shalzed Archives

Did It Work? Purim’s Hardest Question

February 26, 2026

by shlomo@hrhaggadah.com with No Comment shalzed story

Shalzed hears the story of Purim — and gets stuck on the ending. Yes, the Jews are saved. Yes, Haman’s plot fails. But then comes the part we don’t always linger on. Shalzed has some questions. . .

Did It Work? Purim’s Hardest Question

It was Thursday night, and in addition to preparing a salad to bring with for Shabbat dinner, I had to practice the chapters of the megillah that I had committed to read on Purim. But Shalzed said he really wanted to take out more books on human rights but couldn’t without my card, so I agreed to meet him at the library.

When I got there he was waiting in the lobby, absorbed in a book titled The Last Utopia: Human Rights in History. I tapped him on the shoulder and he said he was ready to check out, and a few minutes later we were out the door.

“I’m sorry to be in such a rush,” I told him. “But I have to practice my megillah reading tonight.”

“Your what?” Shalzed asked.

I smiled. “Next week is Purim. We read the book of Esther.”

“You already know how to read, so why do you have to practice?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, but the book of Esther is written on a Hebrew scroll. To chant it, you have to memorize all the cantillation marks along with all the vowels.”

He didn’t understand, so I stopped at a bench and showed him the copies of the Hebrew pages I had taken along in my backpack. Shalzed examined them carefully. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the section where the lines look different. There was only one word on the left, one on the right, and a blank space in the middle.

“It’s the ten sons of Haman,” I told him. “That’s the way their names are written.”

“Why?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Because they were all hanged at the same time. The tradition is to read all the names in one breath.”

“Hanged?” Shalzed looked aghast.

“Because Haman tried to destroy the Jewish people,” I explained.

“So I see you’re getting ready.” I recognized Rabbi Meyer’s voice behind me and turned around.

“I’ll be all set,” I said as we shook hands. Rabbi Meyer was the rabbi of Congregation Anshei Shalom. I went there most Shabbats, and that was where I would be reading the megillah.

“Why should Haman’s sons be hanged for a crime committed by their father?” Shalzed asked.

Rabbi Meyer gave him a funny look. I told him that Shalzed was a friend from far away who was interested in learning more about human rights. “It says in the Talmud that Haman’s sons had key parts in the plot,” Rabbi Meyer said. “There are many aspects of the Purim story that at first appear problematic, but the Talmud always provides an explanation.”

“Like for all the killing at the end?” I asked.

“What killing?” Shalzed added, looking confused.

Rabbi Meyer smiled. “In the last section of the megillah, the Jews turned the tables and were able to kill all those who had been planning to harm them. But the megillah uses the word ‘enemies’ to describe those the Jews killed, to emphasize that they weren’t innocent bystanders.”

“But just because someone is an enemy, that doesn’t mean it’s okay to kill them,” Shalzed said.

“Rabbi Meyer, I’m so glad to see you, I have to ask you a question,” a woman exiting the library said. I didn’t know her name, but I thought I recognized her from shul.

“Is it urgent? I have to pick up a book for my son, then get back to shul for ma’ariv.” He looked at me when he said that, but I didn’t respond. I had already told him that I wasn’t willing to go each evening, even though they usually needed help with a minyan.

“It’s about Shifra,” the woman said.

Rabbi Meyer nodded and they stepped to the side.

“See you on Shabbos,” I told him. Then I turned to Shalzed. “The megillah tells the story of how Haman rose to power and convinced the king to allow him to slaughter all the Jewish people.” I gestured to the papers I was practicing from. “The Jews were saved because at the last moment Mordechai and Esther changed the king’s mind. It’s only natural that then they wanted some revenge.”

Shalzed wrinkled his nose. “What about international agreements?” he asked.

I couldn’t help but laugh again. “The Purim story took place long ago, way before any of that,” I said.

“So long ago on Earth, a king could just decide to wipe out an entire people?”

“Pretty much,” I said. “That’s why at the end of the story the Jews did so much killing. They had to use their moment in power to create fear so no one would try to become another Haman.”

Shalzed considered. “Did it work?” he asked.

This caught me by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Did killing lots of people prevent future plots against the Jews?”

I shrugged. I had never really thought about that. “I suppose,” I told him. “At the end of the megillah the Jewish people are secure.”

“And what about after?”

I thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” I said. “That’s when the Purim story ends, so it doesn’t say.”

Shalzed seemed surprised. “But history continues.”

A teenager on a skateboard passed by, staring at Shalzed. “Yo, Smurf!” he called. Then he picked up his skateboard and went into a store called ‘Cloud Nine Vape Shop’ right next to the library.

It made me angry, but Shalzed seemed unaffected. “What’s a Smurf?” he asked.

“Never mind,” I told him. “It’s just a stupid kid on a skateboard,” I said, more sharply than I had meant to. I put the papers back in my backpack and slung it over my shoulder. “It probably kept them safe at least for a while. As long as Mordechai and Esther were still in the palace and the same king was on the throne.”

“You said the Purim story happened a long time ago, and that’s why they had to rely on making their enemies afraid. What about today?” Shalzed asked. “If it happened today, would Mordechai and Esther still have tried to instill fear, or would they have felt safer because of human rights and the international system?”

I shrugged again.

Shalzed seemed surprised. “If even now people need to rely on fear to feel safe, will things ever be different?”

Why Isn’t Everyone Excited About the Board of Peace?

January 23, 2026

by shlomo@hrhaggadah.com with No Comment shalzed story

When Donald Trump announced his new Board of Peace, Shalzed was excited. This is just the type of thing he came to Earth for! In this episode he questions French President Emmanuel, who refused to join, and learns why this might not be such a perfect way to pursue peace and justice after all.

Why Isn’t Everyone Excited About the Board of Peace?

I stayed after school to watch the boy’s basketball game. I sat with Rabbi Reichbaum, the principal. It was the end of the second quarter, when the backups who only got to play a few minutes each half were in the game. Rabbi Reichbaum made a special point of watching to make those kids feel important and part of the team. I thought that was a nice idea, so I did too.

But just as a kid made a layup- probably the first time he had ever scored in a game – Shalzed called. I decided that I had to step out into the hallway so Rabbi Reichbaum wouldn’t overhear.

“Earth is amazing!” Shalzed exclaimed as soon as I swiped to accept. “Did you know that the U.S. President is creating a Board of Peace?”

“Doesn’t that have to do with Gaza?” I asked. That’s what I remembered from the news.

“Gaza is just a small part. The Board of Peace will resolve conflicts all around the world.”

“Let’s wait and see,” I told him.

“I don’t understand why all of you humans aren’t excited. I’m especially perplexed why President Macron of France even refused to join.”

Before I could say anything, I was in the familiar black tunnel. This time I tried to focus on the points of light. Were they stars, or were they part of some kind of mechanism? I thought I saw the shape of the Big Dipper, but the truth is I didn’t know exactly what it looked like. Then I was standing next to Shalzed on the second deck of the Eifel Tower, outside a restaurant called Le Jules Verne. Emmanuel Macron, accompanied by an elegantly dressed, much older woman that I assumed to be his mother, had just gotten off the elevator and were headed towards the door.

“Monsieur le Président, why are you refusing to serve on the new Board of Peace?” Shalzed asked. “Don’t you want to help resolve all of the conflicts plaguing your planet?”

Macron wrinkled his forehead. “Who is this, mon cherie?” the woman next to Macron asked in a thick French accent. She grasped his hand in a way that made clear she was his wife.

A security guard stepped forward and said, “The line for the restaurant starts downstairs.”

I took Shalzed’s elbow and tugged him out of the way.

Macron seemed to size Shalzed up for a moment, then he responded. “I declined to join because we already have the United Nations, and maintaining peace and security is what it was created to do.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, but I stopped myself when I realized that Macron was staring at me. “Right,” I told him. “And look how well that’s going.”

Macron nodded. “That’s why we need UN reform. And a new Security Council with broader representation and a revised veto.”

Macron’s wife put a hand on his shoulder. “Mon couer, you’ve been saying that for decades, and nothing ever happens.”

“If reform isn’t working, this is a chance to create a better United Nations from scratch,” Shalzed said.

Macron scoffed. “How can any Board of Peace possibly include Putin, who is responsible for the terrible war in Ukraine?” Macron asked.

“Well, you’re happy with Putin having a permanent Security Council seat and veto at the United Nations,” I replied, because I wasn’t sure Shalzed knew about that.

A man wearing a white chef’s shirt with the name ‘Frédéric Anton’ embroidered over the breast pocket came out of the restaurant and extended his arms in greeting. “Bienvenue monsieur le president, Bienvenue madame Macron,” he said. “Raviolis aux langoustines, crème de parmesan et fine gelée de betterave attendant.”

I didn’t know what that meant, but I was pretty sure it had to do with the menu. I looked out at the incredible view of Paris and saw what I thought was the Arc de Triomphe. I had never been to Paris before, except one time changing planes at Charles de Gaulle airport on the way back from my gap year trip to Israel, so I wasn’t sure.

