LGBT – Planting Roots Bearing Fruits

להציל את היהדות

מזמן לא כתבתי בעברית. כנראה שאכתוב עם מלא טעויות. אבל אני מרגיש שכדאי לכתוב. כדאי לפרש את הרגשות שלי ברגע כל כך רגיש בהיסטוריה של עם ישראל ומדינת ישראל. הרבה אנשים שקוראים את הבלוג שלי יודעים שאחרי כמה שנים בארץ, אני חזרתי לארצות הברית, איפה שגדלתי. התכוונתי לחזור לארץ ללימודים בבית המדרש של הרבנות הרפורמית. אבל לא מעט זמן אחרי שחזרתי לארה”ב, אמא שלי חלתה בסרטן. אז הייתה מגפת הקוביד. אז נפטר אבא החורג שלי. ותוך קצת זמן, אמא שלי גם תלך לועלמה. בקיצור, הרבה דברים קשוחים התרחשו בחיי ופתאום לחזור לארץ לא הייתה בחירה הגיונית. לפחות כרגע.

אבל למרות שאני נמצא רחוק מהארץ פיזית, אני חושב עליה כל יום. אני מתגעגע לחברים שלי שם ואני מודאג מאוד לגבי המצב הפוליטי. לצערי, כאמריקאי, אני מכיר את הפאשיזם באופן מאוד אישי. אני גר בוושינגטון די סי. הייתי פה כאשר דונלד טראמפ השתדל לגנוב את הבחירות וכאשר הוא הסית נגד אזרחיו ב6 לינואר. הייתה תקופה מאוד מפחידה.

עד ה6 לינואר, הרבה חברים שלי בארץ או התלהבו מטראמפ או לא הבינו למה אמריקאים מבחינות פוליטיות שונות לא היו יכולים “להסתדר”. כלומר, אנחנו פשוט לא ידענו איך לדבר אחר עם השני. אבל אחרי ה6 לינואר, הרבה חברים שלי סוף-סוך הבינו שזה לא היה עניין פשוט ובעצם זה היה משבר פוליטי שחווינו בקפיטול.

לצערי הרב, כל ישראלי שפוי עכשיו מבין מה שקרה בארה”ב לאחרונה. שיש בשתי המדינות תנועות פוליטיות שרוצות להרוס. שרוצות לדכא מיעוטים, למחוק את “האחר”. זאת תנועה פוליטית בינלאומית- מרוסיה להונגריה, מארה”ב לאיראן, וכן לישראל.

מהנסיון שלי בארה”ב, אני רק יכול להדגיש כמה זה חשוב להמשיך להפגין ולתמוך בתנועות פולטיות שהן בעד הדמוקרטיה לכולםן. גם כן לפלסטינאים.

אין עתיד למדינת ישראל בלי דמוקרטיה. ואין דמוקרטיה בלי חרות לכל תושבי ישראל ופלסטין.

בסוף, כמו כל דבר במדינה היהודית, זה עניין של איזה סוג של יהדות תהיה חזקה יותר בישראל. ברור שצריך להיות מקום לגיוון- גם ליהדות השמרנית שאני לא מאמנין בה. אבל- בואו נגיד את זה בצורה ברורה- אנחנו רוצים עתיד של איסור חמץ בבתי חולים או אנחנו רוצים עתיד של יהדות שוויונית?

ליבי במזרח. לכל המפגינות והמפגינית האמיצים- תודה. אני איתכם בלב ואני אמשיך לדבר עם הממשלה שלי בארה”ב כדי לשכנע אותה להשתמש בכח שלה לשמור על הזכויות שלכם. כי בעצם, למרות שאנחנו רחוקים פיזית, האינטרסים שלנו דומים מאוד. אנחנו חייבים לתמוך אחד בשני בשוויון.

אני הפכתי אולי פחות דתי אחרי כל המוות והטרגדיות במשפחה שלי ובחברה שלי בשנים האחרונות. אבל אני כן מאמין שהגורל שלנו הוא משותף. ואף פעם לא אוותר על הקשר בינינו והחלום של שלום, של דמוקרטיה, ושל יהדיות שמייצגת את הערכים שלנו. מתגעגע המון- שנתראה בקרוב בע”ה עם חיוכים של הצלחה של המאבק.

A queer Jewish-Arab encounter in Budapest

If you’ve been following the news, there’s been at least as much darkness this Chanukah as there has been light. In recent weeks there has been a slew of anti-Semitic attacks, including the destruction of a Torah scroll in a Persian synagogue in Los Angeles, anti-Semitic graffiti on the 6th and I historic synagogue in Washington, D.C., the murder of three people at a Kosher grocery store in Jersey City, and just today, the stabbing of five people at a rabbi’s house in Monsey, New York.

It’s enough to make anyone’s Chanukah flame flicker. May the memories of the deceased be for a blessing, and may the Creator send healing to the wounded- and serve justice to those who did us harm. May we find ourselves safer, with non-Jewish allies standing at our side like we so desperately need them.

On days like this, I often find myself in need of a bit of hope. Which brings me to an old story from one of my adventures.

I found myself alone in Budapest. I was backpacking through Europe and had spent the first part of my trip in Romania. It’s not the most gay-friendly country in the world, especially not some of the rural areas I visited, although they were very interesting.

In need of some company, I opened up the CouchSurfing App. It’s an app better known for finding a place to crash for free, but I was just using it to meet some new friends.

I found one woman, let’s call her Ayesha since she’s not out of the closet and the internet makes our world smaller by the day. She had written “Looking for someone to go to a gay bar with”. I immediately wrote her.

Now keep in mind my profile said I was from Israel. Ayesha’s said she was from Amman, Jordan. Two countries technically at peace, but whose populaces have almost no interaction. A huge percentage of Jordanians are actually Palestinians, so the potential for a hostile interaction was not hard to imagine.

But Ayesha wasn’t like that. She was excited to have someone to join her at the club, and I was just as enthused.

I walked in, we hit it off, and ordered some pizza together.

We got to talking and it turns out Ayesha was bi and this was her first time in a gay bar- ever. Also, she was not out to her family. Also, apparently I was about to participate in her first gay DATE! Yes, you read that right. Ayesha didn’t just invite me to the bar. She also invited a Macedonian rugby player with whom she hoped to rumble in the pitch (I have no idea if that’s a rugby metaphor, but you get the point).

Turns out, it was one of the best nights ever. The Macedonian rugby player brought her teammate and the four of us had a blast. We talked about our different countries, the good, bad, and ugly (Macedonia is not a gay paradise either- but apparently has a growing scene!). We talked about being queer, about music, about our shitty pizza and Hungarian customs.

And after the two Macedonian women had to leave, Ayesha and I just danced. Danced and danced and danced. None of the stress of the Middle East or its various conflicts mattered. We laughed, we sang, we lip synced, we lived.

It was one of the best nights of my life.

Not because of the night club (it was ok), or the pizza (can I say again how shitty it was?), or the cute boys (c’mon Budapest, I thought you could do better!).

It was because for one night life stood still. All the world’s conflicts and shouting and arguing didn’t matter. Because one Jewish gay guy and one bi Jordanian woman had a great night together. Despite it all.

I hope this holiday season, whatever your religion or traditions, you find your Ayesha. Someone who is essentially curious about the world more than seeking conflict. Someone fun who brings out the best in you. And that you find your inner strength to take a bit of a risk. To reach out to someone you don’t know. And to send a tiny bit of warmth their way to light the path to a better reality.

Chag sameach, happy Chanukah, and shanah tovah- to a happy New Year!

—

Cover photo is of a mural in Haifa near the railroad that once connected Amman, Jordan to Haifa, Israel. What was once may yet be once more.

In search of a job

I’ve written before about the many challenges of making aliyah, of immigrating to Israel. There are mammoth cultural differences, the hardest apartment search of my life, the air raid sirens (a false alarm, and then a real one), the LGBT Arab-Israeli refugee Jew-on-Jew political conflicts, and for me, healing from 30 years of abuse. I’ve managed to overcome all of these obstacles while moving here alone at the age of 31- not a small task. One that I’m proud to have accomplished and it has changed me as a person and made me realize my true strength.

There’s another challenge I didn’t have to face when I first arrived here but now seems rather daunting: finding a career.

I arrived here with fluent Hebrew (and Arabic and Yiddish) – something that facilitated my social relationships, my integration, my exploration of the country. Something most olim don’t have- but that I invested in learning on my own initiative since I was 13.

This should also help finding a job, but I have to tell you the process is daunting even knowing the national language. I was fortunate enough to arrive to Israel with a job- I’ve been doing digital marketing and public relations freelancing from home for 5 years. And for my first year here, that worked quite well. Due to the time difference between America and Israel, the fact that I was being paid in dollars, and the flexibility of my business, I was able to travel during the day and work at night. Something that helped me build this very blog.

I put a lot of effort into building that business. I got a graduate degree from Georgetown University in communications, something that to this day means I owe the U.S. government $40,000 in student loans. I found clients, I networked, I presented at various conferences and built a reputation.

The problem is that that work is becoming harder for me to find at the moment. Perhaps it’s due to me living halfway across the world- it’s harder to network and find new clients. It’s also cyclical- there tends to be more work leading up to elections. Now that the election is over, there seems to be a lull. I’m still open to doing the work, but part of the risk you take on as a freelancer is that you have to find your own clients. And I’ve been quite adept at it, but I think my geographical distance and the circumstances are making it harder now. It’s hard to find a new client when your only connection is via LinkedIn or email. I don’t live in America now, it’s hard to make those personal connections so crucial to getting your foot in the door.

So I find myself applying for jobs here. It’d mean giving some of the flexibility I’ve enjoyed as a freelancer (or if projects come through, I could continue doing them on the side). But it’d come with the security of a paycheck. Something I need after some fulfilling travels that have left me with a great understanding of self (and some great blog posts) and unfortunately, a smaller bank account.

So I find myself in Israel hopping from friend’s house to hostel to who knows what. I left my apartment before my recent travels so that I could afford to do it. A smart choice (plus my landlord wouldn’t let me sublet). Also, my old neighborhood was quite rough, the poorest part of Tel Aviv, so I wouldn’t want to move back there anyways, as interesting and life-changing an experience as it was.

All the while, I’m applying to jobs and networking. With non-profits that support olim like me. Cold calling, reaching out on LinkedIn, friends of friends of friends. I’ve expanded my career search- everything from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of Defense, libraries, archives, museums, the tourist industry, marketing, politics, hi-tech, higher education, language teaching. And I wouldn’t even limit myself to the ones I’ve mentioned (I’ve probably forgotten a few that I’ve applied to).

I’m ready and willing to use my 8 languages, my travel knowledge, my desire to support Israel and the Jewish people, my passion for research and learning, my teaching experience- all of it. Just so I could build a fulfilling career and rebuild my bank account in the only country I really feel is home.

And it’s proving quite tough. I’ve met with headhunters who say I have an amazing resume. I worked for the Obama campaign in 2008, and then later in the Obama Administration. I have 10 years experience working in marketing, community outreach, media relations, blogging, and social media. Most of that time either in the non-profit sector or government, or with public relations firms consulting for them. I have an undergraduate degree from Washington University in St. Louis and a Master’s degree from Georgetown, schools that any American knows are pretty great institutions.

The problem is jobs in Israel seem to be mostly about who you know. In a country where, much to my delight, there is a strong sense of community, this can make it quite hard for a newcomer to break in. I’ve met many people here who are still best friends with their crew…from kindergarten. That’s not an exaggeration. People serve together in the military- a difficult experience but one which brings lifelong connections, and jobs. Sabras have family here, and they look out for each other. It’s part of the reason the government won’t recognize French and Russian academic qualifications. It’d put these highly educated immigrants in their appropriate fields, while competing against native-born Israelis in those same industries. Which is why protektzia, or “connections”, reigns supreme. It’s like having legacy at an Ivy League school- it protects insiders from generation after generation. And it leaves quite a number of Russian physicists and French lawyers working as grocery store clerks or in late-night telemarketing.

Just to give you a full sense of the picture, understand that the cost of living in Israel is also extremely high. Tel Aviv was recently rated the world’s 9th most expensive city. Even if you don’t live in the city proper, the cost of housing, groceries, and other goods is disproportionately high to people’s salaries. We’re hardly the only country to confront a wealth gap- Spain has a youth unemployment rate of 34%. Capital around the world is becoming more and more concentrated in the hands of a few wealthy people– while most struggle. The problem is Israel’s cost of living index is higher than all other developed countries except for ultra-wealthy Switzerland, Iceland, Norway, Denmark, Australia and New Zealand. So that while Geneva is more expensive than Tel Aviv, its residents earn more than twice as much as the average Tel Avivi, with 48% more purchasing power, as you can see in the graphics below from Numbeo.com:

The hefty cost of living and minuscule salaries (especially in any industry outside of the famed Israeli high tech scene), is what drove 500,000 Israelis to the streets in the largest social protest in the country’s history.

