Yesterday was our 14th wedding anniversary. (And the first we've ever spent apart - Alen is at the Bird Fair in Rutland Water, England.)
A few thoughts about our wedding - in 1996 a gay wedding wasn't nearly as common as today. It was actually just starting to be at all fashionable. We did find a gay wedding consultant - they helped us with the invitations. We had a wonderful (Reform) rabbi, who was nothing but supportive through the whole process. I think it helped our guests that he was a man with a beard - he looks like a rabbi and that gave a sense of "normalcy" to the proceedings.
Alen wore a tux and I wore a wedding gown - something I had always wanted to do. The tux store lady encouraged Alen to wear tails - a cutaway which fit over her hips as a jacket would not have done.
My gown was altered by a lady who was very into weddings. On our fourth visit in which I had not exactly told her what kind of wedding it was she said to me, "Gail, I know."
We didn't tell people at my congregation. I had been told that either you invite the whole congregation or no one, so we opted for no one. This was largely because of Alen's work with a youth organization in a state that did not yet have a non-discrimination law. I told my congregation president a couple of months before that we were doing this privately. As I recall, he was concerned what others in the congregation might think.
Our lack of openness meant that on the day before our wedding Alen had to go to work. There was some big event and she had no excuse to get out of it. At the time I thought I'd never get over it - today it just seems like a piece of evidence about how not out we were compared to now.
We went back to work wearing wedding rings. Alen's very straight boss asked her if her ring meant something and then said something like, "Congratulations, Gail is a lovely girl."
What we didn't anticipate was how our families took us much more seriously after the wedding. Neither of them had been particularly enthusiastic and we dealt with quite a bit of negativity on the way to the chuppah. But somehow the ceremony gave us more legitimacy in their eyes. At least that's how it seems.
I'll never forget the toast Alen's brother made at the wedding - he said that this kind of thing was completely not done in Trinidad, but that he saw how much love and acceptance we had around us and that he hoped that in future, we would have more, also in Trinidad. And I feel that this really has come to pass in the 14 years since then.
Our friend Debbie and Shoshana sang a wonderful song which ended: "Here's a toast to Hannah who today is undercover. May she soon be blessed with a sister or a brother." Hannah, our dog from those years, passed away without getting to meet Gabi and Sasha. But Debbie and Shoshana's blessing has also come true.
Mazal tov to Mindy and Alan, who share our wedding anniversary and just celebrated 8 years, to my parents, who are celebrating 52 years of marriage today, and to Sara Rivka and Gideon who are getting married tomorrow.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
Driving Questions 2 - Gabi and Prop 8
Once they learn to read, it's a whole new world of parenting.
A recent care package from our friend Rosalind who lives in California included a bag of buttons, "NO on 8". When we picked up the package on our way to the pool, Gabi wanted to know, "what is NO on 8?".
So I was trying to explain Prop. 8 to her and that some people don't want people of the same sex to be able to get married. She thought she understood that, "so when the law passed, people like you and Ima have to get divorced???"
That just about made me cry - that she would think they would pass a law that we have to get divorced. Then she decided it would have to have a grandfather clause, "No, people won't have to get divorced, just new people can't get married."
So I tried to explain to her that there's a difference between being married in the eyes of G-d, family and friends and being married by law. She understands the G-d, family and friends thing, and she checked that Ima and I are married that way, but she didn't really understand what being married by law means. It was weird to tell her we aren't married by law after all these years of telling her we are married. It felt very strange to tell her that not everyone recognizes our marriage. I mean, this is the kids whose classmates when they came over wanted to know which one of us broke the glass at the wedding. How much more married can you get in their eyes?
It's even more complicated because here in Israel, there's a long legal tradition of giving folks who are common law married, in Hebrew "known in public", the same rights as legally married folks. And our courts have extended those rights to same-sex couples such that there really aren't so many legal rights that have not been or could not be claimed by same-sex couples. So here in Israel, not married by law does not have so much force.
But of course that's not true in the US, as any bi-national couple like us can tell you.
But the hardest part of the whole discussion was the punch in the stomach impact of her 7 year old words, "so if the law passed, people like you and Ima have to get divorced?" As though a vote in California could create havoc in the lives of thousands of kids like her. Thank G-d it is more complicated.
A recent care package from our friend Rosalind who lives in California included a bag of buttons, "NO on 8". When we picked up the package on our way to the pool, Gabi wanted to know, "what is NO on 8?".