The chef beckoned Macron forward, but Shalzed stepped in the way. “Much of the world is not represented on the Security Council, and it is stymied by the veto. In the General Assembly, tiny states vote on distant conflicts they don’t understand, guided mostly by who they’re trying to please. Isn’t a broad board which includes representatives from most of the major countries, along with some leaders from other fields, a better way?”

“Excusez-moi, it is time for dinner,” the guard told Shalzed.

Macron’s wife signaled the guard to stop, then put a hand on Macron’s shoulder. “This makes sense, Mon amour. You should listen,” she said.

“Trump is selling memberships for a billion American dollars,” Macron said dismissively. “How can that be a fair way to establish a Board of Peace?”

“The money will go to Gaza,” Shalzed said. “And the UN already takes in billions.”

Macron’s wife clicked her tongue. “I think what really bothers my husband is that Monsieur Trump is a very strange person to have as chairman of a board devoted to peace.”

“Only an egotistical U.S. President would try something as audacious as this,” I said.

“Not just egotistical,” Macron’s wife added. “He just kidnapped the President of Venezuela and is threatening to take over Greenland. Maybe if someone else was behind this my husband would be more supportive.”

Macron shook his head. “Trump is my friend,” he said. “I invited him to join us here for dinner this evening, and I am sorry he did not attend.”

“Speaking of dinner,” the chef said impatiently, gesturing inside.

The security guard nudged Macron forward, and this time Shalzed stepped back to allow him and his companion to enter the restaurant.

“Look at the UN’s paralysis in Gaza,” I said as Macron walked by. I kept to myself that many at my school feel the UN has actually made the situation worse. “If this board of peace wasn’t Trump’s idea, would you give it a try?”

Macron stepped past us and entered the Jules Verne restaurant, with the chef following behind. The security guard lingered, watching Shalzed and me.

I tried to get one last glimpse of Paris as I felt myself being drawn back into the black tunnel. A moment later I was back in the hallway of the school. I wondered how long I had been gone. I heard clapping from the gym, so I figured the game was at least still going on.

I went back inside and saw that the third quarter was just beginning, and now our school’s team was down by 20. I went and took my seat next to Rabbi Reichbaum.

“That was a long phone call,” he said.

“Yeah,” I replied, not sure what else to say.

“At halftime one of the kids from the other school was ejected for taunting. I’m proud none of our boys got into a fight. I think we should talk about it tomorrow, maybe after davening.”

“Ok,” I said. “I’m sure the kids will fill me in.”

“It’s like we need a whole board of peace just to run a basketball game,” Rabbi Reichbaum said. “But not if it means Donald Trump. Even if he does manage to bring peace to the Middle East, I don’t want him anywhere near here.”

Sources:

For more background on Trump’s Board of Peace from CNN, click here.

When the UN Charter Meets Black Ops

January 8, 2026

by shlomo@hrhaggadah.com with No Comment shalzed story

International law says no. Reality is a maybe.
This week, Shalzed and Simon go to Mar-a-Lago to ask Marco Rubio what the rules mean when it comes to Venezuela.

When the UN Charter Meets Black Ops

I usually don’t watch the news, but I was surprised enough by the U.S. abduction of Nicolas Maduro to turn on the television while I made oatmeal and toast for my Sunday morning breakfast. Experts were speculating about what’s next for Venezuela. Then, just as Chuck Schumer was complaining that Trump failed to notify Congress, Shalzed called.

“How can one country send its army to capture the leader of another?” he asked. “Isn’t that against the most fundamental rules of international law?”

That’s pretty much what Schumer was now saying on TV. “The Democrats seem to agree with you,” I said as I turned the volume down.

“Democrats?” Shalzed asked. “But the prohibition on using force is in the charter of your United Nations. What does that have to do with Democrats or Republicans?”

Before I could say anything, I was in the black tunnel I had already grown accustomed to. This time, since by now I was no longer afraid or panicked, I tried to feel around to sense if there were walls or if I was traveling inside of some sort of vessel. I didn’t feel anything, and then a moment later I was outside Trump’s Mar-a-Lago country club in Palm Beach, Florida. Shalzed was next to me. We were standing on a wide sidewalk lined by neatly trimmed hedges with a vast, manicured lawn on either side. Through the palm trees, I could just make out the ocean.

“Mr. Secretary,” Shalzed exclaimed, starting up the path towards the main entrance. Marco Rubio was coming out. He looked tired. He had his suit jacket folded over his arm, with a red tie hanging out of his pants pocket.

“Who are you?” Rubio asked. He looked Shalzed over, then glanced at me as I came up behind.

“Wasn’t sending troops to abduct Maduro a flagrant violation of international law?” Shalzed asked.

Rubio shook his head. “Of course not. It was actually law enforcement. Maduro was indicted for trafficking cocaine, and now he’ll face trial in New York.”

“The U.S. can’t make arrests in other countries,” I said. I may not be a lawyer, but at least I know that much.

“And Maduro has immunity as a head of state,” Shalzed added.

Rubio scoffed. “Maduro was the head of a drug trafficking operation masquerading as a government,” he said. “He rigged the last election to stay in power, so he’s not a legitimate president at all.”

“So the United States gets to decide which governments are legitimate—and send in troops when needed?” Shalzed asked.

Rubio sighed. “It’s been a long night, gentlemen,” he said. “I don’t recall seeing either of you before in the ballroom, are you guests for just a few nights? Or are you here for a round of golf?” He raised his eyebrows. I read somewhere that joining Mar-a-Lago costs $1 million upfront, then $20,000 in dues annually. I was wearing jeans and an old Camp Ramah T-shirt, so I probably didn’t look like I belonged.

“He’s come from very far just to be here,” I said, gesturing to Shalzed. However he got us in, I hoped he would also get us out before we were picked up by the secret service.

“Do you really want to undo the principle that countries have to respect each other’s sovereignty?” Shalzed asked. “Isn’t that the key to peace, and fundamental to the UN Charter?”

Rubio shrugged. “The problem with sovereignty is that it usually winds up being used to protect tyrants and dictators.” He tossed his suit jacket over his shoulder and put his hands on his hips. “Do you realize that nearly 8 million Venezuelans have fled due to Maduro, and about 750,000 of them are in the United States. Biden gave most of them protected status because they face persecution back home. How can the U.S. be obligated to bear all these refugees, but not be allowed to do anything about what’s causing them to seek refuge in the first place?”

“But whatever is to be done has to be decided by the UN Security Council,” Shalzed said. “It can’t be left up to only one country.”

Rubio waved an arm. “That wouldn’t work. Russia and China would use their veto.”

“As if the United States doesn’t use its veto, too,” I added.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see a man in a dark suit with a listening device in his ear behind me. “Mr. Rubio is a busy man,” he said. “I think he needs to get going.”

“Enjoy the golf course, gentlemen,” Rubio said. “Assuming you’ve actually reserved a tee time.”

Rubio walked around us and headed towards the gate, where a black SUV was waiting.

“What are your names?” the man in the dark suit asked. He took a tablet computer from his jacket pocket and opened a page with a list of registered Mar-a-Lago guests. “And I may need to see some ID.”

“Listen,” I said, trying to think of something to say. I realized that I didn’t even have my wallet, my pockets were empty when Shalzed whisked me away. I turned to Shalzed, who was staring at Rubio as he left.

“Are the two of you not on the guest list?” the man asked, pretending to be surprised.

“Um,” I mumbled, touching Shalzed on the elbow. When he finally turned I gave him a pleading look.

I felt relieved to suddenly be back in the black tunnel. I wondered if Shalzed would still have been able to pull off his transportation trick if the guy had put us in handcuffs. Before I knew it I was in my apartment. I smelled something burning and look at the stove. The oatmeal had been on the fire the whole time. The water had all boiled off, and as I turned off the flame I wondered if the pot was ruined.

Shalzed was with me in the kitchen. “How long were we gone for?” I asked him, pointing to the burned oatmeal. I wondered if this could finally be a way to get some information on how his black tunnel worked.

But instead of answering, Shalzed stared at the television. This Week With George Stephanopoulos was still on, and the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights was explaining that even though Maduro had a longstanding, appalling record on human rights, that was no reason to justify U.S. intervention in Venezuela.

“But Maduro has been in power for over a decade,” Shalzed said. “And the Human Rights Council never did anything about it.”

“It does seem strange to see the High Commissioner for Human Rights arguing that Maduro should still be in power,” I added.

I wondered if Shalzed was hungry. “I’m going to make some more oatmeal,” I told him. “Would you like some?”

He looked at the burned pot. “Why?” he asked.

I smiled, thinking maybe this was my chance. “Because that pot was on the stove when you took us to Mar-a-Lago. Since we were there for only about seven or eight minutes, that must mean that we spent at least three or four minutes in transit each way, or the oatmeal wouldn’t be so burned. Right?” I asked.

“It looks delicious,” he said. He went to the pot and pulled out a few black, dried-out oats. He put them in his mouth and smiled. “It reminds me of the food we serve at festivals.”