Allow me to quantify this for you. Recently, I was in the process of interviewing for a non-profit job at a well-respected NGO. Knowing my full qualifications (and despite trying to negotiate, as a good Israeli does), the full-time job’s salary was fixed at 7,000 shekels a month- before tax obligations. In Tel Aviv. That’s $1,870 a month. When I last lived in Tel Aviv, in the poorest neighborhood where literally prostitutes walked the streets, I paid 3,600 shekels a month for a one bedroom apartment. About 3.7 shekels per dollar, so about a thousand bucks. For Tel Aviv, this is an absolute steal. I’ve seen one bedroom apartments advertised for 4,000-7,000 shekels- and above. You could end up living with two roommates in the city center and still pay 3,000 shekels. Something I’d rather not do at my age. Or you could live further outside the city and perhaps save some money on rent, but then spend your money commuting and watch your social life shrink. In a country where public transit doesn’t run from Friday night to Saturday night and Sunday is a working day, your weekend (i.e. the time you have to see friends) takes on new importance. Where you live is where you’ll socialize, so unless you’re willing to buy a car (the car tax here is around 100%- 5 times higher than Europe), you need to live near your friends. And let’s just say the young gay Reform Jews (and people who befriend them) aren’t usually living in the sticks where the housing is cheaper, like in most countries. While new immigrants do get some breaks on the financial challenges, you start to see just how difficult it is to make a living here.

So to return to the calculations, let’s say I was able to find a similarly priced apartment to my last one. That would leave $870 a month- to furnish the apartment, pay municipal property taxes, pay for your cell phone, pay for food, pay for transportation, pay for medical expenses, pay for life. Oh yeah, and presumably have fun and maybe save a buck or two. And that doesn’t include paying income taxes. It’s worth noting the tax burden in Israel is significant. There’s a debate about just how high, but this site rates it as one of the 15 highest in the world. Higher than the U.S. While the tremendous socialized healthcare system defers some tremendous costs I had to bear in the U.S., it does become a question of just what exactly is the trade off here. And whether it’s worth it.

After this interview process and despite most of my background being in cause-based non-profit work, I immediately expanded my scope to the for-profit sector. The salaries are higher. I’ve met with headhunters and am applying diligently. The higher salaries still pale in comparison with the States, especially as an oleh. Someone with my background might be expected to find a job in the for-profit sector for somewhere around 10,000-15,000 shekels a month. With 10 years experience, fluent Hebrew, native English, and a Master’s degree. At the very high end, that comes out to $48,084 a year- pre-tax. Consider that I’m 32 years old, would like to start a family, and that the average cost of an Israeli home is $415,000. In Tel Aviv, it’s $582,442. The average. If you can manage to find it and beat out the sabras waiting in line with decades of family connections. The latest statistics resulted in the following headline: “Buying a Home Will Cost an Average Israeli 146 Monthly Salaries“. Chew on that for a while. As difficult as my situation is, it’s hard to even comprehend how Israelis living in or near poverty make it work here. A lot of them, unfortunately, don’t.

So the reality is this: in my own country, I feel I’m a wandering Jew. Going from place to place, trying to find affordable AirBnBs and sofas to crash on as I fire away resumes. A process that can take some time in any country, so I remind myself to put my head down, network, and apply apply apply. And I’m incredibly grateful to my friends who are helping me along the way. My friend Rotem who let me crash at her apartment for a week and a half while she was abroad. The wonderful cashier at the market who, when his credit card machine wasn’t working, just let me bring him the money two days later. And so many others. The level of trust here can be truly heart-warming.

Nobody said immigrating would be easy, and I’m grateful I even have a country to move to. It’s not easy to be a Jew anywhere now, as the terrorist attack in Pittsburgh showed- and as the rapidly increasing anti-Semitic violence in Europe reminds us. There are good reasons Israel exists and why people like me come here despite all the challenges. It’s a country with a lot of warmth, a spirit of survival, a generosity, a frankness that is refreshing. Landscapes that totally melt the heart. And more possibilities of finding a Jewish partner than anywhere else in the world.

The problem becomes when the great things about this country start to obscure your other life goals. Building a family, financial stability, and feeling fulfilled in your career. Olim here often have to take jobs unrelated to their careers and are limited in our upward mobility by the Israeli “good ol boys” network. I understand every change requires sacrifice, but I want to like what I do. And I’m not fortunate enough to have parents to buy me a home. Which is the main reason Israelis manage to get one in the first place- and why many olim don’t experience economic advancement here.

In the meantime, my search continues. I believe in the idea of Israel and I like a lot about life here, which is why frankly I blog about it all the time. Haters gonna hate, but the Jewish people deserve a homeland and I’ll defend that idea till the day I die. The sometimes boorish economic policies of our government or the monopolies that stand in the way of our progress are in no way a critique of our right to be here. Indeed, it is Israeli workers who bear the brunt of the economic inequality here- and that doesn’t make us any less Israeli. It makes us more. Sadly, these are problems many other workers face around the world. That we much find solution for. So please don’t consider this post an opportunity to hate Israel, because it’s not. What I’m sharing is a critique of how we should make this place better so people like me can succeed here. A hope that we can build a vision for how we want to live here with fairness and opportunity.

I’m open to a lot of different careers and I want to feel fulfilled in what I do, even if it’s different than my first choice or second choice or even third choice. If you know of great opportunities, reach out to me, I’d be happy to chat and appreciate you keeping your eyes peeled.

The greatest irony of my aliyah process is that I discovered my passion is Israel, but that its very soil may be too poor for my roots to dig in. To establish themselves, to build a solid foundation, to grow and flourish.

What I won’t accept is the situation my friend found himself in recently. A couple years older than me, a fellow American oleh, he interviewed at an English tutoring company. Obviously, it’s his native language so he’s got a pretty good handle on it. The salary: 30 shekels an hour. 8 bucks. And the worst part about this story is he didn’t even get the job. As he bravely tries to raise a family in the land of his ancestors and pursue his dreams.

Im tirtzu eyn zo agadah. The famous Zionist saying suggests that if we will it, it is not a dream. I agree. The dream becomes a hope, a goal, an aspiration, something you wish to achieve. It’s a hope I’ve pursued since I was 13 years old learning Hebrew in the house of an Israeli woman in Washington. The problem is that hope sometimes clashes with harsh reality. With circumstances out of your control.

Do you continue to tell yourself that anything is possible? Or do you look at your diminishing bank account, the salaries, the limited opportunities for advancement, and the $140,000 it costs to have a child here as a gay man and think:

My heart is in the east, but my wallet- and future- may be elsewhere.

Goodbye America, for now

It’s appropriate that I write this blog on the eve of America’s midterm elections. As my country prepares to pivot, so do I. Tomorrow, I board a flight to say goodbye. For now?

I find myself feeling a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Excitement because I think Democrats will take back the House of Representatives. And if it’s truly a blockbuster night, even the Senate. I think Donald Trump needs a wake-up call that he can’t govern this country alone.

Anxiety because I worry about the future of the Democratic Party and what it means for this nation. The extremes of the Democratic Party, as best represented in the Trump-like antics of politicians like Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. Someone who on the surface level, I agree with 80% of the time. But who takes her positions- and most importantly her rhetoric- to extremes.

Ms. Cortez, almost certainly to win her election tomorrow, supports a variety of policies that are fairly standard in Israel and Western Europe. Socialized medicine, environmental protections, affordable higher education, and civil liberties for LGBT people.

The problem is she takes public policy and turns it into a bombastic crusade in which anyone who disagrees with her is the enemy. And in which purity Trumps all.

Ms. Cortez compared the threat of climate change to that of Nazi Germany. She supports impeaching Donald Trump without considering the consequences to her party or the national discourse. Or the potential counter-reaction of angry armed Americans who will doubtless double down on hunting down minorities.

She criticized Israel for having “massacred” innocent Palestinians in Gaza- without showing any understanding of the fact that many of them were armed Hamas members. And that while all killing is a travesty and some of the deaths may have been avoidable, it’s not so simple here. I’d like to see how she’d react as an 18-year-old soldier when people volley rockets and flaming kites at you and your family’s neighborhoods.

The most audacious and Trump-like aspect of this accusation is that Ms. Cortez’s response to criticism was: “I am not the expert…on this issue”. A bizarre and deeply narcissistic approach to politics. You are a future lawmaker- if you’re not an expert on an issue, you probably shouldn’t make such wild and factually incorrect claims. You sound a lot like our Tweeter-in-Chief. Shooting from the lip.

Lest you think this is an isolated incident, I found the most shocking flier walking around Berkeley. Although if you’re from the area, you won’t be surprised.

At face value, I agree with some of the flier. I would like to see more black women in politics. Minorities are perpetually underrepresented and it changes the discourse to have different people in the room making decisions.

On the other hand, this is no better than Donald Trump’s extremist rhetoric. “Abolish every jail”. “Black radical revolution”. “Justice for PALESTINE”- and the word Palestine written in Arabic. “Black ballot”.

It’s not that each of these words on their own are necessarily bad. I advocate for Palestinian human rights. I want black empowerment. I think the prison industrial complex needs reform.

But the way it’s presented is so fundamentalist. It’s a “with-me-or-against-me” rhetoric that is dangerous in and of itself. It is imbued with a fanaticism, a sense of infallibility reminiscent of a Puritan more than a public policy debate.

I don’t believe in abolishing every jail. Some people are dangerous and need to be behind bars. Not everyone can be rehabilitated and I want want serial killers and rapists off my streets. I also don’t think that any ballot should be all about one group. I don’t vote a “Jewish ballot” or a “gay ballot”- it’s exclusionary it is very phrasing. And the Palestine piece- it’s telling that there wasn’t a call for peace, nor was there a condemnation of anti-Semitism. Let alone an acknowledgment that Israel, that the Jewish people are entitled to empowerment too. Especially days after the worst anti-Semitic attack in U.S. history. I have never seen an attack so clearly demonstrate the need for a State of Israel or for solidarity with our people. Yet where are the grandiose words, the empathy for us?

We’re not on the agenda for the far left- and I feel it. I see poster after poster here in California. “Hate has no place here”. “Against hate”. “Immigrants, Muslims, LGBTs are welcome here”. But not on one single sign have I seen the word “Jew”. Out of hundreds I saw, one sign had “you are welcome here” written in Hebrew- a reminder that some people care. But if I’m honest, I leave California with a deep sense of disappointment and a feeling that most of the left doesn’t feel we are worthy of their solidarity. I am inspired by the thousands of Jews and non-Jews who came together to #ShowUpForShabbat, but I have yet to see progressive activists put us on their agenda. We are worthy of our own discussion- not just in terms of Trump, not just in terms of gun control, not just in terms of hate crimes. All of these are valid issues and related- but they are not the same. This was an anti-Semitic attack during a period of rising anti-Semitism around the world. And I expect progressive activists to step outside their comfort zone and learn about us on our own merits- not just when it’s convenient for their ideological agenda. If the attack makes them reconsider their reflexive support for Palestinians over Israel (as if one should have to choose), then I’m glad it makes them uncomfortable. Because if you’re upset about Pittsburgh, imagine what Moroccan Jews and Polish Jews feel like about thousands of Pittsburghs and having no home left to go to. That’s why Israel exists- and you need to face the fact that your society is failing to protect us. The extremes on both sides. Which is why a wise Jew will never give up on the state that is our only insurance policy.

Black-and-white thinking results in aggression and a breakdown in communication. A young Jewish student at Florida State threw chocolate milk at Republican volunteers while invoking the Pittsburgh massacre. I share her frustration at the rise of the far right and its racist and anti-Semitic elements. I also will offer some humility in saying its different analyzing this from afar than living here. I’m American, but I am not here most of the year and it’s different to physically be here. I think that as a (somewhat) outside observer, I can illuminate things that are hard for you to notice when your surroundings shadow your vision. And I bow to the fact that we live in different, overlapping existences and I recognize that you bear certain consequences more directly than me.

I will offer this advice- do not behave like the people you hate. Of all the times people have said nasty things to me (and again- I don’t know what, if anything, the Republicans said to arouse her anger), I have never considered launching my beverage at someone’s face. It’s not that I thought about it and decided not to- it just never occurred to me. Everyone has a right to their feelings- but we don’t have a right to attack people. Even people we disagree with or think are damaging society. The greatest challenge of being oppressed is not to become the oppressor in fighting back. I’m a double minority and a survivor of three decades of abuse. I get it on a gut level- it’s hard. And I hope this young woman can learn from this experience and realize that she has further poisoned debate rather than showing courage. We’ve all been impulsive students once, but it’s important to remember our actions have consequences. And I can’t imagine her behavior has made Jews any safer at a time of deep discomfort about our place in society.

