Tel Aviv
24 December 2009
Christmas Eve. And what do Jews do? First a movie and then dinner. Though we will forsake the traditional Chinese food (Liz says that that's for Christmas Day itself, not the Eve, but the Day will also be Erev Shabbat and I know there's a pargit back in the freezer waiting to be sacrificed). Besides, we spend most of the year an easy ride into New York's China Town, so Chinese is just not high on our "to eat" list when we hit Tel Aviv.
The movie is in the Lev (Heart), 6 theaters on the top floor of Dizengoff Mall. As we made our way through the mall's multiple levels to the box office we noticed that the mall was quiet and not too crowded. The movie was the Coen Brothers' "A Serious Man." If you are a MOT and have not seen this yet you should stop reading now and run, do not walk, run, to a theater. Especially if you, like me, hit bar mitzvah, puberty, drugs and rock'n'roll in the 1960s.
The Coens have taken all of the neurotic Jewish culture in which we wallowed (for them it's the midwest but they could have set the film in Long Island or Northern New Jersey without changing any of it), added a wonderful prologue in a shtetl (done entirely in Yiddush with English and Hebrew subtitles - thanks G-d we still got Fyvush Finkel). The writing and acting is spot-on perfect.
The film is a comedy like Waiting for Godot is a comedy, with a Jewish audience laughing at all the right places. The rest of you may need a Jewish friend for some translation but, given how the Jews have controlled your media for so many years, you may get it on your own. The film just won't be the shot to the kishkes that it is for MOTs, who will recognize their Rabbis, their children and themselves up on the screen.
As we left the theater, Liz suggested we eat dinner at Bistrot Djoul, for which she just happened to have an eLuna discount coupon. (eLuna is a website listing kosher restaurants all over the country with reviews, menus and discount coupons good most times but not during the Businessmen's Lunch, the ultimate early bird special.) A French bistro where I can eat the meat. You do not have to ask me twice. I whipped out the cell phone and reserved a table for 30 minutes later.
We made our way down through the mall, out onto Dizengoff Street and began walking north. We stopped to wait for a light and then it hit us. The mall is open, all the street level stores along Dizengoff are open but we have not heard any Christmas music or seen any Christmas decorations or Christmas sale signs. We stop and drink that in.
Last time we went out to eat it was for simple fare. Tonight we're going from the simple to the sublime. I've written before about how the French are the latest immigrant wave to come to Israel. Unlike earlier immigrant waves this one is mostly affluent with lots of Euros to spend. The bad news is that this drives up housing prices. The good news is that French Jews need certain essentials of life such as kosher bistros, patisseries and wines worthy of discerning palates. And so we found ourselves at 64 Ben Yehuda, just south of Frishmann, to indulge ourselves at a bistro where they have most definitely mastered the art of French cooking.
The restaurant is itself an emigre, a family business transplanted from Paris by owner Julia Berreby but using a home grown chef, Eyal Amrousi. Its a small place with outdoor tables (as you would expect in Paris and Tel Aviv), a small main floor and tables upstairs. The decor is simple and the atmosphere, right down to most of the patrons, French. Except the music which on this night was American soul. Liz thought Edith Piaf would have been more appropriate and I agreed but becasue I am a big fan of Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles I was willing to put up with the culture clash.
We had the Tournedos Rossini, steak and goose liver. The liver was a thin slice, not the portion you get at other restaurants, but very delicately seasoned and grilled. The steak was of the melt in your mouth variety. Djoul sacrifices some quantity for very high quality. The chicken breast, moist and tastefully cooked with herbs and spices, was delicious. Djoul's sauteed potatoes are rare among the species - cooked enough but not greasy. Salad comes with, what else, freshly made French dressing. We had glasses of a very nice beaujolais nouveau.
Desserts in kosher meat restaurants are always problematic. Let's face it. What makes any dessert worth clogging an artery for, especially French desserts, is butter and cream, lots and lots of butter and cream. Faking one's way to vanilla ice cream (on top of an apple tart) or a chocolate mousse is, in most places, more sciene than art. Djoul gets closer to the artistic.
But back to the steak. It's always about the steak. Someone once told me that you could not get a good steak in Israel. I have made it my life's journey to prove him wrong. Once again, I win. Djoul's steak is right up there with Goshen. Goshen, at 37 Nahalat Binyamin, ages its beef before cooking, something you get used to in NYC but not in TLV. The result is marvelous. Djoul's steak is as good.
And so, we head back into the night for what is now a very short walk back to our apartment. Israel, so many restaurants, so little time.
Read more!
Monday, December 28, 2009
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Celebrity Sighting
On an elevator at Ben Gurion Airport, I notice a really nice hardshell guitar case sitting atop a luggage cart. As someone with a personal interest in guitar cases that can withstand air travel (my 45 year old Gibson is tired of being left home alone), I was focused entirely on the case. I say to Liz, that's a really nice guitar case. It's owner, tall guy, gray hair, about my age, says, thank you.
So I ask him if he puts it into luggage or carries it on. He says it works both ways. And then Liz says, do you know who this is? It's David Broza. I took my short little span of attention off the guitar case and really looked at it's owner and, sure enough, it was David Broza (internationally known Israeli singer, songwriter who speaks American English due to living in New Jersey for a nuymber of years and who currently plays a very expensive, probably custom made, Spanish guitar, which was no doubt inside the case).
The elevator stops, the doors open, I almost get off on the wrong floor (Liz stops me). David Broza is rolling his luggage cart out and I, feeling like a total idiot, manage to stammer, love your work. And he says thanks, again, and goes off into the terminal, followed closely by a strikingly beautiful woman rolling her luggage cart. Its good to be a guitar hero. Read more!
So I ask him if he puts it into luggage or carries it on. He says it works both ways. And then Liz says, do you know who this is? It's David Broza. I took my short little span of attention off the guitar case and really looked at it's owner and, sure enough, it was David Broza (internationally known Israeli singer, songwriter who speaks American English due to living in New Jersey for a nuymber of years and who currently plays a very expensive, probably custom made, Spanish guitar, which was no doubt inside the case).
The elevator stops, the doors open, I almost get off on the wrong floor (Liz stops me). David Broza is rolling his luggage cart out and I, feeling like a total idiot, manage to stammer, love your work. And he says thanks, again, and goes off into the terminal, followed closely by a strikingly beautiful woman rolling her luggage cart. Its good to be a guitar hero. Read more!
Friday, December 25, 2009
Simple Fare
The mass expulsion of Jews from Arab countries in retaliation for Israel having the audacity to win the 1948 war was a great tragedy for hundreds of thousands of people. It also presented both a tremendous challenge and a tremendous opportunity to the Zionists who, with limited resources, found themselves having to resettle the refuges. I am one of those who think that while any peace deal must include reparations for Palestinians expelled from Israel to compensate for lost property and pay for resettlement, the same should be true for Jews thrown out of numerous Arab countries.
However, the nakba for Mizrachi Jews also provided Israel with a plethora of culinary delights. Tucked into Tel Aviv and other cities and towns in Israel are eateries, both large and grand and small and unpretentious (we, of course, prefer the latter) serving dishes just like your Grandmother would make. If, of course, your Grandmother came from Libya, Yemen, Morocco, Syria or some other sun and fun spot in North Africa, the Arabian Peninsula or points East.
Liz and I recently revisited one such establishment and followed our noses to find a new one. Both are in Tel Aviv, both are inexpensive and, for those who care, both are kosher.
Tucked into a corner shop in the Yemenite Quarter is Simon's Soup (מרק שמון). We timed our arrival for mid-afternoon to finish shopping and avoid the lunch rush while still making certain to get there well before the posted 4pm closing time (the staff will close whenever the soup runs out or they just decide that enough is enough). This got us an outside table on the corner of the recently repaved (with bricks not blacktop) Yehyeh Kapah and Malan Streets. So we sat in the warm sun, breathing the mix of soup spices and kerosene wafting from Simon's kitchen with the occasional dollop of carbon monoxide from the vehicles passing by.
The Quarter's streets were first built in the days when vehicular traffic consisted mostly of donkey carts and camels. So Liz, who sat with her back to the street so as not to have to look straight into the sun, barely budged when the motor scooter zipped past. My view, with the restaurant to my back, was to watch the scooter go from my right to my left. Then, as if on some cue from a silent film director, a taxicab rolled past in the opposite direction, barely squeezing between Liz and the diner sitting at a table on the opposite side of Kapah Street.
