shalzed world cup

Shalzed Confused by Anti-Israel Demonstration at the World Cup

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Shalzed Confused by Anti-Israel Demonstration at World Cup

Shalzed wanted to learn more about Earth culture, so I invited him to join me in watching a World Cup game at “The Final Score,” a sports bar near my apartment. When we arrived they were showing Canada’s opening match.

A waiter handed us a menu, then asked if we wanted anything to drink right away. “I’ll have the big apple,” I told him. The waiter looked at Shalzed, who glanced at me. “Bring him one also,” I said.

Shalzed was immediately captivated by the game on the big screen, but then he seemed confused by the momentary excitement when a Canadian player took a shot on goal that went just above the crossbar. “They almost scored,” I told him.

“But it was quite clear from the ball’s velocity and launch angle, combined with Earth’s weak gravitation, that even the random motion of the atmosphere you call wind could not possibly have redirected it to pass into that structure,” he said.

“Sure,” I replied. I wondered if on his planet they had actual sports or more what we would call a math Olympics. The news came on the one tv in the corner that didn’t have sports, and that got Shalzed’s attention. It showed a picture of the FIFA ball in front of Toronto’s stadium covered with a sign that said, ‘Kick Israel out of FIFA.”

“Is Canada playing against Israel?” Shalzed asked. “I thought. . .”

“No,” I interrupted. “Israel isn’t even in the tournament. They just always protest against Israel, no matter what.”

“But why?” Shalzed asked. “They should protest against Canada, since it was recently accused of genocide by an international tribunal. Or they should protest the countries that do have teams in the tournament. Saudi Arabia murders and abuses migrants, discriminates against women. . .”

“They don’t care,” I interrupted. “They just target Israel.”

“But why would they single out one country? If the human rights movement violates its own principles, what good can it do?”

The waiter returned and placed our mugs on the table. Shalzed stared. “That’s not an apple,” he said.

I laughed. “It’s a cider,” I said. “Try it.”

Shalzed took a sip. “It tastes. . . unusual,” he said. “I don’t understand what it has to do with apples.

“It’s apple juice that’s fermented,” I said.

Shalzed sighed. “You humans are so confusing.”

Question: Is constant anti-Israel protest reasonable or productive? Or does an obsessive focus on Israel ruin the credibility of the human rights movement, turning what were supposed to be objective, global norms of behavior into a means of whitewashing personal bias and prejudice?

shalzed mexico city soccer

Mexico City? That Can’t be Right

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Shalzed outside the opening World Cup match in Mexico City

Mexico City? That Can't Be Right

Shalzed came to Simon’s apartment when the World Cup was on, and had some questions. . .

“Why are all those humans running after the same ball?” shalzed asked.

“It’s called soccer. It’s one of the most popular sports, and this is the championship,” I told him.

The TV shifted to a wide shot of the stadium, packed with people wearing the Mexican team’s green. “Where is this taking place?” Shalzed asked.

“Mexico City. It’s Mexico vs South Africa,” I said.

Shalzed’s blinked three times. “But that’s not possible,” he said. “Certainly an event like that in Mexico would be subject to boycott.”

I wrinkled my forehead. “Why?”

“Mexico was just accused of crimes against humanity. Over 100,000 people have gone missing, often due to gangs, and the government does nothing. Relatives are left to search for their lost family members on their own.”

I didn’t know much about that, so I shrugged. “Only a few of the games are in Mexico,” I said. “The United States is hosting the most.”

“The United States!” Shalzed exclaimed. “Where masked ICE agents pull people off the streets? That conducts extrajudicial killings of anyone the government claims could be a drug smuggler? How could other countries send their sports teams to participate in a competition there?”

The announcer raised his voice, drawing my gaze to the television. A Mexican player was laying on the ground, and the referee held up a yellow card. The crowd was screaming for red. “I think they decided to let the U.S. host a long time before Trump was president,” I told Shalzed.

“That doesn’t explain why the other countries don’t boycott now,” Shalzed replied.

“Some of the games are also in Canada,” I told him.

Shalzed blinked three times again. “An international tribunal just determined that Canada is guilty of ongoing genocide against its indigenous peoples!” he exclaimed. “How can this kicking a ball contest be held in a country guilty of the most serious of all crimes?”

