A pointed question from my brother

It wasn’t stated as a challenge or a rebuke, more as an assumption, something similar to, Have you had a chance yet to check out the new sushi joint in the mall? – because it would be only a matter of time before we, with chopsticks aloft, were stuffing sashimi into our mouths.My brother was simply asking me if I had participated in any of the demonstrations here in The Land against the so-called ‘judicial reforms.’ I know you. Sooner or later, Fred, you WILL show up because that’s who you are. You were never one to watch from the sidelines.

No, I haven’t been to any, was my response. What I was thinking was, I’m too old and weary for this stuff. I’ve been involved since about 1960: demonstrations, protests, marches, rallies, strikes, picket lines, meetings, union work, all the things I’ve written, the whole kit and caboodle, with a Freedom Ride or two thrown in as the cherry on the top. Maybe some other folks, perhaps a tad younger and more energetic, can pick up the burden, carry the torch, lead the way, and let me alone to sit and think deep thoughts.

My actual response was more prosaic. I explained that most of the major events were in Tel Aviv or other places equally distant and hard to get to – especially if public transportation was being disrupted, either by design or by the sheer number of people involved. There were some smaller demonstrations in Jerusalem, but I’m not in the loop. Obviously, the people who show up know when or where to go, but I never got the message until it was too late. And this went on for month after month until….

We were having dinner in Jerusalem on a Monday night with a couple we’ve known for a long time. Barbara, in all innocence, mentioned that she was supposed to join our friend Abby Leichman at a Nefesh b’Nefesh event the following evening. However, my wife was concerned about getting to the new NBN space in Cinema City, as that Tues. was scheduled to be another Day of Disruption. And that prompted our fellow diner to start mumbling about ‘anarchists,’ and ‘they don’t know why they’re marching.’

Really? All the protesters, as in the folks in High Tech, the financial sector, the bar association, the academicians, the doctors who are threatening to go on strike, the IDF reservists who have been serving as volunteers for twenty or thirty years who won’t be showing up from now on, they’re all anarchists? Rightly, or wrongly, they don’t know why they’re out on the street? There’s a meme I saw on Facebook that has served me well, although I’m careful never express it aloud: My failure to respond does not indicate my assent; I have been left speechless by your stupidity. Don’t bat an eyelash or move a muscle. Just ignore the guy and move on.

Which I did. But a response was called for. (Anarchists, my left toenail!) Plus, there it was in the Jerusalem Post. Among the other events listed for that Tuesday was a mention of a demonstration in front of the President’s House in Jerusalem at 6:30PM. Now I had both a motivation and the information I needed. Barbara would join Abby for some vegan food, and I would be off for some political ‘red meat.’

You wanna say….

(Before I go any further, you wanna say that the tactics of the protesters are too extreme and are counter-productive? I’m not saying you’re wrong. You wanna say that the ‘reasonableness’ provision, whereby the Israeli courts can nullify some governmental action by declaring it unreasonable – which is the bone of contention du jour – needs to be clarified and modified? I don’t pretend to understand the in’s and out’s of all this. Remember, I’m just a poor boy a long way from home. So, I’m willing to listen. So come on over, if you will, and let’s discuss the matter. You may want a cold drink (Just no soda; I don’t want to poison you!) or some of Brandon Treger’s best coffee. Even something stronger. But there are some issues on which I’ll never concede. It is not ‘reasonable’ that Aryeh Deri be allowed to serve as a minister in any government. [He was removed from office by the courts in 1999 by the same standard of unreasonableness shortly before he was convicted of bribery, fraud and breach of trust and sent to prison. Last year, he avoided jail time for similar offences by agreeing to stay away from the Knesset, which he hasn’t done.] And it’s perfectly ‘reasonable’ to me that there is SOMEBODY or some institution with the authority to say NO, you cannot let this travesty continue. Otherwise, it’s like a football game without a referee, and each side can change the rules if they’re ahead. Perhaps, if you and I chat long enough, we’ll come to the realization that some kind of compromise on these issues needs to be reached. And we can look longingly to the day when the constitution that the nation was promised in 1949 is signed, sealed, and delivered, so we all know what the rules are, binding on all parties. But nothing happens quickly here in The Land.)

