"Maybe they aren't like us, or maybe we don't want to be like them." (Richard Ben Cramer in an interview on National Public Radio.)
The above quote may have been the only sentence of substance expressed in the entire NPR interview with Richard Ben Cramer, author of the newly released book, How Israel Lost: The Four Questions. Rather than promote his book or discuss any "great, vexing issues", the former Pulitzer-prize-winning Middle East correspondent spends a disproportionate amount of air time trashing rabbis and Jewish dietary laws; and reminiscing about the smell of Swedish meatballs, dogs and pine-sol.
That interview comes a few weeks after Jeffrey Goldberg's article in the New Yorker, "Among the Settlers: Will They Destroy Israel?", which obsesses over things like the poorly-manicured nails of a mother, and the dental profile of a rabbi living in Israel.
Last week, former undersecretary of defense for the Bush administration, Dr. Dov S. Zakheim - an Orthodox Jew who describes himself as a "friend of Israel" - had this to say in a Haaretz interview:
"Every time I go to Israel it looks dirtier than before," he complained. "Jerusalem is a disgrace to look at. Each time I go there it looks more and more like a garbage can."
Well, Dov, Jeffrey and Richard, now it's my turn...
Every time I step foot in America, it looks more sterile (as in barren, impotent and unproductive) and vacuous (as in blank, empty and void) than before. Wall-to-wall carpets, parquet floors and toilets that flush by themselves cause me to lose my ground and long for the dust and stones again. I don't suffer from any allergies due to various weeds and thistles that surround my home in the Golan, but I do get itchy and asthmatic from the smell of the combinations of perfume, aftershave and beauty-aid products, made in the USA and Europe, that many Israelis lavish on themselves.
Twenty-some years ago, my Israeli husband-to-be used to tease me about the degree of luxury and luster apparent in many American homes. He would often comment, "Is this an operating theater or a home?"
If our cities appear less than glistening, it could be because a lot of us have been busy with other priorities, like scraping body parts off streets, sweeping glass shards off of sidewalks and piecing together shattered lives. Some of us have been immersed in such a frantic struggle for economic survival that we've been oblivious to our surroundings. And then there are those of us who spend ceaseless creative energies in attempting to make sense of this very messed-up world for ourselves, our children and for others. So we neglect what appear to be less important things, like those piles of dishes in the sink and crumbs on the floor.
Just how dirty can it get around here?
Five months ago, my seven-year old son burst into the house and declared, "Mommy, come quick! One of the man goats broke the fence to the lady goats and I think... I think they got married!"
It was a little too soon for those young female goats to get pregnant, but the deed was done and I didn¹t think much of it. Until another son woke me up two weeks ago and announced, "You won¹t believe this, but there is the cutest baby goat outside and another goat looks kind of weird. I think it's gonna give birth too, but I gotta go to school."
Now I've seen goats give birth before, and a hi-tech delivery room is not required, neither is an epidural. But the little black one was having an extremely difficult time. She was lying down, banging her head against the wall and crying out in such anguish that I sent my husband to get some help.
The local goat expert was nowhere to be found. The goat was in intense pain, my youngest son was crying from distress and begging me to do something. No gloves, no antiseptic, no disinfectant. So I sat down in... a not very choice place, hugged the goat, murmured a prayer, and did what I had to do.
This is not the kind of situation a girl who grew up in Shaker Heights anticipates, but I live in the Golan Heights now - light years away.
I managed to assist in the delivery of a bouncing, but very big, baby kid. Rather than exclaim, "Oh gross!", my little kid helped wipe off the newborn and brought it to its mother (who had run away after the birth) and was able to get it to nurse. Mother and kid are doing fine.
But something dawned on me. After witnessing and participating in what was neither an aesthetic nor antiseptic birth, my seven-year-old, homegrown son was jumping for joy and clapping his hands at the marvel of creation.
Eleven years ago, and a sea and ocean away, three masterminds of destruction smiled and shook hands on a very well-manicured White House lawn - in a very clean and neat ceremony. They ushered in an era of devastation, and people like Zakheim, Goldberg and Cramer thrilled to it and applauded.
And that may be the difference between us.