Empathy is about understanding where others come from- not necessarily agreeing with them. So in that spirit, I’d like to offer this. I am American-Israeli. I feel more American in Israel and more Israeli in America. I am a hybrid. Some people share my observations, and sometimes people disagree with them. I address a mostly progressive audience because that’s part of who I am and it’s who I know best. Its whose actions hurt me the most because I care what they, what you, think. Many of my observations about extremism apply to the far right as well- it’s just that I don’t have much cachet with them. I can’t imagine they’re particularly interested in hearing the voice of a queer Jew at this point in history.

There are distinct cultural differences between Israel and America. Israelis are famously direct, Americans famously polite. Israelis will message you pretty much non-stop, Americans think you’re in love (or desperate) if you message someone the day after a date. The words we use, the emotions we feel, the way we convey them- our behavior- is deeply influenced by the culture we live in. And I live in both.

American friends expecting me to conform to American cultural norms- to always remember them- please consider that I don’t live here. I’m not an American abroad, I’m not an expat, I’m not on some jaunt or program. I’m an Israeli, an out-of-the-closet Jew running by completely different norms. And if I sometimes am too direct for you, consider my reality too. I shouldn’t (and can’t) always revert to your way of thinking because it’s hard- it’s not fair, it’s not who I am, and it’s not how I live. If you’re offended by my bluntness, I won’t always say I’m sorry- because sometimes you need to hear some straight talk. That’s my Israeliness. But I will say I never intend to hurt you and I care about what you think. Otherwise I wouldn’t write this blog.

As we sit on the eve of great change- for me personally and for America my country- I want to share my hopes. I predict Democrats will gain power this week. Not sure how much, but it will change the discourse and perhaps even bring some balance to the national debate.

The question for my progressive friends is how will you wield this power? After several years of hearing worn-out tropes from the far right, after being wounded, will you be the adult or the child? Will you govern with a gavel or a sledgehammer?

I hope you govern wisely. Yelling at people doesn’t change their opinions. Some people we can’t dialogue with- but some people are not only open to hearing your thoughts, they could teach you something too. Protect yourselves, but don’t close off your hearts entirely. And check in with yourself to see if you’re becoming the domineering person you’re fighting against.

This is something I personally wrestle with, especially in Israel. A place packed with tension. Beauty, for sure. But it’s not for nothing people are angry there- rockets are falling on my friend’s kibbutz this week. Ideologies, religions collide. This is not suburban California- it is a country the size of New Jersey with ISIS on its borders.

The best thing I can offer you is to evaluate ideas on their own merit. Just because Donald Trump likes Israel, doesn’t mean you should hate it. And just because Alexandria Cortez doesn’t like Donald Trump, doesn’t mean you should join her in hating Israel.

Find the counterexamples. When I get angry at Arabs or Muslims (I have a lot of reasons- I have a high likelihood of being killed for being gay, American, Israeli, or Jewish in their societies), I find someone who reminds me. Who reminds me that there is good too.

My friend Muhammad is a Bedouin student who just moved to Ramat Gan. He’s having a rough time- it’s not a particularly diverse city and he has experienced racism.

He told me he felt Jews only care about their own. And I got angry. I reminded him that I’m a Jew and I helped him find an apartment and adjust to life in his new home. Hours upon hours of expensive long distance calls from abroad. And that I was proud to do so.

He relented that it was politics, the TV, the blowhards who got him down. And I told him I understood- if I went by what the TV told me, I’d think all Muslims want to kill me for being a gay Jew.

And that’s where we found our common ground. We remind each other of our humanity.

He apologized, which of course I accepted. And I wrote him in Hebrew:

“No worries, bro. Remember there are Jews like me, and I’ll remember there are Muslims like you.”

His response: “Exactly!” and a kissy emoji. Which, to remind my American readers of cultural differences, is not a romantic gesture. Arab men (and a lot of straight Israelis) show a lot of intimacy towards their male friends. That in an American setting would make you think we’re heading for the sheets.

But we’re not. We’re friends. We’re each other’s alarm clock, a reminder of the people who don’t fit our preconceptions. The people who value us the way we are.

America- that’s what I hope for you November 7th. No matter what happens, no matter what you advocate for, do it with humanity. Remember the other, remember the exception.

I hope next time I visit, instead of a “black ballot” or a “white ballot”, I’ll see people talking to each other face to face. Instead of a voiceless flier slapped on a cold brick wall.

I believe in you. And I want you to succeed.

The wonderful, the ignorant, and the outright anti-Semitic

I’m writing you from Spain. The past week, I stayed in Almería, a small city in the southeast corner of the country. This is my fourth visit to Spain. When I was 13, I came with my school. When I was 21, I did research here for my thesis (including a fair bit of research on Spanish beaches 😉 ). This past year, I realized my dream of re-visiting Catalonia after having learned Catalan. And now, I’m chilling in the south of Spain.

Spain has always been an important place for me. Spanish is the first foreign language I learned and Spain is the first country I visited without my abusive family. At a time in my life when I was suffocating, Spain and its wonderful, warm people gave me room to breathe. And have fun.

I fell in love. I majored in Spanish in college. By accident. I was supposed to major in sociology but my university closed the department midway through my studies (yes, that’s a thing). And I so loved Spanish that just by virtue of my desire to learn it, I had already taken enough coursework to put together a major. Follow your heart, not the curriculum.

Every language is a source of richness. I speak a bunch, including minority languages like Catalan and Yiddish (and have studied Irish and Basque). Sometimes people shit on these languages for not “being useful”. As far as I’m concerned, the way you feel about a language (or accent) is mostly about what you feel about its speakers. Every language, like every culture, has something to offer, to make you grow, if you choose to see it that way. Perhaps that’s why subconsciously I chose to wear a Catalan t-shirt at the Alhambra on Spain’s National Day. An unintentional but loud statement in Andalucía, where dissing Catalans is as common as eating Gazpacho.

What enchants me about Spanish in particular is how I fit in. Most of the time. Because of my olive skin and Semitic features (Spaniards are also very Mediterranean-looking and have a lot of Jewish blood), I often am seen as Spanish. Or Latino in America. Sometimes people overlook Mediterranean/Middle Eastern people, but we look different than the Swedish people in Minnesota or the Irish Americans in Boston. We look ethnic. In Belgium, people think I’m Arab (including Arabs). And I’ve actually had people tell me I don’t look American. Not the nicest thing, but maybe there’s some truth to it. Most people in Abercrombie ads don’t look like me.

But in Spain, people think I’m one of them- or at least a native Spanish speaker. Partially because I’ve got a great accent, but people over the past week thought I was anything from Catalan to Venezuelan to Chilean. In America, someone once called me a “Spic” on the Metro. I’ve had multiple cases where people I’ve already known discover I’m not Hispanic, tell me how surprised they are, and suddenly want to be friends with me. Here, I feel a little more at home.

In Israel too I often felt that physically I more fit in. My appearance, indeed my DNA (I’ve run tests that show my makeup is closest to Lebanese, Greeks, Sicilians, and Palestinians), is from there. Trust me, nobody in Hungary mistook me for an ethnic Hungarian. Even though my great-grandparents were from there. Israeli clothing models, politicians, rabbis, studs at the beach look a lot more like me than Channing Tatum. But don’t get me wrong, I do like Channing Tatum 😉 .

In Spain, I’ve met some incredible people. I met a Spanish man who told me how proud me was of his town’s judería, or Jewish quarter. I met a Russian guy married to a Taiwanese woman who owned a bubble tea store. Who spent 10 minutes looking up directions for me to a Sephardic heritage site. I told an Afghan baklava seller I was from Israel- and spoke some Farsi with him. His eyes lit up. 🙂 I ate amazing Moroccan bastilla and chatted with the owners in Arabic. I even met a very Catholic young man marching in a Semana-Santa-style procession who directed me towards the local Jewish museum.

There’s also a lot of ignorance. Not necessarily outright prejudice, but for sure ignorance. A lot of people have no idea where their town’s Jewish quarter is- even when the local municipality has developed it as a tourist attraction. And it’s been there for over a thousand years. This particularly struck me yesterday on El Día de la Hispanidad, the day “celebrating” Columbus’s “discovery” of the “New” World. The same year Spain kicked out its Jews.

On this day, I saw a massive Catholic procession which (although it is not actually connected) looks like a much more elaborate and classy KKK march. Even Spaniards joked with me about it. It really does look similar, but it is not a hate parade. I will say it momentarily jolted me.

Spain is known for being the most (or one of the most) anti-Semitic countries in Europe according to the Anti-Defamation League’s polling. Not surprising given the legacy of the Inquisition, although neighboring Portugal had that too, and moreso than Spain, is undergoing a kind of Jewish renaissance, including a burgeoning philo-Semitism. Strong ties with both Israel and the Jewish community make it a much more comfortable place to be a Jew, right next door.

Spanish municipalities, particularly those governed by left wing parties, have tried over and over again to boycott Israel. Something I find ironic, at best, in a country covered with the blood of my ancestors. Where I’ve seen synagogues turned into office buildings, where thousands of people fill the streets celebrating Christopher Columbus. A man by all accounts a genocidal maniac. Incidentally likely the descendant of Jews forced to convert to Catholicism by Spain. Hired by the royal family celebrated during this week’s holiday. The family who ethnically cleansed my people from this land.

To return to the issue of these Catholic processions, I’d like to share my experience in Alicante, another city in Spain. In the province of Valencia.

I was walking down the street and asked someone to explain the meaning of everything. I’m a curious guy so I listened patiently as someone explained about the various teams that put together the saints displays. Like I mentioned, some Spaniards like to joke about how it looks like a Klan rally (long robes, candles, crosses…). I agreed it was a bit of a culture shock, and the rather nice Spaniards I spoke with said: “yeah, it has nothing to do with violence.”

But actually, that’s wrong. Catholicism in Spain (frankly, Catholicism for most of its existence) has until recently been about violence. Towards Jews, towards Muslims, towards apostates. And while today, religious processions are mostly a cute cultural custom (it’s cool to watch, the music is neat too). Not too long ago, they were a way for the church to impose its will on the people. Including countless Jews it forced to convert or abandon this land under penalty of death.

After a relaxing bus ride up the coast to get here (the scenery in Spain is spectacular), I went out tonight. It was a Saturday night and I wanted to talk to people. Traveling alone can be so rewarding, I’m learning so much about myself. And sometimes it’s nice to take a break and be with people.

I met an interesting mix of people just by chatting on the street. Spaniards are known for being friendly and they live up to their reputation. There are few better places I’ve visited for someone traveling alone. Everyone is ready to chat.

I spent the night with a mix of Spaniards, Americans, Ukrainians, and one Argentinian man.

When I said I was from Israel, everyone was cool. In fact, the Spanish guy knows his family has Jewish roots and he wants me to bring him to a synagogue. And if you saw his cute punim, you could see he wasn’t lying. He’d fit right in on a kibbutz.

The only person with a problem was the Argentine. He said to me- to my face- “how do you feel as a Jew, controlling the world’s economy?”

I wish I could say I was surprised, but there was something in his silence when I said I was from Israel that told me he’d be an anti-Semite. Perhaps a defense mechanism I’ve developed after dealing with so much bigotry.

I told him point blank: “that’s an anti-Semitic question based on stereotypes.”

He didn’t accept it. When I tried to explain (as if you can reason with someone this insane) that actually Israel has a lot of poor people with one of the widest wealth gaps in the OECD, he pushed back:

“The Jews in Argentina control everything.”

I gave him a deep stare, told him I actually spent two weeks helping poor Jews in Argentina after the economic crisis, and reiterated that he was being anti-Semitic. And to my great credit, he asked for the check and left. Two hours later, he came back with free wristbands to go to a nightclub- for everyone in the group but me. He said: “you don’t get one.”

Message understood.

I still love Spanish. I love every language I learn. Every culture has richness to share.

But I don’t fit in here. For a visit, sure. I suppose on some level I always thought I could be Spanish or in the words of my former coworkers at a Hispanic advocacy group, an “honorary Latino”. Before moving to Israel, I spent most of my college years and professional career working for Latino and immigrant rights. And I’m proud of it. It reflects my values as a Jew and as a human being and a lover of Spanish-speaking cultures.

In the end, though, it’s not mine. At least it can’t replace my Jewish identity, though at times I wished it would. It felt easier- what an amazing global community to be a part of. There’s a reason everyone’s listening to reggaeton these days- it’s infectious. For all the wars and coups and discrimination and poverty and dictatorships, being Latino is fun. I love French and I speak it when I want a sense of calm. But let’s face it- when people want to get down, they put on salsa, not French folk music. Although I listen to that too 🙂 .