“So you transported us from here to Florida in three or four minutes,” I repeated, hoping he would confirm or deny.

But instead, he turned back to the television. It was showing footage of Venezuelan exiles celebrating in Miami. One of them told a reporter that while he was fearful for his family back in Caracas, he was grateful to Trump and hoped this would finally be a chance for Venezuela to experience freedom.

“Is the High Commissioner for Human Rights going to tell them that they’ve got it all backwards?” I wondered out loud.

Shalzed shrugged. “Can I take that with me?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, handing him the burned pot. I doubted I would be able to clean it anyway.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m starting to wonder whether Earth’s international law and human rights work as well as I thought. But I’m glad that at least I discovered this delicious food called oatmeal.”

Questions:

The prohibition on the use of force in international relations is a bedrock of peace and stability. However, human rights are also a key value, and oppressive regimes can use the prohibition on force as a shield to protect themselves from consequences. Which value is more important? How do we decide?
Approximately 8 million Venezuelan citizens have fled their country, seeking refuge from Maduro’s regime. Many have settled in Central or South America, and about 750,000 are in the United States. Does bearing the cost of caring for refugees give states a special right to use force to change the conditions that caused their flight?

Israel, Somaliland, and the Flexible Definition of a State

January 2, 2026

by shlomo@hrhaggadah.com with No Comment shalzed story

Somaliland has its own political system, currency, and police force — and has been separate from Somalia for over thirty years.

Last week, when Israel extended official recognition, critics cried “meddling.” Supporters say recognition reflects reality on the ground.

But what’s the difference between that and Palestine?

Shalzed and Simon attend an emergency meeting of the UN Security Council to watch diplomats bend their principles when self-interest is at stake.

Israel, Somaliland, and the Flexible Definition of a State

I was on my way home from school, about to head into Stop’n Shop to buy something to make for dinner, when Shalzed called. “Why does the United Nations Security Council think recognizing Somaliland is a threat to peace and security? They are even having a special session about it.”

“About what?” I asked.

“Somaliland,” Shalzed repeated.

I had never heard of it. “What’s that?” I asked.

“Somaliland has been independent from Somalia for over 30 years. It has its own elections, government, currency and police,” he said. “Now Israel was the first country to recognize it as a state.”

I had no idea why that was important, but before I could say anything I was whisked into the dark tunnel that by now seemed second nature. A moment later I was seated next to Shalzed in the UN Security Council visitor’s gallery in New York.

“I don’t see the problem, let alone a threat to security,” Shalzed said to me, as if instantaneous travel across long distances was no big deal. “If the people living in Somaliland want to be independent, isn’t it their right?”

“How did you get us in here?” I asked.

Shalzed turned towards the podium, as he always refuses to answer that question. The French delegate was announcing that her country opposed Israel’s decision. “Internal disputes within Somalia must be resolved in a negotiated manner,” she said.

“But if the people in Somaliland believe that they can achieve better freedom or more stability from being separate, shouldn’t that be their right?” Shalzed asked me again. “Why should Somalia have a veto?”

I shrugged. “I guess they don’t want every group to secede and start their own country,” I told him. I made a point of whispering, hoping he would also keep his voice down.

When the French delegate finished, the U.S. representative took the floor. She said Israel has the right to conduct its own diplomatic relations. Then she added that just a few months ago several countries unilaterally recognized a Palestinian state, and there was no emergency meeting called to express outrage about that.

“That’s a good point,” I said quietly to Shalzed. “Isn’t that exactly what Israel and the U.S. say about Palestine, that statehood should only come about via negotiation?”

Shalzed frowned. “There must be some difference,” he said.

The observer from the African Union was next. He said recognition of Somaliland is an attempt to undermine Somalia’s unity, sovereignty and territorial integrity, and is against international law. Then he added that the UN Charter requires the full recognition of Palestinians’ legitimate right to establish an independent state.

Shalzed shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he said to me. I gestured for him to whisper, but he seemed too upset. “If it’s against international law to recognize Somaliland’s independence without Somalia’s agreement, then how can countries recognize Palestine even though Israel is opposed? And if Israel says no countries should recognize Palestine without its consent via negotiations, why is it going ahead and recognizing Somaliland as an independent state?”

An African man wearing a bright red shirt with purple stripes sitting in the row behind us tapped Shalzed on the shoulder. “Just another day at the United Nations,” he said. “Now can you please be quiet?”

Shalzed glared at him, then turned back to the proceedings. The representatives took turns talking, saying pretty much the same things. When it was over Shalzed jumped to his feet. “I have some questions,” he said. He headed towards the exit, pushing people out of his way so aggressively many stopped to stare. I apologized on Shalzed’s behalf as I tried to follow, mumbling that Shalzed ‘was not from here’.

When I finally reached the hallway Shalzed was already in the middle of the foyer, talking to a man I recognized as Danny Danon, Israel’s Ambassador. I did my best to avoid colliding with diplomats leaving the Security Council chamber as I headed over.

“Somaliland has a permanent population, independent government, defined territory, and capacity to conduct international relations,” Danon was saying. “So according to the Montevideo Convention, it meets all the criteria for statehood. Palestine doesn’t have a government, since it’s split between Hamas and the Palestinian Authority, and neither has had free and fair elections for ages. And Palestine doesn’t have a defined territory because its borders aren’t resolved.”

The French representative had been walking by, but she paused and turned towards Danon. “That’s absurd,” she said in a thick French accent. “The Palestinian Authority is recognized internationally as a legitimate government. The fact that exact borders must still be negotiated doesn’t mean Palestine lacks a defined territory. Somaliland was once a part of Somalia, that’s why it can’t become an independent state unilaterally. But Palestine was never part of Israel, it’s occupied.”

Shalzed looked confused. “I have a tv interview waiting,” Danon said, starting to go.

“If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like a word with you first,” the French Ambassador told him.

“About what?” Danon asked with a frown.

The French ambassador gestured towards Shalzed and me. “I’ll be happy to tell you in just a moment.”

“If you’re so certain that Somaliland should be independent, why did it take you thirty years?” Shalzed asked Danon. I wondered if he was oblivious to the fact they wanted us to leave, or just didn’t care.

Danon smiled. “Better late than never.”

That was ridiculous. “Israel’s government has been too busy for the last three decades?” I asked him.

Danon clicked his tongue. “Listen,” he said. “No matter the law, states only extend recognition when conditions are right strategically and politically.”

“In other words, right now an alliance with Somaliland serves Israel’s interests,” I said.

Shalzed turned to the French Ambassador. “Do you really believe Palestine has a functioning government, even though Abbas was last elected in 2005, for a term that was supposed to be four years, and he is only in charge of the West Bank while Hamas runs Gaza?” he asked.

“Recognition is necessary to preserve the possibility of a future Palestinian state,” she replied. “Recognizing the Palestinian people’s right to self-determination is the only way towards a future without permanent conflict.”

“But. . .” Shalzed began.

“Excusez-nous,” the French Ambassador said, gesturing us aside.

“L’hitraot,” Danon added. He must have assumed from my kippah that I know at least a little Hebrew.

“You’re both contradicting yourselves,” Shalzed said.

“C’est la vie,” the French ambassador replied, waving her arm. She pulled Danon away, towards a quiet corner. “Au revoir.”

Shalzed stared at them for a moment with his hands on his hips, and a man wearing an ‘S’ badge, meaning that he was a member of the secretariat, bumped into him. “You can’t stand here, right in the middle of the hallway,” he said. Then he looked at us more closely. “What badge do you two have?”

Shalzed looked at me. “Isn’t this all just politics pretending to be about law?” he asked.

The guy from the Secretariat looked at us suspiciously. “If you don’t have badges, I highly suggest you leave,” he said before I could figure out anything to say to Shalzed.

Suddenly I was in the black tunnel with points of light, then a moment later I found myself back in my apartment. I had meant to buy something to cook for dinner at Stop’n Shop, but now if I wanted to do that I’d have to get my bike out or wait for the bus. Then I realized I still had a pizza in the freezer- that would do.

I looked around and Shalzed wasn’t here, and he wasn’t calling me on the phone. I baked the pizza in the oven then watched sports bloopers on YouTube while I ate. In a way I was glad Shalzed let me alone, since I was hungry. But I also worried. He told me he came to Earth because he thought our system of international law and human rights could be the secret to peace not only here but also on his home planet. I felt sort of guilty, like I was letting him down. Now that he sees how easily international law is warped by politics, I wondered if he would even bother to stay.

Sources:

Coverage of Israel’s recognition of Somaliland from the BBC

Summary of UN deliberations

Questions:

Is it hypocritical to recognize Palestine or Somaliland, but not the other? Or are there valid distinctions between the two cases?
Since every new state necessarily takes territory from an existing one, governments tend to frame secession as an illegal threat to sovereignty, while seceding populations frame it as necessary to fulfill their right of self-determination. Are there any objective criteria that can determine who is right, or does recognition always depend on power and politics?

