last Hebrew class and final exam at Tel Aviv University last Wednesday, but I won't know how I did until later this week. As my friend M. pointed out, "It's humorous that, as a tenured Wisconsin sociologist, you're taking a final exam in some course and awaiting your grade in the mail! But thank God, at least, you won't have to wake up early anymore." I am indeed elated that I will no longer have to wake up at the unholy hour of 6:45 a.m., though I will miss the class, my teacher, and my fellow students (mostly American undergrads, whom I found very likeable). I hope the experience has benefited me in ways that will outlast the class itself. Besides improving my Hebrew language skills, I think it has made me more sensitive and sympathetic to the anxieties and concerns that my Israeli students expressed about reading, writing, and speaking in a second language. With my own experiences in mind, I tried to be especially careful to listen patiently to each of them. Who knows, with an attitude like that in a city where patience is in such short supply, maybe I'll get an invitation to the next "Jewish Davos."
I went to Jerusalem to begin teaching my sociology class at the Hebrew University. The spring semester, postponed because of the university lecturers' strike earlier this year, is just now beginning. I have a very small group of students: only four so far, though a fifth showed up for the second meeting and may join the class. All of them are Israeli, though one was born in America and made aliyah (immigrated to Israel) a few years ago. Despite the small size and the worries expressed by some of them about their English-language proficiency, we had a great discussion about the liberal tradition in America. (I mean classical liberalism, the kind that sought to maximize individual liberty by means of limited government, the rule of law, and a competitive market economy. For a bit of background, see this brief tribute to Louis Hartz that Alan Wolfe wrote for The New York Times three years ago.) Interestingly, despite plenty of historical evidence of illiberal and inegalitarian practices in American history, all of my students defended the Hartzian thesis of a "liberal consensus" in America and rejected the rival "multiple traditions thesis" propounded by the political scientist Rogers Smith (namely, that liberalism is only one of several traditions that constitute American political culture, none of which is dominant). Nobody in America but us liberals? Perhaps my Israeli students idealize America a little; I suspect they are more critical of their own country than they are about America.
The resumption of my teaching role this week coincided with the conclusion of my student role, conveniently sparing me from any potential "role conflicts" (as sociologists say). I had my last Hebrew class and final exam at Tel Aviv University last Wednesday, but I won't know how I did until later this week. As my friend M. pointed out, "It's humorous that, as a tenured Wisconsin sociologist, you're taking a final exam in some course and awaiting your grade in the mail! But thank God, at least, you won't have to wake up early anymore." I am indeed elated that I will no longer have to wake up at the unholy hour of 6:45 a.m., though I will miss the class, my teacher, and my fellow students (mostly American undergrads, whom I found very likeable). I hope the experience has benefited me in ways that will outlast the class itself. Besides improving my Hebrew language skills, I think it has made me more sensitive and sympathetic to the anxieties and concerns that my Israeli students expressed about reading, writing, and speaking in a second language. With my own experiences in mind, I tried to be especially careful to listen patiently to each of them. Who knows, with an attitude like that in a city where patience is in such short supply, maybe I'll get an invitation to the next "Jewish Davos."
Thursday, May 8, 2008
(Independence Day) יום העצמאות
On Wednesday evening, as Israel's Memorial Day came to a close and its Independence Day began, flags were returned to full mast and the mood changed from somber to festive. The transition is an abrupt and jarring one for a visitor, but the sharp contrast serves to remind people of the cost of independence and what the country's fallen soldiers have achieved and preserved. Israel is not perfect, of course, and there are many worrisome aspects of Israeli society and politics (see the superb article by Leonard Fein in the spring 2008 issue of Dissent magazine), but there are also many admirable and impressive accomplishments here that provide ample reason for celebration. To paraphrase Barack Obama's recent remarks about the United States, it would be a profound distortion to elevate what is wrong with the country above all that we know is right with it. This Independence Day was celebrated with special enthusiasm because, as The New York Times put it, "the Jewish people are marking the 60th anniversary of their national rebirth, the founding of Israel." As The Forward noted in 1948, "it is already the third time that Jews have made a Jewish state in the Land of Israel."