So I was trying to explain Prop. 8 to her and that some people don't want people of the same sex to be able to get married. She thought she understood that, "so when the law passed, people like you and Ima have to get divorced???"
That just about made me cry - that she would think they would pass a law that we have to get divorced. Then she decided it would have to have a grandfather clause, "No, people won't have to get divorced, just new people can't get married."
So I tried to explain to her that there's a difference between being married in the eyes of G-d, family and friends and being married by law. She understands the G-d, family and friends thing, and she checked that Ima and I are married that way, but she didn't really understand what being married by law means. It was weird to tell her we aren't married by law after all these years of telling her we are married. It felt very strange to tell her that not everyone recognizes our marriage. I mean, this is the kids whose classmates when they came over wanted to know which one of us broke the glass at the wedding. How much more married can you get in their eyes?
It's even more complicated because here in Israel, there's a long legal tradition of giving folks who are common law married, in Hebrew "known in public", the same rights as legally married folks. And our courts have extended those rights to same-sex couples such that there really aren't so many legal rights that have not been or could not be claimed by same-sex couples. So here in Israel, not married by law does not have so much force.
But of course that's not true in the US, as any bi-national couple like us can tell you.
But the hardest part of the whole discussion was the punch in the stomach impact of her 7 year old words, "so if the law passed, people like you and Ima have to get divorced?" As though a vote in California could create havoc in the lives of thousands of kids like her. Thank G-d it is more complicated.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Driving Questions
Last night I drove a friend back into town after she visited us for dinner. The friend is a catholic sister from South Africa whom I met right when we moved to Jerusalem. We were talking about our experiences living in Jerusalem during that difficult year of the second Intifada - 2001-2002.
I took Sasha in the car with us and we drove, as I usually do, through the West Bank - route 375 past Beitar Illit (an ultra-Orthodox settlement, population about 30,000, median age 11) and Husan (the Arab town across the street, population about 60,000).
On the way home, Sasha started asking me about a high wall on the side of the road as you drive between the tunnels through Beit Jala. He wanted to know why it was there - he thought it was for shade. I told him it was to stop people shooting at us - then got worried that's not the kind of thing you say to a four year old. So I told him not to worry, it had been put up a long time ago, that's not happening now. Perhaps I made myself feel better. The shooting did not seem to concern him, he just said "It's to stop people going peyuw peyuw," imitating a gun.
Then as we drove past Husan he asked me if we were home, and I said no, we were going past Husan and Beitar first and he asked me if we could visit Husan. So I said no, we don't go there, and then he wanted to know why. I wasn't sure what to say. I said because it's an Arab town and Jews and Arabs live pretty separately here, and then I said they speak another language and we don't understand it, and that went into a discussion of languages and which ones Sasha knows and doesn't know.
And I got to thinking about how it's different to have a son than a daughter, and what's the right thing to be teaching him, and I have no idea. YMCA camp starts in 2 weeks and he'll meet kids and adults who speak Arabic for the first time.
I took Sasha in the car with us and we drove, as I usually do, through the West Bank - route 375 past Beitar Illit (an ultra-Orthodox settlement, population about 30,000, median age 11) and Husan (the Arab town across the street, population about 60,000).
On the way home, Sasha started asking me about a high wall on the side of the road as you drive between the tunnels through Beit Jala. He wanted to know why it was there - he thought it was for shade. I told him it was to stop people shooting at us - then got worried that's not the kind of thing you say to a four year old. So I told him not to worry, it had been put up a long time ago, that's not happening now. Perhaps I made myself feel better. The shooting did not seem to concern him, he just said "It's to stop people going peyuw peyuw," imitating a gun.
Then as we drove past Husan he asked me if we were home, and I said no, we were going past Husan and Beitar first and he asked me if we could visit Husan. So I said no, we don't go there, and then he wanted to know why. I wasn't sure what to say. I said because it's an Arab town and Jews and Arabs live pretty separately here, and then I said they speak another language and we don't understand it, and that went into a discussion of languages and which ones Sasha knows and doesn't know.
And I got to thinking about how it's different to have a son than a daughter, and what's the right thing to be teaching him, and I have no idea. YMCA camp starts in 2 weeks and he'll meet kids and adults who speak Arabic for the first time.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Ballad of Erica Levine
I had a request for the full lyrics of this song, mentioned in my post Contingency and Responsibility.