A few minutes later, a small truck, coming this time from my right, pulled to a stop so the driver could consider the proximity of his side view mirror to Liz' head. I don't know what was happening on the other side of the truck but when it finally moved away I did notice that the diner sitting opposite Liz had moved her chair as far to the side of her table as she could. And, just when we were done being bemused at the first truck, along came the second, even larger, truck, inching its way between the tables, giving us lots of time to read the advertisement for fish, fruits and vegetables painted onto its side. Liz asked to be reminded, the next time we get this table (and there will be a next time), to sit on the Malan side to give the trucks more room. Malan has concrete columns intended to block cars and trucks from driving through a pair of restaurants on their way up to the shuk, while still giving easy access to scooters and pedestrians.
Simon's menu is straight forward. You order the soup. ((They also put out some bread (the variety and freshness of which depends on the time of day and day of the week), hilbeh (a gelatinous substance made from fenugreek that can be put in the soup or spread on the bread) and the ever present harif for those who like things very very hot.)) The soup is red and has all sorts of spices, a variety of chopped veggies and a chunk of potato. What you really order is the slab of meat that will sit in your soup. You can choose something cut off a cow such as steak (listed on the menu simply as "meat"), head, leg or udder or a chicken (usually dark meat, but you never know).
Liz, being more adventurous than I, has been working her way through the menu. (Last winter, she discovered what the Hebrew word בז (pronounced "Biz", rhymes with "Liz") on the menu meant when our waitress, convinced that we did not understand when she said "teets", grabbed her own breasts and said "these". Liz insisted that I use the more polite and anatomically correct term "udder" in this blog.) This time she ordered the head soup. And that's what she got, pieces of cow head including some tongue which was cooked to perfection. The restaurant removed things like skull bone, teeth and eyeballs before serving the soup. I haven't a clue if that was true before they cooked the soup. If you walk around the meat stalls in any shuk you can see a variety of heads from an assortment of domesticated animals, teeth, tongue and all, for sale and draw your own conclusions. Or ask your Yemenite Grandmother how she does it.
I had the steak. And, as always, just as you've made your way through a bowl of soup that is a meal in itself, the waiter comes out with a pot and asks if you want more soup. Say yes and you get your bowl refilled but test the soup first. The new batch is very hot, fresh off the kerosene stove.
A couple of days later, Liz and I found ourselves with errands that needed doing. She needed to get to her hairdresser's to schedule a session in time for next week's wedding (hopefully with Udi, her favorite stylist) and I needed to find one of those round batteries, this one to fit the bathroom scale. So we went for a walk, at first along the beach (I think I've mentioned the beach) and then inland to Ben Yehuda Street above Arlozorov, our old neighborhood, to reach Avi Malka and the really good housewares and hardware store (I don't know the name, I just know its on the east side of Ben Yehuda just north of Arlozorov).
Missions successfully accomplished (though Udi has moved to another establishment), Liz suggested we have a late lunch (or early dinner) at a new place that opened next to the Deborah Hotel, just north of Gordon on Ben Yehuda. Liz, in earlier trips to this part of town, was attracted to Odelia (אודלה) by the smell and by the fact that it always seemed to be crowded. Odelia offers Tripolitan food, either at its tables or for take away. Once again, just like Grandma would make, but this time you'll need a Grandma from Libya. Unlike Simon's Soup, which is off the beaten tourist track, Odelia is right in the center of Tel Aviv's hotel/restaurant strip. The Deborah Hotel is used by Birthright Israel, among other major tour groups. But today the place was filled with locals who know a good, inexpensive meal when they smell one.
Tripolitan food is serious workers' food. You start with a base of starch. There are about a dozen variations on humous. Every entree comes with a choice of couscous, rice or mejedara (spiced rice and lentils). Onto this the chef dumps whatever mix of veggies with meat or fish you have ordered. We (that is to say Liz) ordered the mafrum (מפרום - mystery meat baked on a layer of potato or eggplant but she knew that I would want to satiate my meat and potato Jones) and Chraime (חריימי - a fish cooked in a spicy red sauce). The mafrum had to come on the classic couscous because it had to. I asked for mejedara under the fish because I really like mejedara but the waitress told me to have the rice since the fish would be spicy enough. I went with her instruction (suggestion is just too weak a word to describe conversations with Hebrew speakers) and she was right. The rice soaked up the fish sauce and the spice level was just right. I'll get the mejedara under chicken kabob on the next trip.
Until now our favorite Tripolitan food has been found at Gueta in Jaffa. Gueta is still a place you must try (last time we were there the owner still displayed the large poster of his Grandmother who appears to be chained to a stove). But Odelia is of equally high quality and, for us, an easy walk from the apartment. Liz asked whose mafrum I liked better. I said I could not easily answer that question. Both are delicious though Odelia's is less greasy. However, to really be fair, we have no choice other than multiple tastings, alternating between the two restaurants, before attempting to answer a question of such moment. After all, as in all things Jewish, it's how you make the journey and not it's completion, that counts.
Read more!
However, the nakba for Mizrachi Jews also provided Israel with a plethora of culinary delights. Tucked into Tel Aviv and other cities and towns in Israel are eateries, both large and grand and small and unpretentious (we, of course, prefer the latter) serving dishes just like your Grandmother would make. If, of course, your Grandmother came from Libya, Yemen, Morocco, Syria or some other sun and fun spot in North Africa, the Arabian Peninsula or points East.
Liz and I recently revisited one such establishment and followed our noses to find a new one. Both are in Tel Aviv, both are inexpensive and, for those who care, both are kosher.
Tucked into a corner shop in the Yemenite Quarter is Simon's Soup (מרק שמון). We timed our arrival for mid-afternoon to finish shopping and avoid the lunch rush while still making certain to get there well before the posted 4pm closing time (the staff will close whenever the soup runs out or they just decide that enough is enough). This got us an outside table on the corner of the recently repaved (with bricks not blacktop) Yehyeh Kapah and Malan Streets. So we sat in the warm sun, breathing the mix of soup spices and kerosene wafting from Simon's kitchen with the occasional dollop of carbon monoxide from the vehicles passing by.
The Quarter's streets were first built in the days when vehicular traffic consisted mostly of donkey carts and camels. So Liz, who sat with her back to the street so as not to have to look straight into the sun, barely budged when the motor scooter zipped past. My view, with the restaurant to my back, was to watch the scooter go from my right to my left. Then, as if on some cue from a silent film director, a taxicab rolled past in the opposite direction, barely squeezing between Liz and the diner sitting at a table on the opposite side of Kapah Street.
A few minutes later, a small truck, coming this time from my right, pulled to a stop so the driver could consider the proximity of his side view mirror to Liz' head. I don't know what was happening on the other side of the truck but when it finally moved away I did notice that the diner sitting opposite Liz had moved her chair as far to the side of her table as she could. And, just when we were done being bemused at the first truck, along came the second, even larger, truck, inching its way between the tables, giving us lots of time to read the advertisement for fish, fruits and vegetables painted onto its side. Liz asked to be reminded, the next time we get this table (and there will be a next time), to sit on the Malan side to give the trucks more room. Malan has concrete columns intended to block cars and trucks from driving through a pair of restaurants on their way up to the shuk, while still giving easy access to scooters and pedestrians.
Simon's menu is straight forward. You order the soup. ((They also put out some bread (the variety and freshness of which depends on the time of day and day of the week), hilbeh (a gelatinous substance made from fenugreek that can be put in the soup or spread on the bread) and the ever present harif for those who like things very very hot.)) The soup is red and has all sorts of spices, a variety of chopped veggies and a chunk of potato. What you really order is the slab of meat that will sit in your soup. You can choose something cut off a cow such as steak (listed on the menu simply as "meat"), head, leg or udder or a chicken (usually dark meat, but you never know).
