"He can't mention everything, every time he speaks." I love that line. That's what the pope's spokesperson from the Vatican said today when contacted to comment on what the pope DIDN'T say when he visited Yad Vashem.
And rather than review what the pope said and what Jews and Israelis think he should have said, I think we should review that fabulous comment.
I was a public relations person for almost 20 years before we came to Israel. I have had more than my fair share of media interviews on behalf of the companies I represented. I have said things innocently that were spun so far from reality that I couldn't figure out how the interviewing reporter even got to that point. And frankly, I have made a few off-handed remarks that I naively thought were innocent, only to have my husband open the Toronto Globe and Mail the next day and burst into laughter. "Oh, you are going to love the way they quoted you," he said, before waving me off to what could have easily been my last day at work.
Fortunately the executives at American Greetings had a sense of humour.
So I know how interviews can spiral out of control. Been there. Done that.
Which gets me wondering if that is what happened to the Vatican spokesman.
Okay, I am finished wondering now because as a media spokesperson myself I already know the answer. This Vatican spokesman probably speaks to the press at least 10 times a day. Maybe more. The Vatican is a much more media-interesting place then anywhere I ever worked -- at least most of the time.
Also, Vatican spokesman is not a junior position for the newest priest in town. No organization as big or as important as the Vatican is going to hand over such a responsibility to a newbie. And if the Vatican is anything like places I have worked over the years (which it is), there is a very strict code of conduct for speaking to the media. Who speaks on which topics. What approvals are required before anyone speaks. Who approves the remarks prior to media contact. There is a whole to-do list before anyone gets on the phone with a reporter.
Yes .... mistakes happen. I already mentioned that above.
But that's the point. This was NO mistake. It might have been frustration. It might have been exasperation. It might have been that this guy doesn't suffer fools well and he has categorized The Jerusalem Post reporters as fools. And most important, it absolves the pope of all the things he should have said during his visit to Israel, but didn't.
If I am being totally honest, I have to admit that I only wish I had used that line a few times when I was in a tight spot between a rock and a hard place with a really aggressive reporter. And I think I will submit it to some of the public relations chat groups that I belong to. There must be an award category in one of them called: "Best Weasel Word Media Response of the Year". It would win hands-down.
I could go on listing more reasons why I think that the spokesmen showed his true colours and those of the pope, but I won't. There is so much more to say on this topic, but I can't mention everything, every time I speak.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Catholics and Jews share an inseparable bond? Really?
I would like to apologize up front to my Catholic readers. Now excuse me because I have to tear a major strip of your pope. I am sorry to have to do this but he asked for it. Here goes.....
As you know Pope Benedict (a.k.a. John Ratzinger of Barvaria, Germany) is in Israel. However, before entering Israel, he spoke from Mount Nebo in Jordan (okay, at least he officially insulted the bejeebers out of Jews worldwide from outside Israel) which is where Moses reportedly looked down into the Land of Israel that he would never enter. Pope "El Deluded" Benedict spoke about the "inseparable bond" between the Jews and the Catholics. And I would just like to know in as precise detail as possible, what the hell is he talking about?
Is he talking about the 2000 years of anti-semitism? Is he talking about the fabulous life that Jews experienced under Augustine, Abelard, Constantine or the myriad other Catholic leaders who did everything humanly possible to destroy the spirit, soul and physical being of the Jewish people. Or is he talking about the fact that my stepson was verbally attacked in his 2008 Canadian university classroom by a classmate who argued: "We should kill all the Jews because they killed Christ."
Yes siree, that is one heck of a shared bond. Who could possibly be closer than the Jews and the Catholics? Perhaps the Iranian president and the Israelis. Oh wait, I forgot Hitler. Yes, we were possibly closer to Hitler.
Pope Benedict all I can say to you is PLEASE HAVE ALL THOSE PEOPLE WHO WORK FOR YOU IN THE VATICAN DO A REALITY CHECK OF BIBLICAL PROPORTION. Doesn't anyone in the entire Vatican have an ounce of sense? Okay, if they don't have sense, do they have televisions or books or computers? I am not telling you anything that isn't well documented and covered in any number of media.
I am sorry to break this to you Pope B. but you hate the Jews. Not you personally perhaps, but why should you be absolved from that guilt if we Jews are still being penalized for killing Christ? Fair is fair. An eye for an eye. I know the last pope nixed that Jews-killing-Christ thing, but guess what? It didn't catch on so well. Most of the world's 1.13 billion Catholics never got the message.