The Camera That Solved a Shooting — and Tracks You, Too

December 26, 2025

by shlomo@hrhaggadah.com with No Comment shalzed story

The Brown University shooter was caught using Flock cameras — AI-powered systems that track cars by unique “vehicle fingerprints,” now installed across the U.S.

These cameras aid investigations, but do they also open the door to mass surveillance and invite police abuse?
Shalzed and Simon meet Flock’s CEO to find out.

The Camera That Solved a Shooting — and Tracks You, Too

I was sitting on my couch watching the evening news, which had on a long segment explaining how the police were able to track down the person responsible for the shooting at Brown University and killing an MIT professor. Once they got a tip on the suspect’s car, they used artificial intelligence cameras from a company called Flock to locate it. Flock cameras identify every car that passes within range, not only by license plates but also by developing what they call a ‘vehicle fingerprint’ which consists of anything distinctive like a bumper sticker, dent, or aftermarket part. That’s how the police caught the suspect even though he switched the car’s license plates.

As soon as the news switched to weather Shalzed called. “I don’t understand,” he told me. “How can AI cameras be in such wide use? Aren’t they a threat to basic freedom?”

I had never really thought about that. “Well, if the cameras just record cars going by I don’t see why it’s a problem,” I told him.

“But it’s a form of mass surveillance. Humans will become afraid to exercise their freedom if they know they can easily be watched.”

All of a sudden I was back in the black tunnel I was by now getting used to, staring at little points of light. Then I was standing in the Atlanta office of Flock Safety CEO Garrett Langley. Langley looked so young he might still even be in his twenties- maybe not surprising since he only founded the company in 2017 after tinkering with surveillance cameras at his own dining room table. His desk was clear, and he was staring intently at his laptop computer. Someone on the computer screen yelled, ‘Help, help!’ and Langley smiled.

“Watching a movie?” I asked.

Langley looked up and noticed us for the first time. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Don’t the cameras you sell threaten people’s basic rights and freedom?” Shalzed asked.

Langley waved his hand. “What we do is make communities safer,” he said. “Just look at how we helped catch the Rhode Island shooter last week.”

“But what if these cameras are abused?” Shalzed asked. “They could be used to track anyone who attended a political demonstration.”

Langley shrugged. “Our cameras are just a tool,” he said. “If law enforcement misuses it, hold them accountable, not me. Now I want to know how you got into my office.”

“Check your surveillance cameras,” Shalzed said. I laughed. Shalzed refused to tell me anything about how his transport system works, but I was pretty sure we wouldn’t show up. “Police could even use your cameras to track women who travel out of state for an abortion.”

The phone on Langley’s desk buzzed. “Matt Feury is here,” a female voice said.

“Send him in,” Langley said. Then he looked at Shalzed. “I most certainly intend to check surveillance, and if you broke any trespassing laws you’ll be hearing from the authorities.”

“What stops individual police officers from using Flock cameras for stalking?” Shalzed asked. “Like the police chief in Kansas who used your cameras to keep tabs on his ex-girlfriend? Or the police chief in Georgia who used the cameras to stalk women? Or the one in Wisconsin who went so far as to have a Flock camera installed right outside of his house to monitor his wife during their divorce?”

Langley shook his head. “Like I told you, blame the officers and hold them accountable, not us.”

I have to admit I was kind of shocked. “Do you mean that any policeman anywhere can just type the description of a car or a license plate into the computer and find out exactly where that car has been driven?” I asked. I imagined how easy it would be, then, for police to spy on their wives or girlfriends, or on anyone else they had an interest in.

“They’re not supposed to,” Langley replied. “And anytime a law enforcement officer does a search they are required to enter the reason.”

“But they can enter anything,” Shalzed said. “They can easily just type ‘investigation’ in the reason field, or something generic like that. How many officers need to misuse it before that misuse becomes an expected feature??”

Matt Feury entered the office, carrying a large round device with an array of what looked like microphones sticking up on top.

“I was just reviewing the test results,” Langley said to him.

“Who are these people?” Feury asked.

“What is that?” Shalzed asked, pointing to the device in Feury’s hands.

Feury glanced at Langley. “It’s no secret,” Langley said, nodding permission for Feury to respond.

“It’s called Raven. The old models can detect sounds like gunshots and immediately notify police. Now we’ve upgraded it to detect sounds of human distress also.”

“Human distress?” I asked, not sure what he meant.

“Like someone yelling ‘Help, Help!’ Feury explained. “Our new Ravens can sort through background noise to detect someone yelling for help and immediately notify police.”

“While recording everything the raven is able to pick up?” Shalzed asked.

“And if you can identify cars by dents or bumper stickers, I imagine you can also identify people by their faces,” I added. The thought of these devices recording so much information began to make me feel uneasy.

“The alternative is letting mass shooters go free. Now do I need to call security?” Langley asked, gesturing towards his office door.

“Don’t bother,” Shalzed replied. “Just one more question. How can we be sure you’ll only sell these devices to law enforcement?”

“We don’t,” Langley replied. “We sell to homeowner associations, private businesses, neighborhood associations, and property managers too.”

“You mean they all have access to location data on cars?” I asked.

“What if a private business owner buys a camera and then uses it for stalking or harassment?” Shalzed asked. “Who can hold them accountable for that?”

“We have systems in place to prevent that,” Langley said. “Now Matt and I have a meeting. There’s the door.”

“I don’t think your privacy protections are strong enough,” I told him.

“Good to hear your thoughts. Should I call security?” Langley asked, gesturing for Feury to take a seat.

All of a sudden I was back in the dark tunnel. I waved my arms a bit, wondering if I could touch anything. Was I inside some sort of machine, or maybe somehow flying? I felt like by now Shalzed owed it to me to at least explain a little bit about how this works. Then I was back in my apartment. The news was over and now a late-night comedy show had come on.

Shalzed was with me, standing next to the kitchen table. I realized this was the first time he had ever been in my apartment.

“What’s that?” Shalzed asked, pointing worriedly at the mezuzah on my bedroom door.

“It contains a scroll with passages from the Torah,” I told him, not sure why he looked upset. “It’s called a mezuzah. According to the Jewish tradition, we put them on doors.”

Shalzed relazed. “I thought it might be a listening device,” he said.

I laughed. “No listening devices in my apartment, at least as far as I know.” Then I wondered about my Ring doorbell and Amazon Alexa. Could Flock access their data and combine it with their traffic cameras too?

“Do humans realize how much of their freedom they are potentially sacrificing in order to fight crime?” Shalzed asked. “Because fighting crime is hardly the only use these cameras can be put to.”

I used the remote to turn off the TV. “Now I have a serious question,” I said. “I think I deserve at least a little information about how you transport the two of us anywhere in the world.”

“I have to be going,” Shalzed said.

“Please. Just a little information would be nice. I mean, is it dangerous?” I asked him.

Shalzed opened the door. “Another mezuzah,” he said, pointing to the silver one I had on the entrance.

“I promise whatever you tell me will stay a secret,” I said. “But since you’re transporting me with you, I think I have the right to know.”

“But maybe your apartment really does contain some secret listening device,” he said. “With AI everywhere, it’s best to be careful.” He slipped out and closed the door.

I sighed, then pushed live view on my phone and watched Shalzed leave via my Ring doorbell. I wondered where he stayed when I wasn’t with him. Maybe if I had access to Flock’s surveillance systems, I would be able to know.

The Human Rights Report Amnesty Doesn’t Want You to Find

December 19, 2025

by shlomo@hrhaggadah.com with No Comment shalzed story

This week Amnesty International finally released a report documenting Hamas atrocities. But it’s camouflaged under a misleading title and hidden on their website. Shalzed and Simon travel to London to ask Amnesty’s Secretary General why.

The Human Rights Report Amnesty Doesn’t Want You to Find

I had stopped grading Mishnah quizzes to watch the second half of the game between the Chargers and Seahawks. The game was tied, but Stafford just completed a 50 yard pass to Puka Nacua to set the Rams up first and goal in position to score another touchdown. Then Shalzed called.

“I heard Amnesty International released a report about war crimes and crimes against humanity perpetrated by Hamas against Israel,” he said. “But I can’t find it.”

“It would have to be on their website,” I said as the Rams got stuffed trying to run up the middle.

“Their home page has links to articles titled, ‘Stand with women accused of witchcraft in Ghana’ and ‘Demand accountability in Tanzania’, but there is nothing about Hamas.”

I typed Amnesty.org into my phone and clicked on the page about Israel and the Occupied territories. There was nothing about Hamas there, either.

“Maybe I heard wrong, and they didn’t write it?” Shalzed asked.

The most recent post was titled, “Sustainable peace requires international justice for all victims of all crimes in Israel and the Occupied Palestinian Territory.” Even though it sounded like a general press release, I clicked to read. It contained a long summary of Amnesty’s evidence that Israel is guilty of genocide, ethnic cleansing, and apartheid. Then I noticed a sentence about Hamas that linked to the new report.

“Found it,” I said.

