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April 2014
Norman Mailer in Synagogue
The best writer of his generation addresses the pews.

Seeing Shlomo
A bittersweet remembrance of my teacher, Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach

Where There's Smoke
A politically incorrect view of the current rage to ban all smoking everywhere.

Building the House
The contractor -- can't live with him, can't kill him. Or can you?

A Wing and a Prayer
Finding a small homecoming in transit.

Gunning Down the Cockroaches
Roach problem? Just call the expert.

Waiting for Death
Our parents taught us how to live. Their final gift -- showing us how to die.

On the Road
Driving beyond the Green Line prompts a look in the mirror.

Dog Days
Summer ended when they came to kill my dog.

On Guard
Guys like me don't carry guns, right?

Learning to Pray
It's slow and not easy. But that's not all.

Turning 50
Some thoughts on a millstone - uh, make that milestone - birthday.

Outsider Art
Simply the most compelling art exhibit I've ever seen.

Dave van Ronk
A visit to the world of my favorite folk singer.

Fat
Remember: "stressed" spelled backwards is "desserts."

New Year’s Celebration
Watching the ball drop slowly in my daughter’s life.

My Father's Blessing
A poignant final moment strengthens my fragile connection to my father.

Going Crazy
Being at war while normal life continues makes life in Israel feel crazy.

Visiting Rose
Old and poor, she's got one hope left: the movie of her life.

On the Road
Driving beyond the Green Line prompts a look in the mirror.

The bus stop at Gilo Junction in Jerusalem, where the highway launches itself southward into the "Territories," is a trampiada, or hitchhiking station. It is generally crowded with travelers, most of them waiting not for a bus but for a lift to Gush Etzion, the bloc of Jewish settlements on the capital's southern flanks, or beyond, to Kiryat Arba and the settlements in the southern Judean hills. Many drivers, myself included, consider it a civic duty to offer a lift.

As a general rule, Jews don't hitchhike on open roads in the Territories. But in the rural farm country past Kiryat Arba, Jewish hitchhikers, most commonly teenagers off to visit friends or traveling between home and school, often try to "catch a tramp," as they say here, directly in front of the small settlements that punctuate the highway - Carmel, Maon, Sussya (with its ruins of an ancient Jewish town), and finally, all the way back at the Green Line, Beit Yattir.

To these hitchhikers one feels a special obligation as the young of one's tribe - not only to help them get where they are going but also to get them off a highway that runs through the Territories.

Driving down to Beit Yattir from Jerusalem the other day, I stopped by automatic habit for a young fellow in a red shirt in front of Sussya, four kilometers from home. He turned out, however, to be an Arab - he'd been working in the settlement, he explained - and two other Arabs I hadn't noticed sitting a small distance away were waiting with him.

When I realized my mistake, I refused them a lift, even to the next intersection, two kilometers away. Since there was no way I would not be passing that intersection, my reason was pretty obviously personal: They were Arabs.

As I drove on alone, I felt extremely uncomfortable with myself. Not wanting three unknown Arabs riding with me seemed reasonable, and yet, by refusing them face to face, I felt that I had violated some inner boundary of my best American self. Is this what Israel had done to me - forced me to make choices purely on the basis of ethnicity, compelled me to face myself as a racist, plain and simple?

Still, I knew that, driving in America, I would never even think of picking up hitchhiking strangers, white, black or indifferent, on an open road. In America, I mused, turning toward Beit Yattir at the intersection to which I had refused the three Arab workers a ride, the situation is much less complex and therefore more deceptive. In America, where one knows not to trust anyone, a good citizen like myself is simply spared the need to discriminate.


Published in the Jerusalem Report, September 13, 1999.

 
Is Real Life Good Enough?
Nothing ever happens on my settlement.

The Road to Revolution – And Back Again
The Sixties, brought to you by smart Jewish kids from the 'burbs.

Life After Zionism?
Yes, Israel’s getting Americanized -- but don't step on my blue-and-white suede shoes.

Women, Interrupted
The Holocaust in resident memory.

Grandma Knows Best
Neo-conservative ideologue Midge Decter must be right. After all, she says so.

Gen X Goes Bonkers
The furies of depression, in the feminine mode.

A Wounded Hero
Varian Fry mounted probably the most successful private rescue operation of World War II.

The Language Where Jews Lived
Yiddish is dying – but don’t plan the funeral just yet

War Story
This is the war that never ends.

Housebroken -- Sort Of
Post-modern, 30-something and single - it's no way to live.

Every Rat Has His Day
Marketing is in the saddle and rides mankind.

The Crushing Sadness of the Road Not Taken
The meaning of your experience may come years later.

A Disappearing Family Album
What Americanization costs a Jewish family.

A Real Groucho
He was funny but not nice.

Half a Loaf of Wisdom
Jacob the Baker's wise sayings come half-baked from the oven.

Gerald L.K. Smith Revisited
Liar, racist, demagogue – the voice of a generation.