I looked back at the screen. The player on the ground was slowly getting up. “I guess every country is guilty of something,” I said.

“Then why are only some boycotted, while others are not?” Shalzed asked.

I turned back to the TV, because I didn’t know what to say.

aliens website

An Urgent Call From Simon- Simon is alarmed to find a U.S. government website which he believes indicates that Shalzed has been arrested.

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aliens website

An Urgent Call from Simon

Simon is alarmed to find a U.S. government website which he believed indicated that Shalzed had been arrested

I was scrolling down Yahoo’s home page on my phone when I saw an article that said ‘Aliens Walk Among Us.’ My heart skipped a beat as I clicked on the link. Had Shalzed been discovered?

The website said in big green letters over a space background, “Aliens have been walking among us, living in our neighborhoods, and interacting with us in our daily lives. They live seemingly normal human existences. With one exception — they do not belong here.”

I immediately called Shalzed. I had to warn him. I also started to wonder- maybe he hadn’t come to Earth alone?

“I think you’ve been discovered,” I said as soon as he picked up.

“Discovered?” he asked.

I sent him the website link. He was quiet for a moment, then said with a laugh, “This is about humans in the United States, not me.”

I scrolled some more, and sure enough he was right. There was a list of locations where illegal immigrants had been arrested by ICE, along with crimes they were accused of. Then it said, ‘If you’ve witnessed an Alien abduction, do not be alarmed. The Alien is in good hands. We will take care of it… and return it safely to its place of origin.’

“It’s from your white house,” Shalzed said.

I couldn’t believe it. There was a picture of Donald Trump, and the URL started whitehouse.gov. “This is horrible,” I said. “It makes it seem like everyone in the United States illegally is some sort of invader or dangerous criminal.”

“Isn’t this website likely to cause discrimination, or even violence?” Shalzed asked.

“Absolutely.” Then I sighed. “At least it’s not about you.” I started to realize how much I would miss Shalzed if he left. Then I thought about the millions of people who fear that a loved one could be arrested at any moment, imprisoned, and deported penniless to a distant place where they know no one and may also face danger.

 

Click here to view the White House website on aliens. Consider this website in relation to Article 20 of the Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, which states: Any advocacy of national, racial or religious hatred that constitutes incitement to discrimination, hostility or violence shall be prohibited by law.

bukele in village

Shalzed Asks Why 500 People Are Being Tried At Once

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Shalzed Asks Why 500 People Are Being Tried At Once

El Salvador's President is widely condemned, but popular

To villagers, Bukele is a hero. They hand him food in the street, and say their children can finally play outside again.

To human rights groups, Bukele is a villain, making laws that deny accused criminals of their most basic rights.

Shalzed investigates.

Shalzed Asks Why 500 People Are Being Tried At Once

I was at the kitchen table grading homework from my Mishnah class when Shalzed called. “How can 500 people be put on trial all at once?” he demanded.

I had never heard of anything like that. “Are you sure?” I asked.

“I just read about it. El Salvador is holding a trial for 500 gang members all at once.”

The paper I was grading seemed to tilt back and forth, and the writing became blurry. “Maybe in El Salvador. They’ve been battling gangs there for a while.”

“But battling gangs doesn’t mean it’s okay to throw innocent people in jail,” Shalzed said.

My apartment stretched, and I felt myself moving away. I was in blackness for a moment, then standing with Shalzed on what seemed like the main street of a dusty village. A middle aged man with a black beard, black moustache, and wearing a black button up shirt was next to us, accompanied by several guards. An elderly woman who seemed to have come from a nearby house was handing him a plastic cup filled with cut pineapple.

“Muchos gracias, Presidente Bukele,” the woman said. She gestured to some children kicking a soccer ball down the street. “Only because of you. Before, no one could go out at night.” She pointed to a nearby grocery store, and I noticed that a water cistern on its roof was riddled with holes from bullets. Bukele looked at the pineapple, then glanced at one of the guards who obediently took it.

“Mass trials mean you are probably going to punish a lot of people who are innocent,” Shalzed said.

Bukele turned to us, and the guards took small steps in our direction. I got the feeling Bukele was out in the village to try to interact with the people, so they had been instructed not to act unless there was any sign of actual danger. “So what should we do, let all the gang members back onto the streets and go back to having shootouts each night?” he asked.