I also feel obliged to say that I wasn't there when Jesus died and I am pretty sure that neither was any Jew I know. In fact there is lots of academic evidence to suggest that the whole anti-semitism thing was a bait and switch sort of arrangement. The Romans are the ones you should have been murdering, ghetto-izng, terrorizing, torturing, isolating, starving and all-around blaming for the past 2000 years. Of course, that would have been a scary thing to do because at the time of the unfortunate passing of Jesus THE JEW, the Romans were scarier than the Catholic Church turned out to be. Why pick on the real culprit when you could pick on the Jews?
Don't bother answering that. There is no good and legitimate answer.
I think that Jesus himself must have been looking on from heaven above today wondering what the heck you were talking about. He's YOUR lord so you can run from him but you can't hide. According to you, he sees all, which means he must have seen right through your propaganda.
And in case anyone thinks I am making this up, here's a little snippet from the pope's speech today, as reported by The Jerusalem Post:
"The ancient tradition of pilgrimage to the holy places also reminds us of the inseparable bond between the church and the Jewish people," said Benedict. "From the beginning, the church in these lands has commemorated in her liturgy the great figures of the patriarchs and prophets, as a sign of her profound appreciation of the unity of the two testaments."
Pope B. I thought we had agreed last week that you were going to visit your followers in Bethlehem, Nazareth and other such places? Instead you came here under false pretenses and conveniently erased 2000 years of really miserable history.
So Pope B, I apologize, but as your close friend, with inseparable ties to you, I feel I have to tell you that.
As you know Pope Benedict (a.k.a. John Ratzinger of Barvaria, Germany) is in Israel. However, before entering Israel, he spoke from Mount Nebo in Jordan (okay, at least he officially insulted the bejeebers out of Jews worldwide from outside Israel) which is where Moses reportedly looked down into the Land of Israel that he would never enter. Pope "El Deluded" Benedict spoke about the "inseparable bond" between the Jews and the Catholics. And I would just like to know in as precise detail as possible, what the hell is he talking about?
Is he talking about the 2000 years of anti-semitism? Is he talking about the fabulous life that Jews experienced under Augustine, Abelard, Constantine or the myriad other Catholic leaders who did everything humanly possible to destroy the spirit, soul and physical being of the Jewish people. Or is he talking about the fact that my stepson was verbally attacked in his 2008 Canadian university classroom by a classmate who argued: "We should kill all the Jews because they killed Christ."
Yes siree, that is one heck of a shared bond. Who could possibly be closer than the Jews and the Catholics? Perhaps the Iranian president and the Israelis. Oh wait, I forgot Hitler. Yes, we were possibly closer to Hitler.
Pope Benedict all I can say to you is PLEASE HAVE ALL THOSE PEOPLE WHO WORK FOR YOU IN THE VATICAN DO A REALITY CHECK OF BIBLICAL PROPORTION. Doesn't anyone in the entire Vatican have an ounce of sense? Okay, if they don't have sense, do they have televisions or books or computers? I am not telling you anything that isn't well documented and covered in any number of media.
I am sorry to break this to you Pope B. but you hate the Jews. Not you personally perhaps, but why should you be absolved from that guilt if we Jews are still being penalized for killing Christ? Fair is fair. An eye for an eye. I know the last pope nixed that Jews-killing-Christ thing, but guess what? It didn't catch on so well. Most of the world's 1.13 billion Catholics never got the message.
I also feel obliged to say that I wasn't there when Jesus died and I am pretty sure that neither was any Jew I know. In fact there is lots of academic evidence to suggest that the whole anti-semitism thing was a bait and switch sort of arrangement. The Romans are the ones you should have been murdering, ghetto-izng, terrorizing, torturing, isolating, starving and all-around blaming for the past 2000 years. Of course, that would have been a scary thing to do because at the time of the unfortunate passing of Jesus THE JEW, the Romans were scarier than the Catholic Church turned out to be. Why pick on the real culprit when you could pick on the Jews?
Don't bother answering that. There is no good and legitimate answer.
I think that Jesus himself must have been looking on from heaven above today wondering what the heck you were talking about. He's YOUR lord so you can run from him but you can't hide. According to you, he sees all, which means he must have seen right through your propaganda.
And in case anyone thinks I am making this up, here's a little snippet from the pope's speech today, as reported by The Jerusalem Post:
"The ancient tradition of pilgrimage to the holy places also reminds us of the inseparable bond between the church and the Jewish people," said Benedict. "From the beginning, the church in these lands has commemorated in her liturgy the great figures of the patriarchs and prophets, as a sign of her profound appreciation of the unity of the two testaments."