It's found on page 244 in Rise Up Singing. Hear it on Youtube
The Ballad of Erica Levine
(Bob Blue)
When Erica Levine was seven and a half
Up to her door came Jason Metcalfe
And he said "Will you marry me, Erica Levine?"
And Erica Levine said "What do you mean?"
"Well my father and my mother say a fellow ought to marry
And my father said his brother, who is my Uncle Larry
Never married and he said Uncle Larry is a dope---
So will you marry me?" Said Erica,"Nope."
"My piano teacher's smart, and she never had to marry
And your father may be right about your Uncle Larry,
But not being married isn't what made him a dope.
Don't ask me again, 'cause my answer's 'Nope'."
When Erica Levine was seventeen
She went to a dance with Joel Bernstein,
And they danced by the light of a sparkling bobby sock,
'Cause the theme of the prom was the history of Rock.
And after the prom, Joel kissed her at the door,
And he said "Do you know what that kiss was for?"
And she said "I don't know, but you kiss just fine."
And he said "What it means is that you are mine."
And she said "No, I'm not!", and she rushed inside
And on the way home, Joel Bernstein cried
And she cried, too, and wrote a letter to 'Ms.',
Saying"This much I know: I am mine, not his."
When Erica Levine was twenty-three
Her lover said "Erica, marry me.
This relationship is answering a basic need
And I'd like to have it legally guaranteed.
For without your precious love I would surely die
So why can't we make it legal?" Said Erica, "Why?
Basic needs, at your age, should be met by you;
I'm your lover, not your mother---let's be careful what we do.
If I should ever marry,I will marry to grow,
Not for tradition, or possession or protection. No!
I love you, but your needs are a very different issue."
Then He cried, and Erica handed him a tissue.
When Erica was thirty, she was talking with Lou,
Discussing and deciding what they wanted to do.
"When we marry, should we move into your place or mine?
Yours is rent-controlled, but mine is on the green line."
And they argued and they talked, and they finally didn't care
And they joined a small cooperative near Central Square.
And their wedding was a simple one, they wanted it that way.
And they thought a lot about the the things that they would
choose to say.
"I will live with you and love you, but I'll never call you mine."
Then the judge pronounced them married, and everyone had wine.
And a happy-ever-after life is not the kind they got,
But they tended to be happy more often than not.
It's found on page 244 in Rise Up Singing. Hear it on Youtube
The Ballad of Erica Levine
(Bob Blue)
When Erica Levine was seven and a half
Up to her door came Jason Metcalfe
And he said "Will you marry me, Erica Levine?"
And Erica Levine said "What do you mean?"
"Well my father and my mother say a fellow ought to marry
And my father said his brother, who is my Uncle Larry
Never married and he said Uncle Larry is a dope---
So will you marry me?" Said Erica,"Nope."
"My piano teacher's smart, and she never had to marry
And your father may be right about your Uncle Larry,
But not being married isn't what made him a dope.
Don't ask me again, 'cause my answer's 'Nope'."
When Erica Levine was seventeen
She went to a dance with Joel Bernstein,
And they danced by the light of a sparkling bobby sock,
'Cause the theme of the prom was the history of Rock.
And after the prom, Joel kissed her at the door,
And he said "Do you know what that kiss was for?"
And she said "I don't know, but you kiss just fine."
And he said "What it means is that you are mine."
And she said "No, I'm not!", and she rushed inside
And on the way home, Joel Bernstein cried
And she cried, too, and wrote a letter to 'Ms.',
Saying"This much I know: I am mine, not his."
When Erica Levine was twenty-three
Her lover said "Erica, marry me.
This relationship is answering a basic need
And I'd like to have it legally guaranteed.
For without your precious love I would surely die
So why can't we make it legal?" Said Erica, "Why?
Basic needs, at your age, should be met by you;
I'm your lover, not your mother---let's be careful what we do.
If I should ever marry,I will marry to grow,
Not for tradition, or possession or protection. No!
I love you, but your needs are a very different issue."
Then He cried, and Erica handed him a tissue.
When Erica was thirty, she was talking with Lou,
Discussing and deciding what they wanted to do.
"When we marry, should we move into your place or mine?
Yours is rent-controlled, but mine is on the green line."
And they argued and they talked, and they finally didn't care
And they joined a small cooperative near Central Square.