In Tel Aviv, the Independence Day festivities began Wednesday night with fireworks and a big light and music show in Rabin Square. Among the thousands of people filling the square were A. and me. Here we are wearing the colors of Israel's flag, blue and white, to get into the holiday spirit.
The celebrations continued Thursday afternoon with a sea and air show by Israel's navy and air force. A. and I were again on hand to take a few pictures (the last one is an AP photo).
The Israeli press reported that the Independence Day celebrations were "held under tight security, due to warnings received on terror organizations' plans to carry out attacks." Happily, the tight security ensured a safe holiday for everyone. The only thing we saw that marred the occasion was an accident during the air show, when a paratrooper missed his landing spot and collided with spectators.
So what is the state of the nation in 2008? As part of its coverage of Israel's 60th anniversary, The Jerusalem Post carried an interesting story about "The Demise of Ideology" in the country. "What we're seeing," it quoted Israeli sociologist Oz Almog as saying, are indications "that Zionism is waning. The whole Zionist ethos no longer resonates for Israelis, with the exception of the religious nationalist camp." As evidence, Almog and The Jerusalem Post pointed to changing attitudes about aliyah (immigration) and yerida (emigration). Chaim Waxman, another sociologist, disagreed: "I don't see these changes as an ideological post-Zionism. It is a natural course of events. To a large extent, Israel has become a normal country. That was the goal of Zionism. In a normal country people travel and some will leave." Judging from the enthusiasm and the multitudes of flags that A. and I witnessed on Israel's Memorial Day and Independence Day, I'm inclined to think that reports of Zionism's demise have been exaggerated. Emigration has indeed been rising, but the number of emigrants each year remains lower than the number of immigrants and returning Israelis. Moreover, as The New York Times noted in a story about a special conference capping this year's Independence Day festivities: "Today Israel’s Jewish population of 5.5 million is the world’s largest, just ahead of that of the United States, which is slowly declining through low birth rate and intermarriage. Israel has in fact become the center of Jewish life and is increasingly being asked to act like the older brother to Jewish communities elsewhere." This sounds to me less like the demise of Zionism than the fulfillment of Ahad Ha'am's vision. He never envisioned Israel as a home for all of the world's Jews, but rather as a cultural center for the Jewish people that would reinforce Jewish life in the Diaspora. I look forward to returning to that center again for Israel's 100th anniversary.
In Tel Aviv, the Independence Day festivities began Wednesday night with fireworks and a big light and music show in Rabin Square. Among the thousands of people filling the square were A. and me. Here we are wearing the colors of Israel's flag, blue and white, to get into the holiday spirit.
The sign below reads "Independence Israel."
The celebrations continued Thursday afternoon with a sea and air show by Israel's navy and air force. A. and I were again on hand to take a few pictures (the last one is an AP photo).
The Israeli press reported that the Independence Day celebrations were "held under tight security, due to warnings received on terror organizations' plans to carry out attacks." Happily, the tight security ensured a safe holiday for everyone. The only thing we saw that marred the occasion was an accident during the air show, when a paratrooper missed his landing spot and collided with spectators.
