On the March
A New Scroll of LA Jewish News
Folks,
Much of how we feel about what is happening in Israel and Gaza is related to how we think about horror. In the last few weeks, the usage of the word has been on the rise, and it’s not just about the onset of Halloween. Newscasters, politicians, government officials, and activists have expressed their “horror” often when speaking, or writing about the massacre and kidnappings in southern Israel on October 7, as well as the resulting bombardment in Gaza. They are clearly horrified, and we are horrified too, but what does that mean? Webster defines horror as “an intense feeling of fear, shock, or disgust.” However, what is not defined is an individual’s response to horror. Some people enjoy watching “American Horror Story,” others, like myself, take a hard pass. Some people want to be a far removed from what they deem to be horrifying, others edge a bit closer for a better view. As it turns out, we each, depending on our backgrounds and experiences (call it an internal rating system) define what is horrific a bit differently, and when confronted with several horrors at the same time, we perform a kind of triage. If you find the massacre of Jews at a peace and love concert to be gut wrenching and disgusting, then you find that horrible, and other horrific events move to the background. If you see the deaths of Gaza civilians from bombs meant to kill Hamas fighters and leaders shocking and deplorable and avoidable, then that is the primary horror raging in your mind. Yet, I think our perception of horror also shifts, depending on who is the agent, and who is the recipient of the horror. For many in the world, even some Jews, as long as Israel remains only the recipient of horror, then that is taken as unfortunate but tolerable. But if Israel is the one creating horror, even as an unintended consequence of their actions, then that is a tragedy and intolerable, and must be stopped. Is a resolution possible? Peace, in the Jewish tradition is primary, and is so important that a prayer for it is recited at the end of the Amidah, the Kaddish, and Birkat Hamazon. As an adjunct, might we also add a prayer for the end of horror, and terror, and for seeing, regardless of point of view, the onslaught of horror for what it is: an affront to our humanity.
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Shabbat shalom.
Edmon J. Rodman
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Israel Solidarity March
Tangled up in blue and white
Edmon J. Rodman
We arrived early Sunday morning for the Solidarity March for Israel not because we're any more solid than the latter arriving marchers, but because we wanted to find a good parking spot.
Driving north on Olympic, with the steely focus of an ambulance driver, I was a very early responder. Had I drunk too much coffee? Or had events in Israel set off a siren in my head?
Beginning with the last night I spent dining in our sukkah, the shock of what came to be called the Israel-Hamas war had shaken us from our Sukkah of Peace, depositing me in a burned-out shelter of death.
But the mind is a funny thing, and after a week of angst-full MSNBC and CNN watching of the Hamas atrocities, somehow all I could think about was I needed to park my vehicle.
As I neared the coordinates of the event, I shifted into tank mode, and began to reconnoiter. Cautiously, I advanced onto a side street midway between Olympic and Pico, and without firing a shot, found an open spot.
After carefully parsing the posted parking signs, victory was mine!
We quickly advanced on the sidewalks, and soon emerged into a field of blue and white on Pico. Others had felt the urgent need to be there too; to get out from the depressing loneliness of watching the life of your people seemingly unravel news flash by news flash.
Soon, an earnest volunteer, seeing that I was without a flag both of battle and of peace, gave me one.
Not much of flag-waver, I gave it a practice thrust and parry, and was not surprised that the exercise produced a kind of blue cheer. “Is this how I express my love, my ahavas Yisroel?” I asked.
Waiting in the street for the march to begin, I was soon surrounded by others who also had come to wave their flags. Standing on the quickly heating pavement, we all entertained the hope that an hour or so in the LA sunshine, marching en masse with other grief-stricken and angry cellphone warriors, might make us feel that we were doing something to help the Jewish Homeland.
While we were waiting, an agitated man wearing a torso-covering placard like it was a form of body armor warned us, that we needed to brace ourselves; that we had not seen the worst.
Remembering my original marching orders, that I was a journalist, I raised my camera and began to take digital prisoners: A family draped in flags were obviously very much wearing the mood of the day. Very cute. They reminded me of athletes draping themselves in their country’s flag after they had won a race. But was this a premature celebration?
A woman held a sign bearing a likeness of the Golem. As in one version of the folktale, the Hebrew word “Emet” “Truth” was written on the creature’s forehead. In the story, Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel, of late 16th-century Prague, created a man of clay to protect the Jews. To keep his creation under control, all the rabbi had to do was erase the first letter of “emet,” the alef, from the creature’s forehead, and it would be “met,” or dead.
On that day, I wondered, if someone in the crowd got out of control, would simply erasing a letter from their rage get them to act their age.
Finally, somewhere the order was given, and off we marched on Pico, a group of older couples and singles, families with kids, some in strollers, many modern orthodox teenagers and young adults, and Israelis of all ages, all tangled up in blue and white.