Shalzed waved his arm. “How about just giving each suspected gang member a fair trial. What’s so hard about that?”

“Are you from one of those stupid human rights groups?” Bukele asked. “The ones that come here now demanding rights for gang members but didn’t say a thing when they were terrorizing the country with guns and drugs?”

“No,” I interjected. “He just has some questions, he’s from far away.”

“El Presidente is our hero,” the woman said to Shalzed. She took a half step closer to Bukele, like she was trying to protect him.

“Of course gang members should be arrested,” Shalzed said. “But each one is still entitled to a fair trial.” I felt myself nodding.

Bukele waved his arm. “There are tens of thousands of them,” he said. “A trial for everyone would take decades.”

“So you need more judges,” I said. I mean, that seemed like common sense.

“Money is to build schools, to build playgrounds,” the woman said. “We don’t want El Presidente to spend our money on people who tried to destroy our country.”

“Not only that,” Bukele added. “It’s almost impossible to prove which gang member committed which crime. There’s never enough evidence. So we made it that if you’re a gang member, you’re responsible. That’s enough.”

“So some kid who just joined a gang because it seemed cool gets the same punishment as actual murderers?” I asked. To me that seemed more than a little outrageous.

“Everyone knew what the gangs were up to,” the woman said. “Whoever doesn’t want to be punished shouldn’t have joined.”

“Gangs used to use teenagers to do their dirty work because they knew that teens didn’t face much from the legal system,” Bukele said. “No more loopholes. Have you forgotten that a few years ago, in just one night, 62 innocent people were murdered?”

“But if you toss thousands of innocent people in prison, is that really any better?” Shalzed asked.

Another woman approached, carrying a piece of some sort of cake or pastry in a napkin. “Para usted, el presidente,” she said, handing it to Bukele.

Bukele dutifully took it from her, then turned to Shalzed. “People who never lived under gangs love lecturing us. Why don’t you ask some of these mothers what’s more important- the rights of accused gang members or the right of children to play freely in the street?”

Shalzed blinked three times, like he always does when he’s surprised. “But I thought the right to a fair trial can’t be violated under any circumstances.”

“And what about people’s right to go out at night without fear of being struck by bullets,” Bukele said. “For years no one could go out because of the gangs.”

As both of the women nodded, they seemed to move farther away. A man approached, cell phone in hand, apparently wanting a selfie with Bukele. And then I was in darkness, and back in my apartment, standing next to my kitchen table. I put a hand on the wall to steady myself as I felt my stomach lurch.

I took a glass of water, then sat down at the table. My students’ Mishnah papers were in front of me. According to Torah law, two witnesses are required to convict someone of a crime. I had asked the kids about a passage which said that a Jewish court had to quiz each witness about the exact time and place of a crime, and any discrepancy meant that the testimony was disqualified and the accused went free.

I had always wondered whether that actually work in the real world, or would people start violating the law left and right when they realized how easy it was to get away with it? Would the rabbis insist on upholding laws that let criminals go free even if their own children couldn’t go out of the house because of gangs and gunfights?

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Sources:

For coverage of Bukele’s mass trials from the Associated Press, click here.

For criticism of Bukele’s policies from Human Rights Watch, click here.

Shalzed test in progress

Can a State Fund What it Doesn’t Believe?

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Can a State Fund What it Doesn’t Believe?

Shalzed thought tests were about knowledge—until three women weren’t allowed to take one

After years of wrangling, the Israeli Supreme Court ordered the Chief Rabbinate to allow women to take its rabbinical exams. When three women recently came to become the first ever to take Israel’s rabbinic tests, they were sent to a separate building and made to wait for hours. Shalzed tries to understand why a test about knowledge isn’t only about knowledge.

Can a State Fund What it Doesn’t Believe?

              I was almost done grading my 8th graders’ homework when Shalzed called. “Why aren’t women being allowed to take tests?” he asked. “Doesn’t Israel believe in equal rights?”

              “What are you talking about?” I asked.

              “Three women are being denied the right to take rabbinical exams administered by the Chief Rabbinate.”

              “Well that’s different,” I told him. My kitchen table seemed to wobble. “According to Jewish tradition, only men can be rabbis.”