Liz, being more adventurous than I, has been working her way through the menu. (Last winter, she discovered what the Hebrew word בז (pronounced "Biz", rhymes with "Liz") on the menu meant when our waitress, convinced that we did not understand when she said "teets", grabbed her own breasts and said "these". Liz insisted that I use the more polite and anatomically correct term "udder" in this blog.) This time she ordered the head soup. And that's what she got, pieces of cow head including some tongue which was cooked to perfection. The restaurant removed things like skull bone, teeth and eyeballs before serving the soup. I haven't a clue if that was true before they cooked the soup. If you walk around the meat stalls in any shuk you can see a variety of heads from an assortment of domesticated animals, teeth, tongue and all, for sale and draw your own conclusions. Or ask your Yemenite Grandmother how she does it.
I had the steak. And, as always, just as you've made your way through a bowl of soup that is a meal in itself, the waiter comes out with a pot and asks if you want more soup. Say yes and you get your bowl refilled but test the soup first. The new batch is very hot, fresh off the kerosene stove.
A couple of days later, Liz and I found ourselves with errands that needed doing. She needed to get to her hairdresser's to schedule a session in time for next week's wedding (hopefully with Udi, her favorite stylist) and I needed to find one of those round batteries, this one to fit the bathroom scale. So we went for a walk, at first along the beach (I think I've mentioned the beach) and then inland to Ben Yehuda Street above Arlozorov, our old neighborhood, to reach Avi Malka and the really good housewares and hardware store (I don't know the name, I just know its on the east side of Ben Yehuda just north of Arlozorov).
Missions successfully accomplished (though Udi has moved to another establishment), Liz suggested we have a late lunch (or early dinner) at a new place that opened next to the Deborah Hotel, just north of Gordon on Ben Yehuda. Liz, in earlier trips to this part of town, was attracted to Odelia (אודלה) by the smell and by the fact that it always seemed to be crowded. Odelia offers Tripolitan food, either at its tables or for take away. Once again, just like Grandma would make, but this time you'll need a Grandma from Libya. Unlike Simon's Soup, which is off the beaten tourist track, Odelia is right in the center of Tel Aviv's hotel/restaurant strip. The Deborah Hotel is used by Birthright Israel, among other major tour groups. But today the place was filled with locals who know a good, inexpensive meal when they smell one.
Tripolitan food is serious workers' food. You start with a base of starch. There are about a dozen variations on humous. Every entree comes with a choice of couscous, rice or mejedara (spiced rice and lentils). Onto this the chef dumps whatever mix of veggies with meat or fish you have ordered. We (that is to say Liz) ordered the mafrum (מפרום - mystery meat baked on a layer of potato or eggplant but she knew that I would want to satiate my meat and potato Jones) and Chraime (חריימי - a fish cooked in a spicy red sauce). The mafrum had to come on the classic couscous because it had to. I asked for mejedara under the fish because I really like mejedara but the waitress told me to have the rice since the fish would be spicy enough. I went with her instruction (suggestion is just too weak a word to describe conversations with Hebrew speakers) and she was right. The rice soaked up the fish sauce and the spice level was just right. I'll get the mejedara under chicken kabob on the next trip.
Until now our favorite Tripolitan food has been found at Gueta in Jaffa. Gueta is still a place you must try (last time we were there the owner still displayed the large poster of his Grandmother who appears to be chained to a stove). But Odelia is of equally high quality and, for us, an easy walk from the apartment. Liz asked whose mafrum I liked better. I said I could not easily answer that question. Both are delicious though Odelia's is less greasy. However, to really be fair, we have no choice other than multiple tastings, alternating between the two restaurants, before attempting to answer a question of such moment. After all, as in all things Jewish, it's how you make the journey and not it's completion, that counts.
Read more!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
More Stuff I Can't Make Up
Today's news reports are just full of things that I could not make up. No matter how snarky I'm feeling.
First, we have the Moldovan Orthodox Church, one of whose priests led a mob chanting anti-Semitic slogans in tearing down a public Menorah erected by the Jewish community in the Moldovan capital, Chisinau (no, this is not an old Mission Impossible rerun). Obviously inspired by the spirit of Christmas, the Church leaders said that the "cult" should have erected its Menorah at a Holocaust memorial and not in a public square of historical importance to Moldovans.
Next, it seems that the US Congress, the SEC and now the New York Times is shocked, shocked to discover that there is gambling going on on Wall Street. The Times has finally picked up the story, which I think began either in Rolling Stone or one of the blogs, that Goldman Sachs and other banks, but Goldman in particular, had created and sold collateral debt obligations to customers which securities could only increase in value if the real estate market continued to rise in value. At the same time it seems that Goldman, among others, had concluded that the real estate bubble was about to burst and began shorting the very same CDOs they were selling to their customers. Goldman et al made fortunes, the customers lost big time, the credit markets collapsed and you know the rest.
Third, as one Jewish observer has put it, we may have gotten Jimmy Carter back but lost Garrison Keillor. I'm not so sure. Carter issued the sort of apology that you get from someone who knows he's in trouble but is not quite ready to confess to his misdeeds. But, hey, it was a start. Today we learn that Carter's grandson (are Amy and I really that old?) is running for the Georgia State Senate in a district loaded with a significant Jewish presence. What a coincidence.
Garrison Keillor, meanwhile, is being raked over the coals for an otherwise innocuous rant about how Christmas in America is being secularized (and he figured this out when?), in which he goes off on cheesy Christmas music written by Jews. This, to some, makes Keillor the anti-Semite of the week. Personally, I think that pumping Irving Berlin tunes into malls is the Jews' revenge on the Christians for anti-Semitism. Given that we were inflicted with pogroms, cheesy Christmas music is a wimpy form of retaliation but, like Carter's apology, it's a start. Keillor's problem is he figured it out and wrote about it without first turning into a snarky Jewish blogger.
Of course, we could state the obvious, which is that anyone seeking a spiritual Christmas will find it at home and in church and should simply stay the hell out of the malls. Even better, let Keillor and the rest of the "War Against Christmas" crowd come to Israel for the holiday.
And, finally, there is the report, based on recently released Israeli government documents, that Maale Adumim, a West Bank settlement located about half way between Jerusalem and Jericho, and the area between Maale Adumim and Jerusalem (known as E-1) were intended to be annexed as part of Jerusalem back in 1975, when the community was first being planned. Yes, you fans of Labor, that's two years before a Likud-led coalition gets a majority in the Knesset. Oh gee, what a surprise. Read more!
First, we have the Moldovan Orthodox Church, one of whose priests led a mob chanting anti-Semitic slogans in tearing down a public Menorah erected by the Jewish community in the Moldovan capital, Chisinau (no, this is not an old Mission Impossible rerun). Obviously inspired by the spirit of Christmas, the Church leaders said that the "cult" should have erected its Menorah at a Holocaust memorial and not in a public square of historical importance to Moldovans.
Next, it seems that the US Congress, the SEC and now the New York Times is shocked, shocked to discover that there is gambling going on on Wall Street. The Times has finally picked up the story, which I think began either in Rolling Stone or one of the blogs, that Goldman Sachs and other banks, but Goldman in particular, had created and sold collateral debt obligations to customers which securities could only increase in value if the real estate market continued to rise in value. At the same time it seems that Goldman, among others, had concluded that the real estate bubble was about to burst and began shorting the very same CDOs they were selling to their customers. Goldman et al made fortunes, the customers lost big time, the credit markets collapsed and you know the rest.
Third, as one Jewish observer has put it, we may have gotten Jimmy Carter back but lost Garrison Keillor. I'm not so sure. Carter issued the sort of apology that you get from someone who knows he's in trouble but is not quite ready to confess to his misdeeds. But, hey, it was a start. Today we learn that Carter's grandson (are Amy and I really that old?) is running for the Georgia State Senate in a district loaded with a significant Jewish presence. What a coincidence.
Garrison Keillor, meanwhile, is being raked over the coals for an otherwise innocuous rant about how Christmas in America is being secularized (and he figured this out when?), in which he goes off on cheesy Christmas music written by Jews. This, to some, makes Keillor the anti-Semite of the week. Personally, I think that pumping Irving Berlin tunes into malls is the Jews' revenge on the Christians for anti-Semitism. Given that we were inflicted with pogroms, cheesy Christmas music is a wimpy form of retaliation but, like Carter's apology, it's a start. Keillor's problem is he figured it out and wrote about it without first turning into a snarky Jewish blogger.
