by Brian on February 1, 2011
in Politics
IDF Chief of Staff candidate Yoav Galant
UPDATE: The Attorney General has decided not to defend Galant. Crime, it seems, will not be rewarded in this case!
One of the most frustrating parts of living in Israel is when people think they’re above the law. You see it on the highways (speeding, not yielding the right of way in a traffic circle) and in apartment complexes (doing construction in shared areas without clearing it with the other residents first), just to name a few.
But when a public official is caught blatantly abusing his position by grabbing land that doesn’t belong to him, that reflects badly on all of us. Which is why it’s so upsetting that the nominee for the next IDF Chief of Staff, Yoav Galant, was found in a report published last week by State Comptroller Micha Lindenstrauss to have illegally taken property belonging to the moshav in which he lives…and then lied in not one but two affidavits on the matter.
Galant’s response: it’s not my fault. Blame my lawyer. Blame my contractor.
The specifics of the case involve Galant planting a grove of olive trees on public land that he did not own, building a private driveway to his property through another patch of land, and building additional floor space in his home without a permit (for which he swore under oath that he had requested but did not).
The issues were raised on behalf of the moshav by the Green Movement. Attorney-General Yehuda Weinstein must now decide, on the basis of the state comptroller’s findings, whether to defend Galant’s IDF appointment in the High Court against the Green Movement’s petition.
All this would be annoying but unfortunately Middle Eastern typical if this were not the guy who is supposed to be protecting us from Iran, Hezbollah, Hamas and any other militaries gunning for our destruction. If he rolls over his neighbors, what other “liberties” will he take with the law? And his “blame the other guy” attitude doesn’t bode well either.
With few other viable candidates for the position in sight, and outgoing Chief of Staff Gabi Ashkenazi involved in his own scandal, losing Galant would be a serious blow to the country’s preparedness. But the alternative – letting an accused criminal off the hook because he’s considered indispensable – would send a message to the rest of the country that I don’t want to consider.
This article was published last week on the Israelity blog.
Hodaya, the most famous "datlashit" from the TV show "Srugim"
In the U.S. and most western countries, Jews tend to identify their religious affiliation through one of the major Jewish movements, be it Conservative, Reform, Orthodox, Reconstructionist, Jewish Renewal, and even Secular Humanistic Judaism. Not so in Israel, where one’s religious standing is far more nuanced. In a country that loves army-influenced acronyms, a whole school of literary shortcuts and word play have sprung up.
The two simplest and most frequent appellations are “dati” and “hiloni” – “religious” and “secular” respectively. Within the religious category, however, there is “haredi” (“ultra-Orthodox”); “dati leumi” (“national religious” also known as “modern Orthodox” and the basis for the main characters in the hit Israeli TV drama “Srugim”); “dati lite” (religious but not too stringent, as in “I’ll kiss you and still put on tefilin in the morning”); “masorti” (“conservative” but with a lower case “c” – as in, “we keep kosher but watch a movie after Shabbat dinner”); and a pejorative label used by haredim to describe anyone less frum than them: “reformim” (no translation required).
The strangest? “Hardal” (an acronym for “haredi leumi” – for those ultra-Orthodox who also serve in the army). The funny part is that the word in modern Hebrew also means “mustard.” Does that mean that they prefer spicy condiments on their glatt kosher army rations?
Where it gets really interesting is that there is a whole new emerging lexicon of terms for religion “in transition.” For the formerly religious, there’s “datlash” (“dati l’sheavar,” literally “religious in the past”) and its parallel “hozer b’shealah” (“return to questioning”). Going in the other direction and becoming religious, you can say “hozer b’tshuva” (“returning to repentance”) or “ba’al tshuva” (a true “master” of repentance).
A religious person who believes men and women should receive equal rights to be called up to the Torah would be a “datash” (for “dati l’shivyoni,” a religious egalitarianist), while someone who thinks he or she might become religious down the road (maybe after marrying a religious person – these kinds of “mixed marriages” are becoming increasingly common in Israel – would be a “datla” for “dati l’etid” (literally “religious in the future”).
