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.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Wafflegate
Proving once again that he's a true leader and a fearless friend of Israel, Barack Obama was asked by a reporter what he thought about Jimmy “Jihad” Carter's meeting with Hamas last week, the Messiah of the the Democratic Party snapped: “Why can't I just eat my waffle?”
Pressed again for an answer Obama whined: “Just let me eat my waffle.”
The preceding is from a blog with “Secret” in the title. I guess the secret is not that this guy is a big fan of Obama, because, though I could be misreading this, I think the blogger is being sarcastic when he describes Obama as a “true leader and a fearless friend of Israel.”
I rack my brain for lessons learned in freshman Logic class many years ago to understand this statement.
All waffle eaters hate Israel.
Barack Obama eats waffles.
Therefore, Barack Obama hates Israel.
Holy Belgian batter, I better give up waffles. This is tragic, as the end of Passover is so close!
Fortunately, Americans have an example of civility from the man who has been a heartbeat from the presidency for the last seven years and ninety seven days. On the Senate floor in June of 2004, the VP told Senator Patrick Leahy:
"Fuck yourself." What was Cheney digging into? Probably not waffles, maybe red meat.
McCain did not fare so well for his short fuse in an April 20, 2008 Washington Post article. But, hey the Washington Post must be exhibiting media bias. When I lived in DC, any person interested in “the truth” read Reverend Moon’s paper.
“In 2007, during a heated closed-door discussion with Senate colleagues about the contentious immigration issue, he angrily shouted a profanity at a fellow Republican, John Cornyn of Texas,”
Is it ok to curse at colleagues as long as one is not afraid to answer foreign policy questions?
“The nomination of a beleaguered John Tower to become defense secretary was already in trouble when Sen. Richard C. Shelby of Alabama, a conservative Democrat who later became a Republican, helped doom it by voting against Tower. A furious McCain, believing that Shelby had reneged on a commitment of support, accosted him, got within an inch of his nose and screamed at him.”
I studied proxemics in grad school and in American culture close friends stay about a foot and a half apart. Getting within an inch of someone’s nose means either you are about to kiss him/her or you are invading his/her space. I’ll let you decide what this McCain incident meant.
“While in the course of a policy disagreement at a luncheon meeting of Republican senators, McCain reportedly insulted Pete V. Domenici of New Mexico with an earthy expletive. Domenici demanded an apology. ‘Okay, I'll apologize,’ McCain said, before referring to an infuriated Domenici with the same expletive.”
I love the word expletive. Its Latin root means to fill, or fill out, so I will let you fill out McCain’s part of that conversation.
A platform that had been adequate for taller candidates had not taken into account the needs of the 5-foot-9 McCain, who left the suite and went looking for a man in his early 20s named Robert Wexler, the head of Arizona's Young Republicans, which had helped make arrangements for the evening's celebration. Confronting Wexler in a hotel ballroom, McCain exploded, according to witnesses who included Jon Hinz, then executive director of the Arizona Republican Party. McCain jabbed an index finger in Wexler's chest.
"I told you we needed a stage," he screamed, according to Hinz. "You incompetent little [expletive]. When I tell you to do something, you do it."
Again with the expletive, though McCain calling the guy an “incompetent little [expletive] smacks of projection.
Defenders of McCain argue that it is his passion for what is right that gets him so fired up. Whoa, ok, so a probably exhausted, hungry Obama is not allowed to want to eat in peace, but an elected official running for the highest office in the land with a long history of behaving badly is excused. What am I worried about?... if McCain is elected he only has to be Commander in Chief not Diplomat in Chief.
I will warn the media, when I announce my candidacy for President, “If you see me and a piece of flourless chocolate cake, don’t even think about sticking a microphone in my face.”
Pressed again for an answer Obama whined: “Just let me eat my waffle.”
The preceding is from a blog with “Secret” in the title. I guess the secret is not that this guy is a big fan of Obama, because, though I could be misreading this, I think the blogger is being sarcastic when he describes Obama as a “true leader and a fearless friend of Israel.”