I wish I could say my experience with the Argentinean man was unique, but it’s not. In fact, when I visited Argentina, I saw authentic Nazi war medals being sold at the local fruit market. My middle school Spanish teacher taught us that in her country of Guatemala, to call someone a Jew was to call them a “burro”, an “ass”. As she laughed. At a gay club in Spain, men excitedly guessed where I was from and when I finally said “Israel”, two of them fell silent and turned away. One Spanish woman compared me to an Islamic terrorist because I don’t eat pork. In Granada, I asked the tourist info booth why the Jewish museum was closed on Friday morning, even though it was listed as being open until 2pm that day. And the woman sassily snapped: “you have to respect, it’s the Sabbath, that’s why they’re closed, it’s their norms.” As if I couldn’t possibly know- or be Jewish. I explained I was Jewish and that Friday morning is not the Sabbath- they chose to list the museum as open then. The woman couldn’t care less as she ignored me and moved on to her next task. Her much nicer colleague grimaced. And tried to help me. When I worked for a Latino advocacy group in Washington, they refused to give me Yom Kippur off in exchange for Christmas. I appealed to the president of the group. And got my vacation back almost a year later.

It’s not because all Latinos or Spaniards are anti-Semitic. There are people here, as in all cultures, who are curious about Judaism. Some who love it. And some who are indifferent or ignorant but not hostile. Some Latinos are Jews.

I’ve also experienced a deep strain of anti-Semitism in Spanish-speaking cultures. No doubt a product of hundreds of years of Catholic-church-sponsored hate and Inquisitions. Today, sometimes repackaged by far-left parties as anti-Israel fanaticism. A kind of new religion in which Jews remain all-powerful and in need of constant reprimand.

In the end, I’ll always be a Spanish speaker. It flows off my tongue better than any other, maybe even more than Hebrew. The language is filled with warmth. The people such friendliness. The culture such a diverse and interesting history. One in which Jews have always played a part. Our blood flows through the veins of its people, our ruins dot the town squares. Like the former synagogue in Guadix I visited that’s now an unemployment office.

Tonight, my best conversation was with an Algerian man. Feeling distraught about the Argentinian anti-Semite as well as some homophobic comments I heard, I wanted a taste of home. Shwarma.

I talked to the man in Arabic, and he was surprised. “Where are you from?”

“Tel Aviv.”

“Tel Aviv? Palestine?”

“Israel. Palestine. The Land.”

“Oh, you’re Palestinian?”

“No, I’m Jewish. I’m Israeli.”

“But you speak Arabic!”

“I do, I love it. It’s a beautiful language. And I like Algerian Rai music and I have Algerian Jewish friends in Israel.”

“Wow!! Rai?!? And your friends- do they still eat couscous?”

“Yes they do. Every Shabbat.”

Perhaps the world expects me to have more fun with a bunch of young Spaniards and expats at a bar. Telling me how progressive and open they are, while spewing bile about Jews and gays after a few drinks. Perhaps belying what they really think.

But my favorite conversation tonight was with an Algerian falafel man. Because I’m the first Israeli he’s ever met. And my language, my heart, brought him a smile from ear to ear.

So in the end, I’m not Latino, I’m not Spanish, and I don’t really want to be. But I am a Spanish-speaker, an Arabic-speaker, and most importantly, a person who uses language to warm hearts.

Expel us, boycott us, ridicule us in a bar. But Judaism is as Spanish as paella.

Queen Isabella could have never imagined me staring down an anti-Semite on the streets of Alicante 500 years later. And winning. Let alone a Jew and a Muslim speaking in Arabic.

Confuse me for a Latino, I don’t care. Once it would’ve made me scared that you won’t like me. Or I’d defiantly wear my honorary Latino badge, proud to be different. Now, I just feel I’m a human being. I’m a Jew- who I am and what society makes me. And I’m happy to explore all cultures and stand with kind-hearted people no matter who they are. I’ve learned to love my olive skin more. And I’m grateful to have places like Spain where I look normal.

Libi bamizrach. My heart is in the East, I’m in the far West. And the person who brought me there was an Algerian shwarma man.

Yehuda Halevi would be proud.

This picture is of a door in Granada’s Jewish quarter where you can still, 500 years later, see the marks of a mezuzah. We’re everywhere. Scatter us like seeds, but we sprout back up wherever we’re planted.

You’re welcome, Belgium

My trip to Benelux, as I like to call it, has been interesting. The series of low-lying small countries- Belgium, the Netherlands, and Luxembourg- has long been a destination I wanted to visit.

I like small countries. They have unique character and frankly they’re cute! Not so overwhelming and often overlooked- just the way I like things sometimes. People tend to be more appreciative too when you visit places a bit off the beaten path. Brussels isn’t a village in Latvia, but it’s certainly not Rome or Paris either. It’s cute- not too big, not too showy, interesting. And for me, a French-speaker and a lover of languages, this is a fascinating part of the world. With languages bumping up side-by-side- Belgium a truly multilingual country. With all the good and challenges that poses for its society.

While unfortunately I didn’t make it to the Netherlands, I did visit Belgium and Luxembourg.

The good thing about small countries is you can see a lot in a short amount of time. And things do tend to change a bit from place to place.

After flying into Charleroi Airport and staying over in Jumet, I visited Namur and the Ardennes. The Ardennes is the site of tons of World War history- from both wars. With tremendous casualties, including many Americans who died to liberate this part of the world from fascism.

The Ardennes are green and peaceful. Some pockets of poverty. And some gorgeous medieval villages like Dinant and Bouvignes. Take a look:

While I didn’t plan on coming to the Ardennes for its military history, it kind of found me.

When you go to the cute village of Bastogne, you can see the war everywhere. There are graveyards for soldiers, American tanks, a museum. And mostly Western tourists coming to see it- sometimes to meet their departed relatives.

I knew my great uncle Barney Marcus was killed here in the war- he was an American soldier. But I didn’t know where- it could’ve been Asia or Europe. And I didn’t know exactly when.

Without wanting to go into the war traumas or history (I think seeing the destroyed Jewish communities of Eastern Europe was enough), I didn’t visit much. But I did take a picture with an American tank. And I noticed that one older woman, initially standoffish, was quite warm to me in French when I said I was American. I could feel her gratitude. For something I didn’t even think of when planning this trip. But nonetheless, it felt good. After experiencing so much stigma in Eastern Europe, it was nice to see some people who liked me for who I was. And to think about good things my country has done. Like liberating this part of the world from fascism- twice.

I also made time to visit Luxembourg. While so many Debbie Downers asked me over and over why I would go there, my answer is simple: it’s there. It’s a tiny country, with something different, right at my doorstep. It’s cute, quadrilingual (Luxembourgish is a language!), and I find it interesting.

From Bastogne, I hopped on a bus. Now I’m going to sound pretty hipster when I say I didn’t even go to Luxembourg City. I passed through towns and villages on the way to Ettelbruck, an even smaller city in a teeny tiny country.

My image of Luxembourg was wealth. It is one of the richest places on the planet.

And I saw some of it- the native Luxembourgers (is that a word?) were readily recognizable, driving Mercedes and BMW’s. Not all of them, but a lot.

What was shocking was that Ettelbruck is anything but wealthy. The rest of the town is a melting pot of Portuguese, Chinese, Africans, Cape Verdeans- name a culture. There to work, to somehow survive in the face of eye popping prices, to make a better life. Ettelbruck isn’t scenic, but I did learn a lot.

What I learned is there’s a lot of racism here. Europe, in general, feels really racist. Not everyone, but it’s a deep feeling.

As someone with caramel, olive skin and Semitic features- I stand out. To the people (usually on the far left) who claim all Jews are white- tell that to the Luxembourgers who looked at me like I was there to clean their houses.

Because of my appearance (and sometimes because I go to decidedly non-touristic spots), I often am approached with fear and suspicion.

I should say, by all those who aren’t themselves outsiders.

On multiple occasions, Arabs have approached me in Arabic here. Confirming my thought that the white people around me also thought I was Arab.

In fact, one night, after a particularly miserable AirBnB I had to escape (like the wolf in the forest I had to run away from- that’s another story), I ended up at an expensive hotel in Bastogne. The Arab employee comes up and starts speaking to me in Arabic. I said I was American…needless to say that despite my bravery and pride, this was not the moment to say I was Israeli. Just this week, a Jew was attacked in Germany. Sometimes it’s neo-Nazis, and a lot of the times it’s Muslim extremists. Europe isn’t as safe as I thought it would be.

The Arab man, from Tunisia (a cool accent I hadn’t heard much before outside of Jewish Tunisian music), immediately directed me to a Halal restaurant. Assuming I was Muslim. Not about to say “I respect everyone but actually I’m a secular Godless Jew”, I simply went to the shwarma restaurant.

There I met a Kurdish man, a Syrian refugee, and a Libyan guy. We had a nice chat- again, they all pretty much assumed I was Muslim (whatever, I don’t really care, and the food was great). At the end of the meal, they gave me a free dessert, namoura. It was delightful. Also, the Kurdish man gave me PKK literature. That was a first. Despite having lived in the Middle East, I have never been so generously offered terrorist literature after dinner. I smiled, accepted the brochure, took a few pictures, and threw it in the trash in my hotel. The last thing I need is more airport scrutiny. I’ll take the flight over the flier.

To return a moment to Luxembourg, something really stunned me. I found a synagogue! Obviously, like most of Europe, an empty abandoned one.

It was an unexpected, somewhat invasive surprise. I was hoping to get a break from seeing the ruins of my people (see my blogs about Eastern Europe), but here we were again. The 47 families of Ettelbruck turned into ash. According to the sign, by “villains”. As if this were a murder mystery and we didn’t know that Nazis and their Luxembourger collaborators killed them.

It’s a reminder that our blood lies spilled over this entire continent, over centuries. It’s depressing, although I’m glad something of our civilization here remains, in spite of so much continuing hatred.

While I tried to engage with some Luxembourgers (interestingly, Yiddish proves quite useful in talking to them), they mostly shied away or even laughed at me when I said I was Jewish.

Meanwhile, the Cape Verdean women loved talking to me. We shared the Portuguese language- a reminder that my tribes include the languages I speak. The foreign workers in Luxembourg, almost to a fault, were welcoming and kind to me. Perhaps seeing me, on some level, as one of their own. Or at a minimum, to not look down on others in need of directions or a laugh. Poor people, at the risk of sounding tokenizing, tend to be a lot warmer than rich people. In almost every place I visit. I suppose it doesn’t cost anything to be nice. And when you don’t have much, hopefully you have a bit more empathy for others in need.

One of the reasons I came to Belgium was that there are living Jews. Unlike the communities in Eastern Europe where the headstones outnumber the heads, Belgium still manages to keep Jewish life alive. Though not with ease, in particular because of rising anti-Semitism from many directions, including (though not exclusively) its Arab immigrants.

I had the pleasure of visiting Moishe House Brussels. For those who don’t know this international institution, it’s a pluralistic, secular-minded communal house that Jews live in around the world. I used to go in Washington and it’s great to have a place to meet other young Jews. Which is exactly what I needed after a long dry spell the past few weeks.

It was so nice to talk to people who understood me. Not because I love every Jew any more than you could say you love everyone in any group. But because in the deepest sense, all Jews share something. Especially those who take the time to cultivate it. We share 4,000+ years of history, of food, of persecution, of cohesiveness. Of survival. Of humor. Things you can’t just understand by taking a course or going to a Bar Mitzvah. It’s in our shared experience.

And what was also awesome was that a few non-Jews joined us. An Italian-Belgian guy, even an Azerbaijani woman studying Israel for her PhD! Even the Jews were diverse- Spanish, Argentinian, Croatian, Algerian, Belgian, and me- Israeli.

It was so nice to make some new friends and to do Shabbat. Not to pray, but to eat together. That’s what nourished me. The conversation, the togetherness. The warmth.

One person who I particularly connected with was named Forster. I don’t have his whole story yet- we’re hopefully hanging out again tomorrow. Besides a shared sense of humor, a love of animals, and a strong passion for secular Jewish culture, I was moved to hear that he grew up on his family’s Holocaust survival stories. I know my family was murdered in the Holocaust, but since I never knew them and they were across an ocean, it’s more of a puzzle I’m piecing together. And one thing I notice about European Jews is that, with the exception of some Sephardic Jews who made their way here after the war, almost all are descendants of Holocaust survivors. Or are survivors themselves.

After Brussels, I visited Antwerp. While the Brussels Jewish community is quite secular (which is cool, and somewhat hard to find outside Israel these days), the Antwerp community is hard core Hasidic.

