Vines and Figs
Make no mistake, criticizing the Israeli government and calling it out on the Occupation of Palestinian territories (and atrocities committed thereof) is not, by any means, an act of Anti-Semitism, not by any stretch of the term. It does not matter if one is Jewish or not, White, Yellow, Black, or Brown, or a member of any political party. Being enraged over any type of Human-Rights violations is entirely legitimate, appropriate, and acceptable. Those who spout out accusations of “Anti-Semitism” or “Self-Loathing Jews” at critics of Israeli policy are sawing the branches of legitimate discourse from underneath themselves, foolishly attempting to “nullify” the criticism with ad-hominem attacks.
However, once objections of the Occupation cross over to outright denial of Israel’s right to exist as the Jewish Homeland, treacherous waters are, indeed, encountered. This includes anti-Israel slogans such as those calling for a Palestinian state “From the River to the Sea” (effectively eradicating Israel) or fictional accounts of Israel being created by displacing Palestinians. Denying Israel’s right to exist, as the Jewish homeland, is literally a call for all Jews to return to a diasporic condition, exposed again to all the misery and persecution endured over close to three millennia. No people have suffered collectively more than the Jews during post-Judea-and-Israel Kingdom times, and no nation has, quite frankly, “earned” the right to its own spot under the Sun as Israel. The economic, scientific, agricultural and military powers amassed by it over the years were created specifically as a response to the existential threat the Jewish people experienced in the 20th century, namely the Holocaust, a uniquely horrific period in the history of Humankind. Israel should not be attacked or denigrated for its obvious success in rebuilding the Jewish nation from the ashes of Europe.
Granted, one would have hoped that individual and collective experiences would have informed Israel specifically how not to behave towards weaker, impoverished people, who’ve been, in many ways, abandoned by their own. We should know better.
One of Israel’s greatest authors, the late Amos Oz, stated that “after the Holocaust the Jews were a drowning man: they therefore had the right to grab hold of a piece of driftwood, even if it meant forcing another man, the Palestinians, to share it. What they did not have was the right to grab the entire piece of wood and force the other man into the sea – which is what Israel had done in 1967.” He would say that Jews and Palestinians both understood that a two-state solution was necessary, the problem lay with their leaders: “The patient is ready for the operation,” he wrote. “But the surgeons are cowards.”
Over the past several years we hear cries of “Apartheid”, equating Israel with South Africa of old. Nothing could be farther from the truth: Apartheid was a judicial-based system of segregation and disenfranchisement based on race. State-sanctioned and enforced, it reduced generations of South Africans, living in the country, to second-class citizenry. There was no argument over the rights of residents of, say, Soweto, to live there, only that they could not vote, intermarry, receive a proper education or healthcare, or otherwise be part of South African life. The 2.1 million Israeli Arabs enjoy full freedoms granted to all citizens: Vote, attend national universities, protest, worship however they choose, and fully participate in the body politic. They are exempt from military service, though some choose to sign-up for it. Moreover, when it comes to Women’s’ Rights and LGBTQ+ issues, Israeli Arabs have liberties unavailable anywhere else in the Arab world (A scant fifty miles south of liberal Tel-Aviv, a gay Arab male may find himself lynched by being thrown off a rooftop in Islamist Gaza).
I do not wish to trivialize the horrors of the Occupation, having written, spoken, and demonstrated against it for over thirty-eight years. But it’s important to remember the facts, and those are that the Occupation, at its root, is a territorial dispute that’s still less than one hundred years old, with the military occupation of the West Bank dating to 1967. There are no Israeli laws classifying Palestinians as an excluded class of citizens, as the Occupied Territories are simple not a part of the country and remain under military rule. That’s not “Apartheid”, but an “Occupation”, not much different from several other current military occupations such as Northern Cyprus (Turkey), Western Sahara (Morocco), or the Crimea (Russia), all unfortunate (yet highly solvable) situations.
So, let’s resolve to neither yell “Anti-Semites!” whenever someone criticizes Israel’s latest outrage in the West Bank, nor (intentionally or not) call for the destruction of the single true democracy in the Middle East. Instead, let’s all work however we can towards an equitable solution, by which we will see the realization of the immortal words of the prophet Micah: “But they shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig tree; and none shall make them afraid: for the mouth of the Lord of hosts hath spoken it.”
Play me Backwards
Few things irritate me more than faux acts of kindness and ersatz charity. The concept of “Pay it Forward” has been with us for some time. Dr. Franklin (as Old Ben was universally known in his time) described it perfectly in a letter to one Benjamin Webb:
“I do not pretend to give such a deed; I only lend it to you. When you […] meet with another honest Man in similar Distress, you must pay me by lending this Sum to him; enjoining him to discharge the Debt by a like operation, when he shall be able, and shall meet with another opportunity. I hope it may thus go thro’ many hands, before it meets with a Knave that will stop its Progress. This is a trick of mine for doing a deal of good with a little money.”
