False Dichotomies

“When I was a child and our large family used to gather at my grandparents’ house in London for the Seder meal, I would always wonder why, at the point when we opened the front door to the needy, nobody ever entered. We kids would protest that of course there were going to be no starving homeless in our grandparents’ quiet cul-de-sac. We needed to head to nearby Finchley Road or Kilburn if we really wanted to find those in need. But our parents would urge us to come inside, “Let’s finish the Seder,” they’d say, “There’s nobody there.”

Well last night, with a diminished crowd and aging grandparents breaking matzo in a smaller flat, I am pleased to say that when we opened the door, there was indeed somebody there. A 90-year-old woman had apparently got lost on her way home from hospital and was confused about where she was. She told us that she had known that here was a Jewish home and that she didn’t want to be alone on this special night.

Finally, it seemed, we had a chance to act in the true spirit of the occasion and we invited her in to spend the evening with us. (Though, as it turned out, she soon announced that she was exhausted and after a bit of a process we managed to locate her house and keys and escort her safely back home.) Nevertheless, for the first time it seemed that as a family we had directly heeded the call to bring people in from the streets and share our wealth with them in celebration of the Jewish people’s freedom from slavery.” Read on at Comment is Free.

“I have always loved Fonthill Road. Not because of the shopping (I can’t remember the last time I wore pink spandex) but because of the place itself. Apart from late at night, when it becomes a long, desolate sweep of litter and blustering boxes, the walk from my house to Seven Sisters Road never fails to absorb me. And in this week’s hot sun the street was in fine form.

This is the place where all of London’s women bring their friends, daughters and daughters’ friends to scoop up the bargains that even Primark can’t provide. Large African women squeeze through narrow doorframes for curiously luminous dresses, while their daughters loiter loudly outside. Blonde women in matching tracksuits and glinting gold earrings bow to the floor under the weight of the world and the large shiny crosses that swing around their necks. As they open their mouths to scream to the small boys running behind them, it’s still a surprise to hear a bubbling, rounded Russian emanate from their mouths, rather than the sharper cut vowels of the English women they so resemble, and who appear now behind them, darting out of one shop only to disappear into another.” Read on at Comment is Free.

“This weekend Manchester and London bore witness to four more knife murders. Communities minister Ruth Kelly was quick to reassure the public that these were all “isolated instances”. Whilst she is no doubt correct that these are not gang-related attacks, that they are isolated is anything but reassuring. The violence, which, as Jackie Ashley wrote this morning, has the appearance of being on the increase, and the very fact that it seems to be indiscriminate and unmotivated, is a chilling indication of the kind of society that many city-dwelling British youths now inhabit - a rampantly individualistic society, in which each boy does everything he can to prove that he has no sense of morals or attachment to the society around him.” Read on at Comment is Free.

“My girlfriend is Italian. Or, to be more precise, she is Italian, Israeli, Moroccan, Lebanese and French. I am English. Or, to be more precise … I am English. Together, our sparkling relationship encompasses a rainbow of international colour and resonates with an orchestra of world tongues. She sings her way through a chorus of Italian, French, English, Hebrew and Spanish. I speak English. Sometimes I speak English with an Italian accent. Mostly I just speak English. Next week I am going to visit her in Italy and I just know that once again my language skills are going to make me look like a complete twat.

I know how it works, because I’ve done it countless times before. We’ll get dressed up and go to a bar, me excited to meet her friends, she anxious to introduce me. The friends will be there radiating Italian exuberance at the thought of meeting the boy they’ve heard so much about. We’ll meet, shake hands, do the double-cheek-kiss dance, I’ll say “ciao, piacere” when they tell me their names and then I’ll close my mouth, smile inanely and look at the floor, mumbling incoherently about having not quite mastered Italian yet. They, in turn, will regard me with an expression of sympathy normally reserved for an aging, incontinent labrador.

“You’re English,” they’ll say - in English. “Si” I’ll reply, to show that, if nothing else, the intent is there. But then they’ll apologise by telling me how bad their English is. And of course I’ll try to explain to them that their English is better than my Italian and after all I’m in Italy and it should be me making the effort. But their looks will tell me that I’m wasting my breath - clearly there is no way that they expect me to be able to speak Italian. So I’ll fall silent and look at the floor again. And the odour of dying dog will return to the room.” Read on at Comment is Free.