Pope B. I thought we had agreed last week that you were going to visit your followers in Bethlehem, Nazareth and other such places? Instead you came here under false pretenses and conveniently erased 2000 years of really miserable history.
So Pope B, I apologize, but as your close friend, with inseparable ties to you, I feel I have to tell you that.
The Dead Soldiers Society
This story explains one of the ways that life in Israel is so very different from my old life in Canada. And I suspect that the same could be said for how different it is from life in the US and the rest of the Western World. I won't bother speculating on the remainder of the world, because I don't profess to understand anything about their ways which totally baffle me.
Friday morning I unexpectedly found myself on a fund-raising walk with my Chief of Ideas and Planning (Yael) in memory of a British-born, Israeli soldier who was killed in the Second Lebanon War. His name was Benji Hillman and his parents live somewhere in my neighbourhood although I don't think I actually know them or would recognize them. He was 27 years old, three-weeks married and an officer.
The Second Lebanon War, as most of you know, was probably the biggest military fiasco in modern Israeli history. Benji was one of its heroes. So much so that when he died it was impossible to drive on the main thoroughfares of Ra'anana because there were so many people walking in his funeral procession to the military cemetery.
Here we are three years later and his family is raising money to build a home for soldiers who come to Israel of their own volition, to volunteer in the IDF and in turn, to protect the Jewish people. They come from all over -- Canada, the US, France, Russia, and other places. And they leave everything and everyone behind to serve the greater Jewish good.
As I looked around at the crowd gathered to participate in the fund-raising walk I was reminded once again of things that I generally prefer not to think about.
First, every Israeli soldier killed in the service of his country feels like your own son. Each death, whether you know the kid or not -- and trust me, they are kids -- cuts to the core of your being and involuntary provokes you to pray (even beg) God to spare your child and the children of others, when their turns come.
Second, the army is the one thing that makes many of us hesitate about making aliyah. There is really no way to avoid conscription without perpetrating a major life cop-out. Oh, some Israelis do it. They say they are pacifists (most aren't), they fake illnesses (yes, fake them), and they say they are too religious to participate (that whole argument makes me so sick that I don't want to digress into the malestrom of that discussion).
However, most immigrant children do their national service. They came here knowing the importance of a Jewish state. Fortunately most soldiers get through the three-year commitment intact. And for that, we are all forever grateful. But then, there are some who don't. And that lies at the heart of our greatest life fear.
Third, almost every Israeli family has a story. Someone close to them has died in the on-going battle to protect our tiny slice of land and freedom. The country is only 61 years old which means that most living Israelis have lost someone in one of Israel's existential wars -- they are all existential wars here.
But for us immigrants it is an entirely new experience. That may be why the bulk of the walk participants are immigrants. It's not that the native-born Israelis don't care, but rather that they have lived with this awful reality always. We immigrants are trying to cope and understand something that is truly beyond comprehension. The price is just too great.
The saddest irony of the day was that while we were walking one of my friends was at the funeral of a Canadian-immigrant soldier who had died the day before in a battle against Hamas.
Everyone of us who still has children too young to go to the army tries to convince themselves that by the time their child is drafted there will be peace. We all know that that isn't true, but we try to tell ourselves that it could happen. Of course, pigs could fly and hell could freeze over as well. All those possibilities are equally likely.
And while we wait for the totally unrealistic arrival of peace, we all continue to walk in walks, raise money for activities that commemorate the brave young men who paid the ultimate price and pray for a better day so that no more Benjis will die for us.
Friday morning I unexpectedly found myself on a fund-raising walk with my Chief of Ideas and Planning (Yael) in memory of a British-born, Israeli soldier who was killed in the Second Lebanon War. His name was Benji Hillman and his parents live somewhere in my neighbourhood although I don't think I actually know them or would recognize them. He was 27 years old, three-weeks married and an officer.
The Second Lebanon War, as most of you know, was probably the biggest military fiasco in modern Israeli history. Benji was one of its heroes. So much so that when he died it was impossible to drive on the main thoroughfares of Ra'anana because there were so many people walking in his funeral procession to the military cemetery.
Here we are three years later and his family is raising money to build a home for soldiers who come to Israel of their own volition, to volunteer in the IDF and in turn, to protect the Jewish people. They come from all over -- Canada, the US, France, Russia, and other places. And they leave everything and everyone behind to serve the greater Jewish good.
