Prologue

Don’t ask me why I still remember such a trivial incident, something that happened some twenty years ago, but here it is…

It must have been on a Friday, because I was heading home from work mid-day, walking the one block on W. 40 St. between the subway station and Port Authority. And there were two guys duking it out in the middle of the street. Not going at it, as in a bar room brawl with fists flying. More shuffling than scuffling, a lot of dancing and prancing, with every once in a while, one of the guys attempting to land a punch. One of the combatants was a good ten years older than the other, and it was obvious he was running out of steam.

I was not going to get in the middle of this fracas, but as I walked along I noticed two of ‘NYC’s finest’ standing and chatting. Officers, there are two guys fighting down the block, and one of them is going to get hurt. Would you please go over and break it up? The two of them ambled off and, I assume, restored order, as I kept going, intending to catch my bus.

What was that all about? Why were these two guys at odds, choosing the middle of a busy street as their venue? And how would the fight have ended if I hadn’t summoned the two policemen? In a real boxing match, there are rules, a certain number of rounds, with a bell at the end of each one, and a conclusion, with one participant declared the winner and everyone going home. But a street fight with no rules? Maybe one or both of the guys would become too tired to go on. Or worse. But I never found out.

A dream about a dream….

I don’t know why I still remember that particular incident, and likewise there are times when I wake up from a dream and wonder, what was that all about? Why was I thinking of that? But sometimes you know at least the context, what prompted the path to my subconscious. I still have dreams involving my 30-year career as a civil servant. And many of us have standard anxiety dreams, where we’re unable to accomplish what we need to, like remembering to feed your baby or finding your way to your classroom for the final exam – even though your infant has an infant of her own and you took your last final exam thirty years ago.

But then, there’s what happened on your block or in your country yesterday, and that’s what you’re dreaming about. What about ‘the situation’ here in The Land. How does that worm its way into dreamland?

A month ago (?), a post appeared on badiscuss – an unofficial email forum for Beth Aaron (our old shul back in Teaneck) members – from, let’s call him, ‘M,’ someone whose background and point of view distinguishes him from most of the crowd that assembles on a Shabbat morning. It’s not as if M is abusing the system; he writes something once every few months that seems contrary to the party line, knowing that almost no one is going to agree with him. And does he get flak!

His latest effort was a link to an article about the food situation – or more precisely, the lack-of-food situation – in Gaza. And the usual crowd of boo-birds was waiting, not so much attacking the accuracy of the information presented, but the credentials of the correspondents. Do you know who so-and-so is? As if someone you don’t like is automatically wrong; although, to be fair, the pro-Hamas crowd (which does not include ‘M’) has no shame in promoting wildly fake news.

I rarely get involved in these disputations, leaving the verbal fisticuffs to the folks back home on the west bank of the Hudson River, but the matter of nutrition in what used to be Gush Katif is of some importance. What is the actual situation in that place-where-no one-would-want-to-be, and how and why is it that what many Israeli persons-on-the-street believes is going on seems to be so markedly different from what of the rest of the world thinks? I had some thoughts on these matters and was preparing a few sentences to express my opinion. However, when I mentioned my intention to someone we know from way back, I got a reaction that stunned me. (Let’s call this person ‘A.’) A was so upset with M’s occasional posts, that A unsubscribed from the email group. What’s more, if everyone across the Gaza border died tomorrow, that would be of no concern. End of conversation – at least for then.

Because I read a lot and pay attention, and from time to time actually have conversations with people I know, I am exposed to a wide range of opinions on the issues at hand, ranging from none-of-it’s-Israel’s-fault to it’s-all-Israel’s-fault.

I’ve run into a number of people who hold the let-them-all-starve sentiment. I’m not so much interested in the validity – or lack thereof – of such a position; I’m just imagining them defending it on TV. Let me get this straight; you wouldn’t mind if two million people died of starvation? Only if necessary, you say? Perhaps explaining that some/much/most of the blame for the situation lies with Hamas would be a more useful talking point.

But it was the notion of defending one’s opinion on the matter – whatever that is – in front of a crowd of people you don’t know that intrigued me. I was so focused on this scenario, playing it over and over in my head, that I wound up dreaming – or maybe dreaming that I was dreaming – that I was being called in at the last minute to substitute for a friend who was calling in sick. She was on tap to give a presentation at a local community center to explain Israel’s position on the continuing war in Gaza. (Only in a dream about a dream could this ever happen. It would be like me defending the management of Jerusalem’s light rail as to why they are trying to build six lines at the same time, messing up more of the city’s traffic than anyone would have thought possible.) I had my friend’s list of talking points, and I was as prepared as I was going to be – except I soon realized that my talking points were already over a week old, a lifetime considering the situation.

I have to give the moderator credit; she was definitely prepared. And she knew better than to rely on information from Hamas or other sketchy sources. She didn’t need to. Instead she began by ‘killing me softly with his song.’

We all know about the horrific events of Oct. 7,2023 in Israel. Since then, Israel has retaliated forcefully – many say too forcefully – against Hamas. Some have even used the term ‘genocide’ to describe Israel’s destruction of most of Gaza’s infrastructure, with the loss of some 60,000 Palestinian lives and the threat of mass starvation. To defend Israel’s position on this conflict, we have with us today an Israeli settler who has been blogging about life in the West Bank for eighteen years. I understand he lives a stone’s throw from E1, the controversial area that has been in the news recently.

‘Thank you for inviting me. As for being a ‘settler,’ let me say, I would simply ‘settle’ for a cold drink right about now. (Some response from the audience.) Otherwise, I’m pretty much settled in; we’ve been living in Ma’ale Adumim for eighteen years now, and no one on the other side has been evicted from their home because of us. Just so you know. And yes, you can stand on our balcony and look out over E1, which is a bunch of barren hilltops with an occasional tree – exactly how Ma’ale Adumim looked in 1980 before we created a city. I have some prepared remarks that I can read from, but I understand that many of you have your own questions or comments. How about if you get to say what’s on your mind, and I’ll respond as best I can.’

What I was advised to do, no matter what the question or comment, was focus on how the person would react if their neighborhood was attacked by armed thugs, with friends and relatives murdered, assaulted, kidnapped, and held hostage. Keep it as much as possible at that level: how would you want your government to respond? As long as you do that, I was advised, you are on safe ground. The further you stray from that, the weaker your position will be. Don’t get into discussions about the various factions in the dysfunctional Israeli leadership, especially the loudmouths talking about evacuating every last Palestinian or nuking Gaza. If someone mentions the protests against the government, just ascribe it to the strength of the democratic system in which people can protest. You get the idea. You got a lemon…

This strategy worked for the first few audience members. And then…. an elderly, sort of disheveled woman stood up from the audience and, in a loud voice, demanded, What about the children who are starving in Gaza, what about them? And she started walking towards me until she was right in my face. People, children are starving right now.

Why did she look and sound like Pooms, our geriatric cat. And what was our cat doing in a community center in NJ? I realized I was still dreaming, but I kept hearing Poom’s trademark shrill cry. Then I woke up for real. Our cat was standing next to me, howling in my ear. She had finished the container of food we had given her an hour or two before, and she was still hungry. At least, this problem was manageable. I staggered to my feet, trudged down the hall to the kitchen, prepared another bowl of fish, and returned. In our house, no one goes hungry. That’s the rule. (We do have rules, after all.) All you have to do is announce that you’re hungry, and you will be fed. All in favor of making that a universal rule, please raise your hand.