For those of you who’ve followed my blog, you know that the last time I stepped foot in Israel, I was pretty pissed off at this community. A community, while diverse, whose leaders use religion to prevent me from building a family. From adopting, from using surrogacy, from getting married. Because I’m gay and the Torah blah blah. Utter bullshit. Even though I spent a lot of time in Bnei Brak, Mea Shearim, Modi’in Illit, and other Haredi areas, I stopped going once I saw how hated I really was.

Something about this trip changed that. Not because I think Haredi parties are any different now than a month ago. But perhaps because living in the Diaspora makes it a little warmer between us.

When the government isn’t tied to religion, we don’t have to fight about it as much. And when our non-Jewish neighbors are so fixated on persecuting us for no apparent reason, it acts as a glue to bring us together. I can’t say I enjoy persecution, but it feels kind of nice.

As I imagined the ruined Hasidic communities of Romania and Hungary, it felt nice to see living Hasidic Jews. Speaking Yiddish, Hebrew, English, Flemish- name a language. It’s a Diaspora chulent. And it tastes good. Almost as good as *the* best cinnamon rugelach I have ever eaten in my life from Heimishe Bakery. Go!

I had a nice chat with the owners and a Hasidic man. I wished them a gut yontif- it was Simchat Torah that night. The day of celebrating our book. I’m not always a fan of this book, but it’s definitely ours. And it felt a bit like home to be among my people. Alive. It put a smile on my face when the baker told me she was from Israel. With a broad smile of her own. In this little shop, I didn’t have to lie.

As I pondered what to do tomorrow, I thought about how I will meet with Forster. I want to know his family’s story- if he feels up to sharing it. And it got me thinking about my own.

I’ve often told people on this trip that I’m the first member of my family back in this part of the world since the 1880s. When we were kicked out.

But it’s not true.

As I discovered tonight, Barney Marcus, my great uncle, died liberating Europe.

Barney Marcus was drafted at age 22 from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. With World War II raging, he enlisted in the 314th Regiment of the 79th Infantry Division.

Barney was a proud Jew. He served as the secretary of the Phi Lambda Nu fraternity- an all-Jewish fraternity started in Pennsylvania when non-Jews didn’t accept us in their ranks.

His frat brothers held a going away party for him before he was drafted.

Barney’s regiment wasn’t any old regiment. It freed Europe from fascism in the Battle of Normandy. You can read the incredible story here and see a rough map of his experience:

His brothers in arms pushed the Germans out to clear the way for Allied Troops to free France, to free Belgium, to ultimately conquer Germany and put its demons to rest.

Unfortunately, Barney never made it to Germany. He was gunned down by Germans and their sycophants in La Haye-du-Puits, France. Not only that, he was awarded a Purple Heart and Silver Star posthumously for dying while trying to save a wounded friend. His particular regiment was cited for “outstanding performance of duty” on July 7, 1944. The very day he died. Fighting his way through “artillery and mortar fire and across dense mine fields”. I’m not bashful at all to say that his regiment took German soldiers prisoner- he came to Europe a soldier and died a victor. An American, a Jew, a freedom fighter, and a Nazi crusher.

Barney’s regiment went on to liberate eastern France, close to the border with Luxembourg, then conquered Germany near Cologne, and ultimately ended up managing post-war chaos in Sudetenland, where German Nazi aggression started this war. Including some displaced persons camps, perhaps with Jews in them.

I’ve noticed in my travels here that a lot of Western Europeans have forgotten. A cab driver, when I asked him about the local history in the Ardennes, said the young people don’t want to learn it anymore. Maybe some do, but when I hear anti-American sentiment or prejudices in this part of the world, it rubs me raw when I know that my family shed blood to keep here free.

As hard as all this genealogy has been, I think it’s been worth it. I wish I had known my great uncle, Barney Marcus. Because he sounds like someone pretty cool. Someone proud of his Jewishness, a brave American, someone who sacrificed his very future to save another life. Someone I am proud to call my own.

Europe- Jewish and non-Jewish- you’re welcome. Barney and I have sacrificed for you to exist. Like the library I visited today in Leuven, rebuilt twice by the Americans for the people of Belgium.

Jews here have a longer historical memory- though I can’t pretend I haven’t experienced some anti-Americanism from them too (or perhaps playful jealousy fed by delusional interpretations of Hollywood as reality). But the non-Jews here, although there are some truly admirable ones like Alexis who actually lives in a Moishe House and worked for Jewish radio, they have forgotten.

They have forgotten that Belgium (not to mention France) exists because of the United States- twice. That Jewish soldiers liberated their countries even as not a small number of their citizens helped deport our Jewish relatives.

Every city on this continent has a “Jew Street”, abandoned synagogue, or largely empty Jewish quarter. And I’m tired of hearing people say they know nothing about it.

Or in the case of Germans I met, that I should visit Chemnitz, the site of recent neo-Nazi rallies, to realize that the people really are great and they’re just protest voters.

Enough. Europe- anti-Semitism is your problem, not the Jewish people’s. Just like racism is not black people’s responsibility to resolve.

I’m willing to pitch in and help educate- and even to learn from you. Which is why I’m starting a new project, Nuance Israel, to bring together Jews and non-Jews, in Israel and abroad, to learn together. To build connections between kind, open-minded people. To help European non-Jews understand their Jewish neighbors- and Israelis. For Israelis to understand their roots- and the importance of diversity. For people across cultures to build a new tribe- a mindset of openness, tolerance, and moderation. Join me.

In the end, I’m done hiding who I am. Yes, I’m from Washington, D.C., but that’s not where I live now. I’m Israeli. And American. And Jewish. And gay. And empathetic. And a lot of things. And I’m not a liar.

If you- whether you’re Moroccan or Belgian or whatever- can’t handle that, then too bad. My family is part of the reason this continent isn’t called Germany. And I’m tired of your worn-out excuses for why America or Israel are so terrible.

Your social safety net was set up by the Marshall Plan and your economies thrive in part because American tax dollars provide most of your defense.

I’m not suggesting America (or Israel) is perfect- it’s not. We’re not a shining beacon of light for the rest of the world to emulate- we’re just another country. But one that does some good. And has things to learn from you too.

I thought about making a spontaneous trip to La Haye-du-Puits tomorrow to see where my uncle sacrificed himself for freedom. For Europe, for its Jews, for tomorrow. On some level, for me. Thank you, Barney. Today you gave me a little ray of hope- a connection to someone I’m proud to call my own.

Maybe one day I’ll visit- I’ve long been searching for specific places in Europe my family stepped foot on. I have some I might visit one day, but I don’t know that I’ve reached them yet.

What I do know is tomorrow I’m hanging with Forster. A living Jew. A new friend. Someone whose own destiny is tied up with my own.

Because even though we’ve barely met, I know we’re both survivors. That when his family, wherever they were, were resisting Nazi fascism and anti-Semitism, holding on for dear life in the face of deep inhumanity. My great uncle was working to set them free. Because wherever we are, we don’t give up.

Which is why in the face of the deep inhumanity I’ve faced, especially from within my family, I choose life. Am yisrael chai, the people Israel lives.

And if you don’t like it, I’m afraid you’ll never succeed in extinguishing our flame. It burns as bright as the bombs my great uncle dashed between to set your country free.

A trip to Hungary

Sometimes life truly surprises you. Having left Romania (see posts), I decided I needed somewhere nearby, more gay-friendly and with more *living* Jews. So I headed to Hungary, another one of my ancestral homelands.

I am a quarter Hungarian. My great-grandparents were from Pacza, which today is either Pacsa, Tornyospálca, or the (formerly Hungarian) Slovakian village Pača. I’m still doing extensive research- finding Jewish genealogy here is a bit like finding a needle in a haystack. Due to both the time passed (130 years) and the killer job Nazis did in burning our archives, it can be quite hard. An entire continent uprooted us over ages, so it’s hard to feel rooted here, even as we’re the oldest religion on the continent and our empty houses of worship dot the landscape. Sometimes turned into trendy cafes or Italian restaurants, without so much as a word of our consent.

Budapest is an interesting place. Gorgeous scenery, grand buildings, and a surprising calm for a city of its size. The screaming and chaos of Tel Aviv this is not. Cute cafes (including one that has cats in it!), affordable prices, and phenomenal safety make it a good place to spend a few days. Not to mention Hungary’s 1700-year-old Jewish community that I’m a part of. Before the frickin Huns even arrived.

As a Jew, some things stood out to me. First off, there are actual Jews here. Most parts of Romania I visited had almost no Jews left, or a very old (as in gray hair) community. In a place that was once home to over 700,000 Jews, dating back to Roman times.

Secondly, the people here are really…brusque. Maybe that’s not the word- I’ll be blunt: they’re assholes. No, not everyone. But most people. There is a deep politeness to Hungarian society. At first, this was refreshing, having experienced so much rudeness in Tel Aviv. But you soon start to see that it’s a big facade. People here have literally thrown my change at me in stores, they stare a lot (until I stare back), a woman I was paying for genealogical research berated me for taking water from a water cooler. In the office I was paying her to sit in. To quote: “in our country, you ask for water first.” Message understood.

While this brusqueness is pretty much thrown at everyone (especially if you’re a foreigner), it has at times manifested itself towards me as a Jew.

I visited a beautiful library the other day. It was so peaceful- quiet, relaxing, a great place to think and reflect. The architecture here is marvelous and the tranquility truly, aggressively silent. There is no neighbor blaring Beyonce at 3am on a Wednesday. Yes, that has happened to me in Israel.

It’s in fact a branch of the Hungarian National Library. Hoping to find some books to relax (I love books!), I went exploring. I found most books were in Magyar, the local language. But some were in French, German, Romanian, English, and other languages. I even found a small book on Judaism.

I approached a young man working behind the information desk.

In my best American-polite voice, I asked: “excuse me, sir, do you have any books in Yiddish? Or on Hungarian Jews?”

His answer: “this is the Hungarian National Library. We only have books about Hungarians. In Hungarian. You can try one of these other libraries to try to find what you’re looking for.”

As he handed me a scrap of paper.

This is Hungary. A place so reminiscent of the nationalism that plagues the Middle East, it might as well live there.

The fact that the city he lives in was a quarter Jewish just 70 years ago didn’t seem to factor into his commentary. Or maybe it did. After all, the Jewish quarter today is a bunch of bars and hipster cafes. This kind of appropriation and abuse happens a lot with nationalism- it’s just that in America, you don’t often *see* the Native American ruins turned into a nightclub. Perhaps it would sensitize Americans to how they achieved their great wealth. Or perhaps they’d end up bland and desensitized like far too many Hungarians. Despite having nearly cleared their country of Jews (in collaboration with Nazis), an astonishing 41% of the country is anti-Semitic. The highest number in all of Eastern Europe. A region famed for hating me.

The other day I heard an American voice. A woman was taking a picture of a synagogue, I thought she might be Jewish. “It’s beautiful,” I said. She said back: “indeed! Where are you from?” I said: “I’m originally from Washington, D.C., and going back 130 years I’m Hungarian.”

She laughed: “well yeah, if that’s how we’re counting, I’d be speaking Irish right now.” Chuckle, chuckle. Completely unaware that maybe one of my ancestors worshiped in this synagogue.

I said: “my ancestors were kicked out of this country for being Jews.”

A dead silence. “Oh, ok.” She then stepped inside, maybe 10% embarrassed, 90% too focused on the lens on her camera. Never to be seen again.

Feeling decidedly unconnected to most locals, I used the Couch Surfing app to find some internationals to hang with.

I’m really here to get away from the Middle East for now- to get some space. But to my surprise, I found a young Jordanian woman (let’s call her Amira for privacy’s sake). Who wanted to go to a gay bar!

Thank God, I really wanted to see some cute guys and connect to that other community I’m a part of- the fun one 🙂 .

A little nervous that politics might come up (it says that I’m Israeli on the app), I didn’t know what to expect.

But instead of a long drawn out conversation about the region’s ongoing PTSD, we ended up sitting down with two queer Macedonian girls. And dancing with some British people. And giggling. And singing. And frankly having a fantastic time. It gave me a little hope that especially when we’re away from the mess, we can have a little more fun.

I met a few nice Americans here as well. It was kind of refreshing to speak English and to share the same culture. I can’t pretend Israeli culture hasn’t impacted my life- it has. In a lot of ways, traumatically. In some ways, kind of cool. At heart, I’m still pretty American- more than you might expect. And it was nice sharing that with people on kind of a neat neutral ground here somewhere in between corn bread and challah.

Friday night I went to Reform services. I do not believe in God. It’s something I’ve fully realized lately, and my experiences in Israel have convinced me of. But I really miss community. And when you’re traveling, Jews are better than anyone else at being nomads. We’ve been doing it for 2,000 years. And we find each other everywhere 🙂 .