I rack my brain for lessons learned in freshman Logic class many years ago to understand this statement.
All waffle eaters hate Israel.
Barack Obama eats waffles.
Therefore, Barack Obama hates Israel.
Holy Belgian batter, I better give up waffles. This is tragic, as the end of Passover is so close!
Fortunately, Americans have an example of civility from the man who has been a heartbeat from the presidency for the last seven years and ninety seven days. On the Senate floor in June of 2004, the VP told Senator Patrick Leahy:
"Fuck yourself." What was Cheney digging into? Probably not waffles, maybe red meat.
McCain did not fare so well for his short fuse in an April 20, 2008 Washington Post article. But, hey the Washington Post must be exhibiting media bias. When I lived in DC, any person interested in “the truth” read Reverend Moon’s paper.
“In 2007, during a heated closed-door discussion with Senate colleagues about the contentious immigration issue, he angrily shouted a profanity at a fellow Republican, John Cornyn of Texas,”
Is it ok to curse at colleagues as long as one is not afraid to answer foreign policy questions?
“The nomination of a beleaguered John Tower to become defense secretary was already in trouble when Sen. Richard C. Shelby of Alabama, a conservative Democrat who later became a Republican, helped doom it by voting against Tower. A furious McCain, believing that Shelby had reneged on a commitment of support, accosted him, got within an inch of his nose and screamed at him.”
I studied proxemics in grad school and in American culture close friends stay about a foot and a half apart. Getting within an inch of someone’s nose means either you are about to kiss him/her or you are invading his/her space. I’ll let you decide what this McCain incident meant.
“While in the course of a policy disagreement at a luncheon meeting of Republican senators, McCain reportedly insulted Pete V. Domenici of New Mexico with an earthy expletive. Domenici demanded an apology. ‘Okay, I'll apologize,’ McCain said, before referring to an infuriated Domenici with the same expletive.”
I love the word expletive. Its Latin root means to fill, or fill out, so I will let you fill out McCain’s part of that conversation.
A platform that had been adequate for taller candidates had not taken into account the needs of the 5-foot-9 McCain, who left the suite and went looking for a man in his early 20s named Robert Wexler, the head of Arizona's Young Republicans, which had helped make arrangements for the evening's celebration. Confronting Wexler in a hotel ballroom, McCain exploded, according to witnesses who included Jon Hinz, then executive director of the Arizona Republican Party. McCain jabbed an index finger in Wexler's chest.
"I told you we needed a stage," he screamed, according to Hinz. "You incompetent little [expletive]. When I tell you to do something, you do it."
Again with the expletive, though McCain calling the guy an “incompetent little [expletive] smacks of projection.
Defenders of McCain argue that it is his passion for what is right that gets him so fired up. Whoa, ok, so a probably exhausted, hungry Obama is not allowed to want to eat in peace, but an elected official running for the highest office in the land with a long history of behaving badly is excused. What am I worried about?... if McCain is elected he only has to be Commander in Chief not Diplomat in Chief.
I will warn the media, when I announce my candidacy for President, “If you see me and a piece of flourless chocolate cake, don’t even think about sticking a microphone in my face.”
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Token
Though my Bubbe was an actress in the Yiddish theater (family lore has it that my Zayde was a stage door Johnny) my genes do not cry out for the spotlight. And yet at a recent press conference concerning legislation that would adversely affect immigrants, I was the token Jew in front of the camera. Knees knocking as I awaited my turn to speak, I tried to channel Bubbe D.
I had channeled her and Zayde only two months earlier in testimony during a committee hearing on the same bill. I hadn't intended to speak as I did not think I could add to my colleagues' testimonies, but as Legislator X interrogated two of the gentlemen, my heart started racing. Each of these men spoke in Spanish and had an interpreter. To the first one Leg. X said, "Obviously, you're an immigrant, (obviously?) I don't know if you're documented or not, but I have to ask how long have you been in this country?"
And to the second man, "I studied sociology in college and I know something about acculturation, so I have to ask, how long have you been here?" At this point I flew out of my seat, filled out a speaking card, and handed it to the deputy clerk.
