From the Sanhedrin police records

I am sitting in this cell. Until yesterday, I was the one to put people here. But I’m a fugitive now – at least I was for a few hours.

On the eve of the feast, my master’s lieutenant came to me. He told me to find and watch a certain house in town.

I’m not quite sure what this feast is about. Some spirit or god passing over, or something. I was born far away and my master’s lieutenant bought me off the street in Hebron years ago. Mind you, I don’t even know how old I am. Continue reading

Privilege Report #canyoudrinkthecup

Yes, I had a very painful injury a month ago. Yes, I had to undergo spinal surgery. Yes, it will take at least three months to fully heal. Yes, I am confined to our apartment till then.

But then:

I do not have to live in a war zone. In fact, I live in a nice neighborhood of a major city, and I have no problem getting sustenance or clothes to wear.

With some help from family connections, I received first-rate health care – for free. And I had access to one of the best neurosurgeons in the country.

I did not have to wait weeks for the MR scan, and I did not have to wait months for the surgery.

My condition was not life-threatening, and my recovery will (hopefully) be full. I am not losing organs, movement, or brain function.

I did not lose my job during my sick leave. And if I had lost my job – I am not the only earner in the family.

Last but not least, I have family, friends, colleagues who gave me help, love, and compassion throughout my predicament.

I realize this makes me immensely privileged: I am probably a one-percenter in my country. I cannot help but feel immensely grateful for my situation, for the help I got, and for the people in my life.

They say privileged liberals love to feel guilty. But it is as it should be: no-one deserves privilege. Being “grateful” for one’s situation is probably as good as “thoughts and prayers” in the wake of a school shooting.

So: What about others who deserve health-care, a place to live, sustenance, and people in their lives – and do not get them? When I take my privilege for granted – how can I take others’ deprivation for granted at the same time?

What do I do to build a society where one does not have to be a one-percenter to have all this?

We are tempted to say: “Let’s just live life. All this thinking about it only makes things harder.” Still, we intuitively know that without looking at life critically we lose our vision and our direction. When we drink the cup without holding it first, we may simply get drunk and wander around aimlessly.

Henri J. M. Nouwen: Can you drink the cup?


Fathers, teach your sons well – to be different from you

Last night my daughter came to me and said, “I want to talk”. I said, “Sure, what’s on your mind?” “Nothing really, whatever you want”, she said.

She’s turning 13 today.

Without much hesitation, I asked her if she was ever groped or touched in any way that she didn’t want – by a schoolmate, an adult, or by a teacher. She said no. I have reasons to believe her – and I have other reasons not to. My intended message was that she could (and should) come to us immediately when anything like this happens. And I just hope I was not too late here.

Then I told her, in no uncertain terms, that she must never, never ever allow anyone to touch her without her permission. “Slap, shove, run, and go to the principal if it happens at school”, I told her. And, of course, to tell us.

Why did I do this? Because of her birthday? Because of the flood of #MeToo messages in my newsfeed? I think both – but I also have a very vivid memory from 7th and 8th grade. I don’t know how it had begun: in the classroom, a group of boys were regularly restraining and violently groping female classmates who were already showing womanly features.

I think that was the only time we approved of our math teacher – who was strict almost to the degree of being violent – slapping and punishing these guys. It was in 1984. I don’t think these boys knew or understood what was wrong with what they’d done. I have reason to believe they were never taught otherwise by their parents – not even by their mothers.

Was I part of this group? No. Does that make me a hero? No. I was always the cowardly kind, always hellbent on following rules. An introvert and a coward, back at the time I could never bring myself to talk to, let alone touch, girls.

Am I one of #NotAllMen? I don’t know. And that’s exactly the point. I work for a small company (which I own part of) that allows more intimacy among co-workers than a large corporation would. And I’m prone to touch people that I like or that I want to reassure.

I’m also the kind of man who ‘didn’t promise blindness in marriage’. That is, I do look at, notice, and appreciate female beauty in women other than my wife. And that gaze isn’t always directed at the face. And I’m tempted to flirt, and sometimes I do flirt, and I have reason to believe that sometimes, at least sometimes, this is not appropriate.

But the point is, I don’t know. Men (as most harassers are men) don’t know. More often than not, they can’t fathom anything wrong with treating women, often children, as property. As resources, for work and pleasure. (Before you hit back – no, this does not make that behavior acceptable.)

Just this morning I read two things I sympathized with but didn’t entirely like: that men must come forward, own up to what they’ve done (what they’re doing), apologize, and change. Another article says that men have just one job at this point: to listen up, and listen tight to what women who come forward with #MeToo have to say.