And their wedding was a simple one, they wanted it that way.
And they thought a lot about the the things that they would
choose to say.
"I will live with you and love you, but I'll never call you mine."
Then the judge pronounced them married, and everyone had wine.
And a happy-ever-after life is not the kind they got,
But they tended to be happy more often than not.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Dear Gail, Love Gail
Julia, Keiko, Camille, Jane, Elaine, Beth, Heidi and Al - this is for you.
Here's a shocking fact - I've been part of a google group for people who graduated Bryn Mawr and Haverford in 1982, and it's been one of the best parts of this year. I know some of the people in the group - I remember them and their names - and many I do not. They are by and large people who I think enjoyed our college years. They are people who wanted to stay in touch. They are people I mostly would not have talked to in college, or people my friends and I laughed at. And guess what? They are smart, funny, incredibly talented and successful and best of all, they're all about turning 50, like me. We've had some great discussions - about lesbian moms, about aging parents, about being old parents, about health care, about many things I care about.
Now there's a photo of me from shortly after college years, it's a photo of a bunch of us actually, me and a group of college friends in 1985, and it's on facebook, and recently a friend from those days wrote - "the photo that should be burned!" and others made similar remarks and I feel sad.
Because one of the great gifts of my life has been the way G-d has given me opportunities to revisit every part of my growth with love and tenderness. That's what the google group has done for me this year. The folks on the google group are likely folks who were always way better adjusted than myself.
Because here's the truth about my college years - I went to college at 16 and a half years old. I was addicted to drugs and alcohol. I was way too young to be on my own and I was scared. I was affected by buried childhood trauma that has followed me all my life. I was a self-centered person and careless in the way I treated others. I did things I'm not proud of, things that damaged myself and others. I cared deeply about my friends but I chose my friends based on a set of values I no longer hold. I was very bright but very stupid. My mother worried I would not see my 20th birthday. I'm lucky I survived and in honesty I owe a great debt - to my friends from those years (I love you all) to the college that despite a not-so-benign neglect offered some kind of safe container for my acting out, to my teachers who connected with me, to my family who never gave up on me and to G-d who saw me through.
One of my favorite writings is an essay in a book called "To Weep and To Sing", a collection by women scholars of religion about their lives. The essay, "Dear Chris, Love Christine", is a woman writing, with great love, to her younger self of 20 plus years ago. I am so grateful to be able to look back with love and compassion at all we were, and so grateful for the journey that has taken me far from there. I don't want to burn the picture. Today, I can put it on my wall with love.
Here's a shocking fact - I've been part of a google group for people who graduated Bryn Mawr and Haverford in 1982, and it's been one of the best parts of this year. I know some of the people in the group - I remember them and their names - and many I do not. They are by and large people who I think enjoyed our college years. They are people who wanted to stay in touch. They are people I mostly would not have talked to in college, or people my friends and I laughed at. And guess what? They are smart, funny, incredibly talented and successful and best of all, they're all about turning 50, like me. We've had some great discussions - about lesbian moms, about aging parents, about being old parents, about health care, about many things I care about.
Now there's a photo of me from shortly after college years, it's a photo of a bunch of us actually, me and a group of college friends in 1985, and it's on facebook, and recently a friend from those days wrote - "the photo that should be burned!" and others made similar remarks and I feel sad.
Because one of the great gifts of my life has been the way G-d has given me opportunities to revisit every part of my growth with love and tenderness. That's what the google group has done for me this year. The folks on the google group are likely folks who were always way better adjusted than myself.
Because here's the truth about my college years - I went to college at 16 and a half years old. I was addicted to drugs and alcohol. I was way too young to be on my own and I was scared. I was affected by buried childhood trauma that has followed me all my life. I was a self-centered person and careless in the way I treated others. I did things I'm not proud of, things that damaged myself and others. I cared deeply about my friends but I chose my friends based on a set of values I no longer hold. I was very bright but very stupid. My mother worried I would not see my 20th birthday. I'm lucky I survived and in honesty I owe a great debt - to my friends from those years (I love you all) to the college that despite a not-so-benign neglect offered some kind of safe container for my acting out, to my teachers who connected with me, to my family who never gave up on me and to G-d who saw me through.