              “But I thought tests are just about knowledge,” Shalzed said. My kitchen seemed slanted, then farther away. There was darkness for a moment, and then I was standing next to Shalzed in a plain room set up with small tables and folding chairs. Three women, dressed in skirts, with their heads covered, were sitting together sharing a bag of chips. They looked anxiously at us.

              “So do you have the exams?” one of them asked.

              I looked around, feeling uncertain. “Of course not,” I said. “We don’t have anything at all.”

              “We’ve been waiting more than four hours,” she said.

              “There was already an appeal to the Supreme Court. The Rabbanut either has to give us the exam, or cancel the men’s exam as well,” the woman next to her added.

              “I don’t understand. . .” Shalzed began.

              This, I could explain. “In Israel, the Rabbanut controls marriage, divorce, kosher certificates, and stuff like that. And since they’re Orthodox, they won’t allow women to be rabbis.”

              “But we aren’t asking to be called rabbis,” the three women said together. They were so in unison that I almost laughed.

Shalzed looked perplexed. “Well, if you pass the rabbinic exams, why wouldn’t you be rabbis?”

“For women to become rabbis would be too much of a change,” one of them said.

              Shalzed blinked three times. “But if you agree that you’re not allowed to be rabbis, then why do you want to take the rabbinic exams?” he asked.

The woman who hadn’t spoken yet let out a loud sigh. “We want to be able to fill roles that halacha does allow,” she said.

              “There are other jobs we can do. Like kosher supervising. And the tests should finally put us on an equal pay scale with rabbis if we teach in religious school,” the first one added. “And the Rabbanut has to let us, since they are funded by the Israeli government.”

              Another woman, also modestly dressed, entered the room. “The tests are on their way,” she said. The three women clapped. “We just have to wait for the other proctors to arrive.”

              “So you want to pass the rabbinical exam in order to get jobs usually done by rabbis but not be called rabbis yourselves?” Shalzed asked again.

              “Just for now,” the proctor said before any of the three could respond.

              “Not true,” one of the three said back.

              The proctor turned to Shalzed and me. “That’s the problem,” she said. “Today, they say they don’t want to become rabbis. But eventually, they will.”

              “And what’s wrong with that?” Shalzed asked. “Aren’t men and women equal?”

              “Because the Chief Rabbinate is Orthodox, and it’s up to them,” one of the women said.

              “Even though the Chief Rabbinate is funded by the government,” I added.

              A man, clearly a rabbi, came into the room. He was wearing a black suit jacket, black hat, had tzitzit hanging out, and was carrying a large briefcase. He was accompanied by another woman proctor. “We’re ready to begin,” he said. The three women quickly sat at separate tables and put away their snacks.

              “Who are you?” the rabbi asked, noticing us.

              “Can you explain why the government of Israel funds the Chief Rabbinate if the Rabbinate doesn’t believe in equality for men and women?” Shalzed asked.

              He gave Shalzed a funny look. “That’s clear- Israel is a Jewish state, so it needs the Rabbinate to maintain the state’s Jewish character.”

              “But if the Rabbinate doesn’t treat men and women equally, it’s not compatible with the state,” I added.

              The rabbi shrugged. “Even though it’s government funding, the Chief Rabbis are completely independent,” he said.

              “So they want the state’s funding, but to still be free to go against its values,” I said.

              The three women looked impatiently at the rabbi’s briefcase. “We need to get started,” one of the proctors said.

              The rabbi looked at me. “Obviously, the Rabbinate are the only ones who can decide matters of Jewish law. The government has no business in that.”

              The room started to feel more distant.

              “Good luck on the test,” I said to the women as I felt myself drawn into the familiar blackness, then a moment later I was back in my apartment. I put a hand on the kitchen table to steady myself. I looked around, but Shalzed wasn’t with me.

              I took a moment to catch my breath, then noticed the pile of homework still on the table. Shira Tavor’s paper was the only one left. I was happy that my day school taught boys and girls together. But that was our decision, not because of the government. If the government tried to change our religious curriculum, I wondered what we’d do.  

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Sources:

An account of how the women were initially not allowed to take the test, then given the tests four hours later from Times of Israel.

News coverage from the Jerusalem Post.

war statue of jesus

A statue gets 75,000 reactions. The war gets less

by with No Comment shalzedstory

A statue gets 75,000 reactions. The war gets less.