“Where?” Shalzed asked. “Why is it so hard to find? I want to find out what’s going on.”

Just as the Rams were lining up for second down I was back in the black tunnel I had become used to, with points of light all circling around. Then I was inside a place called Café Maya in central London, right near the Peter Benenson House where Amnesty International is headquartered. Shalzed was next to me, as Amnesty Secretary General Agnès Callamard paid for her latte.

Shalzed approached her as she made her way to the area where people wait to pick up their orders. “Bonjour, Madam,” he said. “I wanted to read Amnesty’s report on Hamas war crimes, and I don’t understand why it is so difficult to find on your site.”

She looked him over carefully, probably trying to judge whether he was a threat to her safety. “It’s there,” she said simply.

“The title makes it sound like it’s just a general op-ed. Hamas isn’t even mentioned,” I said.

“C’est comme ça,” she said, waving her hand. “The title mentions justice, that’s what it’s really all about.”

I looked more at Amnesty’s website, still open on my phone. “On November 27^th you released a report titled ‘Israel’s genocide in the occupied Gaza strip continues’. The report before that is titled ‘What states and companies must do to stop fueling Israel’s genocide, apartheid, and unlawful occupation.’ When it comes to criticizing Israel you’re quite outspoken, then when Hamas commits crimes you seem to have trouble even saying it directly.”

“Listen,” Callamard said. “We must be very conscious that Hamas violations can be instrumentalized to justify further large-scale harm to Palestinian civilians.”

“And isn’t there a fear that the inflammatory accusations against Israel you make so often will encourage violence against Israelis and Jews,” I asked her, thinking of the recent Chanukah attack in Australia along with many others.

“If Hamas’s crimes aren’t clearly condemned, why shouldn’t they commit them again?” Shalzed asked.

She checked her phone, as though she might be worried about being late for an appointment. “You have to remember, Israel is a sovereign state with a powerful army,” she said softly. “Palestinians are resisting discrimination and oppression. The situations are not equal.”

“Can I get something for you two, mates,” the barista called to us. She was probably wondering why we hadn’t gone straight up to the counter since there was no one in line.

“I’m good,” I told her.

“You just came in to talk to the ladies?” she asked with a frown.

“I have to be going,” Callamard said, giving the check out barista a smile. She glanced at the man behind the counter preparing her drink.

“Why did it take so long for this report to come out?” Shalzed asked. “It’s been well over two years since the attack of October 7^th, 2023.”

“We pride ourselves on doing careful research and documenting our sources. That’s extremely difficult in a war zone,” Callamard said.

I couldn’t help but speak up. “In that period of time you’ve managed to release countless reports against Israel. Already a year ago you put out a 290 page report saying Israel was guilty of genocide.”

Callamard sighed. “There was significant internal disagreement about whether releasing a standalone report on Hamas was even responsible in the current context.”

Shalzed looked shocked. “What context?” he asked, his eyes going wide. “Isn’t Amnesty’s entire mission to document violations of all human rights, without exception?”

“Agnes,” the barista called, putting a medium size paper cup on the counter. “You did say it’s for taking away?” he asked.

“Oui oui,” she replied, grabbing the cup.

I quickly clicked to view the ‘our mission’ page on Amnesty’s website. “It says right here that universality and impartiality are your core values,” I added, showing her my phone.

“Some people were worried that a report focused on Hamas could be instrumentalized to justify harsher measures in Gaza,” she said. “Or even undermine efforts toward Palestinian statehood at the UN.”

“That doesn’t sound like impartiality,” I told her. “It sounds more like advocacy for Palestine.”

“Well of course,” she said. “Palestinians are powerless victims fighting state-backed oppression of the most brutal kind. As human rights advocates, how could we not take their side?”

“What about Israelis who are victims of indiscriminate rocket attacks, terrorism, boycotts, and other harassment?” I asked her. “Let alone told their country is racist, illegitimate, and should be dismantled? How about advocating for their rights?”

Callamard shook her head. “Of course Israelis also suffer. But they are the powerful group, benefiting from injustice. Palestinians are the ones whose human rights are being violated systematically.” Her phone buzzed. “And now I have to run back for a meeting at my office. Au revoir,” she said, heading out the door.

Shalzed turned to me. “I don’t understand. I thought human rights always applied to everyone equally? That’s how Earth maintains peace, even when groups of humans come into conflict and disagree about who’s right and who’s wrong.”

I sighed. “Did you two mates want to place an order?” the barista at the register asked again, raising her eyebrows.

I was about to ask for a smoothie when Shalzed said no thank you. Then I was back in the black tunnel, watching points of light go by, and a moment later back in my apartment, in the same chair as before I left.

“If groups that consider themselves oppressed are held to a more lenient standard of judgment, then every side in a conflict will say they are the oppressed one,” Shalzed said.

I looked around but didn’t see him. Then I realized we were still connected on the phone.

“You’re right,” I told him. “Agnes Callamard should stick to the principles on her organization’s website.”

I noticed that the Seahawks now had the ball right at midfield, but the score was the same. I wondered what happened. Maybe a turnover? It’s hard to believe they would have missed such a short field goal.

“If humans who call themselves human rights defenders end up just using human rights to promote whatever side in a conflict they think is right, human rights are really just another weapon for law and politics,” Shalzed said.

His voice was sad, and I wanted to console him. “That’s not what human rights should be,” I said. “They are supposed to apply equally to all sides.” Sam Darnold threw a ball that was tipped at the line and intercepted- one of the Rams players ran it back all the way to the twenty yard line.

“What is that noise? Do herds of humans all yell and scream together at once to make music?” he asked.

I laughed. “No, I’m watching a football game.”

“I dislike the sound,” he told me.

“And I still have quizzes to grade,” I said.

Shalzed hung up, and on the next play Kyren Williams ran through the left side of the line all the way for a touchdown. But just as the Rams started to celebrate, they realized the play was coming back for holding. The crowd was livid, and the announcers kept showing replays, unable to spot any infraction.

“Maybe the referee who threw that flag is a Seahawks fan, and he figures they need some extra help playing in front of this rowdy crowd on the road,” one of the announcers quipped.

Sounds exactly like a certain human rights person I just spoke with, I thought to myself. Applying rules differently depending on which side you’ve decided to be on.

Question:

Should human rights organizations be strictly impartial—investigating and publishing findings without regard to political context—or is it legitimate for them to weigh power disparities, advocacy impact, and timing when deciding how and when to release reports?

Sources:

Background on Amnesty’s conduct leading up to the release of the report from The Free Press.

Page on Amnesty’s website containing a link to the Hamas report.

Death Penalty Only for Palestinians? Shalzed Confronts Ben-Gvir Outside the Knesset

December 11, 2025

by shlomo@hrhaggadah.com with No Comment shalzed story

This week Shalzed and Simon head to Jeruslaem. Shalzed wants to understand why Israel is considering a law which punishes those who attack Israelis differently than those who attack Palestinians- a seemingly clear violation of the principle of equality before the law which is fundamental to human rights.

Death Penalty Only for Palestinians? Shalzed Confronts Ben-Gvir Outside the Knesset

First period I teach seventh grade Chumash, then I have a period free. Unfortunately, an older woman named Rosalie Steinburger who has been teaching second grade for over 40 years, is off that period too while her class has either music or gym. Every time she sees me she asks when I’m going to get married and whether I’d be interested in meeting her niece. But this time, to my surprise, it wasn’t Rosalie but rather Shalzed waiting for me in the teacher’s lounge.

“I don’t understand,” he said as soon as I came through the door.

Crazy as it seems, talking to a blue-skinned alien with pointy ears was becoming normal for me, but I wondered how Rosalie, or any of the other teachers, would react if they walked in. “Don’t understand what?” I asked him. “And how did you get into the school?”

“In Israel, a law imposing the death penalty only on terrorists who kill Israeli citizens just passed a Knesset committee, while specifically exempting those who kill Palestinians or others. It impinges on due process and takes away the right to seek clemency. This law is obviously discriminatory and violates human rights.”

“It’s because Israel is tired of terrorists being exchanged for hostages,” I told him.

I heard what sounded like Rosalie’s gentle footsteps in the hall. “You know this is the teacher’s lounge, don’t you? Anyone can come in?”

Shalzed shrugged. I guess he wasn’t worried about having to answer questions. I wondered if maybe I was becoming a little bit possessive towards him. Was I concerned Shalzed might develop other friends on Earth besides just me? “How can Israel even consider such a law?” he asked, ignoring me. “Who would propose such a thing?”

“It’s Itamar Ben-Gvir.” I told him. “He’s from the far right.”

Just as Rosalie started to open the door, I felt myself floating in the dark corridor with little points of light that I was starting to get used to. A moment later Shalzed and I were outside the Knesset, where Ben Gvir was walking towards a waiting black SUV.

“Slicha,” Shalzed called. I wondered if that was the only word he knew or if he could actually speak Hebrew. Or maybe he had a way of learning any Earth language? “Don’t you know that Article 7 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights says that everyone is entitled to equal protection under the law? So how can you propose a bill that creates one punishment for Palestinian terrorists but a different one for everyone else?”