As I looked around at the crowd gathered to participate in the fund-raising walk I was reminded once again of things that I generally prefer not to think about.
First, every Israeli soldier killed in the service of his country feels like your own son. Each death, whether you know the kid or not -- and trust me, they are kids -- cuts to the core of your being and involuntary provokes you to pray (even beg) God to spare your child and the children of others, when their turns come.
Second, the army is the one thing that makes many of us hesitate about making aliyah. There is really no way to avoid conscription without perpetrating a major life cop-out. Oh, some Israelis do it. They say they are pacifists (most aren't), they fake illnesses (yes, fake them), and they say they are too religious to participate (that whole argument makes me so sick that I don't want to digress into the malestrom of that discussion).
However, most immigrant children do their national service. They came here knowing the importance of a Jewish state. Fortunately most soldiers get through the three-year commitment intact. And for that, we are all forever grateful. But then, there are some who don't. And that lies at the heart of our greatest life fear.
Third, almost every Israeli family has a story. Someone close to them has died in the on-going battle to protect our tiny slice of land and freedom. The country is only 61 years old which means that most living Israelis have lost someone in one of Israel's existential wars -- they are all existential wars here.
But for us immigrants it is an entirely new experience. That may be why the bulk of the walk participants are immigrants. It's not that the native-born Israelis don't care, but rather that they have lived with this awful reality always. We immigrants are trying to cope and understand something that is truly beyond comprehension. The price is just too great.
The saddest irony of the day was that while we were walking one of my friends was at the funeral of a Canadian-immigrant soldier who had died the day before in a battle against Hamas.
Everyone of us who still has children too young to go to the army tries to convince themselves that by the time their child is drafted there will be peace. We all know that that isn't true, but we try to tell ourselves that it could happen. Of course, pigs could fly and hell could freeze over as well. All those possibilities are equally likely.
And while we wait for the totally unrealistic arrival of peace, we all continue to walk in walks, raise money for activities that commemorate the brave young men who paid the ultimate price and pray for a better day so that no more Benjis will die for us.
Monday, May 4, 2009
And finally, the laundry
Since I mentioned doing laundry in the tag line of my blog title, I think it is time I got to that subject. And coincidentally, I have a laundry story today.
This morning was one of my carpool mornings. When I arrived at the school parking lot where I drop off the kids, there was a giant box in the middle of the lot. It was about five feet by five feet to give you some idea of its size. In it were all the unclaimed school sweatshirts, t-shirts and various religious undergarments that have gone missing throughout the school year.
Since Zeve loses more than his fair share of jackets and the likes, I jumped out of the car hoping to recoup a few items. In particular, I was looking for one sweatshirt jacket that he managed to lose the very first time he wore it. I figure he lost sight of it somewhere around the noon soccer game. And since it was new, it was ripe for the picking.
So I jumped out of my car this morning and approached the box. I hesitated when I got there because it was full of what was now really grungy clothes. I guess my cleanliness instinct went into gear, but I couldn't afford to humour it because I was on a mission to redeem Zeve's many missing items.
Looking through the box is sort of like a really gross day in Filene's Basement. You have to have no shame to wade into the pile of clothes. Fortunately I was able to leave my shame in the car and get to work.
Keep in mind that almost everything in the box is some shade of school-approved blue. That's why Yael's grey and white fluffy sweater quickly caught my eye.
"Yael! This is a Shabbat sweater," I said (she was right beside me watching the goings on). "What is it doing in the Lost and Found Box?"
"Oh yeah, I wore it to school one day," she said.
A few seconds later, I noticed another very familiar Shabbat sweater of Yael's. And again, I dragged it out of the box and inquired about how it got there is the first place. Same answer.
Then came the moment that nothing in the previous few minutes could have prepared me for. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an off-white sweater in the sea of blue sweatshirts. I looked a little closer and noticed that it had an unusual stitching. Then I grabbed for it, and checked the label. It was a Liz Claiborne zip-up fancy sweatshirt..... and I knew instantly that it was mine!!!
"Yael! How exactly did my white sweater end up the Lost and Found Box at school????" As if I didn't know. And that nine-year-old pilfering she-devil looked at me and said fake-innocently: "I don't know. Maybe you lost it and the school found it."
Then she just left and went up the hill to her class. "Yael, don't you ever take my clothes to school again." I think I said that more for me than for her. I am willing to bet that she has no intention of abiding by that rule.
I was so shocked that I mentioned the entire event to my friend Esther. Then she said the funniest thing. "I remember the day my daughter's feet outgrew my shoes. It was a great day." I knew instantly what she meant.