I arrive, as promised

As promised, at exactly 6:45PM that Tues. eve., I was standing opposite the President’s House. Umm, there’s nobody there. Then I saw in front of me two men and a woman, all middle-aged, carrying flags and wearing appropriate t-shirts, tell-tale indications of where they were heading. Well, I’ll follow them; they must know. At the bottom of the hill on Hanasi Street those three and a few other similarly attired folks were milling about. What was the attraction? Apparently, a Mousseline ice cream store, that’s what.

It was hot and I was considering the possibility that I had come all this way for nothing. It just so happens that Mousseline had been declared the best ice cream in town in a recent article in the Jerusalem Post. Some serious fact-checking was in order. And I was entitled. Or so I said. Anyway, I walked into the store, waited my turn, and ordered a smallest cup they had, still more than I wanted. By the time I walked back outside, the three people I was trailing had disappeared. Still, there were other would-be demonstrators coming and going, disappearing into an alleyway across the street. Then a young woman came striding purposefully down the hill with a steely glint in her eyes, not only wearing a proper t-shirt but carrying a small drum. Either she was heading to a demonstration or going to band practice. Follow her! She and a few other stragglers walked across the street into the alleyway, which turned out to be a set of stairs going down to another set of stairs and finally to another street – the same arrangement we have here in Ma’ale Adummim. Watch your step. I don’t want to trip, but I need to keep a firm grip on my ice cream, which in the heat was already melting. We reached the bottom, hung a left, and there at the bottom were a few hundred people assembled with flags, loudspeakers, noisemakers, and a contingent of drummers, banging away. (It could have been July 4^th in Concord, MA.)

Then, after a while, those assembled, the number growing by the minute, began walking slowly up Sderot Ben Tzvi, and there I was in the middle, feeling somewhat ‘naked and bare.’ I didn’t have a flag to wave, a t-shirt to wear, a drum to bang, a sign to hold, or a noisemaker to toot. All I had was a pair of pants stained with chocolate ice-cream and a very convincing resumé of past participation, mostly in another country – in case anybody was interested, which nobody was.

When we first started marching, I was concerned that I would have trouble retracing my steps, but I soon realized that we were headed towards the center of town with the String Bridge and two not-quite-finished office towers directly in front of me. Just keep going and you’ll wind up near the light rail. Relax and enjoy the energy; I’ve done this hundreds of time before.

But what were all these people chanting? It’s DEMOCRATZIA something. ‘Democratzia omedet’ (Democracy is standing)? No that’s not right.  Maybe ‘democratzia ovedet’ (Democracy is working)? Later, when I got home, Barbara and I figured out that is must be ‘Democratzia overet,’but what does that mean? I pondered the matter for a few minutes and conjectured, you’ll see a sign in a storefront window, ‘Avarnu.’ In other words, the business moved down the block or wherever. That must be it; something like, ‘democracy is on the move,’ or some such. After all, the procession of protesters was slowly moving along, crossing several streets, although many of the younger generation were expending more energy jumping up and down than heel-and-toe-ing it. I should mention that I was not the oldest person in the ever-growing procession. Nor was I the only gent sporting a kippah. A very mixed group of friendly people. Definitely democracy on the move. At some point, the procession came to a halt at a street corner, mounted police in front, by now a few thousand people behind. I’ve done what I can do, said I. Just keep walking; head towards the landmarks – the ones I mentioned before – find the light rail and you’ll be home, if not in the twinkle of an eye, but soon enough. Nobody noticed the ice cream all over my trousers. Or if they did, they were too polite to mention it.

Back in my own home town

Let’s jump ahead a few days from Tuesday evening to Shabbat morning. It being the Shabbat before Rosh Hodesh, I was preparing an extra-large batch of White Russians for those who would be assembling – to go with the usual helpings of herring and cold brew coffee. In walked friend Ezra, who inquired if I knew about the competing demonstrations that evening. No I did not; please enlighten me. It was all over various social media, but I’m not as keen a follower of these platforms as he is. (I’m so out of the loop, it’s disgusting!) Both the proponents and opponents of the legislative changes had applied for permits to assemble en masse at the entrance to our fair city – of course on opposite sides of the divided road.