Of course, we could state the obvious, which is that anyone seeking a spiritual Christmas will find it at home and in church and should simply stay the hell out of the malls. Even better, let Keillor and the rest of the "War Against Christmas" crowd come to Israel for the holiday.
And, finally, there is the report, based on recently released Israeli government documents, that Maale Adumim, a West Bank settlement located about half way between Jerusalem and Jericho, and the area between Maale Adumim and Jerusalem (known as E-1) were intended to be annexed as part of Jerusalem back in 1975, when the community was first being planned. Yes, you fans of Labor, that's two years before a Likud-led coalition gets a majority in the Knesset. Oh gee, what a surprise. Read more!
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
2010 - A Good Year To Die - Unless You're Gilad Shalit
Tel Aviv
23 December 2009
2010 is a good year to die. At least it is if you are subject to the US Internal Revenue Code and have a taxable estate. Why? In 2010, the estate tax and its evil spawn, the generation skipping tax, completely disappear for one year. (Trust me, if you don't have an estate worth more than $3.5 million and grandchildren to whom you want to give very large gifts you don't want me to explain the GST. If you do then you've already hired good tax counsel and don't need me to tell you about the GST but you are definitely picking up the check when we next have lunch.) In 2011, the estate tax and GST rise again, as from the dead, like a movie's bad guy who just won't die in the last reel. And, like the bad guy who comes back but short a limb, the two taxes come back with a much lower exempted amount. In sum, unless Congress changes the law, if you die and/or make gifts to grandchildren in 2009 you can exempt up to $3.5 million from the two taxes, in 2010 you get a free ride and in 2011 the exemption drops to a mere $1.5 million or so. As they say in the trade, this leaves us with numerous planning opportunities, especially if you can time someone's death.
And so, as I write this, good tax attorneys are faced with the somewhat ghoulish but necessary task of telling people who hold the health care proxy of a parent or grandparent on life support that, to best effect their loved one's wishes regarding the estate (which is lawyer talk for keeping the money out of the hands of the government), they might want to consider spending one last New Year's Eve with mom or grandpa, before pulling the plug. Absent a change in the law, which Congress keeps promising but failing to do, the conversation during the last week of 2010 will be even more ghoulish as pulling dad's or grandma's plug before the new year begins leaves more money for the grieving loved ones.
This sounds pretty cold but death is something that can't be avoided. The only questions are who and when and what are the consequences. Which brings us to Gilad Shalit.
The current debate raging in Israel makes the estate tax and GST conundrum look like fun and games. The Israelis are not talking about money, they're talking about lives. Their lives and the lives of their children. Lives already lost and those that may be lost in the future. As of this writing, the Israeli Prime Minister has allowed his negotiators to send, through a German mediator, Israel's response to what Hamas has described as its last demands (they may say "offer" but these are not people interested in bargaining or who really give a damn about human life). The media reports that Israel is ready to agree to release about 1000 Palestinian prisoners in return for the safe return of Shalit. This includes about 100 convicted murderers who have no regrets or remorse and are (if past experience holds true) very likely to just go back to terrorism once they are set free. Israel is asking that the worst of the worst be exiled, either to Gaza from the West Bank or out of the territories to other countries. Hamas has said it will take a few days to consider a reply. And so we wait.
The arguments for and against the deal are all correct. In arguing against this deal many have pointed out that freed terrorists go back to terrorism, and Jews die. Hamas is demanding freedom for men who are not just good soldiers but leaders of Hamas and similar groups. If denied the opportunity to go back to blowing people up in Israel or the West Bank, they'll blow people up wherever they can. While everyone fears for the safety of Gilad Shalit (what happens to him if no deal is made?) those opposed to a deal see it as merely substituting one victim for other victims.
Furthermore, every terrorist group will have further proof that Israel will pay a huge price for the return of an Israeli. What other conclusion could they draw if Bibi Netanyahu, a man who made a political career out of being tough on terrorism, gives in to Hamas' demands? Doing the Shalit deal will inspire further attempts at kidnapping Israeli soldiers and civilians and, sooner or later, one or more will succeed.
Finally, doing the deal will give Hamas a significant political victory. Palestinians will dance in the streets, cheering the group who drove Israel to its knees, honoring their returning heroes and calling for the next wave of "resistance." The deal will set in concrete Hamas' rule in Gaza and give them a good chance of taking over in the West Bank should Abu Mazen ever be so foolish as to allow free elections.
And on the other side of the debate, we have an entire country run by for and about Jews, who value human life above all. Jews who do not raise their children to be martyrs. A majority of the Israeli public seems willing to pay any price to bring Shalit home. For his Mother's sake. And because those being asked are Jewish parents who want to know that their children would also be ransomed if taken captive. The bottom line is that every life is precious and, even if the price is terrible and risks more deaths, that life has got to be saved. Israel does not leave soldiers behind on the field and should not do so now.
Those who want Shalit home by doing the deal will tell you that Hamas, Hezbullah and their ilk will try to kill or kidnap Jews, whether or not Gilad comes home. So we may as well bring Gilad home. The weight of the survival of Israel should not be put on his narrow shoulders.
As for Hamas' political victory from the deal, Israelis arguing for the deal will tell you that Hamas will have its moment in the sun but then, a few months from now, with no end of the Israeli blockade of Gaza in sight and no reconciliation with the PLO, it will be a matter of "what has Hamas done for us lately."
Israel does not handle this sort of crisis like other nations. (Of course, most other nations don't have their citizens routinely subject to acts of terrorism.) Before responding to Hamas, Bibi and his closest aides met with all the military, intelligence and political leaders you'd expect a Prime Minister to consult with. But they also met with Shalit's parents. (An easy meeting to arrange since the Shalits and their supporters have been camped out in front of the Prime Minister's residence in Jerusalem for close to a year now.) They also met with the survivors of the victims of those who might now be freed and with the leaders of a group representing the parents, spouses and children of Israelis murdered by terrorists set free in earlier deals. The press reports that the Prime Minister spent most of the meetings just listening to the real people who will be affected in very real ways by whatever he decides to do.
Will the deal get done? No one knows for sure. Hamas is run by at least four different factions (the political and military wings in Gaza, the political wing in Damascus and the prisoners who are the very subject of the negotiations). One of the reasons that a deal has not yet been made is that every time the parties get close, one or more of the Hamas factions finds an excuse to back away. My own theory is that some of the Hamas leadership is reluctant to make the deal because giving up Shalit means giving up power. (Yeah, I know this sounds like the behavior of a 4 year old but remember, we are dealing here with politicians and religious zealots, so what's the difference?) Maybe they've figured out that any victory will be fleeting (see above). For it's part, the Israeli government is very badly divided on the deal and there's no guarantee that a "Yes but" reply from Hamas would generate a positive Israeli response.
Whatever happens, the "resistance" will continue. And, either angered by the lack of a deal or encouraged by the making of a deal, someone is going to go out and express his inner terrorist by killing a Jew. And then Bibi is going to have to deal with the consequences which will likely include explaining to the victim's Mother why he made the deal, or didn't make the deal, that led to the death of her child. Which is why I think Bibi will find a way to bring Gilad home. Given his low opinion of the Palestinian leadership, he's going to conclude (if he hasn't already) that no matter what he does a Jew will die, so he'll at least take the opportunity and save Gilad Shalit.
And so Bibi, like our tax attorney, is faced with the prospect of timing someone's death. The big difference is that the tax attorney knows who is going to die, knows that that death is unavoidable and has helped the soon-to-be-deceased plan for the consequences. Bibi gets to decide without knowing the ultimate outcome and has to deal with the consequences as they arise. Personally, I'd rather be the tax attorney.
Read more!
23 December 2009
2010 is a good year to die. At least it is if you are subject to the US Internal Revenue Code and have a taxable estate. Why? In 2010, the estate tax and its evil spawn, the generation skipping tax, completely disappear for one year. (Trust me, if you don't have an estate worth more than $3.5 million and grandchildren to whom you want to give very large gifts you don't want me to explain the GST. If you do then you've already hired good tax counsel and don't need me to tell you about the GST but you are definitely picking up the check when we next have lunch.) In 2011, the estate tax and GST rise again, as from the dead, like a movie's bad guy who just won't die in the last reel. And, like the bad guy who comes back but short a limb, the two taxes come back with a much lower exempted amount. In sum, unless Congress changes the law, if you die and/or make gifts to grandchildren in 2009 you can exempt up to $3.5 million from the two taxes, in 2010 you get a free ride and in 2011 the exemption drops to a mere $1.5 million or so. As they say in the trade, this leaves us with numerous planning opportunities, especially if you can time someone's death.