The other moment of reckoning today was that after all that searching, I found two of Yael's previously unknown-to-be missing sweaters, one of my stolen sweaters and only one of Zeve's myriad missing items. The one item I specifically got out of the car to find remains missing. And all the other items are in their second run through the washing machine.
This morning was one of my carpool mornings. When I arrived at the school parking lot where I drop off the kids, there was a giant box in the middle of the lot. It was about five feet by five feet to give you some idea of its size. In it were all the unclaimed school sweatshirts, t-shirts and various religious undergarments that have gone missing throughout the school year.
Since Zeve loses more than his fair share of jackets and the likes, I jumped out of the car hoping to recoup a few items. In particular, I was looking for one sweatshirt jacket that he managed to lose the very first time he wore it. I figure he lost sight of it somewhere around the noon soccer game. And since it was new, it was ripe for the picking.
So I jumped out of my car this morning and approached the box. I hesitated when I got there because it was full of what was now really grungy clothes. I guess my cleanliness instinct went into gear, but I couldn't afford to humour it because I was on a mission to redeem Zeve's many missing items.
Looking through the box is sort of like a really gross day in Filene's Basement. You have to have no shame to wade into the pile of clothes. Fortunately I was able to leave my shame in the car and get to work.
Keep in mind that almost everything in the box is some shade of school-approved blue. That's why Yael's grey and white fluffy sweater quickly caught my eye.
"Yael! This is a Shabbat sweater," I said (she was right beside me watching the goings on). "What is it doing in the Lost and Found Box?"
"Oh yeah, I wore it to school one day," she said.
A few seconds later, I noticed another very familiar Shabbat sweater of Yael's. And again, I dragged it out of the box and inquired about how it got there is the first place. Same answer.
Then came the moment that nothing in the previous few minutes could have prepared me for. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an off-white sweater in the sea of blue sweatshirts. I looked a little closer and noticed that it had an unusual stitching. Then I grabbed for it, and checked the label. It was a Liz Claiborne zip-up fancy sweatshirt..... and I knew instantly that it was mine!!!
"Yael! How exactly did my white sweater end up the Lost and Found Box at school????" As if I didn't know. And that nine-year-old pilfering she-devil looked at me and said fake-innocently: "I don't know. Maybe you lost it and the school found it."
Then she just left and went up the hill to her class. "Yael, don't you ever take my clothes to school again." I think I said that more for me than for her. I am willing to bet that she has no intention of abiding by that rule.
I was so shocked that I mentioned the entire event to my friend Esther. Then she said the funniest thing. "I remember the day my daughter's feet outgrew my shoes. It was a great day." I knew instantly what she meant.
The other moment of reckoning today was that after all that searching, I found two of Yael's previously unknown-to-be missing sweaters, one of my stolen sweaters and only one of Zeve's myriad missing items. The one item I specifically got out of the car to find remains missing. And all the other items are in their second run through the washing machine.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Gun envy
For as long as I can remember I have wanted a gun. Not a little, cute, keep-in-purse number, but rather, a really big super Uzi. Preferably one with an attachment for the top of my car. In all honesty, this is one of the things that most concerns Chaim about me.
On Friday I was walking down the street in my sort-of-suburban neighborhood. I bumped into my friends' son, Yishai, heading home on leave from the army. Yishai is one of those all-around nice guys who probably wouldn't voluntarily hurt a flea. He was dressed in his uniform and the obligatory, yet informal, army fashion statement, very cool sunglasses. He sort of looked like the Poster Boy for the IDF.
Yishai is doing his compulsory service in an Education division of the army which means he is not a combat soldier, but almost immediately, I noticed his M-16 slung over his shoulder.
"Hey," I blurted out. "I thought that you were in Education?"
"I know, I know," he responded because we both knew I was looking at the gun. "I've had this for a year and a half now." He seemed less than thrilled.
But as I passed him I realized that I was thinking: "Well, if you don't want it, I could take it off your hands." He probably would have loved to hand it over because it seemed like an albatross around his neck -- of course, he would have ended up unhappily ensconced in the stockade for a good long time if he had even lost sight of the gun for an instant. The IDF does not have much of a sense of humor when it comes to its guns.
I know that guns are dangerous and I even shot an M-16 a few months ago at a firing range set up to teach citizens how to participate in community protection groups. Chaim and the kids couldn't get to their turns fast enough but when it was my turn I took the gun reluctantly and only agreed to have the teacher put three bullets in it.