A single photo goes viral. Shalzed wants to know why this one—and not the others.

A photo of a statue of Jesus being smashed gets hundreds of thousands of reactions.
Photos of actual people suffering don’t get anywhere near the attention.

This week, Shalzed asks why.

A statue gets 75,000 reactions. The war gets less. Shalzed Wants to Know Why.

After school, I met Shalzed at Stop’n Shop. He was fascinated by what we ate, and wanted me to explain what some of our processed food products were.

“But why do you put acids that decay teeth inside your water?” he asked when he saw a display of coca-cola at the entrance.

“Some people like it,” I told him. “And if so many people drink it, it can’t be that bad.” I was trying to decide whether I should mention that in the summer I sometimes got coke slurpees at 7-eleven when my phone buzzed. I swiped and it was a notice asking me to check out a viral post on Facebook.

“Can I see it?” Shalzed asked, looking over my shoulder.

I held up my phone. It was a picture of an Israeli soldier destroying a statue of Jesus somewhere in Southern Lebanon, under the headline, ‘This is what impunity looks like.’ It already had 75k reactions and thousands of comments.

“I don’t understand- it’s a statue,” Shalzed said.

At school, people had already been talking about this in the teachers’ lounge. “Yeah, but it’s a statue of Jesus. Christians are offended.”

“Has any photo showing people killed in the war gotten anywhere close to that many likes?” he asked.

“Excuse me, you’re blocking the aisle,” a familiar voice said from behind me. I turned to see Rabbi Meyer pretending to reach for a the two liter bottle.

“Have you met Shalzed?” I asked. “He’s from. . . far away.”

“Yes, we met once outside the library,” the rabbi said. That’s right- Rabbi Meyer had passed by when we were discussing the story of Purim.

“We were just talking about why the photo of the IDF soldier destroying the Jesus sculpture is so viral on Facebook,” I said, hoping to change the topic. I didn’t want the rabbi to ask any more questions about how I knew Shalzed.

“So horrific,” Rabbi Meyer replied. “It’s a desecration of God’s name. I already signed a statement of Jewish leaders offering an apology.”

“You must issue statements every day, then,” Shalzed said.

Rabbi Meyer frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Countless people have been killed over the last three years. Tens of thousands are homeless. . .”

Rabbi Meyer interrupted. “The photo of the soldier destroying the statue is uniquely harmful to Israel’s image. It could ruin relations with the Christian community, just when we need allies the most.”

“So the main problem is image?” Shalzed asked.

“I think he means that this photo is being exploited by people who want to stir up hatred of Israel,” I interjected.

“That’s right,” Rabbi Meyer said. He stepped past Shalzed to grab a bottle of cherry coke and put it in his cart. “Antisemitism is at an all time high. Just last week, synagogues were attacked in London. The last thing we need right now is a picture like that.” He began pushing his cart towards the produce.

“See you in shul,” I said as he went over to the grapes. I turned to Shalzed. “It gets so much attention because Jesus is a religious symbol,” I said.

“And symbols are what matter most?” he asked.

“No,” I said quickly, but I couldn’t think of a good explanation. Do you want me to show you the cereal aisle? There are probably more than a hundred different kinds.”

Shalzed ignored me. “Has any other picture of the war gotten as much attention?”

I told him I didn’t know, then paused to consider. “It’s just that in this picture it’s obvious that the soldier is doing something wrong,”

Shalzed shook his head. “Humans only know what’s wrong when the victim is a statue?”

I clicked my tongue. “It’s not that,” I told him. “It’s just that most of the time the facts are complicated. Here, it’s simple- why destroy a religious object?”

A mom came into the store, pushing a young child in a dinosaur shaped shopping cart. The kid pointed eagerly at the coca cola, and the mom sighed. She reached around Shalzed, hardly noticing he was there, and picked up a two liter bottle. “I’m putting this in the cart now, but I’ll only buy it if you behave nice the whole time we’re in the store,” she said. The child clapped, then they also headed towards produce.

“Children drink this too?” Shalzed asked. He wrinkled his nose and began blinking.

“Sometimes,” I told him. “Let me show you the cereal.”

Shalzed blinked again, and I could tell his mind was still on the photo. “Is the soldier going to be punished?” he asked.