And so, as I write this, good tax attorneys are faced with the somewhat ghoulish but necessary task of telling people who hold the health care proxy of a parent or grandparent on life support that, to best effect their loved one's wishes regarding the estate (which is lawyer talk for keeping the money out of the hands of the government), they might want to consider spending one last New Year's Eve with mom or grandpa, before pulling the plug. Absent a change in the law, which Congress keeps promising but failing to do, the conversation during the last week of 2010 will be even more ghoulish as pulling dad's or grandma's plug before the new year begins leaves more money for the grieving loved ones.
This sounds pretty cold but death is something that can't be avoided. The only questions are who and when and what are the consequences. Which brings us to Gilad Shalit.
The current debate raging in Israel makes the estate tax and GST conundrum look like fun and games. The Israelis are not talking about money, they're talking about lives. Their lives and the lives of their children. Lives already lost and those that may be lost in the future. As of this writing, the Israeli Prime Minister has allowed his negotiators to send, through a German mediator, Israel's response to what Hamas has described as its last demands (they may say "offer" but these are not people interested in bargaining or who really give a damn about human life). The media reports that Israel is ready to agree to release about 1000 Palestinian prisoners in return for the safe return of Shalit. This includes about 100 convicted murderers who have no regrets or remorse and are (if past experience holds true) very likely to just go back to terrorism once they are set free. Israel is asking that the worst of the worst be exiled, either to Gaza from the West Bank or out of the territories to other countries. Hamas has said it will take a few days to consider a reply. And so we wait.
The arguments for and against the deal are all correct. In arguing against this deal many have pointed out that freed terrorists go back to terrorism, and Jews die. Hamas is demanding freedom for men who are not just good soldiers but leaders of Hamas and similar groups. If denied the opportunity to go back to blowing people up in Israel or the West Bank, they'll blow people up wherever they can. While everyone fears for the safety of Gilad Shalit (what happens to him if no deal is made?) those opposed to a deal see it as merely substituting one victim for other victims.
Furthermore, every terrorist group will have further proof that Israel will pay a huge price for the return of an Israeli. What other conclusion could they draw if Bibi Netanyahu, a man who made a political career out of being tough on terrorism, gives in to Hamas' demands? Doing the Shalit deal will inspire further attempts at kidnapping Israeli soldiers and civilians and, sooner or later, one or more will succeed.
Finally, doing the deal will give Hamas a significant political victory. Palestinians will dance in the streets, cheering the group who drove Israel to its knees, honoring their returning heroes and calling for the next wave of "resistance." The deal will set in concrete Hamas' rule in Gaza and give them a good chance of taking over in the West Bank should Abu Mazen ever be so foolish as to allow free elections.
And on the other side of the debate, we have an entire country run by for and about Jews, who value human life above all. Jews who do not raise their children to be martyrs. A majority of the Israeli public seems willing to pay any price to bring Shalit home. For his Mother's sake. And because those being asked are Jewish parents who want to know that their children would also be ransomed if taken captive. The bottom line is that every life is precious and, even if the price is terrible and risks more deaths, that life has got to be saved. Israel does not leave soldiers behind on the field and should not do so now.
Those who want Shalit home by doing the deal will tell you that Hamas, Hezbullah and their ilk will try to kill or kidnap Jews, whether or not Gilad comes home. So we may as well bring Gilad home. The weight of the survival of Israel should not be put on his narrow shoulders.
As for Hamas' political victory from the deal, Israelis arguing for the deal will tell you that Hamas will have its moment in the sun but then, a few months from now, with no end of the Israeli blockade of Gaza in sight and no reconciliation with the PLO, it will be a matter of "what has Hamas done for us lately."
Israel does not handle this sort of crisis like other nations. (Of course, most other nations don't have their citizens routinely subject to acts of terrorism.) Before responding to Hamas, Bibi and his closest aides met with all the military, intelligence and political leaders you'd expect a Prime Minister to consult with. But they also met with Shalit's parents. (An easy meeting to arrange since the Shalits and their supporters have been camped out in front of the Prime Minister's residence in Jerusalem for close to a year now.) They also met with the survivors of the victims of those who might now be freed and with the leaders of a group representing the parents, spouses and children of Israelis murdered by terrorists set free in earlier deals. The press reports that the Prime Minister spent most of the meetings just listening to the real people who will be affected in very real ways by whatever he decides to do.
Will the deal get done? No one knows for sure. Hamas is run by at least four different factions (the political and military wings in Gaza, the political wing in Damascus and the prisoners who are the very subject of the negotiations). One of the reasons that a deal has not yet been made is that every time the parties get close, one or more of the Hamas factions finds an excuse to back away. My own theory is that some of the Hamas leadership is reluctant to make the deal because giving up Shalit means giving up power. (Yeah, I know this sounds like the behavior of a 4 year old but remember, we are dealing here with politicians and religious zealots, so what's the difference?) Maybe they've figured out that any victory will be fleeting (see above). For it's part, the Israeli government is very badly divided on the deal and there's no guarantee that a "Yes but" reply from Hamas would generate a positive Israeli response.
Whatever happens, the "resistance" will continue. And, either angered by the lack of a deal or encouraged by the making of a deal, someone is going to go out and express his inner terrorist by killing a Jew. And then Bibi is going to have to deal with the consequences which will likely include explaining to the victim's Mother why he made the deal, or didn't make the deal, that led to the death of her child. Which is why I think Bibi will find a way to bring Gilad home. Given his low opinion of the Palestinian leadership, he's going to conclude (if he hasn't already) that no matter what he does a Jew will die, so he'll at least take the opportunity and save Gilad Shalit.
And so Bibi, like our tax attorney, is faced with the prospect of timing someone's death. The big difference is that the tax attorney knows who is going to die, knows that that death is unavoidable and has helped the soon-to-be-deceased plan for the consequences. Bibi gets to decide without knowing the ultimate outcome and has to deal with the consequences as they arise. Personally, I'd rather be the tax attorney.
Read more!
Friday, December 11, 2009
On The Road In Appalachis - Part 3 - Getting There Is Half The Fun
It's one thing to say you'll be at the elementary school in McRoberts, Kentucky at 8am on Monday, November 9, 2009. Its quite another to actually get there. My first instinct was to just get in the car on November 8 and drive. But I was told that it would be better for us to fly and rent a car. Just this once, I turned out to be right (and I will be the first to admit how rare an event that is).
McRoberts is one of those places to which you cannot get from here. We had to fly on US Airways, which us northeasterners know as the successor to such stellar enterprises as Mohawk and Allegheny. The nearest serious airport to McRoberts is in Charleston, West Virginia, to which one flies from Newark by changing planes in Charlotte, North Carolina (where Naomi, Liz and I were to meet up with Ranya). From Charleston we planned to drive a rented car two hours to Whitesburg, Kentucky, the Letcher County seat, leaving us about 30 minutes southwest of McRoberts.
Why bypass McRoberts to go on to Whitesburg? Whitesburg has the only motels close to McRoberts. The crown jewel of these is the Super 8 next to the truck stop. In addition to checking into our home away from home we would be joined by Vinny Green and Debby Singer, Jewish educators from California who, in all their spare time, work on Ranya's distributions. At least, that was the plan.
There's a reason US Airways is more remembered for emergency landings in the Hudson River than on-time performance. Our flight from Newark to Charlotte went well enough given the rough weather. We even met up with Ranya as planned. But when we got to the gate for the Charleston flight we were told that it had been canceled. No reason. No warning. Just canceled. But, not to worry, US Airways has programmed its computer to automatically find alternative flights for passengers they have just stranded. I guess they got tired of doing this by hand. Our new boarding passes were printed and ready when we arrived at the gate. One small problem. We were booked on a flight the next day.