So what is the state of the nation in 2008? As part of its coverage of Israel's 60th anniversary, The Jerusalem Post carried an interesting story about "The Demise of Ideology" in the country. "What we're seeing," it quoted Israeli sociologist Oz Almog as saying, are indications "that Zionism is waning. The whole Zionist ethos no longer resonates for Israelis, with the exception of the religious nationalist camp." As evidence, Almog and The Jerusalem Post pointed to changing attitudes about aliyah (immigration) and yerida (emigration). Chaim Waxman, another sociologist, disagreed: "I don't see these changes as an ideological post-Zionism. It is a natural course of events. To a large extent, Israel has become a normal country. That was the goal of Zionism. In a normal country people travel and some will leave." Judging from the enthusiasm and the multitudes of flags that A. and I witnessed on Israel's Memorial Day and Independence Day, I'm inclined to think that reports of Zionism's demise have been exaggerated. Emigration has indeed been rising, but the number of emigrants each year remains lower than the number of immigrants and returning Israelis. Moreover, as The New York Times noted in a story about a special conference capping this year's Independence Day festivities: "Today Israel’s Jewish population of 5.5 million is the world’s largest, just ahead of that of the United States, which is slowly declining through low birth rate and intermarriage. Israel has in fact become the center of Jewish life and is increasingly being asked to act like the older brother to Jewish communities elsewhere." This sounds to me less like the demise of Zionism than the fulfillment of Ahad Ha'am's vision. He never envisioned Israel as a home for all of the world's Jews, but rather as a cultural center for the Jewish people that would reinforce Jewish life in the Diaspora. I look forward to returning to that center again for Israel's 100th anniversary.
(Memorial Day) יום הזכרון
The past week has been packed with holidays, both solemn and festive. Last Thursday was יום השואה (Holocaust Remembrance Day), followed this Wednesday by יום הזכרון (Israel's Memorial Day) and this Thursday by יום העצמאות (Israel's Independence Day). This Independence Day was an especially big deal because it marks the sixtieth anniversary of Israel's founding in 1948 -- but more about that in my next post.
Here, as in the United States, Memorial Day honors the men and women who have died in military service to the country. In Israel, that includes members of pre-state military organizations (like the Haganah and Irgun) and civilians murdered by terrorism. This year, Israel commemorated 22,437 lives lost in the line of duty (65 of them in the past year) and 1,634 civilian terror victims.
In accordance with the Jewish calendar, the day began Tuesday evening. At 8:00 p.m., sirens sounded throughout the country for one minute. As on יום השואה (Holocaust Remembrance Day), people stopped whatever they were doing during that minute to stand in silence in honor of the dead. I was walking home from the laundromat when the siren sounded, and I put down my load of laundry and stood silently on the sidewalk, head bowed, along with other people on the street. There was an official ceremony afterwards in Rabin Square; A. and I did not attend, but we watched it on television. The next morning at 11:00, sirens again sounded for two minutes; I stood on the balcony of our apartment, below which traffic came to a stop and drivers stood beside their cars. Throughout the day, from Tuesday evening till nightfall on Wednesday, the mood was somber.
For most people in this tiny little republic, where nearly everyone knows someone (a friend, a sibling, a child, a spouse, or a parent) who was killed in the line of duty, Memorial Day has a deeply personal meaning. In that respect, it seems to me, it's different from the United States, with its far larger population and its all-volunteer army, where nowadays many people have no direct connection to military service or sacrifice.
Here, as in the United States, Memorial Day honors the men and women who have died in military service to the country. In Israel, that includes members of pre-state military organizations (like the Haganah and Irgun) and civilians murdered by terrorism. This year, Israel commemorated 22,437 lives lost in the line of duty (65 of them in the past year) and 1,634 civilian terror victims.
In accordance with the Jewish calendar, the day began Tuesday evening. At 8:00 p.m., sirens sounded throughout the country for one minute. As on יום השואה (Holocaust Remembrance Day), people stopped whatever they were doing during that minute to stand in silence in honor of the dead. I was walking home from the laundromat when the siren sounded, and I put down my load of laundry and stood silently on the sidewalk, head bowed, along with other people on the street. There was an official ceremony afterwards in Rabin Square; A. and I did not attend, but we watched it on television. The next morning at 11:00, sirens again sounded for two minutes; I stood on the balcony of our apartment, below which traffic came to a stop and drivers stood beside their cars. Throughout the day, from Tuesday evening till nightfall on Wednesday, the mood was somber.
