False Dichotomies

This is an open letter from Nic Schlagman in response to a letter by Aron Adler last week that was circulated widely around the Jewish world.

Dear Aron,
I take comfort from reading your kind and heartfelt words about your experiences patrolling the Egyptian border, and your feelings on the importance of offering dignified refuge to those who have suffered as we suffered.

Like you I am an oleh, although from the UK, l and have been living in Israel for 6 years now. Many of my friends do the same reserve duty on the border, and show the same kindness and compassion to those they find stumbling out from the night, often injured, from the nightmare of their past life and their journey to Israel.

My involvement in this story begins when they arrive in Tel Aviv. For the past 3 years I have been involved in running shelters for pregnant women, single mothers, and children, first as Shelter Manager and then as Humanitarian Coordinator for the African Refugee Development Center. I do this partly in honor of the people who assisted my grandparents and great grandparents when they arrived in the UK, just before the Holocaust swallowed up those who stayed behind. Read more

The ever vigilant Phil Weiss brings us news that the Nakba has finally made it to the pages of the New York Review of Books, in the form of a critical review of David Grossman’s latest novel, To the End of the Land, by Patricia Storace. Weiss highlights “three devastating excerpts of the review.” First, Storace objects to Grossman not pointing out that “Ein Kerem [where the protagonists of the novel live] was once Ain Karim, a Palestinian village whose inhabitants were driven out in 1948…Ora’s stone house with arched windows and decorative floor tiles must surely be one of the Palestinian villas….the neighbourhood is little more than a name and a décor. Without its historical or social setting, we cannot fully grasp what living there might mean. We sense oppressively that we are being told one story to distract from others.” It is a strange, overwrought complaint. Storace does know that Ein Kerem was once Ain Karim; presumably other readers know this too, maybe even some Israeli ones. Surely she does not expect an author to spell out every last bit of historical background for his reader? A novel is not a work of history. And maybe Ein Kerem’s past as Ain Karim is more potent when left unmentioned. Read more

Yelling cheerfully at the horizon seemed the appropriate thing to do. A primal scream for a primal place, at the top of the watchtower, looking out over Chinnar Wildlife Sanctuary. With me were two other souls: my friend Ameet, a Singaporean Sikh with a penchant for the wilderness, and our guide Gobi, a small tribal man with senses as strong as the animals that surrounded us. Gobi was the first to draw attention to my faux pas. His English was less than limited, but pointing downward with his hands while saying “Lower” did the trick. Ameet provided the commentary: “Shouting disturbs the animals.” Me: “He should have told us before.” Ameet (sarcastically): “I’m sure now they’ll put a sign up.” Read more