Now, while I'm sure that Charlotte is a real happening place on a Sunday night, we could not fail to reach McRoberts as scheduled. Naomi explained to a Customer Service Representative that we were on a humanitarian mission. The CSR offered us a late flight the same day that would, with only one stop, get us to Charleston around 10 pm (after the car rental counter closes). Even if we could get a car we'd get to Whitesburg after midnight. This would leave us with enough time to get four hours' sleep before driving the last leg into McRoberts. No thanks. When we were 19 or 20 road trips could be done with little to no sleep. But that was 40 years ago. Today, my traveling companions and I need things like sleep and showers to function. So, Naomi decided to rent a car and drive to Whitesburg, cutting our travel time down from over 12 hours to about 4.
Appalachia is among the poorest parts of the country but it is also among the most beautiful. Our drive from Charlotte skirted the southwestern end of the Blue Ridge Mountains and took us into the Cumberland Mountains with their closely spaced ridge lines. The narrow, wooded valleys between the mountain tops are known as hollows, pronounced "hahllers", which is a really accurate description of the topography. There are those who think that replacing coal with tourism would both preserve Appalachia's natural beauty and provide a serious number of long-term jobs for the locals (something coal long-ago ceased doing).
If you've never driven through this area, do yourself a favor and get it on your itinerary. You'll need to lower your expectations about cuisine and hotels, for now, but the scenery alone is worth the trip. Except for the strip mines opened by blowing off mountain tops, which we'll get to in Part 4. You can drive into the hahllers but be careful. Our hosts warned us that we might be met by a resident with a shotgun. Moonshine and meth labs are material to the local economy and the proprietors do not take kindly to strangers. And there are some folks who just don't care for tourists gawking at them. If they liked crowds, they'd move down out of the hahller into the valley.
After a pleasant ride in good company (I'm leaving out the gossip, to protect the guilty), we finally arrived at the Super 8 where we were joined by Vinnie and Debby. The next morning we would make our way to McRoberts.
[To Be Continued]
Read more!
McRoberts is one of those places to which you cannot get from here. We had to fly on US Airways, which us northeasterners know as the successor to such stellar enterprises as Mohawk and Allegheny. The nearest serious airport to McRoberts is in Charleston, West Virginia, to which one flies from Newark by changing planes in Charlotte, North Carolina (where Naomi, Liz and I were to meet up with Ranya). From Charleston we planned to drive a rented car two hours to Whitesburg, Kentucky, the Letcher County seat, leaving us about 30 minutes southwest of McRoberts.
Why bypass McRoberts to go on to Whitesburg? Whitesburg has the only motels close to McRoberts. The crown jewel of these is the Super 8 next to the truck stop. In addition to checking into our home away from home we would be joined by Vinny Green and Debby Singer, Jewish educators from California who, in all their spare time, work on Ranya's distributions. At least, that was the plan.
There's a reason US Airways is more remembered for emergency landings in the Hudson River than on-time performance. Our flight from Newark to Charlotte went well enough given the rough weather. We even met up with Ranya as planned. But when we got to the gate for the Charleston flight we were told that it had been canceled. No reason. No warning. Just canceled. But, not to worry, US Airways has programmed its computer to automatically find alternative flights for passengers they have just stranded. I guess they got tired of doing this by hand. Our new boarding passes were printed and ready when we arrived at the gate. One small problem. We were booked on a flight the next day.
Now, while I'm sure that Charlotte is a real happening place on a Sunday night, we could not fail to reach McRoberts as scheduled. Naomi explained to a Customer Service Representative that we were on a humanitarian mission. The CSR offered us a late flight the same day that would, with only one stop, get us to Charleston around 10 pm (after the car rental counter closes). Even if we could get a car we'd get to Whitesburg after midnight. This would leave us with enough time to get four hours' sleep before driving the last leg into McRoberts. No thanks. When we were 19 or 20 road trips could be done with little to no sleep. But that was 40 years ago. Today, my traveling companions and I need things like sleep and showers to function. So, Naomi decided to rent a car and drive to Whitesburg, cutting our travel time down from over 12 hours to about 4.
Appalachia is among the poorest parts of the country but it is also among the most beautiful. Our drive from Charlotte skirted the southwestern end of the Blue Ridge Mountains and took us into the Cumberland Mountains with their closely spaced ridge lines. The narrow, wooded valleys between the mountain tops are known as hollows, pronounced "hahllers", which is a really accurate description of the topography. There are those who think that replacing coal with tourism would both preserve Appalachia's natural beauty and provide a serious number of long-term jobs for the locals (something coal long-ago ceased doing).
If you've never driven through this area, do yourself a favor and get it on your itinerary. You'll need to lower your expectations about cuisine and hotels, for now, but the scenery alone is worth the trip. Except for the strip mines opened by blowing off mountain tops, which we'll get to in Part 4. You can drive into the hahllers but be careful. Our hosts warned us that we might be met by a resident with a shotgun. Moonshine and meth labs are material to the local economy and the proprietors do not take kindly to strangers. And there are some folks who just don't care for tourists gawking at them. If they liked crowds, they'd move down out of the hahller into the valley.
After a pleasant ride in good company (I'm leaving out the gossip, to protect the guilty), we finally arrived at the Super 8 where we were joined by Vinnie and Debby. The next morning we would make our way to McRoberts.
[To Be Continued]
Read more!
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
On The Road In Appalachia - Part 2 - Ranya the Shoe Lady
Uncle Bernie would have loved Ranya Kelly. Ranya once described herself to me as an ordinary suburban housewife, leading an ordinary life and not making much of a contribution to the world around her when, in 1991, she went to a mall and had what I can only describe as an epiphany. Ranya noticed a dumpster filled to overflowing with hundreds of shoe boxes. The next thing she remembers is dumpster-diving for boxes of what turned out to be new shoes. Ranya asked the shoe store about the shoes and was told that, at the end of a season, the shoe store simply threw out unsold inventory. And, no, they didn't mind at all if Ranya wanted to take their overstock and give it away to poor people. And so, Ranya Kelly, suburban housewife, became Ranya the Shoe Lady.
Ranya began working to develope networks of shoe stores and organizations serving shoeless people. She also discovered that it wasn't just shoes that were being thrown out. As word of her new-found life work spread, Ranya, receiving requests for help from all over, went national. Today, the Redistribution Center, Inc., Ranya Kelly, Founder and President, gathers and distributes millions of dollars worth of food, clothing, building supplies, toys, furniture, household goods, school and office supplies and, of course, shoes (Ranya long ago abandoned all hope of ever going out of the shoe business.)
Somewhere along the line Ranya met the Jews. One of the stereotypes of the Jewish world is that we all know each other and, working through various formal and informal organizations, networks and extended families, provide for the needs of our less-fortunate brethren (while, of course, doing business without much regard for things like borders). While most sterotypes arise from mindless prejudice, this one does have some truth to it. After a couple of centuries of living in ghettoes, exiled from our homeland, we learned to provide for ourselves. The Jews have gotten pretty good at moving money, goods and services around to help one another. But it's more than that. Central to the Jewish tradition are three things - study of Torah, prayer and acts of loving kindness. The latter is ingrained in us from an early age. Everyone, no matter how rich or poor, is obligated to do tzedakah (roughly translated as, "charity"). If you've got nothing yourself, you give a penny or you provide volunteer labor. If you've got a million bucks to spare you may as well ante up now because the Federation will find you. The obligation to do good works goes beyond fellow Jews. We have obligations not just to our brethren but also to to "the stranger within our gates", which is to say anyone in need. In the United States, this tradition has led an affluent community to direct its efforts toward any number of community-based organizations, without regard to religious affiliation.
For Ranya and the Jews, it was love at first sight. She found numerous kindred spirits, to say nothing of more sources of donations and targets for distributions. She also became a sought-after speaker at conferences and synagogue programs, delivering her message that what she does can be replicated in other communities. All you need to do is ask around and be ready for some creative dumpster-diving. Having been adopted by the Jews, Ranya met Naomi Eisenberger
Naomi is the Executive Director of the Good People Fund (having held the same position with a predecessor organization). The Good People Fund raises money for small groups and people in the US and Israel who work, usually on shoe-string budgets using volunteer labor, to do some good in this world. The Fund, which is small by US charitable organization standards, works mostly with community-based organizations for whom a $10,000 grant is a major gift. Naomi's Fund also makes donor-advised gifts to organizations approved by its Board. Naomi runs the Fund out of her New Jersey home with the occasional road trip to vet potential grant recipients or get involved in projects. Naomi has known Ranya for years and both directs cash donations to the Distribution Center and connects Ranya with local groups who could use her help.