Simply stated, a person in need who was helped by party “A”, repays the favor by helping party “B”, and so forth. So, when did this noble approach to helping our fellow man infiltrate our drive-through establishments?
I was navigating through a long line at a regional Starbucks recently. When I (finally!) made it to the pickup window the Starbucks employee cheerfully informed me that the car ahead of me had already paid for my order, and that I was welcome to “Pay it Forward” and pick up the tab for those behind me. Spotting a carload of potential triple-shot Venti Mocha Frappuccino sippers in my rearview mirror, I declined, somewhat distressing the employee, as I had seemingly busted-up his shift-long parlor game (apparently much like Ben Franklin’s aforementioned Knave).
I’ve experienced similar interactions in other queues, and while I fully recognize that my criticism will irreversibly anoint me with the august status of “Crotchety Old Man”, I cannot understand the self-congratulatory way by which the Haves perform needless, pseudo “good deeds” favoring other Haves. There was not a single person in-line at Starbucks that day who could not afford their pricey coffee, yet numerous people were happy to continue performing this Kabuki ritual, ad nauseam. I say, let’s pay forward the significant assistance we’ve all received in life, but do so to those who truly need a helping hand: The unhoused, the ill, the single parent, the embattled entrepreneur, the underfunded college student. In the meantime, I’ll pay for my own damn Grande Latte (with half a Splenda, please).
A Beribboned Tragedy
Modern society has always liked affixing collective generational labels, especially to its youth: Baby Boomers, Gen X, Millennials and so on. In Israeli parlance, I belong to a very specific classification: The Lebanon Generation (Dor Levanon), implying that I had come of age in the early Eighties of the 20th century, during the onset of the First Lebanon War (are you surprised that there was more than one?)
The First Lebanon War’s (its now-official name, but originally branded by the government operation “Peace for the Galilee”, on account of Prime Minister Menachem Begin wanting a name which would appeal to American Christian public opinion) premise was to clear Southern Lebanon from the Palestine Liberation Organization terrorists, led by Yasser Arafat, who’d taken hold of a significant territory (known as “Fatah-land”), and were continually launching both incursions and rocket attacks on Northern Israel. On June 4, 1982 an assassination attempt on Israel’s ambassador to Great Britain became the pretext for an incursion by the IDF into Lebanon, a military operation for which, as a soldier, I was trained for, for the better part of a year. Thus commenced not only a period of principal combat, lasting until late September of 1982, but also an eighteen-plus year period of Israeli military presence in what was to be known as the “Lebanese Mud”, essentially Israel’s own version of the Vietnam war. Prime Minister Ehud Barak’s greatest achievement was to orchestrate Israel’s unilateral exit from the so-called “Security Zone” in Lebanon in 2000, ending this generational quagmire (in fact, the last military person to exit Lebanon and physically lock the gate behind him was no less a personage than current Defense Minister, Gen. Benny Ganz).
Nothing in the Middle East is ever what it seems to be, and this was no exception: The Muslim Shi’a population of South Lebanon showered us with rice and rose petals, as their liberators from the oppressive yoke of the Palestinian occupation, various Lebanese sects and gangs continued their tradition of mutual atrocities, as part of their never-ending Civil War, Minister of Defense General Ariel (Arik) Sharon had “sold” the Israeli government on a straightforward 40-kilometer incursion, but in reality was implementing a phantasmagorical nation-building plot, in which Israel would prop-up the Christian government in Lebanon, chase the Palestinians back to the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, where they were expelled from in 1970 (AKA “Black September”), once there they would topple the royal family and, in effect, establish “the” Palestinian state. If this wasn’t crazy enough, it turned out that the assassination attempt on Ambassador Argov was actually incepted by the Iraqi government’s intelligence apparatus, via an anti-PLO faction, who were counting on an Israeli war in Lebanon as a way to weaken their Syrian enemies and suck them into a direct war with Israel, which actually happened. Thousands of lives were destroyed in the aftermath, with Ambassador Argov remaining hospitalized, hovering in and out of consciousness, for twenty-one years. Several of my class were casualties of the war, including one of my best childhood friends, Doron Shapiro, who may have well been the first IDF soldier killed in that accursed incursion, on the morning of June 6.