Ben Gvir stopped and put his hands on his hips. “Palestinians also want to be treated differently than Israelis,” he said. “Didn’t you see them cheering when we released convicted killers in exchange for our hostages as part of the ceasefire? They want Israelis who attack them to be punished severely, while we let their terrorists go.”

I noticed Ben Gvir had a small pin shaped like a noose on his lapel. I’d already seen countless photos of that on Facebook. “Why do you have to wear that?” I asked him. “Don’t you understand the harm you are causing? It makes it look like Israel doesn’t care about international law and is out to kill Palestinians.”

“I don’t care what antisemites think,” he said.

Shalzed crossed his arms. “You can hardly call people who oppose having capital punishment for Palestinians but not for Jews antisemites,” he said.

“If they hold Israel to one standard and the rest of the world to another, then they’re antisemites,” Ben-Gvir replied. “As soon as the ceasefire went into effect, Hamas started rounding people up, and without any due process had then blindfolded and shot them in the head. They called that a security operation. And those same people who said nothing about that are now all up in arms when Israel wants to impose the death penalty to help keep our citizens safe from terrorists?”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right,” I told him.

“There’s a Palestinian so-called human rights organization named Addameer,” Ben-Gvir continued. “They are all outraged by violence against Palestinians in the West Bank, claiming Israel is violating international law by not punishing those responsible more harshly. But at the same time they say Palestinians who have killed Israelis are political prisoners who should be released.”

“Why would a human rights group want convicted terrorists released?” Shalzed asked. I couldn’t help but chuckle at his surprise.

“There’s more,” Ben-Gvir continued. “There’s a 17 year old Palestinian named Mohammad Natsheh that we arrested for throwing Molotov cocktails. They say that because he’s under 18, he’s a child who should be released back home to his parents. But many of the settlers that have carried out arson attacks in the West Bank are also teenagers. Those they want in prison.”

“Itamar,” a woman wearing a businesslike skirt and blouse called as she walked towards us from the Knesset.

“I’ve heard enough from you already,” Ben-Gvir said.

When she got closer I saw from the woman’s ID badge that she was a government legal advisor. “I’m telling you again. Even if the law passes, it won’t take effect. It’s too vague, takes away judges’ discretion, and violates international treaties.”

Ben-Gvir waved his hand. “What’s important is to protect Israeli citizens from terrorists, not to follow treaties the world uses to condemn us while Hamas and all the other countries break them all the time.”

“There are lots of verses in the Torah that say there should be only one law, both for Israel and for foreigners that dwell in our midst,” I told Ben-Gvir.

“Did you tell that verse about one law to the hundreds of celebrities demanding that we free Barghouti? And the ones organizing the free Barghouti campaign?” Ben-Gvir asked.

“What does it have to do with Barghouti?” Shalzed responded.

“On the freemarwan.org website they claim Barghouti has been imprisoned unjustly because he was convicted by an Israeli court he does not recognize. You see, they don’t want equality. They want Palestinian terrorists to go free, while at the same time complaining we don’t punish Israeli citizens who attack Palestinians harshly enough.”

“Why is he in prison?” Shalzed asked.

“Because he helped orchestrate the murder of a group of innocent Israelis while they were just sitting eating at a restaurant,” Ben Gvir replied. “Imagine the world-wide calls for justice should an IDF soldier or Israeli citizen do that.”

“Do you want me to help you fine tune the language?” the legal advisor offered.

Ben-Gvir looked hesitant. “How?” he asked.

“Here is one example. The draft you submitted applies the death penalty only when the victim is an Israeli citizen,” she said. “That means it won’t apply to attacks on permanent residents or tourists.”

Ben-Gvir smiled. “That’s a good point. Let’s go.” He motioned to his driver to wait. “We can talk in my office.”

“This law is going to be used against Israel abroad,” I said. “It will make Israel be seen as racist.”

Ben-Gvir scoffed. “There will always be people who hate us,” he said. “Jews have been persecuted for thousands of years. What matters is that Israel defends its citizens.” He and the woman started walking back towards the Knesset building, as Ben-Gvir asked what alternate phrasings she recommends.

Shalzed looked at me. “I thought on Earth countries would compete to uphold human rights,” he said. “Not violate each other’s rights, then use each violation by the other as a justification to violate rights even more.”

All of a sudden I thought about third period. How long had we been gone? I had no idea how much time elapsed while we traveled. “I’m supposed to be teaching. . . “ I began.

Once more I was in the blackness, and then after what seemed like less than a minute I was back in the teacher’s lounge, in exactly the same spot as before I left. Rosalie Steinburger was pouring herself a cup of coffee by the sink.

“Is that Simon?” Rosalie Steinburger asked, speaking with her back to me. I looked around, but Shalzed wasn’t here.

“Yup, it’s me,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. I tried to think of an explanation if she asked me how I had just appeared.

She turned around, coffee cup in hand, and smiled. “This coming Friday night my niece Sarah will be at my house for Shabbat dinner,” she said. “Sarah is a lovely young woman, she’s about to be licensed as a speech therapist and is ready for her life to get going. Would you like to come over too?”

I swallowed, trying to think of an excuse. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” I told her. “I have a friend visiting from very, very far away. I promised him I’d be free.”

Rosalie Steinburger looked disappointed. “Maybe another time then,” she said as the school bell rang.

“Sure,” I told her. “I’m sorry, but something came up during second period and I wasn’t able to get much done. I have to run and make some copies before my next class,” I said as I slipped out the door.

COP30 Leaves Shalzed Wondering Why He Chose Earth

November 26, 2025

by shlomo@hrhaggadah.com with No Comment shalzed story

Shalzed came to Earth hoping to learn about human rights and take that knowledge back to his planet. However, a visit to the last day of the United Nations COP30 climate conference leaves him unimpressed.

Shalzed told me that pollution had a devastating effect on his planet. “Everyone produced toxic waste and released it into the air, the water, wherever they wanted,” he said. “Eventually, we had to live in sealed domes.”

So he was excited to hear about the COP30 event in Belen, Brazil, where nearly 60,000 representatives of governments and organizations from all around the world were gathering to discuss climate change. He absolutely wanted to go, so he did his thing where for a short moment I felt like I was floating in nearly complete darkness, with only little pins of light like stars visible, and then all of a sudden we were standing together outside an enormous, air conditioned tent at the edge of the conference Blue Zone. That was the area with strictest security, where only government representatives had access, and the official negotiations were held.

Delegates were streaming out, looking frustrated and tired. I noticed some of the exhibits on new clean energy technology in the area open to the public being torn down.

“What’s going on?” Shalzed asked.

“I think the conference is ending,” I said.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “That’s incredible. Humans have managed to solve Earth’s climate crisis so quickly!”

I chuckled, but he didn’t notice because he was already trying to get the attention of delegates. “Sir,” Shalzed said to a man hurrying out. “Please tell me what the conference decided.”

The man barely glanced in Shalzed’s direction. “Here,” he said, handing Shalzed some papers. “This is the final declaration. . . You can have it, I was going to throw my copy in the trash.”

Shalzed gave the man a puzzled look. I watched him hurry away, taking off his tie and stuffing it into a pocket, as Shalzed read the document intently.

“It doesn’t even mention fossil fuels, and burning fossil fuels is the main cause of the changing climate,” he said when he finished reading. I shrugged. “And this declaration only says that something should be done. It doesn’t say what, or specify who is going to do it.”

“Well, that’s what happens,” I mumbled.

Shalzed looked incensed. “Excuse me,” he said to another delegate passing by, almost grabbing the man’s arm. The man’s badge identified him as Gustavo Petro, President of Columbia. “I don’t understand. The purpose of this conference was to find a way to stop climate change, so why did you pass a final declaration that doesn’t even mention fossil fuels?”

Petro gave Shalzed a weary look. “Are you with the press or something?” he asked.

“No. . .” Shalzed began.

“He’s just concerned,” I interjected.

“It doesn’t matter,” Petro said. “I’ll say the same thing I’m about to tell the media. This conference was an absolute embarrassment. We need a strong commitment to transition to alternative energy and move away from fossil fuel, and I’m outraged that didn’t happen. The minor agreements we reached about deforestation and adaptation aren’t nearly enough. The countries standing in the way should be ashamed.”

Shalzed wrinkled his forehead. “Countries standing in the way?” he asked. “But why would any country do that?”

A security guard moved between Petro and Shalzed. “If you’ll excuse the President,” he said very firmly, but at least somewhat polite. “Press conference,” he said to Petro, guiding him away.

Shalzed turned to me. “Some countries are afraid transitioning away from fossil fuels will harm their economies,” I told him.

“Do they think their economies are more important than the health of the planet?” he asked.

Once more I shrugged. Shalzed turned back to the parade of delegates walking by. Most ignored him. Then a man with his suit and tie still in place turned when Shalzed tapped him on the shoulder. His badge identified him as Vladimir Uskov, chief negotiator from Russia.