My favorite of all is a new one I just heard from an Israeli friend: “Hashash” (for “hiloni shomer Shabbat” – apparently someone who is entirely secular but also keeps the Sabbath). The word in modern Hebrew also means “fear” or “apprehension” which led my friend to say to me “I have a hashash that you are really a hashash.” Perhaps she would prefer that I was a “hozer b’shealah l’sheavar” – a religious person who becomes non-religious and then becomes religious again.
Confused? Just invent one of your own!
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My first foray into Hebrew jargon was published on the Israelity blog.
Refugees travel from Sudan north through Egypt to Israel
One of the hot topics in the news these past months has been the steady influx of refugees from Africa who have crossed the border between Egypt and Israel, and Israel’s subsequent response of building a fence to keep the Africans out.
With 1,000 refugees arriving every month now, the issue is not trivial. It’s further complicated by the historical Jewish imperative to treat the less fortunate with kindness and compassion and not close the floodgates.
Until recently, the subject was mostly theoretical for me. I had never sat down and actually talked with someone who had made the long journey northward and slipped across the Sinai border.
So I was very intrigued when the opportunity arose to spend a Shabbat meal with a refugee from Darfur, now living in Jerusalem and working as a cleaner. Ma’awiya Mohamed Adam, who goes by his “cultural” name Jack, had earlier in the day given a talk at our synagogue. He joined us at the Shabbat table of our friends Bob and Ruth, accompanied by a volunteer from the U.S. who is helping him write and edit his speaking material.
Jack was quite articulate as he explained who was fighting whom, why, and for how long. We learned about peace agreements that have been broken, and the current struggles by southern Sudan to secede from the violent north.
Near the end of the conversation, I decided to ask a tough and potentially inflammatory question. What did Jack think of the fence Israel is building? He must be against something that would prevent his country-mates from finding safe haven in Israel, I imagined. His answer surprised me.
Jack was all for the fence, he said. He understood Israel’s dilemma and explained that, as a small country, Israel could not be expected to absorb refugees indefinitely. The fence should be built…but here was the kicker: all refugees already in Israel should receive legal resident status and be allowed to work and build their families here, at least until the fighting stops in Darfur.
”I feel like I am family with many Israelis,” Jack said during his formal talk in shul. “But inside I am still Sudanese and I will go back to Sudan when peace comes.”
What would happen to other would-be asylum seekers, I asked? There were other countries in Africa that would take in the displaced Sudanese, Jack assured us. Once word filtered south that there was now a wall preventing entry into Israel, the flow would surely stop.
I’m not sure what to make of Jack’s response. Was he presenting a politically balanced position calculated to win Israeli favor, or was he thinking mostly about how to make the best of his own situation, while averting his eyes to others in a similar, bleak predicament?
The fence and the African migration test Israel’s conceptions about what kind of country we want to be. Should we be a refuge for at least some of the world’s most downtrodden? Or must we protect ourselves from the slippery slope of a demographic danger.
I don’t have an easy answer. And neither, apparently, did our new friend Jack.
This post appeared on the Israelity blog after our Shabbat meal with Jack
Basya Schechter in Jerusalem (photo: Warren Burstein)
Basya Schechter has long been one of my favorite Jewish musicians. Whether with her seven piece band, Pharaoh’s Daughter, or stripped down (metaphorically, please) in an acoustic show, Schechter offers an intriguing mashup of ethnically tinged Shabbat zemirot, Ladino love songs, and wistful Yiddish poetry. Her playlist ranges from neo-Klezmer to Egyptian-tinged Middle Eastern rhythms.
Schechter performed last week at a house concert in Baka. It was an intimate setting – some 50 people in the living room of Bob Trachtenberg and Ruth Mason – with just Schehcter and her guitar virtuoso partner Eyal Maoz on stage.
Given the small space, before the concert, Schechter and I started casually chatting. “I love your music,” I said. “But what’s up with the name ‘Basya?’ Why not Batya with a ‘t?’” I asked referring to the modern Hebrew pronunciation that’s standard in Israel.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve been asked that,” Schechter sighed. I could see I’d hit a sore spot. “But my name is Basya. It’s always been Basya!”
If you know a little about Schechter’s background, the name makes more sense. The “s” sound used for the Hebrew letter “tav” indicates that the speaker comes from an Ashkenazi, often ultra-Orthodox Hassidic background. And, indeed, that’s how Schechter grew up: in a large Yiddish-speaking family from Brooklyn where she was only exposed to boys and popular music in her late teens.