I went to the services and found myself liking some of the same melodies (for those who don’t know, I’m really, really Jewish- I’ve led Reform services in varying locations since I was 14). I especially love the old tunes- the ones from this part of the world.

And I found myself unable to mouth the word “God”. I found some of the words I could kind of reinterpret or recreate with my meaning. But the God piece- it really angered me. I don’t believe in God- and the concept makes me furious. I feel it’s an abusive one- not that all people who believe in it are abusive, but the idea of an invisible being telling us what to do- often to the detriment of our self-worth- really irritates me. Especially when you see that conflict up close literally killing people.

I excused myself for the latter half of the service and came back for the meal.

The meal was great- a potluck, with some Hungarian surprises. Hungarians love paprika. I don’t know why, but they do. And to be honest, it was found in nearly every dish I ate as a child. So I guess my family brought it with us across the ocean.

The rabbi taught me all about Hungarian Jewish food. And her congregant told me all about Hungarian Jews. Apparently 19 out of 20 Nobel Prize-winning Hungarians were Jewish. No wonder so many of them can’t stand us 😛 .

The rabbi has a fascinating story. Her parents hid in the forests near Budapest during the Holocaust. While her grandfather was deported to Buchenwald, her parents buried a suitcase under a tree each night. And pretended to go to work each day. Sleeping in the dirt under the moonlight. Until the war ended. And 565,000 out of 800,000 Hungarian Jews were evaporated. An entire civilization, a race, loving parents with their little children- burnt to a crisp. To supply a bunch of Germans with BMW’s. And to satisfy Hungarian blood lust with the active participation of their fascist government.

What was so astonishing was how normal the rabbi was. How kind, how gentle, how welcoming. How easy it was to talk with her about one of the hardest things to talk about.

A deep note to my Israeli friends- losing loved ones in the Holocaust is not an excuse to be abusive yourself. Not to other peoples or to other people. This rabbi proves that. If anything, it is a reason to work extra hard not to be that way. This is an incredibly difficult hurdle- as someone who has been abused for decades myself, I know that. And in the end, we’re responsible for our behavior, even as we know what has caused it. And we can choose to pass that abuse on or to break the chain and strive to treat others better than we were treated. Stop weaponizing the Holocaust to excuse bad behavior and instead, let’s heal. Evidently, without the help of many countries that caused our pain.

In the end, while I don’t believe in God, I loved the Shabbat dinner. Not for religious reasons, but for culture. For history. For conversation. Yes, for continuity and change. A Reform service- a tradition deeply rooted in Central Europe. Where Neolog synagogues still stand. And where, despite the best efforts of more than a few miserable neighbors, we still exist. We are here. I think I’ll keep seeking out, maybe creating, Jewish culture because I like some of it. It’s mine, and I’m proud of our survival and our thriving in the midst of sometimes unbelievable pressure. Perhaps something we share in common.

For ages upon ages, Christian Europeans denied us the right to own land. To practice everyday professions. Forced into banking and jobs that goyim didn’t want. So more people would hate us than the actual governments oppressing them. To then pay taxes to go to church and learn why we’re awful- and burn us on Christmas Eve as tradition. No Christmas tree for me, I think.

Jews were stereotyped as “rootless”- a people wandering miserably, punished for killing Jesus. When in reality, it was Christians themselves who regularly uprooted us. Stealing our homes, killing us, even enslaving us at times. Which is how a bunch of people with Mediterranean features and DNA ended up in bitter-cold Poland instead of on a beach on the Dead Sea.

We’re not rootless. We are from here- me too. My tradition, my very blood is Middle Eastern, it has stained the soil of Hungary, and I am no guest. Do not throw plastic bags at me in your grocery stores or tell me your libraries are “just for Hungarians”. And stop complaining about how hard it is for you. Communism sucked, you’ve been through a lot. The economy isn’t great. But I’ve literally met Darfur genocide survivors more cheerful than you. Have a little perspective. At least you’re here to complain unlike the rabbi’s grandfather. Turned to dust.

Now a word to my Palestinian friends. Through a mutual friend, I had been dialoguing some with a Palestinian woman from Hebron online. One of the most violent and chaotic focal points where Israeli extremism and Islamic fanaticism meet in utter despair. Where settlers bemoan the existence of Arabs- and sometimes physically attack them. And not a small number of practically caged-in Palestinians throw bombs, stab babies, and shoot Jewish civilians. If you want to really feel bad about humanity, this is a good place to take a peek at the darkness.

This woman, let’s call her Fatima, is religious. I tried dialoguing and it went well for a while until she starting erupting at me- kind of out of nowhere. Having seen some of the conditions in the West Bank, I displayed a lot of empathy. Including sharing about the documentation I’ve done about Palestinian villages destroyed in Israel. My empathy was several times thrown viciously back in my face. Which really hurt. Sometimes she managed to listen and acknowledge.

Fatima shared she was excited to go to Austria to teach Palestinian culture. I told her my family was Austrian- in fact, all of Hungary once was. And she said “oh, that’s random, you’re American and Israeli though.” And I said: “yes, they were kicked out for being Jews- and the ones who remained were mostly massacred in the Holocaust.”

She said: “I hate Hitler and all his ilk.” The “ilk” part floating softly in the air, its full meaning to this day not entirely clear to me. Did she mean me? Did she mean Israel?

Despite a lot of hateful rhetoric she spewed at me without even knowing me- despite me frankly trying to be an ally for a better future for her and her people in ways that gets me into trouble with a lot of Jews. I told her this: “if you really want to understand why Jews feel we need a state, ask the Austrians what happened to the Jews there. Why there are barely any Austrian Jews left. You might not want to learn Jewish history now- that’s OK, maybe you’re not ready. But you won’t understand a thing about us if you don’t understand why we left the wealthiest continent on the globe to colonize a conflict-ridden strip of desert.”

To the Palestinians desperate for support and solidarity- you deserve humanity and you deserve a better life. In peace. And watch out who you ally yourselves with. Just as I bemoan Bibi becoming friends with anti-Semitic, anti-Muslim nationalists in Europe (that’s a thing), I encourage Palestinians to think twice before cheering our former oppressors. In some cases, our current ones. You may think they’re coming to show you solidarity- some of they may be. And some might be coming to help you just because they hate us. And if you’re really smart, you’ll realize they helped create the very conflict you live in. By smashing us for generations and by colonizing you too. Not a small number of them and their families and friends are just as happy to hate Muslims in Europe as they are to see you and I go head to head to realize their anti-Semitic blood fantasies. Even if you think they’re on “your team.” Every time you bring your case against Israel to the E.U., even if you don’t mean to, you’re revitalizing our trauma. I don’t have a lot of great alternatives, but you might want to think about how you do what you do if you’re really serious about successfully solving things.

I don’t believe in God, I believe in accountability. Not theoretical after-death accountability from above. Accountability in the here and now. That we must take into our hands if it is to happen at all.

As a survivor of abuse, I often wondered to what degree that abuse- widespread in my family across generations- was caused by anti-Semites. Every individual is responsible for his behavior- and that includes my family members. No amount of systemic or individual oppression justifies heaping that hurt on someone else. Over and over. And that’s why I have worked so amazingly hard to be a better person than the people who abused me. And why I’ve cut toxic people out of my life, at great cost that has brought me impressive progress.

I do notice a lot of abuse in Jewish families. And I wonder to what degree this pattern, if it is one, is tied to our less-than-generous neighbors who belittled us and uprooted us for generations. It has to have had an effect. I wonder if similar toxins have infected African American and Native American communities for the same reasons. I’m not sure, but I’ve heard some arguments that it has.

I have skin in the game. I want to know why I had to suffer for so long- with so many horrendous consequences for my health and well-being. And while I can hold my family and my fellow Jews accountable (especially Israelis, whose society has turned a lot of abusive behavior into social norms- a scary development), I want to know why so many bigots here in Europe demeaned us. And I want to call them to account.

I’m grateful for the brave non-Jews here who are allies to us and other minorities. And I ask you to realize just how bad it can be here. That it is still one of the most anti-Semitic regions of the world despite being practically Judenrein. That large percentages of almost every country hate Gypsies, gay people, and increasingly Syrian refugees. A problem admittedly complex (a number of them have perpetrated violent anti-Semitic attacks), but hardly one that justifies hatred and racism towards suffering people.

While taking a break tonight from genealogical research and writing this blog, I stepped outside for some food.

I found myself in front of a kebab store. With the famous spinning shwarma machine. Just the kind of culture I was trying to get some space from, to rest.

I found myself walking and re-walking the block debating whether to buy it.

And feeling so angry at Hungarians (the only other options around) and really hungry, I went in.

Turns out, the owner is a Syrian refugee. And I told him I’m American and Israeli and we had an awesome conversation. He told me my Arabic is as sweet as baklava.

As I bid him a warm goodbye, I couldn’t help but think to myself that the best people I’ve met on this trip are not Romanians and they’re not Hungarians. Even though I am “from” these places- and they do have some fun stuff to offer in addition to the hardships.

The people who made me smile the most were a queer Jordanian girl who had never been to a gay club and a Syrian refugee.

Dear Europe- you may have gotten rid of us Jews. But like a racist Israeli cab driver once told me: “you killed 6 million Jews and got 50 million Muslims.”

To which I say: “if you won’t show us the kindness we deserve, then I will help every refugee I can. Because you uprooted us- but you will not uproot them. My pain- the way I see life- my job is to turn it into honey. Or at least not bitterness and bile. So if it helps a Syrian refugee feel a little happier to chat, I’ll do it. And I support their right to a safe life. If it causes you a little pain to live with the ‘other’, then I’ll be blunt with you: you’ve earned it. Grow up. The grand Hungarian Empire is never coming back. And it’s your turn to show a little kindness where you showed indifference towards my family. An indifference I feel I continue to pay for to this day.”

You kicked me out 130 years ago. I’m the first of my bloodline back. With an American and Israeli passport- something you could envy. You can choose to live in misery wailing about the communism that was, quivering about “Muslim invasions” that do not exist outside of your TV screen. There hasn’t been a Turkish soldier here since the 1600s. Or you can do something Jews have had to do for a long time in the shadow of your pitchfork: adapt. If you don’t want to change, at least give me mine with a smile.

p.s.- the picture is of the Great Neolog Synagogue on Dohany Street. If there’s one reason to come to Hungary besides great affordable food- it’s this.

The incredible yo-yo of being a Jew

Lately, I’ve been traveling in Romania. It’s my third time here since March- I fell in love with the beautiful scenery, delicious and cheap food, and overall calmer atmosphere than Israel. A place with far more history than America but with no active warfare like Israel. And a place where a quarter of me comes from 🙂

Well, here’s the conundrum of being a Jew. Especially a gay one. Romania has some pretty awful things too. Just as I’m trying to get space from Israel (and its creeping fascist state, persecuting minorities), I get a reminder of how stupid people around the world convinced us we needed a state. Like theirs- faulty, and usually creating more problems than solving them. But understandably could seem better than being regularly persecuted.

Romania has a storied history of anti-Semitism. There are brave non-Jews working to preserve our heritage now- I’ve met young people interested in Klezmer, old women doing Israeli folk dancing, people looking after our synagogues. The ones that haven’t been turned into pizzerias.

It also has a lot of bigots. On Rosh Hashanah, I was sitting in a restaurant. I almost went to services, but for the first time in my life, I didn’t. I don’t believe in God. I considered going for the community, for the tunes, for maybe a bite of Jewish food. But when I saw the historic-synagogue-turned-arts-center was fastidiously set up to separate men and women, I felt that an Orthodox Rosh Hashanah was the last thing I wanted to do now. I talked to some of the non-Jewish staff members, which was nice. And then I left to eat.

So I’m alone noshing in this restaurant. And a woman, maybe 40 years old, is playing with her kid. The kid waves at me and we say hi. He’s super cute. The mom starts talking to me in English. She’s from Bucharest but moved to Cluj some years ago because it is nice and calm. When she asked where I was from, I said I was both an American and Israeli citizen.

She then says: “I want to go to Gaza.” I said that wasn’t possible now. And she says: “I know, I want to go get arrested [to protest].” I said: “it’s a difficult situation on all sides. My friend lives on the Israeli side of the border with rockets falling on her house and I’m sure it’s hard for Gazans too.”

I tried to conclude the conversation, but she kept pushing. While making every effort to smile, she told me: “I want to go to PalestinA”. With an “A” as if she just needed to emphasize every last consonant. Like somehow I didn’t pick up on her political message the first time she bluntly interrupted my holiday meal.

I said: “great, you can go.”

Romanian woman: “I want to go to Jerusalem and see the Orthodox Christian sites.”