These events left a profound impact on an entire generation of young Israeli men who served. Our fathers and grandfathers (mine included) had all fought for the creation and defense of the Jewish homeland, in wars that were by and large entirely existential. But here we were, fighting for the megalomaniacal political dreams of others, in a war that became known as a “war of choice” (milchemet brei’ra), something that was previously unknown in the Israeli experience. PTSD cases abounded, and over the years many members of the “Lebanon Generation” had chosen to live their lives away from Israel.
Unlike most armed forces around the globe, the IDF is extremely stingy when it comes to medals and service ribbons. There are medals for bravery, which are almost never awarded, and Chief-of-Staff commendations, which are equally exceedingly rare. Israel’s most-decorated soldier, former Prime Minister Gen. Ehud Barak, received four such commendations, plus one medal for bravery. His entire “fruit salad” (as it’s known in the US military) consisted of a grand total of seven ribbons (compare that with our much younger Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Mark Milley, who was awarded no less than 24 ribbons). During my entire three years of service, which included combat duty in Lebanon during the war, I was awarded a grand total of one ribbon for those four summer months in 1982.
So it was certainly with very mixed emotions a few weeks ago that I opened the envelope recently sent to me by the current IDF Chief of Staff, Gen. Aviv Kochavi, advising me that while the military had exited Lebanon 21 years ago, the tens of thousands who had served during the eighteen year period in the “Security Zone” deserved commendation and recognition, so please find enclosed the “battle ribbon for the security zone”, along with a certificate granting the right to wear it (isn’t it amazing how, thirty-nine years later, they were able to find me?)
I placed it in my souvenir album, next to my original Lebanon battle ribbon, wishing that I’d never received either one.
Don’t Drink and Drive
During my son’s training as a police officer, protocols dictated that he should experience, as part of his preparation, some of the situations he might find himself in “on the job”, so to speak. This included being handcuffed, spritzed with pepper spray, and being on the receiving end of a Taser shot (not all at the same time, thankfully). As I had a similar experience in the military with tear gas, I commiserated with him but rationalized that these tribulations would help make him a better officer. Little did I know what other “training” opportunities lurked…
Several months after he was released for independent duty, he was sent to a week-long training on operating a Breathalyzer apparatus. The course included practical operational skills, a legal review of DUI, and even some science relating to impairment. After a couple of days, he called and advised me that instead of driving his assigned cruiser, in uniform, he’ll be taken in by his girlfriend, on her way to work, and he’ll be wearing civilian clothes. Apparently, the third day of the course is when things become highly experiential, and the trainees consume various levels of alcoholic beverages, then test the equipment.
Accordingly, PO Feinstein showed up in the morning at the lab with a fifth of Wild Turkey in hand, ready for duty. The instructor made some calculations and measured out 200 milliliters (that’s more than 6.5 ounces of hooch!) of Kentucky’s Finest for Kannapolis’ Finest… Not one to disobey a direct order, my son imbibed the requisite amount at 1:30 PM, or so. At 2:28 PM I received a text message from him informing me that he is now considered (based on consumption, and general euphoria) “legitimately drunk”. Surprisingly, when tested he “blew” an inexplicable .06, well below our state’s legal DUI level… All this elbow-bending occurred during working hours, on-the-clock, at full pay, courtesy of the local taxpayers (the booze, however, was provided by the students).
Needless to say, the next morning most of the class suffered from various levels of hangovers yet soldiered-on towards Friday’s final test and certification. I told my son to relish every moment; the opportunity to legally get drunk while on duty may never come again.
“Where America shopped”
Word had just come out of Illinois that the last Sears store in the state was about to close. Given that the venerable “Sears, Roebuck” brand originated from the Land of Lincoln, this announcement was a bit surprising. It is estimated that there are currently only nineteen full stores remaining in the US. At its peak, Sears operated over 3,000 stores, with hundreds of thousands of employees. While there have been all sorts of reports regarding poor management, the reality is that “Brick and Mortar” retail has been on the decline for close to three decades now, particularly in department store settings. The “downtown department store” is mostly an artifact of the past, and shopping malls are being physically torn down across the country.
I have some pleasant (and some not-so-fond) memories of Sears from my childhood: I loved examining the Craftsman tools (when I was twelve my father filled-up a toolbox for me from Sears, starting me on my nascent electronics hobbyist path), there used to be a candy store downstairs (with those probably carcinogenic dyed-red pistachio nuts), and some locations even had coin and stamp counters, for us collectors. On the less-than-wonderful side, my mother often purchased blue jeans for me at Sears, never failing to laugh at the style she’d buy, which was aptly named “Husky”, not necessarily music to an overweight twelve-year-old boy’s ears. However, I still have my mother’s Swedish Goya guitar, the same model used by Julie Andrews in “The Sound of Music”, distributed in the US exclusively by Sears…
I am not here to bury Sears, but rather lament the company’s short-sightedness and misguided decision-making, when back in 1993 they shut down one of the most unique American commercial and cultural institutions, The Sears, Roebuck Catalog.