For most people in this tiny little republic, where nearly everyone knows someone (a friend, a sibling, a child, a spouse, or a parent) who was killed in the line of duty, Memorial Day has a deeply personal meaning. In that respect, it seems to me, it's different from the United States, with its far larger population and its all-volunteer army, where nowadays many people have no direct connection to military service or sacrifice.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
(Holocaust Remembrance Day) יום השואה
Today was יום השואה (Holocaust Remembrance Day) in Israel. All day the television stations showed films and shows about the Shoah, radio stations played somber music, and flags on public buildings were lowered to half staff. But the most poignant and powerful moment came at precisely 10:00 a.m., when air-raid sirens were sounded throughout the whole country for two minutes. During these two minutes people stop whatever they are doing -- even cars stop -- and they stand silently to commemorate the six million Jews murdered in Europe. Those two minutes are consecrated time, set apart from the ordinary routines of profane time; they burst in upon it and shatter it.
When the sirens sounded, I was still in my Hebrew class, which was just finishing up. Our teacher, in the middle of explaining something, stopped in mid-sentence and said quietly, "We need to stand up." As I stood together with my classmates in silence, I thought of Psalm 38 ("my sorrow is continually before me"); I thought of my grandmother, who escaped the Nazis by immigrating to America but lost a brother who stayed behind; I thought of my synagogue in Wisconsin, which I learned was defaced with swastikas last week; I thought of the remarkable and courageous woman whose story we had just read, Hannah Szenes; and I thought of the poem we had read the day before, which ends abruptly in mid-sentence like the lives of so many who perished.
When the sirens sounded, I was still in my Hebrew class, which was just finishing up. Our teacher, in the middle of explaining something, stopped in mid-sentence and said quietly, "We need to stand up." As I stood together with my classmates in silence, I thought of Psalm 38 ("my sorrow is continually before me"); I thought of my grandmother, who escaped the Nazis by immigrating to America but lost a brother who stayed behind; I thought of my synagogue in Wisconsin, which I learned was defaced with swastikas last week; I thought of the remarkable and courageous woman whose story we had just read, Hannah Szenes; and I thought of the poem we had read the day before, which ends abruptly in mid-sentence like the lives of so many who perished.
כתוב בעפרון בקרון החתום / דן פגיס
כאן במשלוח הזה
אני חוה
עם הבל בני
אם תראו את בני הגדול
קין בן אדם
תגידו לו שאני
כאן במשלוח הזה
אני חוה
עם הבל בני
אם תראו את בני הגדול
קין בן אדם
תגידו לו שאני
Here is my rough translation:
Written in Pencil on the Sealed Train Car / by Dan Pagis
Here at this transfer
I am Eve
With Abel my son
If you see my big son
Cain son of Adam
Tell him that I
It was extraordinary and profoundly moving to take part in this public commemoration together at the same time with millions of others throughout the country. Perhaps Emile Durkheim explains it best. "The basis of mourning," he wrote, "is the impression of enfeeblement that is felt by the group when it loses a member. But this very impression has the effect of bringing the individuals close to one another ... and from all this comes a sensation of renewed strength.… To commune in sadness is still to commune, and every communion of consciousness increases social vitality, in whatever form it is done."
Written in Pencil on the Sealed Train Car / by Dan Pagis
Here at this transfer
I am Eve
With Abel my son
If you see my big son
Cain son of Adam
Tell him that I
It was extraordinary and profoundly moving to take part in this public commemoration together at the same time with millions of others throughout the country. Perhaps Emile Durkheim explains it best. "The basis of mourning," he wrote, "is the impression of enfeeblement that is felt by the group when it loses a member. But this very impression has the effect of bringing the individuals close to one another ... and from all this comes a sensation of renewed strength.… To commune in sadness is still to commune, and every communion of consciousness increases social vitality, in whatever form it is done."
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