Liz recently began to volunteer to help Naomi, handling some administrative tasks and helping to edit communications. The two are kindred spirits in that they have the talent to bring together people who, working together, can make a real difference in the lives of people who could use a break. Yes, dear reader, this is going to be one more tale of my wife doing good while I show up in time to eat.
Naomi has been working with an Appalachia-based organization called Family-to-Family and, through them, was introduced to people from a community center in McRoberts, Kentucky. McRoberts was a coal company town until the 1950s when the industry began to wind down and switch from deep tunnel mining to strip mining. Today any mining in the area involves blowing off the tops of mountains, spewing debris into local streams and creating lakes of sludge from the water and solid waste left over from refining coal. This leaves places like McRoberts with few jobs but lots of polluted drinking water and the occasional flood from a sludge lake. The coal companies and the politicians they own will tell you that all of this is safe. I'm not sure than someone whose land has been covered by a sludge flood would agree.
Economically-speaking, McRoberts is poor. The per capita income is about half that of the state average. Drug abuse is rampant (this is oxycontin country). Lots of people need clothing and basic household goods. These needs only increase in the winter as kerosene heaters burn down the houses they were supposed to just heat. But McRoberts is rich in its sense of community. Rich in people willing to help each other as best they can. People in McRoberts may. like Israelis, know that things can always get worse but, like Israelis, that doesn't stop them from getting on with their lives. And that's what got them onto Naomi's radar screen.
Naomi suggested to community representatives a distribution of needed items trucked in by Ranya the Shoe Lady. Naomi knew this could be done. But Naomi's audience consisted of people who have heard lots of promises from lots of outsiders that were never fulfilled. So when this Jewish lady from New Jersey (and, trust me, this is not a common sight in McRoberts) promised that someone known as Ranya the Shoe Lady from Denver would deliver enough clothing, shoes and hosehold goods to help dozens of families, the locals were understandably skeptical. Nevertheless, they agreed to the distribution, setting a date, lining up a location and identifying volunteers to do the heavy lifting. Naomi called in some of her own regular helpers and asked Liz if we would like to help out. And that's what got me on the road to McRoberts.
[TO BE CONTINUED]
Read more!
Ranya began working to develope networks of shoe stores and organizations serving shoeless people. She also discovered that it wasn't just shoes that were being thrown out. As word of her new-found life work spread, Ranya, receiving requests for help from all over, went national. Today, the Redistribution Center, Inc., Ranya Kelly, Founder and President, gathers and distributes millions of dollars worth of food, clothing, building supplies, toys, furniture, household goods, school and office supplies and, of course, shoes (Ranya long ago abandoned all hope of ever going out of the shoe business.)
Somewhere along the line Ranya met the Jews. One of the stereotypes of the Jewish world is that we all know each other and, working through various formal and informal organizations, networks and extended families, provide for the needs of our less-fortunate brethren (while, of course, doing business without much regard for things like borders). While most sterotypes arise from mindless prejudice, this one does have some truth to it. After a couple of centuries of living in ghettoes, exiled from our homeland, we learned to provide for ourselves. The Jews have gotten pretty good at moving money, goods and services around to help one another. But it's more than that. Central to the Jewish tradition are three things - study of Torah, prayer and acts of loving kindness. The latter is ingrained in us from an early age. Everyone, no matter how rich or poor, is obligated to do tzedakah (roughly translated as, "charity"). If you've got nothing yourself, you give a penny or you provide volunteer labor. If you've got a million bucks to spare you may as well ante up now because the Federation will find you. The obligation to do good works goes beyond fellow Jews. We have obligations not just to our brethren but also to to "the stranger within our gates", which is to say anyone in need. In the United States, this tradition has led an affluent community to direct its efforts toward any number of community-based organizations, without regard to religious affiliation.
For Ranya and the Jews, it was love at first sight. She found numerous kindred spirits, to say nothing of more sources of donations and targets for distributions. She also became a sought-after speaker at conferences and synagogue programs, delivering her message that what she does can be replicated in other communities. All you need to do is ask around and be ready for some creative dumpster-diving. Having been adopted by the Jews, Ranya met Naomi Eisenberger
Naomi is the Executive Director of the Good People Fund (having held the same position with a predecessor organization). The Good People Fund raises money for small groups and people in the US and Israel who work, usually on shoe-string budgets using volunteer labor, to do some good in this world. The Fund, which is small by US charitable organization standards, works mostly with community-based organizations for whom a $10,000 grant is a major gift. Naomi's Fund also makes donor-advised gifts to organizations approved by its Board. Naomi runs the Fund out of her New Jersey home with the occasional road trip to vet potential grant recipients or get involved in projects. Naomi has known Ranya for years and both directs cash donations to the Distribution Center and connects Ranya with local groups who could use her help.
Liz recently began to volunteer to help Naomi, handling some administrative tasks and helping to edit communications. The two are kindred spirits in that they have the talent to bring together people who, working together, can make a real difference in the lives of people who could use a break. Yes, dear reader, this is going to be one more tale of my wife doing good while I show up in time to eat.
Naomi has been working with an Appalachia-based organization called Family-to-Family and, through them, was introduced to people from a community center in McRoberts, Kentucky. McRoberts was a coal company town until the 1950s when the industry began to wind down and switch from deep tunnel mining to strip mining. Today any mining in the area involves blowing off the tops of mountains, spewing debris into local streams and creating lakes of sludge from the water and solid waste left over from refining coal. This leaves places like McRoberts with few jobs but lots of polluted drinking water and the occasional flood from a sludge lake. The coal companies and the politicians they own will tell you that all of this is safe. I'm not sure than someone whose land has been covered by a sludge flood would agree.
Economically-speaking, McRoberts is poor. The per capita income is about half that of the state average. Drug abuse is rampant (this is oxycontin country). Lots of people need clothing and basic household goods. These needs only increase in the winter as kerosene heaters burn down the houses they were supposed to just heat. But McRoberts is rich in its sense of community. Rich in people willing to help each other as best they can. People in McRoberts may. like Israelis, know that things can always get worse but, like Israelis, that doesn't stop them from getting on with their lives. And that's what got them onto Naomi's radar screen.
Naomi suggested to community representatives a distribution of needed items trucked in by Ranya the Shoe Lady. Naomi knew this could be done. But Naomi's audience consisted of people who have heard lots of promises from lots of outsiders that were never fulfilled. So when this Jewish lady from New Jersey (and, trust me, this is not a common sight in McRoberts) promised that someone known as Ranya the Shoe Lady from Denver would deliver enough clothing, shoes and hosehold goods to help dozens of families, the locals were understandably skeptical. Nevertheless, they agreed to the distribution, setting a date, lining up a location and identifying volunteers to do the heavy lifting. Naomi called in some of her own regular helpers and asked Liz if we would like to help out. And that's what got me on the road to McRoberts.
[TO BE CONTINUED]
Read more!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
On The Road in Appalachia - Part 1 - Remembering Uncle Bernie
Uncle Bernie died on Thanksgiving Day. Uncle Bernie was a great uncle. He was funny, compassionate, committed to human rights and the mass consumption of good food, booze and, of course, the best cigars that could be found around the globe. Bernie was a photographer both for love and for making a living. Every photograph, slide and home movie had the same artist's touch that could be found in his professional work. If you ever see a news reel from WWII of a tank rolling over the cameraman, that was probably Uncle Bernie, lying in a ditch somewhere in Italy. Or the stills from Quo Vadis, shot while Bernie was back in Italy on a Fullbright Fellowship. Once, when walking through the wooden corridors of the Larchmont Beach Club lockers, Bernie stopped and pointed out a certain corner under a certain skylight. "I always liked the light at this spot," he said. "I used to take pictures of Amy [his younger daughter] right here."