“Can you tell me why any country would want to prevent transitioning away from fossil fuels?” Shalzed asked.

“Were you playing games over at the windfarm exhibits during my speech?” Uskov asked.

“We just got here,” I told him, before Shalzed could reply.

“It’s very simple,” Uskov snapped. “Russia is a sovereign country, just like everyone else. We want to set our own policy on energy without having it dictated by international organisations or the UN. Fossil fuels are the backbone of our economy, and if we abandon them abruptly millions of our people will suffer. That’s not a just transition. We need to use all pathways going forward, and fossil fuels must remain a part of the mix.”

“But if all countries don’t cooperate in reducing emissions, climate change can reach a tipping point where the effects will be impossible to reverse,” Shalzed said.

“Alarmist nonsense,” the Russian replied, waving his hand. “Climate projections are extremely uncertain, and it’s very likely technology will be invented in the future to manage the threat.” A woman on her way out called to him in Russian, and he hurried to join her.

Shalzed crossed his arms against his chest. “I don’t get it. I assume most countries understand the urgency of the climate crisis, even if Russia doesn’t. Why didn’t they just hold a vote on whether or not to take strong action, and Russia would lose?”

I smiled. “That’s not how these conferences work,” I told him. “Everything has to be agreed to by consensus.”

“Consensus? You mean you only take action when all of the nearly 200 countries agree? Any one of them can stand in the way?”

“Pretty much,” I said. “Russia has a few allies, countries whose economies are based on coal or oil. Together they are able to block almost anything.”

“But why?” Shalzed asked.

“That’s just the way it works. Like the Russian delegate said, each country is sovereign. There is no mechanism to force any country to do anything it doesn’t want to.”

Shalzed considered. “What about your country?” he asked. “The United States is one of the largest economies. Let me find one of their delegates. If the United States takes action, even on its own, that would make a big difference.”

Shalzed began scanning the ID badges the exiting delegates were wearing around their necks.

“I don’t think you’ll find anyone representing the U.S.,” I told him.

“Why not?”

“The United States refused to come.”

Shalzed turned in surprise. “The U.S. didn’t come? But why not? Climate change affects the entire planet. And you said this conference is. . .”

“The President of the United States believes climate change is a hoax,” I interrupted. “He is actually trying to increase production of fossil fuels. He says all the science indicating that emissions from burning fossil fuels are changing the climate is wrong, and this is all just a big scam that will hurt the economy.”

Shalzed looked around, looking a bit flustered and bewildered. Then I saw back in the darkness, floating with lights around me, and a moment later we were standing outside my apartment.

“But what about human rights?” he asked while I was still trying to get my bearings. “Climate change can cause people to lose their housing and their access to food. It will affect health and destroy livelihoods.”

“Yes,” I told him. “But that doesn’t mean any particular country is obligated to act.”

“I’m starting to wonder whether Earth was even worth coming to,” he said, his voice gloomy.

“At least you found out about soft serve ice cream,” I told him. He had been utterly amazed at how it was able to be swirled and maintain that shape in the cone.

“I have to think,” he said to me.

“And I have homework from my 7^th and 8^th grade mishnah classes that I have to grade.” Shalzed started walking away with his head down. He kicked a small rock from the sidewalk out into the street. “There are good things on Earth too,” I called after him.

He turned around to look at me. “I hope so,” he said. “I really hope I didn’t come all this way for nothing.”

Sources:

News coverage of Cop30 from Reuters

From the BBC

From Climate Change News

Question: International law respects the sovereignty of all states, so there is limited ability to force countries to take action and also limited ability to hold states accountable for fulfilling whatever climate commitments they may make. Is international law up to the challenge of addressing climate change, which requires all countries to take strong action and work together? Is there any alternative?

Punished for Prayer?

September 11, 2025

by shlomo@hrhaggadah.com with No Comment shalzed story

Quebec recently proposed a law forbidding prayer in public places. Shalzed catches up with that province’s Minister of Secularism Jean-François Roberge to find out how he doesn’t see this as a violation of religious rights.

I waited outside the Hôtel du Parlement du Québec, watching water flow through the Tourny Fountain. I have no idea why the fountain has so many elaborate carvings of fish. On my planet there are very small oceans, so everything to do with marine life is foreign to me.

An English speaking family rode by on the kind of bicycles you rent from automatic docks by the minute. I assumed they were from South of the border. In Montreal it’s common to hear English, but not all the way up here in Quebec.

“Bonjour,” I called as Jean-Francois Roberge approached, striding quickly on his way towards parliament.

He nodded and waved at me without slowing down. Roberge has only been in politics for about ten years, when he gave up life as a teacher to serve the proud people of Chambly in Parliament. But evidently that’s been plenty of time for him to get good at brushing people off and to learn to make himself look busy. “Oh father in heaven, may you appear before us and spread your blessings far and wide like insecticide from a crop duster,” I began.

Now he slowed down. “Shalzed?” he exclaimed.

“Sorry, I’m in the middle of a prayer,” I said. A young Muslim couple, just finished taking a selfie in front of the fountain, gave me a funny look.

Roberge rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you’re not praying. There must be no religion where you come from.”

That was true. On my planet we have nothing comparable to what humans call religion, and we have long since disproved the existence of any sort of supernatural power. “Okay, you’re right. But I was exercising my right to pray. Before you pass a law telling all citizens of Quebec what they must and must not believe in.”

Roberge gave me what I’d best describe as a snort, probably how he used to react when a middle school student got sassy. “No one is going to tell Québécois what to believe. And people can still pray, just not in public. I think that’s very fair.”

The Muslim couple took a few steps, but lingered by the fountain. I had the feeling they were listening. Fine with me. “And here I thought freedom of religion was a fundamental right,” I said to Roberge. “Isn’t it even in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, or am I mistaken?”

“Absolutely,” Roberge agreed.

Smart, because I knew I was not mistaken. “So I’d say prayer is pretty fundamental to freedom of religion. And your new law tramples that right.”

“Not in the slightest,” Roberge said. “Here’s an example. People have the right to have children. But you don’t do it in a public park, you do it in your bedroom.”

The Muslim woman who was listening smiled, while the man she was with started laughing. “That’s ridiculous,” I said.

“The point is that people praying is not the sort of thing we want to see in Quebec,” Roberge said. “Whoever wants to pray is welcome, but do it in your church.” He noticed the Muslim couple and added, “Or mosque, synagogue, or whatever you call it. But prayer is not what public places should be used for.”

“And what’s so bad about prayer? Does it hurt someone?” I asked, genuinely clueless as to why he was so adamantly opposed to displays of religion in public.

A man wearing a dirty T-shirt advertising the dates and cities of some long ago concert tour and sneakers held together with masking tape walked straight up to Roberge with his palm extended. Roberge glanced at me and also the Muslim couple, then took out his wallet and handed the man a loonie. I thought the man would come to me next, but instead he walked right past me and went to the Muslim couple.

“Are you going to make a law against asking for money? I assume the site of needy people begging is not something you want in Quebec either,” I asked Roberge.

“Those are completely different things,” Roberge said as he put away his wallet.

“Really?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” Roberge said as he folded his arms across his chest. “There are facilities specially designed for prayer. Churches and the like. So there is absolutely no reason why people should be allowed to take over public places being used by others in order to do it. For beggars, there is nowhere else they can go.”

The Muslim woman gave the man a coin from her purse. Then he headed away, in the opposite direction of Parliament, towards the Plains of Abraham park.

“I’m curious,” I asked Roberge. “Let’s say there is yoga in the park, and it begins with meditation. Will that be forbidden as public prayer? What if there’s a picnic, and someone says grace or a blessing over the food?”

Roberge swallowed. “The law will be enforced sensibly,” he said. “The police will only issue tickets where the prayer is a major or prominent part of a gathering’s purpose.”

“Sounds pretty subjective to me,” I said.

The Muslim woman walked closer, pulling her partner along. Roberge seemed to resign himself to the fact that there was no tactful way he could avoid her. “How do we know you won’t enforce the prayer law only against Muslims?” she asked.

Roberge waved his hand. “The government of Quebec would never do such a thing,” he said. “This law will apply equally to everyone.”

The woman laughed. “That’s very hard to believe, since the fact that you don’t like the prayers at the rallies for Palestine is what got this all started,” she said.

Roberge cleared his throat. “I need to be going,” he said. He pulled out his phone like he was checking a message.

“So you think it’s alright to take away people’s freedoms in public, as long as they can still exercise those same rights at home?” I asked him.

Roberge shook his head. “People absolutely have the right to pray, but only in their home or in their house of worship. Anything beyond that is an attempt to impose religion on others,” he said. “Now I have to head straight to the Salon Rouge.” He put his phone back in his pocket and started to walk away.

“À la prochaine,” I said, feeling certain that with Roberge’s aggressive secularism I’d be back to see him soon.

He waved a hand at me. “Good luck finding a way back home,” he said. “So then you’ll leave us alone.”