I checked my phone. “Not only was the soldier who smashed the statue already put in prison, but Israel replaced the statue with another one as well,” I told him.

“It’s been less than two days,” he exclaimed.

I smiled. “That’s right,” I said. “Every army has soldiers who break the rules, but Israel at least tries to do what’s right.”

“What about other accusations against Israeli soldiers? Why don’t those investigations move as quickly?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t we go to the cereal aisle so we’ll be out of the entrance.”

An obese man in a mobility scooter stopped right next to me and said excuse me in an annoyed tone. I stepped aside and he reached over to grab a bottle of diet coke. “Lots of people coming through here,” he mumbled at us as he continued into the store. “Maybe run for Congress if you just want to stand around.”

Shalzed turned away from me, and fixed his gaze on the coke display. “So only when there’s a photo that makes things clear, you act immediately. Otherwise, you just argue,” he said.

“Not exactly,” I told him.

Shalzed pointed to a big picture of smiling people holding cans of coca-cola on the wall above the bottles. “Maybe simple images like that are why humans drink acid water without asking questions,” he said.

He paused. “And don’t act unless the situation is obvious.”

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Sources:

For more information on this incident from Times of Israel, click here.

For details on the international statement of apology from the Jerusalem Post, click here.

For information on the soldiers’ punishment from Reuters, click here.

Shalzed and Simon plates in microwave

I Put the Dishes in the Microwave. Then Shalzed Asked About Nukes

by with No Comment shalzedstory

I Put the Dishes in the Microwave. Then Shalzed Asked About Nukes

Why do we trust some countries with nuclear weapons, but not others?

If the same rules don’t apply to everyone, are they really rules—or just power?

That becomes a sticking point this week when Shalzed asks Simon why Iran can’t have nuclear weapons—even though the U.S. and Israel already do.

I Put the Dishes in the Microwave. Then Shalzed Asked About Nukes

I was watching an NBA play- in game when Shalzed rang the doorbell. I buzzed him up, then put the dirty pans I had left on the stovetop into a pile and shoved some dirty plates in the sink into the microwave while he came upstairs.

“I have some questions,” Shalzed said as he opened the door, holding a human rights textbook in his hand.

I glanced reflexively at the television. There was a commercial, and anyway it was almost halftime. “Okay,” I said, doubting I would really be able to help.

Shalzed followed my gaze, but remained staring at the screen. The commercial switched to a preview of the news, and it was showing a clip of Marco Rubio saying that the U.S. would never allow Iran to acquire nuclear weapons.

“Why not?” Shalzed asked, turning to me. “The U.S. and Israel have nuclear weapons. Why can’t Iran have them too?”

“Because they want to destroy us,” I said quickly.

Shalzed blinked his eyes three times, which by now I knew meant he was either surprised or thinking. “But the United States and Israel are the ones who just attacked Iran,” he said.

“Yes, but that was to stop them from attacking us in the future.” My phone rang, and I saw that it was my mom. “Do you mind if I answer?” I asked.

”When your transmitter boxes signal, aren’t you required to take action? I have never observed a human fail to do so.”

I smiled as I swiped. “Hello imma,” I said, putting the phone on speaker.

“I just wanted to ask if you’re bringing anyone Friday night,” my mom asked me.

I clicked my tongue. I had told my parents that I was going out with someone last Sunday, but it was just a first date from JDate. It hadn’t gone well, either, and by now I couldn’t even remember her name. But of course my mom already wanted to meet her. “No, mom,” I said. “Just me for Shabbat. But maybe you can help me explain to Shalzed why we can’t let Iran have a nuclear weapon.”

My family were the only ones I had told about Shalzed, since I had invited him to our seder. “What kind of a question?” my mom asked. “The Ayatollahs are crazy. You know the things they say. And they should have nuclear weapons?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Like Trump isn’t crazy at all,” I said.

“At least we have a constitution. The President has to listen to the cabinet,” my mom said.

“Iran signed the non-proliferation treaty,” my dad added.

“Abba, I didn’t know you were on the line,” I said.

“I have you on speaker too,” my mom answered.

“When countries sign the treaty, they give up their right to build nuclear weapons.”

Shalzed frowned. “Did the U.S. sign?” he asked.

“Of course,” my dad said.