To the rest of the world, Uncle Bernie was Bernard Birnbaum, a legendary producer for CBS News. He was compassionate and cared deeply for and about not only his family and the people he worked with but also many of the people whose lives he covered. At the age of 89 his big heart finally gave up. With my cousin Debbie's permission, I missed the funeral in order not to miss my flight to Tel Aviv. This is not so unusual in our family. Uncle Bernie would sometimes miss family gatherings because he would be in Italy, India, Vietnam or a few dozen other places.
Bernie went to work for CBS in 1951 and stayed for over 40 years. He didn't just produce TV news, he was one of the people who invented it. If you're old enough to remember shows like Omnibus and Camera Three or when the CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite went from 15 to 30 minutes, then you remember what I knew as Uncle Bernie's shows. You young folks may have noticed his credits on Sunday Morning. During his career he covered serious topics like political conventions, the civil rights movement, the Eichmann trial, Vatican II, the Kennedy and Oswald assassinations, the Vietnam War and most of the rest of the history of the second half of the last century. But he also produced shows in a lighter vein, like the report on the Bossa Nova craze sweeping up from Brazil to the USA. Or stories about ordinary people living their lives which came to full fruition with the series "On The Road with Charles Kuralt." Bernie was famous for thinking of what would make a story hit home and then getting it on film. Like the mother of a Boston auto rental clerk who lived in fear of the Boston Strangler or a live interview with Marina Oswald just days after the assassination. The latter made Dan Rather into a national star (and a life-long friend).
Bernie never admitted how he got Mrs. Oswald on camera but his usual technique involved a lot of charm and winning someone's trust. Or sometimes it was just reverting back to his Brooklyn roots. Like that time he set up his film crew on a Jerusalem street across the street from the courthouse where the trial of Adolph Eichmann was about to begin. A man who objected to CBS News cluttering up his sidewalk leaned out from a balcony and started yelling at Bernie, first in Hebrew and then in Yiddush. That did it. Bernie says he told the guy a few things, also in Yiddush, using some expletives that we will delete here. Not 15 minutes later, Bernie, now lighter by two cigars and $50US had rented the balcony for his camera crew. Bernie thought the shot would be better from one story up.
One of the stories Uncle Bernie told me starts with Bernie having breakfast in a bar (a number of his stories start this way). This particular breakfast took place in late November, 1963 in Dallas. Bernie was having breakfast with Fred Friendly, then head of CBS News. They were discussing how best to cover the ongoing story of JFK's assassination. The networks' national news crews were packing up to follow the story from Dallas to Washington for the funeral and the start of the Johnson Administration. But Fred and Bernie concluded that the arrest and trial of JFK's alleged assassin was also major news worthy of leaving a national crew in Dallas with the resources to broadcast live. When word got out that CBS was staying, ABC and NBC also decided to stay. And so, Lee Harvey Oswald became the first person to be assassinated on live television. And, thanks to the then-high tech device of kinescope, his was also the first assassination to be shown on instant replay.
Uncle Bernie also had some of the character traits of an absent-minded professor (this amused the children while exasperating my Aunt Ronnie). For example, there was the time Uncle Bernie sat with Liz and I in his Larchmont living room and told us that he once had the opportunity to get a real insider's take on what had really gone on in Vietnem. Bernie having breakfast in a bar in Bangkok with a four-star general. The general said to Bernie, "You know, most people don't understand that Vietnam........" I never heard the rest of the story. Uncle Bernie suddenly remembered something that needed his attention, stood up, walked up the stairs and never came back to the story.
Bernie produced numerous documentaries over the years. But the one that gets referred to most often is "Christmas in Appalachia." With Charles Kuralt in front of the camera, Bernie brought into millions of homes the horrors of crushing poverty and environmental ruin wreaked upon people living in the wake of the coal industry. Christmas in Appalachia didn't just win Bernie his first Emmy award, it also helped stir a public debate that lead to the Johnson Administration declaring a War on Poverty.
Unfortunately, that war and much of its good intentions got lost in the jungles of Vietnam. Today, over 40 years after Uncle Bernie's show was broadcast, not all that much has changed. I got a lesson in poverty and compassion in early November when I went On the Road in Appalchia with Ranya the Shoe Lady.
[To be continued.] Read more!
To the rest of the world, Uncle Bernie was Bernard Birnbaum, a legendary producer for CBS News. He was compassionate and cared deeply for and about not only his family and the people he worked with but also many of the people whose lives he covered. At the age of 89 his big heart finally gave up. With my cousin Debbie's permission, I missed the funeral in order not to miss my flight to Tel Aviv. This is not so unusual in our family. Uncle Bernie would sometimes miss family gatherings because he would be in Italy, India, Vietnam or a few dozen other places.
Bernie went to work for CBS in 1951 and stayed for over 40 years. He didn't just produce TV news, he was one of the people who invented it. If you're old enough to remember shows like Omnibus and Camera Three or when the CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite went from 15 to 30 minutes, then you remember what I knew as Uncle Bernie's shows. You young folks may have noticed his credits on Sunday Morning. During his career he covered serious topics like political conventions, the civil rights movement, the Eichmann trial, Vatican II, the Kennedy and Oswald assassinations, the Vietnam War and most of the rest of the history of the second half of the last century. But he also produced shows in a lighter vein, like the report on the Bossa Nova craze sweeping up from Brazil to the USA. Or stories about ordinary people living their lives which came to full fruition with the series "On The Road with Charles Kuralt." Bernie was famous for thinking of what would make a story hit home and then getting it on film. Like the mother of a Boston auto rental clerk who lived in fear of the Boston Strangler or a live interview with Marina Oswald just days after the assassination. The latter made Dan Rather into a national star (and a life-long friend).
Bernie never admitted how he got Mrs. Oswald on camera but his usual technique involved a lot of charm and winning someone's trust. Or sometimes it was just reverting back to his Brooklyn roots. Like that time he set up his film crew on a Jerusalem street across the street from the courthouse where the trial of Adolph Eichmann was about to begin. A man who objected to CBS News cluttering up his sidewalk leaned out from a balcony and started yelling at Bernie, first in Hebrew and then in Yiddush. That did it. Bernie says he told the guy a few things, also in Yiddush, using some expletives that we will delete here. Not 15 minutes later, Bernie, now lighter by two cigars and $50US had rented the balcony for his camera crew. Bernie thought the shot would be better from one story up.
One of the stories Uncle Bernie told me starts with Bernie having breakfast in a bar (a number of his stories start this way). This particular breakfast took place in late November, 1963 in Dallas. Bernie was having breakfast with Fred Friendly, then head of CBS News. They were discussing how best to cover the ongoing story of JFK's assassination. The networks' national news crews were packing up to follow the story from Dallas to Washington for the funeral and the start of the Johnson Administration. But Fred and Bernie concluded that the arrest and trial of JFK's alleged assassin was also major news worthy of leaving a national crew in Dallas with the resources to broadcast live. When word got out that CBS was staying, ABC and NBC also decided to stay. And so, Lee Harvey Oswald became the first person to be assassinated on live television. And, thanks to the then-high tech device of kinescope, his was also the first assassination to be shown on instant replay.
Uncle Bernie also had some of the character traits of an absent-minded professor (this amused the children while exasperating my Aunt Ronnie). For example, there was the time Uncle Bernie sat with Liz and I in his Larchmont living room and told us that he once had the opportunity to get a real insider's take on what had really gone on in Vietnem. Bernie having breakfast in a bar in Bangkok with a four-star general. The general said to Bernie, "You know, most people don't understand that Vietnam........" I never heard the rest of the story. Uncle Bernie suddenly remembered something that needed his attention, stood up, walked up the stairs and never came back to the story.
Bernie produced numerous documentaries over the years. But the one that gets referred to most often is "Christmas in Appalachia." With Charles Kuralt in front of the camera, Bernie brought into millions of homes the horrors of crushing poverty and environmental ruin wreaked upon people living in the wake of the coal industry. Christmas in Appalachia didn't just win Bernie his first Emmy award, it also helped stir a public debate that lead to the Johnson Administration declaring a War on Poverty.
Unfortunately, that war and much of its good intentions got lost in the jungles of Vietnam. Today, over 40 years after Uncle Bernie's show was broadcast, not all that much has changed. I got a lesson in poverty and compassion in early November when I went On the Road in Appalchia with Ranya the Shoe Lady.
[To be continued.] Read more!
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