"I've been hearing that this bill is not about race, but I have to wonder when people are asked how long they have been in this country.
My grandfather was ordained as a Rabbi in Europe, but when he finally was able to get here, did he work as a Rabbi? No. He drove a grocery truck.
Did he speak English? Enough to work his route.
Some of his family never made it out of Europe and burned in Hitler's ovens.
Did my Bubbe speak English? Not much.
Did they pay taxes? Yes.
Did they raise six successful children who became lawyers, and doctors and business people. Yes."
Applause. Move over Scarlet Johansson.
I was so impassioned I forgot to say that as a former ESOL teacher I would lay money on a bet that if either of those two men had children here their English would be as good as that of my sons. Maybe even better.
At the press conference, this week of Passover, I said that we remember that we were once strangers in a strange land. After seeing that part on the nightly news, my future ex-husband said that I looked angry. I thought I was just being serious. My mother-in-law said that my hair looked nice before asking me to explain what I meant.
This is code for "I disagree and that is why we are trying to sell our home near the beach as the town is being overtaken by people who don't speak English." I think some people are unaware of how long it might have taken their parents or grandparents to learn English.
Others angrily pronounce,"My grandparents came here legally. So should they." I hope that's true because maybe if I ask ICE (Immigrations and Customs Enforcement) they will deputize me to check all those documents. It would be interesting since after 1924 when a quota was imposed on WHITE Europeans, thousands of people sneaked in to the U.S.. Imagine the nerve! Escaping potato famine, or death squads, or mafia control of their village, people came here illegally!
I continued, "We also say 'Let all who are hungry come and eat' and so it was that at Sunday’s seder I sat across from a man named Levy. Miguel Enriquez Levy. I’m sure his language skills would have impressed LegislatorX. Mr. Levy speaks Spanish, English, Hebrew and Ladino. He was born in Leningrad, Russia (It's St. Petersberg now, hope the feds have their historical maps available) and grew up in Mexico. His grandfather was Moroccan. What a puzzle he would be for ICE.
65 years ago this week, 750 Jews trapped in the Warsaw ghetto rose up against the Nazis. They were hopelessly outmanned and outgunned: pistols and Molotov cocktails against tanks and divisions of soldiers. Today, according to the twisted logic of the department of Homeland Security, the few survivors of the ghetto would have been refused entry to the US. Clearly, something is wrong with immigration policy, but this bill is not going to fix it or _______'s
(please insert your town, state, country) economic woes."
It is up to the feds to fix immigration with comprehensive, sensible solutions. People are here in the goldene medina because they left a country where they were
living, no, subsiding, on $2 dollars per day.
Or they left a town that was taken over by monocropping and agribusiness due to our country's insatiable need to have cheap beef or strawberries in January.
G-d forbid protein should be a condiment and not a six ounce slab on our plates every night or we have to wait for summer for certain fruits.
Or they came from a maquiladora town on the US border with Mexico, a result of NAFTA,
as corporations shipped jobs there so we could get cheap goods from that big box store that starts with a W.
Then they lost their jobs when the big box found that it would be cheaper to buy from China.
So here are my questions for this week of Pesach:
Where are the Rabbi Heschel's of this generation? We are the people of the prophets who cried out for social justice.
Why do I read anti-immigration letters in the press and get such emails written by Jews? Have we forgotten what happened to our people when the Federal government of this country did not have just immigration laws?
Why was I the token Jew?
Why was the Unitarian minister quoting the "golden rule," and why was another Pastor quoting Leviticus and Rabbi Akiva? Because we taught the world about Tzedakah. And we are forgetting it now.
My final question is Rabbi Hillel's...If I am not for myself, then who will be for me? And if I am for myself only than what am I? If not now, when?
I had channeled her and Zayde only two months earlier in testimony during a committee hearing on the same bill. I hadn't intended to speak as I did not think I could add to my colleagues' testimonies, but as Legislator X interrogated two of the gentlemen, my heart started racing. Each of these men spoke in Spanish and had an interpreter. To the first one Leg. X said, "Obviously, you're an immigrant, (obviously?) I don't know if you're documented or not, but I have to ask how long have you been in this country?"