Wednesday’s decision by the Eurovision organisers to allow Israeli band the Teapacks into the song contest, in spite of their lyrics portending of nuclear war, should have been greeted by Israelis everywhere with concern.

Not because the band is unlikely to win. As far as I know they may be as good/bad if not better/worse than Dana International, the Israeli transsexual who won in 1998. And not because they sing of “crazy rulers” who are “gonna push the button” - widely assumed to be a reference to Mahmoud Ahmadinejad (though this is denied by the band). As far as I’m concerned, if a neighbouring ruler had spoken of a need to wipe my home country off the planet and seemed to be moving towards gathering the nuclear capacity to do so, I’d be scared too. Read the rest of the rant at Comment is Free

“Do you wear those stupid looking sunglasses when you go to the Occupied Territories? Did you realize that Palestinians identify sunglasses with Israeli soldiers? If you did wear them, did you consider that all the Palestinians probably were offended and nervous, and asked one another afterwards why that ex-soldier came and was so insensitive, reminding us that he was a soldier?”

The questions above appeared on the thread of a recent article by Seth Freedman. Although they represent just one person’s view, they seemed indicative of a more general trend amongst many Westerners, who, in claiming to oppose colonial oppression, in fact merely re-enact old Western colonialist habits. Continue Reading »

“Watching a conflict from afar often allows the viewer to see the bigger picture - the tit-for-tat of a never-ending cycle of violence. At the eye of the storm, however, things are rather different. When the winds ravage your own house, you shout in the direction from which they came. So it is in Israel and Palestine, where I spent last week sharing the view from the damaged homes of those on both sides of the conflict.

If it wasn’t for the sunny blue skies, the border town of Sderot would be a grim place. Tiny shops sit neglected and empty in concrete-block arcades where only a few stores open for business. A group of women mend clothes in one small, barren tailor’s; handwritten signs in Russian advertise the trade of the hairdresser next door. In the five years since the rockets began to fall on Sderot, unemployment has risen rapidly, the wealthy and the young have fled, while the poor and the elderly remain, isolated from the rest of Israeli society and desperate for change.” Read on at Comment is Free.

We Jews have never been the coolest bunch. Sure, we try to blend in with the right clothes and the latest hairstyles, but we rarely get it right. Our trainers are too long, or our hair curls obstinately out of style. Some even try to keep their Jewish-ness under wraps, buying the Daily Mail and dressing in tweed. But you can always spot a Jew - invariably walking on the goofy side of the street. Well no more. It’s time to stand up and bus’ that Jewfro with pride, because it’s officially cool to be Jewish. Yes, Jews are the new blacks and it’s all thanks to Jewdas: the Jews’ Messiah. Continue Reading »

“Your obsession with Hitler is only not completely crazy because you share it with so many others. It was the Europeans that harmed the Jews. Not the Palestinians.”

(Comment 423856, Cif)
The above may be true, but it is no surprise that discussions on the need for a strong Jewish state invariably return to the Holocaust. Established in its aftermath, Israel’s foundational ideals are inextricably bound up with the tragedy. Indeed, the right of return can be seen as a direct reaction to Hitler’s policies of extermination. Where the Nazis killed those with two Jewish grandparents, Israel provides refuge to anyone with just one Jewish grandparent. In short, anyone that is the slightest bit susceptible to anti-semitism can take refuge in the Jewish state. Meanwhile, compulsory national service ensures that “never again” will Jews be subject to such devastation.” Read on at Comment is Free.

Me and my mates have had an idea. Fed up of being ignored; vexed at being sidelined by groups of highly organised agenda-setters; angry at these groups’ monopolisation of fora intended for free, open debate, we have decided to start our own group. This group will be a force to be reckoned with. There will be co-signatories and a mission statement and everything. There might even be a publicity-seeking launch event, with white wine and orange juice. The group will be called Independent Jewish Boyses - and Girlses (IJBG), and it will speak for young, independent Jews, like ourselves. All those willing to sign up, please get in touch with me after the speeches. No need to bring your own pen - I intend to have plenty. Continue Reading »