If you were wondering, you can estimate the size of a crowd by estimating the number of people that it takes to fill a row on a street side to side, then counting the number of informal rows between street lights, and finally counting the number of street lights from beginning to end of the crowd.
Using this method, there were around 3,000 of us, marching past kosher restaurants, and markets.
The marchers, in pockets, were highly spirited, often breaking into song. “Am, Yisrael Chai,” “the people of Israel live,” they sing. The 1400 Israelis who are no more, today, they live too,” I thought.
Soon we reached the entrance to Hillcrest Country Club, started in 1923 by Jews who wanted a club of their own. With a kind of smile, I imagined the march suddenly veering through the gates onto the well-groomed greens, adding a stroke or two.
Walking ahead of us was a woman holding a pithy sign that read: “THE DAY THEY WILL LOVE THEIR CHILDREN MORE THEN [sic] THEY HATE US WILL BE PEACE.” With this catchy slogan still resonating, I thought of another: The day we love their children as much as we love ours, there also will be peace. Or at least a lot fewer dead kids.
Nearing the Museum of Tolerance, I saw a man holding a sign which read “Never Again.” I asked to take his picture, and he replied, “Yes. Thanks for asking.”
What does it mean “Never Again”? Usually related to the Holocaust, or more generally to acts of genocide, the phrase means that never again will Jews be helpless in standing against a genocidal enemy.
Upon hearing the news of the Hamas massacre, I admit to feeling helpless, and instead of “never again,” I had the tear-eyed feeling of “this again.” Never was not as long as I hoped.
The march came to an end at the museum. Around the side, in the courtyard, politicians, rabbis and other interested parties had assembled, including California’s Lieutenant Governor Eleni Kounalakis, to express their support and solidarity with the State of Israel.
Expressing feelings of another kind was Rabbi Matt Rosenberg. Standing in the street, he held a sign with a photo of a husband and wife. Beneath the photo it said “My family-murdered.”
“Debbie Shahar Troen Matias was my first cousin,” he said. She and her husband Shlomi “were killed in their home protecting their son [Rotem] who miraculously survived.”
It takes an awful time like this to bring us such miracles.
After a blue and white solidarity day of Golems and Never Agains, my car no longer was an ambulance or a tank. It was just a car, and on the drive home, stopped at a light, I thought of Rotem.
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A star for your table?
This week on Instagram there are number of home-made Jewish Star-shaped challahs. Adding a commercial touch for those who want to show their support for Israel on their Shabbat table and don't bake much, Got Kosher has created its version: a Star of David pretzel challah.
“The recent terrorist attacks in Israel have caused immense pain and suffering to the Israeli people and Jews around the world,” said the bakery. “It is crucial for us to acknowledge the depth of this tragedy and express our unwavering support for the country's right to defend itself and protect its citizens.”
Each challah weighs 1.5 pounds, and will be available in limited supply at the store on Friday.
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Live from the Archive*
When the tanks begin to roll out in Israel, it’s always a mixed message of military might, and deep, deep tzuris. In past decades, for those tank crewmen in the Israel Defense Forces who served in them there was a metal Armored Combatant’s pin. This example (1 3/8" X 6/8"), which has two pin backs to hold it level, was found in a Hollywood thrift shop in the mid 1970’s.
During both the Six Day and Yom Kippur Wars, we were glued to our radios and TVs. Afterwards, who could forget the horrendous images of burned-out Egyptian tanks in the Sinai published in both Time and Newsweek. The Israeli soldiers who crewed these armored vehicles and wore these insignia were our heroes.
*The Rodman Archive of Los Angeles Jewish History is a collection of approximately 1000 objects, photos, clothing, art, books, recordings, and ephemera relating to the lives and endeavors of Jewish Angelenos between 1850 and 1980.
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Seen on the Way: Beverly Hills
Hebrew, and the people who speak it are in the news these days, and for those who want to expand their connection to the language, or just want to touch base with Israeli culture, the Steimatzky bookstore in Beverly Hills has a store-full of contemporary books in Hebrew.
The store (9047 W. Olympic Blvd) is stocked with Hebrew literature, non-fiction, cookbooks and easy-reading kids’ books. They also carry books about Israel in English.
Beyond books, game players can find a Hebrew version of Monopoly, or a box of King of Falafel cards.
While dropping in (open every day but Shabbat), you can also pick up an Israeli flag, or an Israel Defense Force hat and shirt, giving you something to wear, perhaps, while reading a book about Israel history.
The Steimatzky bookstore was opened in 1925 by Yechezkel Steimatzky, and eventually became the leading bookstore in Israel with 143 locations. As an early innovator in making books more available in Israel, Steimatzky created a bookmobile.
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