And to the second man, "I studied sociology in college and I know something about acculturation, so I have to ask, how long have you been here?" At this point I flew out of my seat, filled out a speaking card, and handed it to the deputy clerk.
"I've been hearing that this bill is not about race, but I have to wonder when people are asked how long they have been in this country.
My grandfather was ordained as a Rabbi in Europe, but when he finally was able to get here, did he work as a Rabbi? No. He drove a grocery truck.
Did he speak English? Enough to work his route.
Some of his family never made it out of Europe and burned in Hitler's ovens.
Did my Bubbe speak English? Not much.
Did they pay taxes? Yes.
Did they raise six successful children who became lawyers, and doctors and business people. Yes."
Applause. Move over Scarlet Johansson.
I was so impassioned I forgot to say that as a former ESOL teacher I would lay money on a bet that if either of those two men had children here their English would be as good as that of my sons. Maybe even better.
At the press conference, this week of Passover, I said that we remember that we were once strangers in a strange land. After seeing that part on the nightly news, my future ex-husband said that I looked angry. I thought I was just being serious. My mother-in-law said that my hair looked nice before asking me to explain what I meant.
This is code for "I disagree and that is why we are trying to sell our home near the beach as the town is being overtaken by people who don't speak English." I think some people are unaware of how long it might have taken their parents or grandparents to learn English.
Others angrily pronounce,"My grandparents came here legally. So should they." I hope that's true because maybe if I ask ICE (Immigrations and Customs Enforcement) they will deputize me to check all those documents. It would be interesting since after 1924 when a quota was imposed on WHITE Europeans, thousands of people sneaked in to the U.S.. Imagine the nerve! Escaping potato famine, or death squads, or mafia control of their village, people came here illegally!
I continued, "We also say 'Let all who are hungry come and eat' and so it was that at Sunday’s seder I sat across from a man named Levy. Miguel Enriquez Levy. I’m sure his language skills would have impressed LegislatorX. Mr. Levy speaks Spanish, English, Hebrew and Ladino. He was born in Leningrad, Russia (It's St. Petersberg now, hope the feds have their historical maps available) and grew up in Mexico. His grandfather was Moroccan. What a puzzle he would be for ICE.
65 years ago this week, 750 Jews trapped in the Warsaw ghetto rose up against the Nazis. They were hopelessly outmanned and outgunned: pistols and Molotov cocktails against tanks and divisions of soldiers. Today, according to the twisted logic of the department of Homeland Security, the few survivors of the ghetto would have been refused entry to the US. Clearly, something is wrong with immigration policy, but this bill is not going to fix it or _______'s
(please insert your town, state, country) economic woes."
It is up to the feds to fix immigration with comprehensive, sensible solutions. People are here in the goldene medina because they left a country where they were
living, no, subsiding, on $2 dollars per day.
Or they left a town that was taken over by monocropping and agribusiness due to our country's insatiable need to have cheap beef or strawberries in January.
G-d forbid protein should be a condiment and not a six ounce slab on our plates every night or we have to wait for summer for certain fruits.
Or they came from a maquiladora town on the US border with Mexico, a result of NAFTA,
as corporations shipped jobs there so we could get cheap goods from that big box store that starts with a W.
Then they lost their jobs when the big box found that it would be cheaper to buy from China.
So here are my questions for this week of Pesach:
Where are the Rabbi Heschel's of this generation? We are the people of the prophets who cried out for social justice.
Why do I read anti-immigration letters in the press and get such emails written by Jews? Have we forgotten what happened to our people when the Federal government of this country did not have just immigration laws?
Why was I the token Jew?
Why was the Unitarian minister quoting the "golden rule," and why was another Pastor quoting Leviticus and Rabbi Akiva? Because we taught the world about Tzedakah. And we are forgetting it now.
My final question is Rabbi Hillel's...If I am not for myself, then who will be for me? And if I am for myself only than what am I? If not now, when?
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