Firing that thing gave me the creeps. My whole body vibrated from the "backfire" of the gun. My arms buzzed for the next 15 minutes. All I could think the entire time I was holding the gun was that I could end someone's life with the item in my hands. The implications were horrifying and overwhelming.
Which brings me back to my gun fantasy. For years in Toronto I used to commute daily across the top of the city on what is probably Canada's busiest highway system. Every other day or so I encountered someone I deemed to be a driving idiot who deserved to be knocked off on the spot.
That, of course, would have required an Uzi perched on the top of my car with a red firing button placed somewhere strategically near the steering wheel. Some days the only thing that got me home with an ounce of sanity was the thought that someday I would get my car Uzi.
Now I live in a country where guns are commonplace. Some of the nicest, gentlest people I know own and wear guns in their belts every day. Some of them even carry their guns on Shabbat. If I had even seen a person carrying a gun in Toronto I would have run for cover, but here I am often relieved to see a gun-toting soldier get on my bus to Jerusalem, or to line up in the grocery story in an outlying part of Israel behind a person with a gun in his belt (admittedly, I only know one woman who totes a gun.)
I think it is easier to say you want a gun than to actually have a gun. My need for my vigilante justice plays beautifully in my head. People do stupid things. I see them do those stupid things. I shoot them. Then I go home and have lunch knowing that the world has one less stupid person.
However, in reality, I forget that there is another step. Those people are dead.
Therefore, despite my gun fantasy, I am going to leave the guns in the reluctant hands of people like Yishai who really wish they didn't have a gun and would rather do anything but shoot it for any reason other than the protection of their country.
On Friday I was walking down the street in my sort-of-suburban neighborhood. I bumped into my friends' son, Yishai, heading home on leave from the army. Yishai is one of those all-around nice guys who probably wouldn't voluntarily hurt a flea. He was dressed in his uniform and the obligatory, yet informal, army fashion statement, very cool sunglasses. He sort of looked like the Poster Boy for the IDF.
Yishai is doing his compulsory service in an Education division of the army which means he is not a combat soldier, but almost immediately, I noticed his M-16 slung over his shoulder.
"Hey," I blurted out. "I thought that you were in Education?"
"I know, I know," he responded because we both knew I was looking at the gun. "I've had this for a year and a half now." He seemed less than thrilled.
But as I passed him I realized that I was thinking: "Well, if you don't want it, I could take it off your hands." He probably would have loved to hand it over because it seemed like an albatross around his neck -- of course, he would have ended up unhappily ensconced in the stockade for a good long time if he had even lost sight of the gun for an instant. The IDF does not have much of a sense of humor when it comes to its guns.
I know that guns are dangerous and I even shot an M-16 a few months ago at a firing range set up to teach citizens how to participate in community protection groups. Chaim and the kids couldn't get to their turns fast enough but when it was my turn I took the gun reluctantly and only agreed to have the teacher put three bullets in it.
Firing that thing gave me the creeps. My whole body vibrated from the "backfire" of the gun. My arms buzzed for the next 15 minutes. All I could think the entire time I was holding the gun was that I could end someone's life with the item in my hands. The implications were horrifying and overwhelming.
Which brings me back to my gun fantasy. For years in Toronto I used to commute daily across the top of the city on what is probably Canada's busiest highway system. Every other day or so I encountered someone I deemed to be a driving idiot who deserved to be knocked off on the spot.
That, of course, would have required an Uzi perched on the top of my car with a red firing button placed somewhere strategically near the steering wheel. Some days the only thing that got me home with an ounce of sanity was the thought that someday I would get my car Uzi.
Now I live in a country where guns are commonplace. Some of the nicest, gentlest people I know own and wear guns in their belts every day. Some of them even carry their guns on Shabbat. If I had even seen a person carrying a gun in Toronto I would have run for cover, but here I am often relieved to see a gun-toting soldier get on my bus to Jerusalem, or to line up in the grocery story in an outlying part of Israel behind a person with a gun in his belt (admittedly, I only know one woman who totes a gun.)
I think it is easier to say you want a gun than to actually have a gun. My need for my vigilante justice plays beautifully in my head. People do stupid things. I see them do those stupid things. I shoot them. Then I go home and have lunch knowing that the world has one less stupid person.
However, in reality, I forget that there is another step. Those people are dead.
Therefore, despite my gun fantasy, I am going to leave the guns in the reluctant hands of people like Yishai who really wish they didn't have a gun and would rather do anything but shoot it for any reason other than the protection of their country.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)