I spent the bulk of this past week writing a rather lengthy piece for a new Jewish publication. The powers-that-be requested that the tone of the article be a bit cosmopolitan. So I did my best to hide the genuine hillbilly within me and, armed with a thesaurus, I approached the keyboard with scholarly sophistication. I admit that it's a real trip to write for the highbrow crowd, and certain subject matter does deserve to be presented with a bit of finesse. But then there are times that a more simplistic, brief and down-home approach is called for. Last week was one of those times. So let's try applying some simple common sense to the week that was...
I hear Limor Livnat's conscience has been bothering her and she's asked the Israel Prize committee to reconsider their awarding of this year's prize for art to Yigal Tumarkin. We could engage in a complex philosophical debate about art and morality, or the flawed artistic personality vis-a-vis creative impulses, but I'd rather summarize the issue like this:
One need not be an ass in order to be an artist. A mensch is equally capable of creating a masterpiece.
Next...
Ariel Sharon intends to uproot the Jewish communities in Gaza. I could provide numerous proofs that Gaza is an unequivocal part of the Biblical Land of Israel. I could give a lengthy dissertation on the strategic significance of the area and the importance of retaining a Jewish presence there. But rather than grapple with the issues of Biblical borders and strategic depth, I need only look at the enemy's keffiyahs, suicide belts, RPGs and AK-47 assault rifles. Suffice it to say the following:
Those guys wanna' kill me and take what's mine. I'm not leaving. But maybe they should.
Next...
Sharon, his government, and subsequently we Israelis appear to be in difficult straits (not to worry, as we've been there before - check out last week's Torah portion). Friends tell me that if the government falls, somebody worse could come in - like Shimon Peres (G-d forbid). Or, they tease me about my former allegiance to Bibi Netanyahu.
It's true. I used to be a diehard Netanyahu fan, but I'm less sophisticated now and charisma doesn't do it for me anymore. But a consistent, no-frills guy like Uzi Landau. Well, maybe. We could enter into an intense political discussion and deliberate over the merits of forming a united national front. It would be a highly effective strategy and would give us immense leverage, whether we were in the coalition or opposition. But this is no time for dreams or predictions. This much I can tell you:
I don't know what's going to be, but I do know that in times like these, we Jews cannot stay put, as we are obligated to move forward.
Next...
A neighbor's son was killed this week in a military accident in the Golan. We share the same last name, live on the same moshav and have younger sons with similar first names and ages in the same class at the same school. My 16-year-old awoke at 5:00am to find three soldiers, the dean of his yeshiva and his teachers standing above his dormitory bed, prepared to deliver tragic news. My son stood up, a bit bewildered, and one of the soldiers remembered that he was supposed to be looking for a tall kid. My son didn't fit that description.
When I heard the story and the news, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and so I did both -simultaneously - with lots of tears. We Jews can do that; we've had a lot of practice.
The phones are still ringing, because a lot of people were confused when they heard the reports. I now realize how many very dear friends I and the other Horowitz family have. I also realize that we are truly all one family. My 16-year-old hasn't left his friend's side all week, and he appears to be a little bit older and taller than he was last week.
Elon Yaacov Horowitz, z.l. was one of Israel's finest. Everyone in the Golan will tell you that.
My oldest son enters the army in one month. I found this whole episode to be too close for comfort. Comfort. Now that's a concept worthy of a more in-depth explanation, because the simple, down-home definition amounts to plopping oneself onto a lazy-boy recliner and hitting the remote.
Comfort is a complex notion for us Jews. We're constantly longing and searching for it. It has been a long haul, but we'll know it when we finally feel it.
So the week ended, and I'm haunted by the sounds of laughter and crying. Some are the voices of the present and others are from the past. I imagine my ancestors had weeks like this - where they felt a bit tired, fed-up and frightened. But, like them, I'm very determined to continue.
I hear Limor Livnat's conscience has been bothering her and she's asked the Israel Prize committee to reconsider their awarding of this year's prize for art to Yigal Tumarkin. We could engage in a complex philosophical debate about art and morality, or the flawed artistic personality vis-a-vis creative impulses, but I'd rather summarize the issue like this:
One need not be an ass in order to be an artist. A mensch is equally capable of creating a masterpiece.
Next...
Ariel Sharon intends to uproot the Jewish communities in Gaza. I could provide numerous proofs that Gaza is an unequivocal part of the Biblical Land of Israel. I could give a lengthy dissertation on the strategic significance of the area and the importance of retaining a Jewish presence there. But rather than grapple with the issues of Biblical borders and strategic depth, I need only look at the enemy's keffiyahs, suicide belts, RPGs and AK-47 assault rifles. Suffice it to say the following:
Those guys wanna' kill me and take what's mine. I'm not leaving. But maybe they should.
Next...
Sharon, his government, and subsequently we Israelis appear to be in difficult straits (not to worry, as we've been there before - check out last week's Torah portion). Friends tell me that if the government falls, somebody worse could come in - like Shimon Peres (G-d forbid). Or, they tease me about my former allegiance to Bibi Netanyahu.
It's true. I used to be a diehard Netanyahu fan, but I'm less sophisticated now and charisma doesn't do it for me anymore. But a consistent, no-frills guy like Uzi Landau. Well, maybe. We could enter into an intense political discussion and deliberate over the merits of forming a united national front. It would be a highly effective strategy and would give us immense leverage, whether we were in the coalition or opposition. But this is no time for dreams or predictions. This much I can tell you:
I don't know what's going to be, but I do know that in times like these, we Jews cannot stay put, as we are obligated to move forward.
Next...
A neighbor's son was killed this week in a military accident in the Golan. We share the same last name, live on the same moshav and have younger sons with similar first names and ages in the same class at the same school. My 16-year-old awoke at 5:00am to find three soldiers, the dean of his yeshiva and his teachers standing above his dormitory bed, prepared to deliver tragic news. My son stood up, a bit bewildered, and one of the soldiers remembered that he was supposed to be looking for a tall kid. My son didn't fit that description.
When I heard the story and the news, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and so I did both -simultaneously - with lots of tears. We Jews can do that; we've had a lot of practice.
The phones are still ringing, because a lot of people were confused when they heard the reports. I now realize how many very dear friends I and the other Horowitz family have. I also realize that we are truly all one family. My 16-year-old hasn't left his friend's side all week, and he appears to be a little bit older and taller than he was last week.
Elon Yaacov Horowitz, z.l. was one of Israel's finest. Everyone in the Golan will tell you that.
My oldest son enters the army in one month. I found this whole episode to be too close for comfort. Comfort. Now that's a concept worthy of a more in-depth explanation, because the simple, down-home definition amounts to plopping oneself onto a lazy-boy recliner and hitting the remote.
Comfort is a complex notion for us Jews. We're constantly longing and searching for it. It has been a long haul, but we'll know it when we finally feel it.
So the week ended, and I'm haunted by the sounds of laughter and crying. Some are the voices of the present and others are from the past. I imagine my ancestors had weeks like this - where they felt a bit tired, fed-up and frightened. But, like them, I'm very determined to continue.