"For Your servants have cherished her stones and favor her dust." (Psalm 102).
The above quote may have been the only sentence of substance expressed in the entire NPR interview with Richard Ben Cramer, author of the newly released book, How Israel Lost: The Four Questions. Rather than promote his book or discuss any "great, vexing issues", the former Pulitzer-prize-winning Middle East correspondent spends a disproportionate amount of air time trashing rabbis and Jewish dietary laws; and reminiscing about the smell of Swedish meatballs, dogs and pine-sol.
That interview comes a few weeks after Jeffrey Goldberg's article in the New Yorker, "Among the Settlers: Will They Destroy Israel?", which obsesses over things like the poorly-manicured nails of a mother, and the dental profile of a rabbi living in Israel.
Last week, former undersecretary of defense for the Bush administration, Dr. Dov S. Zakheim - an Orthodox Jew who describes himself as a "friend of Israel" - had this to say in a Haaretz interview:
"Every time I go to Israel it looks dirtier than before," he complained. "Jerusalem is a disgrace to look at. Each time I go there it looks more and more like a garbage can."
Well, Dov, Jeffrey and Richard, now it's my turn...
Every time I step foot in America, it looks more sterile (as in barren, impotent and unproductive) and vacuous (as in blank, empty and void) than before. Wall-to-wall carpets, parquet floors and toilets that flush by themselves cause me to lose my ground and long for the dust and stones again. I don't suffer from any allergies due to various weeds and thistles that surround my home in the Golan, but I do get itchy and asthmatic from the smell of the combinations of perfume, aftershave and beauty-aid products, made in the USA and Europe, that many Israelis lavish on themselves.
Twenty-some years ago, my Israeli husband-to-be used to tease me about the degree of luxury and luster apparent in many American homes. He would often comment, "Is this an operating theater or a home?"
If our cities appear less than glistening, it could be because a lot of us have been busy with other priorities, like scraping body parts off streets, sweeping glass shards off of sidewalks and piecing together shattered lives. Some of us have been immersed in such a frantic struggle for economic survival that we've been oblivious to our surroundings. And then there are those of us who spend ceaseless creative energies in attempting to make sense of this very messed-up world for ourselves, our children and for others. So we neglect what appear to be less important things, like those piles of dishes in the sink and crumbs on the floor.
Just how dirty can it get around here?
Five months ago, my seven-year old son burst into the house and declared, "Mommy, come quick! One of the man goats broke the fence to the lady goats and I think... I think they got married!"
It was a little too soon for those young female goats to get pregnant, but the deed was done and I didn¹t think much of it. Until another son woke me up two weeks ago and announced, "You won¹t believe this, but there is the cutest baby goat outside and another goat looks kind of weird. I think it's gonna give birth too, but I gotta go to school."
Now I've seen goats give birth before, and a hi-tech delivery room is not required, neither is an epidural. But the little black one was having an extremely difficult time. She was lying down, banging her head against the wall and crying out in such anguish that I sent my husband to get some help.
The local goat expert was nowhere to be found. The goat was in intense pain, my youngest son was crying from distress and begging me to do something. No gloves, no antiseptic, no disinfectant. So I sat down in... a not very choice place, hugged the goat, murmured a prayer, and did what I had to do.
This is not the kind of situation a girl who grew up in Shaker Heights anticipates, but I live in the Golan Heights now - light years away.
I managed to assist in the delivery of a bouncing, but very big, baby kid. Rather than exclaim, "Oh gross!", my little kid helped wipe off the newborn and brought it to its mother (who had run away after the birth) and was able to get it to nurse. Mother and kid are doing fine.
But something dawned on me. After witnessing and participating in what was neither an aesthetic nor antiseptic birth, my seven-year-old, homegrown son was jumping for joy and clapping his hands at the marvel of creation.
Eleven years ago, and a sea and ocean away, three masterminds of destruction smiled and shook hands on a very well-manicured White House lawn - in a very clean and neat ceremony. They ushered in an era of devastation, and people like Zakheim, Goldberg and Cramer thrilled to it and applauded.
And that may be the difference between us.
"For Your servants have cherished her stones and favor her dust." (Psalm 102).