One of my favorite writings is an essay in a book called "To Weep and To Sing", a collection by women scholars of religion about their lives. The essay, "Dear Chris, Love Christine", is a woman writing, with great love, to her younger self of 20 plus years ago. I am so grateful to be able to look back with love and compassion at all we were, and so grateful for the journey that has taken me far from there. I don't want to burn the picture. Today, I can put it on my wall with love.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Internalized racism and other musings
I had an intense experience at a checkpoint today. This is the checkpoint before the tunnels on Route 60 when you are coming into Jerusalem from Gush Etzion. Those of you who know me know that although I live within the green line, I live right next to it, and travel every day through the west bank to get to work in Jerusalem. I drive through this checkpoint every day - I should say breeze through this checkpoint - an experience of privilege I am almost always conscious of. I pay almost no attention to the automatic weapons (machine guns) on pretty much every soldier. The soldiers often seem to me like kids, especially the young women.
The far right lane is like the will be checked lane and in the next lane over they can also pull you aside to a bay. The left lane has not been open much lately.
I have known (from a hitchhiker I picked up once who explained this to me) that the people who work at the checkpoint fall into three categories - army, police and security staff hired by a private company. I don't know why this is or what the various tasks are.
Today, in the far right lane, there were three extra people with guns, I think only one of them in uniform, not right at the checkpoint but closer to where the cars come in, like walking toward the cars. They were holding their guns differently, but in addition, two of them were black. All of a sudden when I saw them, I felt very fearful. I think this was my own internalized racism at work - I think that I should be afraid of black people, and the fact they were holding guns made it more so. When I see Ethiopian soldiers, the Israeli army uniform puts me at ease. These men did not seem to be Ethiopian but I think also the visual cue to me was that they were not wearing uniforms.
This gave me a glimpse of what Arabs going through this checkpoint probably feel. It was a horrible feeling to feel so fearful, and also to recognize my own racism generating the fear, and to once again recognize the privilege I have of traveling most days without fear through this checkpoint.
Today we marked the 5th anniversary of the "hitnatkut" - the pullout from Gaza. Five years in which the left has declined and the right increased, so that on the radio yesterday I heard one commentator say that the right has succeeded in convincing the country that the pullout from Gaza was a mistake. A pro-pullout woman and a woman settler were on the radio and the former said she is less optimistic than she was 5 years ago while the latter said she feels good about how the country is going. She said the country is getting closer to Judaism. That would appear to be backed up by the statistic I heard yesterday - 52% of first graders in the country are in Orthodox or Ultra-Orthodox schools.
We have wonderful students at my work this summer, Alen is hosting a GLBT birthright group at her work tomorrow!, and Gabi has loved her camp that ends tomorrow at the nature museum. I'm looking forward to another afternoon at the nursing home and to a relaxing Shabbat. We had the first Tisha B'Av program that our Reform congregation has held this week and a packed house at the Conservative Yeshiva as usual. The conversion bill brings a lot of concern to our home and work. A sense of privilege and awe along with frustration and sometimes a fear or despair stay with me when I look at all this. The big picture just gets bigger.
The far right lane is like the will be checked lane and in the next lane over they can also pull you aside to a bay. The left lane has not been open much lately.
I have known (from a hitchhiker I picked up once who explained this to me) that the people who work at the checkpoint fall into three categories - army, police and security staff hired by a private company. I don't know why this is or what the various tasks are.
Today, in the far right lane, there were three extra people with guns, I think only one of them in uniform, not right at the checkpoint but closer to where the cars come in, like walking toward the cars. They were holding their guns differently, but in addition, two of them were black. All of a sudden when I saw them, I felt very fearful. I think this was my own internalized racism at work - I think that I should be afraid of black people, and the fact they were holding guns made it more so. When I see Ethiopian soldiers, the Israeli army uniform puts me at ease. These men did not seem to be Ethiopian but I think also the visual cue to me was that they were not wearing uniforms.
This gave me a glimpse of what Arabs going through this checkpoint probably feel. It was a horrible feeling to feel so fearful, and also to recognize my own racism generating the fear, and to once again recognize the privilege I have of traveling most days without fear through this checkpoint.
Today we marked the 5th anniversary of the "hitnatkut" - the pullout from Gaza. Five years in which the left has declined and the right increased, so that on the radio yesterday I heard one commentator say that the right has succeeded in convincing the country that the pullout from Gaza was a mistake. A pro-pullout woman and a woman settler were on the radio and the former said she is less optimistic than she was 5 years ago while the latter said she feels good about how the country is going. She said the country is getting closer to Judaism. That would appear to be backed up by the statistic I heard yesterday - 52% of first graders in the country are in Orthodox or Ultra-Orthodox schools.