I caught the eye of the Muslim woman and we exchanged a smile as Roberge walked away. “Why is your skin blue?” the man she was with asked me.

I shrugged. “I’m just a little different. You see, we’re both minorities.” I don’t like giving humans too many details about my planet so I started towards the park. The couple did not follow.

I wanted to tour Quebec’s old city, so I decided to rent one of those pay per minute bikes to get around and I spotted a kiosk nearby. As I approached, two women wearing long dresses and carrying signs saying that two questions could determine if I was going to heaven or hell asked me whether I owned a copy of the Bible. I told them no, and so they shook their heads and offered me a pamphlet summarizing the teachings of Jesus. I decided to walk to another kiosk rather than be stuck with them watching me while I tried to figure out how to rent a bike.

I wondered if Roberge’s next law would forbid people like this from passing out religious literature in public. That might remove a minor inconvenience, but I hope he doesn’t do it. There’s an awful lot it’s worth putting up with in order to preserve freedom and rights.

Discussion Questions:

Is a prohibition on public prayer a violation of citizens’ religious rights, even if prayer is still allowed at home and in houses of worship?
If public prayer is forbidden, what stops a government from defining prayer or enforcing the law selectively in a way that discriminates against disfavored religious groups?

The Right to Be Heard — Even From Outside the Kitchen Window?

August 21, 2025

by shlomo@hrhaggadah.com with No Comment shalzed story

On Aug. 15^th New Zealand’s Justice Minister Paul Goldsmith introduced a law making it a crime to protest outside a home. Shalzed visits Auckland to find out whether this is respect for people’s right to privacy, or a step towards taking away the freedom to demonstrate and express political opinions.

I felt a little out of place hanging around in front of Paul Goldsmith’s house. A few cars slowed as they drove by, trying to figure out whether I belonged in their neighborhood or maybe just curious about my pale blue skin. And I have to admit, here on Earth I do stand out. I wondered if any of them might call the police.

I thought of taking a seat in the rocking chair on the porch. It would be more comfortable, and I’d also be less visible from the street. But that would be trespassing- not a good idea for a law-abiding, rights-respecting citizen like me.

A black sedan with tinted windows finally pulled into the driveway. Goldsmith lived in an older house with a detached garage, meaning that after parking his car he would have to come back out. He noticed me as he pushed the garage door button. “Shalzed?” he called. “What are you doing in New Zealand?”

“Since I’m from the other side of the galaxy, a little more travel isn’t a problem,” I told him. Of course I came to Earth in a wormhole, which takes absolutely no time to cross. Primitive airplanes are nowhere near as convenient.

“So what do you want?” Goldsmith slung his briefcase on top of a green plastic recycling bin and put his hands on his hips.

“To protest,” I told him.

He gave me a funny look. “For what, the farmers?”

“No, I just want to be able to protest,” I told him. “Before your new law takes effect.”

Goldsmith waved his hand. “Give me a break. It only forbids protests outside of people’s homes. If people want to make a public statement they can go to the park. They can march down the street. What’s the problem?”

I didn’t come all the way to Auckland just to listen to that sort of B.S.. “Really? And how long will it be now until you make a law against protests in the parks also? Don’t joggers deserve not to be disturbed too?”

“That’s absurd. The only point is that people have a right to privacy in their own homes. How would you like to have dozens of people right outside your door waving signs and chanting slogans each evening?”

“Well the whole point of a protest is to draw attention,” I told him. “Protesting is worthless if you can only do it at a faraway place no one sees.”

A woman wearing a red apron with a picture of a kiwiburger stepped out of the house. Probably Melissa, Paul Goldsmith’s wife. “If you want to talk to my husband you need to make an appointment to see him at his office. Now it’s dinner time,” she scolded me.

“Actually, I’m starting a protest,” I replied.

She groaned. “It’ll just be a minute, sweetheart,” Goldsmith told her. Then he turned back to me. “Protests outside of politicians’ homes aren’t fair to the neighbors. What did they do to deserve it? And what about the family? Why should kids have to see people calling calling their mom or dad names every time they leave for school in the morning? It’s not right, that’s all.”

“Sure, sure,” I told him. “And also Premier House. Probably no protests there either because the Prime Minister might have innocent little children.”

Goldsmith looked unsure. “Doesn’t the law apply there also?” I asked him. “After all, the Prime Minister’s official residence is a house.”

“There’s nothing unusual about this new law,” Melissa chimed in from the doorway. “In the United States they don’t allow protests outside of people’s homes either.”

That wasn’t really true- it depends which state or even which city. But she was right that the U.S. Supreme Court has ruled that restrictions on protests outside of private homes are legal as long as protestors can still march through residential areas and spread material door to door.

“You know that this is only going to be enforced selectively,” I told Goldsmith. “Protest at the home of a government minister, the police will come right away. But if it’s a member of the opposition, or someone the government doesn’t like? Then what?” I asked.

“Speaking of the police,” Melissa said.

I turned and saw a squad car pulling into the driveway. “We got a call about a suspicious individual standing in front of your house,” an officer said to Goldsmith as he got out. He started looking me over.

“Just here to protest the law against protests,” I said, hoping a little silliness would set them at ease.

“He’s harmless,” Goldsmith told them.

Harmless? Hardly the way to talk to about someone who designed a system of super reflective mirrors that focus a full 50% of a star’s energy output onto a single point, causing it to reach 15,000 degrees. It provides enough energy to hold open a wormhole. But why argue?

“We’ll escort him away,” the officer said. Some neighbors, attracted by the police car, came out on their lawns to see what was going on.

“You see how much of a disturbance just you are causing right now on your own?” Goldsmith said to me. “Imagine if there were protests here each evening. Noise, traffic, it’s not fair to everyone who lives in the neighborhood.”

The policeman started stepping towards me, giving me his menacing look. “Hey, I’m a tourist,” I said to him. “I’m just on my way to Sky Tower. Buddy, relax.”

“Well Sky Tower closes at eight, so you’d better get going,” he said, snapping the back of his right hand against his other palm.

I turned to Goldsmith. “You know noise and street blockages aren’t valid reasons to ban protests,” I told him. “There are already separate rules for that. You’re just trying to sweep protestors away where you don’t have to see them.”

“I made roasted lamb for dinner and it’s getting cold,” Mellissa said, pointing her husband towards the door. “You have to come now.”

Goldsmith took his briefcase and went inside without giving me another look. The officer remained facing me with his arms crossed.

“I’ll be on my way,” I told the policeman.

“I don’t see any reason to take you in,” he said. “But give me one, and it’ll be my pleasure to do it.”

“Have a good evening,” I told him, then I started walking towards the main road. A few minutes later the squad car drove by, and the officer gave me a long glance. If he followed me he would find out I had been lying. I wasn’t going to Sky Tower- a chance to look around from atop a pile of concrete a few hundred meters high didn’t exactly excite me. But I did want to check out Auckland’s aquarium- on my planet we have very small oceans, so I find the variety of sea life on Earth fascinating. I’ve never seen anything like an anemone or clown fish before.

I imagine Goldsmith means well with his law against protests. But there’s a saying Earthlings attribute to John F. Kennedy that comes to my mind: Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable. As long as protestors are peaceful and follow rules about not impeding access to private property or causing other undue disturbance, trying to shoo them away seems like a bad move.

Questions:

Does a prohibition on protests outside homes, while still allowing protestors to march through residential areas or distribute literature door to door, properly balance residents’ right to privacy against the public’s right to protest?
Does a prohibition on protests outside of homes represent the start of a slippery slope towards eroding the public’s right to protest? For example, could this law also be used to forbid protests outside of a governor’s mansion or other official residence? Will it begin a movement towards future laws that prohibit protest in other sorts of places?

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Why Isn’t Everyone Excited About the Board of Peace?

Shalzed finds out why the President of France thinks this may not be a good way to pursue peace and justice

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When the UN Charter Meets Black Ops

Shalzed Confronts Marco Rubio Over the Maduro Abduction

When the UN Charter Meets Black Ops

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Israel, Somaliland, and the Flexible Definition of a State

A visit to the UN Security Council, where principles stretch under pressure

Israel, Somaliland, and the Flexible Definition of a State

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The Camera That Solved a Shooting — and Tracks You, Too

When security wins, Does Freedom Lose?

The Camera That Solved a Shooting — and Tracks You, Too

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The Human Rights Report Amnesty Doesn’t Want You to Find

Shalzed asks Amnesty International’s Secretary General Why She’s Hiding Their Report on Hamas

The Human Rights Report Amnesty Doesn’t Want You to Find

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Death Penalty Only for Palestinians?

Shalzed Confronts Ben-Gvir Outside the Knesset

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COP30 Leaves Shalzed Wondering Why He Chose Earth

COP30 Leaves Shalzed Wondering Why He Chose Earth

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Punished for Prayer?

Shalzed speaks with Quebec minister Jean-Francois Roberge about new law to forbid praying in public

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The Right to Be Heard — Even From Outside the Kitchen Window?

Shalzed investigates a new law criminalizing protest outside homes

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Lets Work Together