Hashgacha Pratis- it sounds like it could be Israeli designer purses, or it could be the reason that I ended up sitting next to Mr. Smith last Thursday night. The phrase means “divine providence” and, according to the Baal Shem Tov, is responsible for everything that happens in the universe including the way that a leaf is blown by the wind.
Last week I was blown to a city, let’s call it Citopia, where I had lived for many years, for a business meeting and the first day there, for reasons masochistic, I decided to stroll down memory lane. Bad idea, though I did feel slightly cheered after a cute police officer told me that I should move back.
The week before leaving for Citopia I was finalizing plans for a panel on immigration. Via email one of the speakers accused me of trying to ambush him as he thought the panel was not balanced. I tried to reassure Mr. A.M. Bush that on a Sunday afternoon, in spring, at College X the attendees would be civil (average age 78) as would the discussion. He was not convinced and was apparently suffering from post traumatic stress from another event with my organization, in another place far far away, at which he had been “betrayed.” I wrote back that using all caps in email was considered yelling, but that if he were unaware of that I would accept his apology. He called me priggish and hostile. Hostile maybe, but priggish?? My stroll down memory lane might disavow him of that. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.
Then he quoted Jane Austen, something about truth…he used to be a lit professor. I quoted Hamlet as I used to take lit classes in high school. He backed out of the event and I left for Citopia, feeling guilty, knowing that my colleague, whose organization was co-sponsoring the event, would have to find a replacement.
Fast forward to our gala dinner Thursday night. Well, not so fast as I had to sit through three days of meetings, panel discussions and frequent applications of bandaids to my raw feet. I used to walk around Citopia in sneakers, but now I was wearing high heels, the western equivalent of bound feet. Staffers had not been assigned seats and were told sit only after making sure that the one thousand guests, big wigs, members, etc had places. Finally, I looked for a chair at the table of L with whom I had been speaking earlier, but it was full so I sat at the table next to his…
…And heard the gentleman to my left, Mr. Smith, tell J that he works for XYZ, the same organization as Mr. A.M. Bush. I think I mentioned that there were one thousand people there. Oh my Divine Providence. I tell him, “Full disclosure…I was called priggish and hostile by your employee and he had the opportunity to present your position but won’t be.” I don’t mention how disturbing and disgusting I think their position and funding sources are as I am on my bestest organizational behavior. He says he will talk to Mr. A.M. Bush, and I wonder if he will be forwarded our emails. I excuse myself to talk to L and when I return, my neighbor to the right is just finishing what I learn was a spirited discussion with Mr. Smith about immigration. “We can agree to disagree,” she tells him.
And then the conversation turns to the upcoming elections and I find myself shocked when Mr. Smith says that he will not, cannot vote for McCain and will not be exercising his right to pull a lever in November. I actually have something in common with this person besides the ability to walk upright?
Sunday afternoon I find out that the replacement panelist, Mr. Jones, is another colleague of Mr. Smith and Mr. A.M. Bush! They are like rabbits. Sadly, what they have in common, besides a workplace, is their negativity. It sounds “good” when they say they are trying to prevent terrorists from entering the country. Mr. Jones said that trying to process the 12 million undocumented in this country is impossible. Some have no papers and we can’t know if the documents of those who have them are fake. He argues that Bin Laden could have had a visa saying he was Donald Duck and come into the US. Since I must be like Switzerland I refrain from suggesting that if that had been the case perhaps George Bush could have found Osama.
I want to say that if we could get 150,000 troops to Iraq and spend one billion dollars a day, surely we could accomplish the mission of processing and integrating immigrants.
I want to say that if we could respond so successfully to the devastation of Katrina, wait forget about that. What I mean is we could solve a lot of the problems of immigration if we had the political will. We are a nation of laws, but we are also a nation that welcomes the stranger, a nation that has been built on the backs of immigrants. We need to make sure our borders are secure, but we need to understand why it benefits certain corporations and businesses to have an underclass that hides in the shadows.
We need to understand why politicians don’t mind that those who are economically strapped and unable to find jobs or housing curse immigrants instead of the politicians who are not regulating certain industries (can you say subprime lending?) or creating job training programs or schools that graduate students prepared for the 21st century. Bill Gates testified before Congress about that and his concerns that we must do something if this nation is to continue to be the center of global innovation.
The answers are not easy, that’s true, but not doing anything sensible is going to make things even more messy. So what brought you to this blog? Boredom, Boolean searching, Hashgacha Pratis? You know what I think. Check back for my Ten Refutations of the most common myths about immigrants.