Started in 1894 with a focus on watches and jewelry, the catalog quickly expanded to encompass any and all items possibly desired by American families, whether urban, suburban, or on the farm. One could order apparel, tools, hardware, housewares, farm implements, pianos, tractors, even, for a while, entire disassembled houses, shipped in kit form. The Sears Catalog was the veritable cornucopia of the riches and ingenuity of America. It also played a very important role in the Jim Crow South, where disenfranchised African Americans could mail-order those very products they were unable to purchase in-person from segregated local stores. Not only was the quality excellent, but Sears also had what historically remains the best product warranties in retail history, so strong was their insistence on retaining repeat customers. No less of an authority on matters American than humorist Will Rogers famously commented that the best way to defeat Communism was to simply drop a million Sears, Roebuck catalogs over the Soviet Union. Sears’ catalog operations were the envy of its competitors, and a significant market player, with over 50,000 dedicated employees at peak. Every house had a copy, and I remember spending many an hour poring over it as a kid, with me and my male friends getting especially excited over (no, not what you think, shame on you!) the various models of dirt-bikes and go-carts available for ordering during the Seventies.
Of course, in retail timing is everything. Sears’ ill-fated decision to end catalog sales came about twenty minutes before the advent of e-commerce. As a technologist, I have often wondered how easy it would have been to digitize the catalog and allow the public to order from it online. As the rest of the warehousing, distribution, and fulfillment services were already in place, Sears could have readily become the ultimate online retailing behemoth, limiting Amazon to its original role of a discount online bookseller. Sic transit gloria mundi.
Credits Don’t Surf
In March of 1980 my father and I went to see Francis Ford Coppola’s epic Vietnam movie “Apocalypse Now”, which had just opened in Israel. In those days it could take American movies up to a year to reach us. We went to the long-gone “Esther” cinema, in downtown Tel-Aviv. One of the city’s grand old movie theaters, it boasted a thousand seats, huge upstairs balcony, and a massive screen with red velvet curtains. It was also one of Tel-Aviv’s fully air-conditioned venues (don’t laugh; when I was a kid it was still common to see a sign at the box office “This Theater isn’t Air-Conditioned, it’s Ventilated”).
The movie is, as any viewer knows, one of the greatest of all time. There were no opening credits, and as the show ended and we got up to leave, the nearly-endless credits started rolling, over the backdrop of Colonel Kurtz’ compound being bombed from the air. A massive Technicolor vista of fiery explosions, with the names of the hundreds and hundreds of cast and crew scrolling over it. We were transfixed. All movement in the theater ceased, and several dozen of us were left standing, watching the credit sequence. That was a very memorable event for me, and it was precisely at that moment that my life-long obsession with always remaining sitting in the movie theater until the credits had fully rolled commenced.
Mr. Coppola had recently put out a “final cut” of the movie, adding several filmed (but not previously included) scenes. I finally had an opportunity during this holiday break to sit down and watch the three-hours-plus masterpiece. It was just as epic as I’d remembered it. My wife joined me, and during one of the breaks in action I told her the story about seeing it with my father and watching the closing credits. As the end approached, and Captain Willard escapes the compound, I stood up, anticipating the credits. Imagine my surprise when the whole thing faded to black and ended. I rewound a couple of minutes (perhaps it was some streaming-service fluke) but to no avail, same result. Slightly upset, I started Googling, and to my surprise, I found out that back in the early Eighties Mr. Coppola had heard that viewers (like me) had thought that Captain Willard had called-in the airstrike that destroyed the compound (and, presumably, killing the several hundred people in it), and edited out the closing scene in its entirety, as that was not at all the story line he’d envisioned, and he didn’t want people thinking that Willard would do such a brutal thing.
It took me 42 years to finally see the movie the way it was intended but, in the interim, I remain proud my habit of staying for all movie credits, and will continue doing so, regardless of Francis Ford Coppola’s intentions.
Postscript – In my research regarding this I also learned, for the first time, that Colonel Kilgore’s classic phrase “Charlie don’t surf” was inspired by a line uttered by Israeli General Arik Sharon during the Six-Day War. After reaching the Sinai Desert beaches, he went spear-diving, and a cookout ensued, during which he said “Look, we’re eating their fish”, which is what screenwriter John Milius based Kilgore’s famous quote on, trying to convey a similar sense of conquest.