Me: “you can do that, you should realize that the Christian sites aren’t so protected in Gaza under Islamist rule and that Jerusalem is a part of Israel.”

First things first, I could have gotten into a nuanced conversation about West and East Jerusalem, varying land claims, the suffering on all sides, the Christians caught in the middle of national conflicts, but I knew this woman wasn’t interested in nuance.

Instead, she said the strangest thing. Besides not knowing Jerusalem was a part of Israel (again, even if you accept the contested nature of the land, most of the world recognizes West Jerusalem as Israeli), she was astounded to hear rockets were falling on Israeli cities. From Gaza. She said the news said it only happened the other way around. She said: “life is suffering.” And when I tried to suggest there were good things in Israeli and Palestinian society too, she just kept to her message.

Feeling rather fed up with this idiotic woman ruining my first solo Rosh Hashanah meal, I said to her: “life is complicated. My great-grandmother was born in Bucharest and was kicked out for being Jewish. The rest of my relatives were murdered in the Holocaust. And now our synagogues here stand empty or turned into restaurants. Nothing is simple.”

She made an awkward smile, maybe 10% out of guilt, 90% out of stupidity, and said have a nice night and left the restaurant.

Sometimes this happens when I leave Israel needing some space. I go leaving disgusted at how the government abuses its citizenry, especially minorities, much like other societies abuse(d) Jews. Even today, neo-Nazis are rallying in Chemnitz, Germany and physically attacked a Kosher restaurant calling the owner a “Jewish pig”. In Germany.

And I sometimes find all the reasons that pushed us, as a community, to feel we need a state too. Because after having been expelled from town after town, butchered senselessly and demeaned, we were tired. And we felt there was no other solution.

It takes endless gall for a Romanian woman who has never met me, doesn’t know my politics, doesn’t even know it’s a Jewish holiday, to barge in and attack me. While her own country sucks at the teat of my people’s abandoned houses, synagogues, and property. The land they’ve ripped from our culture. And tell me how bad I am.

How is it possible to hate us when you’ve already exterminated 95% of us? When we’re not here to “oppress” you anymore with our difference?

Because, if I may be frank, Romania can be kind of a shit hole. A place with gorgeous nature and some incredibly backwards people. The young people, both due to economic despair and perhaps a desire to make their lives better, go to Italy, Spain, and the UK to work. Sometimes in undesirable conditions, but to earn a decent living and progress. Sometimes at great cost.

Meanwhile, the country, losing population and brainpower, stagnates. 68% of Romanians still want to reclaim Moldova, a territory first lost to the Russian Empire in 1812. There are people who want to ban a Hungarian minority party for “secessionism”. Some villagers literally burned Gypsies alive. In my lifetime.

In one of the most open-minded parts of the country, I had a young computer programmer tell me I’m a sinner for being gay. I had the husband of a reflexology therapist with an eco-house tell me: “niggers don’t work in America.” Someone who at surface level would have fit in at a hippie commune in Vermont. I had an Uber driver take me 20 km out of the way to rip me off and have been literally chased by wild dogs. Who apparently are best dealt with by being neutered, but the corrupt government pays its friends to kill them. Knowing it won’t get all of them, the problem resurfaces in a few years, along with the funds to wash, rinse, repeat. Corruption at a stellar level. The public transport is pretty abysmal, if your stomach can handle the bumpy ride. And the village people suffer in poverty while the government miraculously has millions of dollars to build ornate new churches.

Textbook awful. And the Romanian people deserve better- and they bear some responsibility for their country’s problems. Not all of it- none of us can truly force our governments to change on our own. If I grew up here, I think I’d be pretty miserable. I suppose in a perverse way, I can thank the Romanian anti-Semites for inspiring my ancestors to leave this hole.

There are nice things in Romania- you could consider visiting. I just know that it’s time for me to leave.

I do know that the push and pull of hatred- of anti-Semites towards us, and Israeli Jews towards the communities now reliant on them. That is a dangerous see-saw and it is hard to escape both empathy and anger towards all sides.

There’s a reason there’s not a lot of Jews left here. And a reason a lot of gays would probably like to leave (or do). It can’t be fun to be a minority in hyper-religious, hyper-nationalist pit. The kind of problem I was just trying to get space from.

It doesn’t speak highly to my hopes for humanity, though I do know some societies manage to balance addressing past woes and healing with more success. Or so I hope. Perhaps I’ve just been in this part of the world too long. Yet I know our problems, whether in Israel or other countries, are not ours alone. The inflamed nationalism of our times has even reached Sweden, where a party with neo-Nazi roots gained almost a fifth of the vote. Sweden. The Home of Abba.

Tonight, feeling kind of lonely, I got an unexpected call. I was having trouble reaching friends in the States, and suddenly I saw the name “Muhammad” on my phone. A young Bedouin man, 19 years old, from the Negev. We had met while I was visiting his village several times and I asked him for directions. A sweet guy, we’ve kept in touch over WhatsApp over the months. And now, he’s doing something super brave- starting college in Tel Aviv. A city he has been in for only one day his whole life. With a culture completely alien to the one he grew up in- in language, in demeanor, in everything.

He’s having trouble finding an apartment- partially due to racism. At some point on this call, it finally came up that I was gay. He had a lot of questions, but in the end seemed somewhere between accepting and resigned. He said: “I can’t control what others do or how they are, everyone has their own way.” A kind of understanding that I wish our own Pharaonic Prime Minister could bring himself to feel.

In explaining to Muhammad how to find an apartment, I told him to be honest about who he was. He said he’d go view apartments, and only after he showed up in person would people find all sorts of excuses for why it wouldn’t work. Like this is 1950s America.

I told him that back in the States, I’d always include my volunteering in the gay community on my resume. Because if a company wouldn’t like me for being gay, even though it’s illegal for them to discriminate, I wouldn’t want to work there. Nor waste my time with their hatred. And yes, even at liberal non-profits, this tactic has saved me from some deeply homophobic work environments. Even from a female non-profit executive who also did consulting for gay rights groups. Who told me to be closeted about my identity if I took the job!

So I said: “tell them you’re Muhammad. In my opinion, it’s better not to waste your time with someone who won’t accept you the way you are. It’s sad, but trust me, if they won’t give you the apartment without knowing your name, they’ll figure it out when they meet you.”

So while Romania was good for the first few visits, when I could enjoy the stunning scenery and surface-level conversations, it’s now worn out its welcome. Because while I could go around this country and hide- or lie- about who I am, I’m tired of it. I haven’t survived this much and lived this long to feel ashamed of something I am proud of.

I’m a Jew. I’m gay. I don’t believe in God (a no-no in this deeply religious country). And I’m a kind person. It’s Romania’s loss that I’m leaving- not mine. Leaving like millions of young people tired of old dogmas and nationalism that has killed millions across the globe. Take note, Israel- this is your fate if you keep burrowing your hopes in a ground soaked with blood. There’s no such thing as a fair society where one group is esteemed above all others. As we well know from our experience in places like Romania.

What I do know from tonight is when I was feeling at my worst. Lonely, sad, still reeling from being chased by wild dogs and people saying the word “nigger”. That a Bedouin friend named Muhammad called me on the phone, we talked about gay identity and racism and finding apartments, and I felt better afterwards. As I started searching for ways to help him. A simple call that changed my night.

You can keep reading the rags- the Jerusalem Post, Haaretz, Arutz Sheva, even the Washington Post, New York Times, and Fox News. All with different politics but the same objective- fear and money.

I like when people like Muhammad challenge the way they were taught to think. Living in a gray space of exploration and growth.

Israel is realizing my deepest fear, the abused spreading its abuse more than striving to heal from it. Frighteningly reminiscent of the European nationalists it is now allying itself with. That kicked us out. That burned our homes. And our bodies.

Muhammad makes me yearn for the country it could be.

The cover photo is of me in the Sighisoara synagogue. Now empty, its members killed by Romanian and German fascists. The remnants emigrated to Israel and America or assimilated under the pressure of communism. The shul was rededicated by Jewish donors and some local non-Jewish allies. A faded, almost barbarically quiet presence in places we once called home. A sign of cooperation, and a sign of the times. To be a Jew, more than anything else, is to know how to live in the bittersweet.

When life gives you lemons, find another fruit

The old adage is “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” It’s sometimes a sweet sentiment- turn the difficult into the delightful. The hard into the soft. Swords into ploughshares. Yada yada.

My experience living here has taught me this is mostly a bullshit philosophy. There are some lemons so sour you simply can’t digest them- and shouldn’t try to. When you bite in, the bitterness overwhelms your mouth and your taste buds go dead.

Like yesterday. I’m walking in my neighborhood with a friend. We sit down to eat and the men behind us start rambling on about gays taking over the neighborhood like they do “in London and Paris”. Without even stopping to consider that I might be gay- or their neighbor. Also ironic because almost no gay people live in my deeply conservative part of Tel Aviv- frankly if they had more, maybe it’d be a better place. I wish I could turn their comments into some sophisticated commentary on gentrification, but I could tell from their tone that wasn’t all that was at work.

We then finished up our meal and headed to a bakery. The man at the bakery indicated he was from Ramle, a city with a large Arab population I’ve visited several times. I said “shoo akhbaarak?” How are you? He responded “fine, you speak Arabic?” Aiwa, yes I do.

At this point in the conversation with many people, they get excited. How did you learn Arabic? Why do you speak with a Syrian accent? Bravo, you speak great!

But instead, this man’s response was: “you’re not Arab so I think you just be who you (really) are.”

Like a sword through my heart. A punch to the gut. Rather than seeing my speech as a gesture of kindness, this man sought to put me in my place. You’re not one of us, so stop trying to be. He might as well have slapped me across the face instead because it might have stung less.

I’m not Arab, nor was I suggesting I am. I happen to love Arabic and have been learning it since I was 17 years old– the only teenager in an Arabic class at my Jewish Community Center. And then in college and with Syrian refugees on Skype and now in Israel- with Arabs in Israel, Israeli Jews, and Palestinians. I love the language and am a firm believer that learning languages is a source of richness and communication. That I have Arab friends now, that I listen to Arabic music, dance dabke, and travel to their villages- I may not *be* Arab but I love Arabs like I love all other people on this planet. And I’m proud to be a fan and active participant in Arab culture. A not insignificant statement about our shared humanity in a country where so many people hate each other. It’s a statement most Arabs have told me they appreciate deeply. And some, like this man, just choose to hate.

At times like this, I get really sad. It’s hard to even hear or remember the positive experiences I’ve had when the hatred overwhelms and clouds the heart. Because it really hurts to be profiled, to be discriminated against, to be hated simply for being who you are.

So I decided to look at the notes on my computer. I keep a special place where I put positive comments on my blog. People who’ve written on Facebook about how I’ve helped, healed, and contributed to their understanding and hope.

Here are some (last names redacted for privacy):

Orian: “I really like reading your posts and seeing all the beautiful places you visit in Israel.”

Jordan: “I know you are probably busy, but I just wanted to take a moment and say thank you so much for your beautiful writing. I relate to you so much more than I thought. Your experiences have been healing and have helped me feel like I wasn’t alone. Your blog has also helped me out of the deep depression I am going through being in the USA in these strange times.”

Irene: “You were awesome with him btw, I wish I had someone to talk and guide me through these issues when I was younger.”

Debbie: “I’ve been in Israel for 30 years this September. It sounds as though you’ve broken barriers and understood this society in ways that other people don’t in a lifetime. Kol Hacavod! I remember my days in Israel as a single person, and how lonely and frustrating it can be. Please pm me if you’d like to be in touch.”

Max: “I love hearing the stories of your adventures in Israel thank you for posting.”

Elias: “As a Swede and an American, who’s studied Arabic for over a decade now, I wholeheartedly agree.”

Richard: “What a lovely, thoughtful article. Thank you so much for sharing your experience. I hope you have many, many more like it.”

David: “As an older, gay Jew who is planning on Aliyah I have much to learn from your writings. So I am very happy I found them.”

Nancy: “I have not heard Arabic music before but listening to this I’ve grown to love it! So, I’m listening to it over and over again in my car!!! Todah, Matt.”

Goldie: “When I hear of Haredi in Jerusalem, I think of the women blowing whistles, screaming and pounding on tables when Reform Jews are trying to pray at the Kotel. Thank you for giving me Yisroel, a better image of a Haredi.”

David: “Very interesting, especially as I gradually became more dugri after making aliyah (many years ago) – but I am more dugri when I am abroad, and more English-polite when I am at home in Israel.”