I gotta go to this one. First of all, I had no excuses. I couldn’t claim I didn’t know, I couldn’t say it was too hard to get there, and I couldn’t say I had another pressing engagement. All I had planned was to hang out with our Shabbat guests, Sol and Mira, who would be staying in our fair town until Sun. morning. But they could hang out without me. Plus I was curious – something I rarely am. This is a Likud town. I never in my wildest imagination figured there would be enough of us anti-government types to make a minyan, let alone put together a respectable demonstration. And what about the other guys (Whatever Bibi wants, Bibi gets…), would they be out in force? Would anybody I know show up, on either side? Only one way to find out.

I raced home from shul Sat. night as fast as my legs would carry me. We ‘made’ Havdalah, I changed my shoes, stuck my ID in my pocket, and I was good to go. Barbara was thinking of accompanying me, but she legitimately cannot stand in one place for any length of time. (Serves us well getting through Security at the airport.) Mira, who is a tenured professor of political theory back in The States, had thoughts about going but wound up asking me to represent her. Solly? He has inherited standard Swiss remain-neutral-at-all-costs genes from his family. He will find reasons not to vote for either candidate in any election. I suggested that he come along and stand in the middle of the street, equidistant from either faction. He didn’t take me up on my suggestion,  but it was my best offer.

It was a long walk on a humid evening to the entrance to Ma’ale Adummim. (The information about the demonstrations conjectured there would be a disruption of bus service heading out of town, which is why I walked.) Sure enough, two demonstrations, one on either side of the divided street. Let’s first make certain I’m with the correct demonstration, which was the side heading out. Then let me amble through the crowd to see if there’s anybody I know. Sure enough, there’s Shelly and David Brinn. I positioned myself in the front right by the barrier and looked around our side and then squinted at who was on the other side. I couldn’t see much, but they were making lots of noise. (I think there were a few hundred people on our side, a tad more across the street.) After a few minutes, noticing my ‘naked and bare’ status, David Brinn handed me a standard issue demonstration-size Israeli flag, which I continued to wave in time to the chanting.

From my vantage point, I could see the people in the cars driving past, heading out of the city. A lot of folks just drove by; they had other things on their mind than our squabble with our neighbors. Some drivers gestured a thumbs up or honked their horns in support. Some just the opposite. One guy leaned over his two young kids on the passenger side and tried to spit at us. Good role modeling!!!! One very large guy stopped his car in front of us, got out, and intended to head our way. A very efficient officer of the law grabbed him, twisted his arm behind his back, slammed him into the side of his car, wrestled him inside, and sent him on his merry way. No worries.

David Brinn, being an editor at JPost, had no difficulty getting his take on the demonstration published in Monday’s edition. You might want to read it. Through all the racket on both sides of the street, I couldn’t make out what the other side was chanting. Apparently, our loyalty to the country was being called into question, and our neighbors across the street were more than hinting that we should wend our way back to Azariya (the neighboring Arab town), where they mistakenly assumed we were from! (Whenever you are confronted by someone who wants you return to someplace you’ve never been, be careful. They’re certainly of limited intelligence but prone to violence.)

By 10PM, I figured that I had done what I could do. Clutching my newly acquired flag, I walked to a bus stop and boarded a bus that would take me close to where we live. Barbara and our two guests were still in the living room when I returned, eager to hear about my adventures and admire my flag. I am now an official participant, and my brother will, I’m sure, be proud of me – even if some of our community won’t be.

A few days later, I saw something that had been posted on Facebook before the demonstrations, ‘hoping we can all demonstrate peacefully and with mutual respect.’ There was one response. ‘Why don’t we reach a compromise and have everyone stay home?’ Now there’s a thought. Maybe our side can accept the fact that we are in fact traitors and anarchists. Just so long as we’re not forced to move, lock-stock-and-barrel across the wadi to Azariya – where I’ve never been before.