Shechter is now the black sheep, so to speak, of her extended clan. Dressed for the concert in a short mini-shirt/skirt and tight black leggings, she left the Orthodox fold many years ago to pursue a secular music career, one that doesn’t fit so neatly into the traditional role of a shomer mitzvot Jewish matriarch. She plays in the Friday night band at Bnei Jeshurun, a Conservative synagogue in New York; has seven CDs out, some solo, others with Pharaoh’s Daughter; and learned to strum the oud and saz while hitchhiking through Africa and Turkey.
NewYorkCool.com referred to her band this way: “Have you ever wondered what would happen if Pink Floyd and PJ Harvey crossed paths in a cafe in Israel and subsequently took a road trip to South Africa? What if they met up with Radiohead in Morocco along the way?”
One of her haredi brothers (Schechter has seven siblings in Israel) only recently mustered up the courage to listen to some of her CDs and was shocked. As Schechter told the audience, “Wow, Basya, he said. Your music is more Jewish than the stuff I listen to!”
Hence, sticking with “Basya,” the way it’s always been pronounced, symbolizes Schechter’s achievement in blending the music of her roots with the contemporary arrangements and melodies she writes. She never abandoned tradition entirely; many (perhaps including her brother, now) would even say she’s enhanced it, making it accessible to an entirely different population that’s open to the past without feeling obliged to adopt any more than a musical lifestyle.
“So what’s your Hebrew name?” Schechter playfully asked me.
“Ariel,” I replied cautiously.
“That’s a great name,” she said. “You should use it. Maybe you’ll get even more readers!”
“But my name is Brian. It’s always been Brian. That’s how people have known me since I was born.”
“Same with Basya,” she smiled back.
My talk with Basya was reported this week on the Israelity blog.
My daughter's no dummy
I’ve written before about how our family has become addicted to GroopBuy, the Jerusalem-based knock-off of the uber-popular Groupon in the U.S. (which just raised a ton of money this week).
The GroopBuy service offers a single “deal a day” with a big discount – say, a coupon for a NIS 120 meal at a trendy eatery for only NIS 40. If enough people reserve the deal to meet a GroopBuy-set minimum, your credit card is charged and you can download your coupon. There’s usually a time limit and a certain number of coupons per person or table. We’ve purchased from GroopBuy several times and enjoyed the results.
But there’s a dark side too. In our case: the Israeli hairdresser. We bought our daughter a coupon for a NIS 200 haircut for only NIS 60. She went in this week to claim her ‘do. But when she presented the coupon at the end of her haircut, the stylist refused.
“The coupon is only for one of my workers,” Eyal Sadon, the hairdresser and owner of the shop on Emek Refaim Street bearing his name, told my daughter. “I don’t need to give away my own services, I’m very busy.”
Never mind that the coupon said NIS 200 worth of styling and Sadon was the only one in the shop who charges that. Was he pulling a bait and switch – pay NIS 60 for your coupon to get a NIS 80 cut from a trainee and maybe the teenage girl won’t notice?
My daughter called me for help and I got on the phone with Sadon. “She can get a cartisia,” he said, referring to a kind of “membership” card with 10 cuts for the price of 9. Yeah, like we were ever going to go back to him.
I stood my ground. “She doesn’t have NIS 200 with her,” I told him firmly. “She came in with her coupon and you’re going to honor it.”
Perhaps it was out of a sense that his actions wouldn’t lead to new referrals (true), or maybe the fact that, the way GroopBuy works, he already had the money in his bank account from when our credit card was charged. For whatever reason, he backed down, gave a curt “OK” and hung up the phone.
I don’t have any sage advice here. Some vendors will be honest, others scoundrels and it’s hard to know when you buy. In general, I’d recommend sticking with deals where there is a clear price for an objective service (a restaurant or an annual pass to the Jerusalem Cinemateque for half price, as offered by competing group buy site Baligam).
And avoid any too good to be true sales where ambiguity may necessitate unexpected bargaining – like with a hairdresser aiming to take an altogether unkind cut.
I ranted about Eyal Sadon on Israelity first.