Jordan: “Great read! It brought context to things I was already feeling as well gave me entirely new insights. I’m a non-Jewish American living here with my Israeli partner, and even though I also lived and traveled extensively abroad before I came here, I still struggle with the communication style here quite a bit. Perhaps it’s time to become more sabra myself. :)”

Louise: “Very interesting from a sociolinguistic perspective. Thanks.”

Diego: “Great post, I had been waiting for another entry, missing your key insights into Israeli society and the mixture of culture and languages.”

Laura: “Matt, your posts are so honest and profound. Thanks for sharing them here.”

Ruth: “Hi Matt. Your blog posts are very moving to me.And I’m very impressed with you being ready to confront the ‘hard stuff’. I’m an American Jew who saw your post in Jewish Spirit, although I don’t know think I’ve also seen them elsewhere.I just told a Palestinian friend of mine, Kefah who lives in Shu’fat, about your posts. I think they’ll please her. I sent one of your posts to a Palestinian friend of mine (Palestinian – American, grew up in Jordan and Lebanon, now lives in Cyprus) and she said ‘Wow! Thank you for giving me heart.'”

Ann: “Very interesting. Your field research Matt Adler is invaluable. Kol Hakavod.”

Howard: “Thanks, Matt, for this powerful, and important, article. You are a treat to know, and learn from.”

Joanne: “You brought me back in time to my grandmother’s Seder 55 years ago thank you so much for the precious remembrance of my very happy memories .”

Trond: “As always, your thoughts and commentary are amazing. Your observations, the conclusions you draw, and how they seem to inform you worldview and actions (if I may be so presumptuous) really give my hope for humanity a boost (and it isn’t high to begin with).”

Marilyn: “I don’t always agree with Matt Adler’s blog posts, but they are always worth reading. This balanced and poignant article deserves your attention!”

These comments give me a much-needed boost. When people rain down on you, stop eating the lemon! Maybe instead of struggling to make the lemon taste good by drowning it in sugar, pick up a new fruit.

People like the Arab guy in my neighborhood exist in every society. There are Jews here who’ve made me feel like an enemy for liking Arabs or refugees. There are refugees here who, after telling me how racist Israel is, tell me they like Donald Trump because he’s against Muslims. There are Muslims here who try to convert me and say deeply anti-Semitic garbage. And Jews who are just fine deporting Arabs or refugees, even to their deaths. Homophobic Jews and Arabs, Arabophobic Druze, Druzophobic Arabs, LGBTs against refugees. The list of hatred is not small here- so let’s stop pretending 99% of people in the world are great. Because frankly, that’s a lie as dangerous as pretending 99% of the world is your enemy.

And if I’m totally honest, the level of hatred in Israel seems much higher to me than many places I’ve lived or traveled. Every society has its problems, but here it burns with an intensity of a forest fire. The trees, never consumed by the flames, simply pass on the burn and soon you find yourself surrounded by heat and ash, struggling to breathe. Running to gasp for a breath of fresh air while your eyes stay alert for the next spark. Deep rest is not something you’re likely to find here.

Faced with an unrelenting and increasingly powerful flame, I’ve realized I can’t exactly douse it. I’ve most certainly put out a lot of ignorance and hatred here- the comments above show that I’ve been a source of hope. And for every moment of joy and spirit I have been able to bring, I’m proud and glad. And I hope you pass that understanding and kindness on so perhaps together we can keep a little oasis fresh with water. Withstanding some of the heat, pushing it back sometimes, and keeping the tinder from catching on fire.

The Arab man told me to just “be who you are”. To stop playing games. To him and people who think like him I say: “you are being who you are. Not Arab, not Jewish- callous. Hard-hearted and mean.”

I’m not pretending to be Arab nor am I pretending to be anything. I’m being exactly who I am. A kind, 32-year-old human being who likes cultures, languages, and aims to improve himself and be generous to people around him.

Wherever I go, whatever I do.

My greatest accomplishment in Israel is that I’ve managed to maintain my humanity in a place where so many wish to rip it away.

Keep doctoring your lemons. I’ll have some mango.

p.s.- that’s my mango, my friend Molly whose family owns my favorite sushi joint in Israel 🙂

What’s God got to do with it?

For those of you who don’t watch the news regularly, Israel has been super stressful. Between Hamas’s rocket launches, the Syrian refugee crisis brewing on our border, the Syrian civil war which you can hear from Israel’s north, plus earthquakes and the usual backdrop of yelling and frenetic bargaining. There’s cool stuff here and beautiful nature, but let’s not kid ourselves- between all these problems plus recent homophobic and racist legislation, living in Israel is “lo pashut”. It ain’t simple.

So many times people come here to “solve the conflict”. The first question to them should be “what conflict?” As in which one. Between secular and Orthodox Jews? Between Ashkenazim and Mizrachim? Between LGBTs and the conservative religious establishment? Between Arabs and Jews in Israel? Between Israelis and Palestinians? Between Druze and Muslims and Christians and Jews? The religious conflicts or the ethnic ones? The wealthy and the poor? These are not “stam”, as we say in Hebrew. They are not just the conflicts of every country. They are a blend unique to here. Israel has the widest gap in wealth among developed countries with the exception of the United States. And a much higher rate of political violence and terrorism than any Western nation.

When I arrived to Israel, I came as a deeply religious Reform Jew. I would never have called myself deeply religious (although some friends having jokingly called me ReFrum, a pun on the Yiddish word for “pious”), but most of my friends would say I’m pretty Jewish. I’ve lived and loved Judaism since I was a young kid and discovered its heritage and magic. And through many tough times, I’ve used that magic to try to pull me through and give me hope. And many times, it did give me hope and a sense of community when I lacked one at home.

Although it’s taken me experiencing Israel to understand the limitations, even the disadvantages of religion. Judaism and all faiths. For religion to me is not something inherently bad (or inherently good). The way you interpret religious text says at least as much about you as it does about the text itself. Someone can look at the Bible, Torah, or Quran and come to radically different conclusions, some much more humane than others.

It’s also true that not all conflicts are about religion. The Soviet Union was an atheist government (Russians today are still disproportionately not religious compared to the rest of the world). And it still managed to butcher millions of people. Atheists can manage to be quite violent and extremist- even orthodox in their rejection of faith. A kind of new religion to supplant their old one.

What I’ve noticed in Israel is that religion is quite often a force for evil. Not because religion itself has to be evil (although by definition it leaves some people in and some out). It’s because in practice, it often leads to conflict. While sociological factors often underlie what appear to be purely religious strife, it would be naive to pretend religious dogma plays no role.

Look at the main faiths here- the monotheists- Judaism, Islam, and Christian. Each one has elements of humaneness and kindness. Tzedakah, Sadaqa, charity. Compassion for the weak, the stranger. Even at times calls for varying degrees of religious pluralism. And a repeated emphasis on being morally upright and treating your neighbor with respect.

At the same time, we need to be intellectually honest and recognize each of these faiths’ proclivity for exclusivity and superiority. In Christianity and Islam, this revolves around recognizing the holiness of the main prophet (Jesus or Muhammad) and pursuing the conversion of all nonbelievers. Sometimes this was done by sword, other times by incentive, but the final goal, even among the most pacifistic believers, is for everyone to believe in your religion.

In Judaism, the superiority plays out differently. We are God’s “chosen people”. Israel, our promised land. These are birth rights. For being Jewish. If you want to join us, you can, but it’s quite hard. It has always been. And is increasingly so in Israel where the rabbinate veers far to the right of the Jewish mainstream.

In other words, the superiority argument in Judaism is an exclusive one. It’s not that we want everyone to be like us- we’re explicitly not an evangelical religion (which I like). The flip side, however, is that we’re quite an exclusive club. It’s hard to join and harder to be accepted. And we have a sense, at least among the religiously inclined, that God chose us, our language, our beliefs above all other peoples. If you think I’m making this up, simply look at the aleynu prayer or Friday night kiddush.

There are progressive religious Jews who have, to varying degrees, changed the liturgy and how it’s taught to be more inclusive. That’s cool. The same could be said with certain Christian sects and a small but emerging community of Muslims.

Overall the same problem continues though. These progressive-minded communities are, without a doubt, small small minorities in the scheme of world religions. The vast majority of the world’s religions and religious people are against gay marriage. Even progressive traditions struggle to incorporate women equally in religious leadership. While you could say that there are cultural factors at work (understood), it’s also true that on these and other issues, “nonbelievers” far outperform their religious peers.

In the United States, the only religious group that is more supportive of gay marriage than non-theists is Buddhists. Jews, interestingly, are not far behind, perhaps owing to their decidedly progressive religious tendencies compared to their Israeli brethren, where only 40% of the public believes we should accept homosexuality at all. It’s worth noting that a large portion of American Jews are not religiously Jewish as well.

When I think of specific examples here, I have too many to choose from. The Muslims who looked at me in disbelief when I said I had read the Quran (and not converted to Islam). The Muslims who told me Arabic was the first language and all languages come from it (an absurd claim to make to a polyglot- that’s sacrilegious). The Muslims who laughed at the idea that Jews had ever lived here. The Muslims whose Facebook profiles were adorned with Palestinian flags, the Al-Aqsa mosque, and Islamist iconography. Not to mention the one guy who had written Arabic posts mocking Holocaust Remembrance Day- that was a difficult one for me to confront, but confront it I did. This Jew speaks Arabic.

Before you indulge yourself in bashing Muslims, let me tell you about the Jews who said the Torah *justifies* expelling refugees, even Arabs. The Christians who told me not to waste time dialoguing with Muslims because they could give me a more “realistic” picture of what’s going on here. Or the Christians who said Muslims are animals who breed entire tribes of children to take over the land. Or the Druze man who cut off all contact with me when I told him I was gay- he threatened that if I didn’t do so, he’d cause me “problems”. Not sure what those would be, but considering I travel a lot in Druze country, I wasn’t ready to take the risk to my safety.

Are secular or atheist people just as capable of hatred? Perhaps- depends on the individual, religious or not. In fact, some atheists can be just as orthodox in their certainty and thinking as any religious extremist. Herein lies the danger.

It’s just that most of the world’s extremism and orthodox thinking is concentrated in religion and perhaps hardcore nationalism. Of which there is a potent mix here among so many elements of society in many different directions. Solving Israeli and Jewish nationalism by way of Palestinian nationalism, for instance, will do nothing but create more conflict and bloodshed. And I do believe that in the end, most people, religious or not, really do want a good life. Even if some of their beliefs are getting in the way of that. Humans are nothing if not complex. But I do have hope.

The point is religiosity is in the eye of the beholder. We could argue that the examples I gave of egregious hatred are based on a selective reading of religious texts. True. But so is reading texts only looking for acts of kindness. Conquest is written into the Bible, Torah, and Quran. It is not a new phenomenon, nor one that religious people need to invent today. The Crusades, the Islamic conquest of the Middle East and parts of Europe, and Isreal’s expansion into the depths of the West Bank (in some respects, its founding)- these are all rooted in long religious traditions. We can say distorted, complex, for sure. But eminently present.

In the end, religion can provide comfort, community, and hope. It can, and does, mobilize some people for good. Do I personally think it’s worth all the conflict it contributes to? Maybe not. What good is the continuation of Judaism if it becomes nothing more than a series of rituals devoid of ethical meaning? What does Christianity mean when it is used to force gay youngsters into “conversion therapy”, and often suicide? Why is Islam ultimately beneficial when it is used to massacre Yezidis, Christians, Jews, and others? Even other Muslims who don’t agree with them?

It’s not because all religious people are like this. Or that atheists are saints. I’m not exactly sure where I fall myself. I’d say that as I write this, perhaps I just don’t believe in God. I believe in what uplifts the human spirit. I believe in kindness. And I don’t believe in divine retribution nor in the sacrosanct nature of a document so clearly written by humans thousands of years ago. Which may contain some wisdom, but not exclusive authority nor the right to use it to butcher other human beings.

My overall point is that orthodox thinking, the idea that one set of value is always right- that is a problem. Even if not all religious people end up overly protective of their sect’s interests (as opposed to those of humanity as a whole), the idea behind it is problematic. When put into practice, religion more often than not divides people who could share other things in common.

Even though Judaism today in Israel is becoming more and more nationalistic and, with the state’s help, more uniform, it was not always this way. What’s most perplexing about the degradation of religion in Israel is that Judaism was once the playground of questioners. Of people who debated and divided and built energy off diversity. So that whether you believed in the God of Abraham or not, the process itself was unique for its depth of heterodoxy. And at times, its willingness to make room for dissent. Moreso than any other religion of its time.

So one of the greatest casualties of religious conflict in Israel is not just the Filipino kids who will never get citizenship. Nor the Sudanese refugees who will be deported. Nor the Reform Jews who can’t pray together at the Western Wall.

It’s Judaism itself. And perhaps, perhaps my belief in it.

The universe is full of possibility and I’m exploring.

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