Before anything else, let me say this: I hear you. I believe you. And I will keep listening as long as you have something to say. And if I’ve ever done anything inappropriate, or anything that amounts to even borderline harassment, I apologize.

But this is not enough. We are just scratching the surface here. Yet we have a lot of work to do.

Work to prevent boys from becoming harassers when they grow up.

To teach them that women are not objects or resources. That a human being cannot be owned or used. That you must, at all times, respect the life and the freedom of all other human beings, women or men. That the body and the personal space of a woman or a child, or another human being for that matter, is strictly off-limits, except when they expressly invite you there. And even then you must tread with care.

Teach your sons that it is possible to be happy and strong and masculine without dominating and ruling and owning others. Teach your sons that they must earn the respect of women – through approaching them with respect. To answer Woody Allen, too – if you don’t want a witch hunt, well, stop being one.

This cannot be taught by telling once. This can only be taught through example and regular discussion. And to be successful, we need the help of society – it must also broadcast the message that it’s not allowed to harass and violate. For example, we need police and courts that actually prosecute alleged harassments, rather than stifling the voice of or even prosecuting the victims.

I live in a society where people, women and children included, are treated as resources for the benefit of the powerful, 90+% of which are men, white men. We don’t have a ministry for health or education or labor: we have a Ministry of Human Resources.

I live in a society that accepts and even expects the long hours of unpaid work women do at home.

I live in a society where it’s acceptable for male 40-somethings, in midlife crises, to leave their families for relationships with younger women. Is it only me, or does this really sound like they’re throwing away a worn shoe and buying a new one? Come on people, when you divorce your family, you do this precisely because you treat both your (ex-)wife and your younger companion as an object, as property.

Stop it: you’re, we’re not entitled to unlimited orgasms for as long as we live. We aren’t entitled to touch and grope youthful female limbs. We’re not entitled to be served youth by women we dominate. It may seem strange to quote C. S. Lewis here, but in his Out of the Silent Planet, he says this through an alien character: “It is said sometimes that here and there a cub at a certain age gets strange twists in him. I have heard of one that wanted to eat earth; there might, perhaps, be somewhere a hross likewise that wanted to have the years of love prolonged.” And: “A pleasure is full grown only when it is remembered.” So, come on, we had our time; now it’s time to remember. I get the temptation, too, which is sometimes so strong that I’m fighting it in every waking moment. And yes, I may fail at some point.

All this must end. The society that allows men to leave their families but forces women to remain in abusive or violent relationships. The society where respective churches – that otherwise disapprove of divorce – also endorse this.

Yet I still live in a country where police don’t believe you when you report rape or domestic violence. I live in a country that didn’t even sign the Istanbul treaty.

So much for help from society. Still, a man who remains silent and does not make effort to influence his sons is complicit to all this. In the long run, only through our children can we change a culture that’s built on owning or objectifying others.

I have told my daughter to always resist harassment and any kind of untoward advances. I think mothers too, no matter whether or not you come out with #MeToo, should tell your daughters to resist, even if your instincts would urge you against it.

#IHearYou #IBelieveYou

Forgotten by the unburied

Engrave their names on a wall

A Jewish cemetery in Central Europe, early 21st century. More than half of the stones are in disrepair. Some are slanted, others are broken. Many are covered in the undergrowth.

There is a sense of finality in the death of those buried here. They were forgotten because no one was left to remember. Those who could remember didn’t choose to forget. No: almost an entire generation was wiped out in forced labor and in death camps – or on the way. Continue reading

Stand. Your. Ground.

The world is becoming a worse place every day, laments a colleague of mine while sipping a casual coffee in the morning. She said this just a few days after Trump was elected, and our PM started boasting how the PEOTUS loved Hungary.

For the few of us who’d prefer to live in a world without hatred, to cherish life and freedom, and maybe to help others, the list of safe places grows thinner by the day. Because when the “people” elect a crook who, with his (her?) every move and action, fuels racism, xenophobia, ignorance, and poverty – our first thought is to go someplace else where our values are not being mocked and derided. Continue reading

Encounter with a Young Man (by Frigyes Karinthy)

Connecting to the previous post, here is my attempt at the translation of a short story by Hungarian writer Frigyes Karinthy (1887-1938).

Encounter with a Young Man

Frigyes Karinthy

I was in high spirits: forgetting about many things, I fumbled to light my cigar, and then we began walking down Andrássy út, the grand avenue of Budapest. My beatiful and darling wife was smiling at me from beneath the veil, my beatiful darling, who, behold, loved me, and had allowed me to love her.

Continue reading