We have wonderful students at my work this summer, Alen is hosting a GLBT birthright group at her work tomorrow!, and Gabi has loved her camp that ends tomorrow at the nature museum. I'm looking forward to another afternoon at the nursing home and to a relaxing Shabbat. We had the first Tisha B'Av program that our Reform congregation has held this week and a packed house at the Conservative Yeshiva as usual. The conversion bill brings a lot of concern to our home and work. A sense of privilege and awe along with frustration and sometimes a fear or despair stay with me when I look at all this. The big picture just gets bigger.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
what started this blog
I wrote this message, Reflections on Arevut (Mutual responsibility) and Sinat Hinam (causeless hatred) on August 2, 2009. The shooting in the bar noar gay youth club in Tel Aviv is what caused me to start this blog. The shooter has not been found.
The young people who were murdered last night in Tel Aviv at a gathering place for gay youth and buried tonight were named Nir Katz, 26 and Lizzie Tarboushi, 17, z"l.
I heard two parents on the radio today - Nir Katz's stepfather and the mother of a young man who had stepped outside when the shooter came in to the center last night. Both were incredibly supportive of their children. Nir Katz's stepfather talked about how most people in Israel are supportive as his family is - that this crime was committed by one person whose views are shared by few. He also spoke about the shootings as an act of "sinat hinam" - the very thing whose consequences we were calling to mind in our fast last week.
I spoke today about how Israel is considered a "high context society" - what happens here in the news has such a direct impact on us all. I had my ears open today to the radio - checking to see that the murders would get covered, would get taken seriously. The coverage sounded like what I know of Israel - I was even heartened by the message of Shas - that murder is against Jewish law and Jewish tradition (in case anyone wondered after last week's Torah reading).
This morning while on my way to work I stopped for a stranger who flagged me down and asked me to help him jump start his car. He got in my car and we drove around back of his house where his young daughter waited in the car, started his car and I went on my way. As we did this, I was thinking how I could not do this in the states, how fear for my safety would stop me. I live in a culture where people in certain defined ways and contexts and with exclusions, help one another and consider ourselves responsible for one another. It has its ups and downs, but that basic social contract, even covenant, the idea that we are partners in a common enterprise and attached to a common fate, that makes life here feel very worthwhile most of the time. Sinat Hinam seems to me the opposite of our Arevut, and that's part of what makes this such a painful day.
I pray for the families of those killed and injured, for a speedy recovery to all who were injured, and that they catch the person who did this soon.
The young people who were murdered last night in Tel Aviv at a gathering place for gay youth and buried tonight were named Nir Katz, 26 and Lizzie Tarboushi, 17, z"l.
I heard two parents on the radio today - Nir Katz's stepfather and the mother of a young man who had stepped outside when the shooter came in to the center last night. Both were incredibly supportive of their children. Nir Katz's stepfather talked about how most people in Israel are supportive as his family is - that this crime was committed by one person whose views are shared by few. He also spoke about the shootings as an act of "sinat hinam" - the very thing whose consequences we were calling to mind in our fast last week.
I spoke today about how Israel is considered a "high context society" - what happens here in the news has such a direct impact on us all. I had my ears open today to the radio - checking to see that the murders would get covered, would get taken seriously. The coverage sounded like what I know of Israel - I was even heartened by the message of Shas - that murder is against Jewish law and Jewish tradition (in case anyone wondered after last week's Torah reading).
This morning while on my way to work I stopped for a stranger who flagged me down and asked me to help him jump start his car. He got in my car and we drove around back of his house where his young daughter waited in the car, started his car and I went on my way. As we did this, I was thinking how I could not do this in the states, how fear for my safety would stop me. I live in a culture where people in certain defined ways and contexts and with exclusions, help one another and consider ourselves responsible for one another. It has its ups and downs, but that basic social contract, even covenant, the idea that we are partners in a common enterprise and attached to a common fate, that makes life here feel very worthwhile most of the time. Sinat Hinam seems to me the opposite of our Arevut, and that's part of what makes this such a painful day.
I pray for the families of those killed and injured, for a speedy recovery to all who were injured, and that they catch the person who did this soon.
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