“So why does the U.S. have nuclear weapons?” Shalzed asked.

My dad was a college history professor, and his tone switched to explanation mode. “Because the treaty says that the five countries that had nukes before they signed could keep them, and the U.S. is one of those,” he said.

Shalzed frowned. “So the countries that got nukes first can keep them, but all the other countries are never allowed?” he asked.

“Exactly. Otherwise there would be a nuclear arms race as all the other countries tried for the bomb,” my dad replied.

“What about Israel?” I wondered.

“Israel never signed the treaty,” my dad said. “That’s why Israel isn’t violating anything if it develops nukes, but Iran is.”

I heard the doorbell chime in the background. “That’s probably Rosalie Goodman. Bridge starts in half an hour, but she always arrives early,” my mom said.

“Okay, have a good time,” I said. My mom loved playing bridge, mahjong, and every other sort of card game. It bored me to pieces.

I looked around the kitchen as my mom hung up. “Would you like something?” I asked. Shalzed was fascinated with Earth food.

He looked at a nearly empty bowl with just a few kernels of popcorn on the counter. I smiled. “I’ll make you some,” I said, taking a packet of microwave popcorn from a cabinet. Then I added, “Iran is devoted to Israel’s destruction. They give weapons to Hamas and Hezbollah. If they had the bomb, that would be the end.”

“So you think Iran isn’t responsible, but Trump is. And Iran has to follow a treaty that says five countries can have nukes but not any others, even though Israel went ahead and got nukes anyway, along with a bunch of others?”

I stood in place for a moment, thinking. “The point is that leaders who go around saying death to Israel and death to America shouldn’t have the bomb,” I told Shalzed.

“But it’s okay for the U.S., even though Trump just threatened to destroy all Iranian civilization?” he asked.

“That’s just the way Trump talks,” I said. “Everyone knows he’s not serious.”

“Are the Iranians sure he’s not serious?” Shalzed asked.

I didn’t know what to answer, so I opened the microwave. I was about to toss in the popcorn when I saw my dirty plates.

“How does radiation wash dishes?” shalzed asked, frowning.

“It doesn’t,” I told him.

“But then why. . .,” he began.

“There are some things I can’t explain,” I said, looking at the plates.

“Like why Iran can’t have nuclear weapons, while Israel and the U.S. can?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I feel much safer if they don’t.”

“Do you think they feel safer, too?” he asked.

I looked at the microwave, then back at Shalzed. I didn’t know what to say.

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Shalzed waits for ben gvir

Shalzed stopped me on my way to buy a post-Passover pizza to ask about Israel’s death penalty law.

by with No Comment story

Shalzed stopped me on my way to buy a post-Passover pizza to ask about Israel’s death penalty law.

If the same crime gets different punishments, is it still justice?

As soon as Passover was over, I started walking over to Stop’n Shop to buy a frozen pizza. The truth is, it took nearly the whole holiday to finish leftovers from the seder, and I loved my mom’s brisket and sweet potatoes. But I was ready for some chametz. As I got to the parking lot, Shalzed called.

“Did you hear that Israel passed a law giving the death penalty for Palestinian terrorists, while exempting Israelis?” he asked.

“I heard.” There had been lots of talk about it at shul.

“So the same crime gets different punishments depending on who does it?” Shalzed asked.

That made me feel uncomfortable, but Israel also has special security challenges to deal with. “It’s to deter terrorists,” I said.

“But there can be terrorists on both sides.” The Stop’n Shop sign began to look twisted, and the grocery store seemed to be getting farther away. “Punishments should be the same, no matter who commits the crime.”

Stop’n Shop seemed to dissolve into thin air. It felt like I was in a thick fog. I extended my arms but couldn’t feel anything around me. Then I was in what I could tell at once was an Israeli settlement due to the rows of red-roofed houses rising against the dry, hilly landscape. Shalzed was next to me, and he immediately stepped forward and called to a heavyset man wearing a suit and large kippah who was about to get into the back seat of a large, black car that was waiting in the driveway. “Why should the death penalty be only for Palestinians, but not Israelis?” Shalzed asked.

It was easy to recognize that he was talking to was Itamar Ben Gvir, since his picture was in the news so often. He gave Shalzed a long look. “It’s not just about Palestinians, the new law applies to anyone who’s goal is to destroy the state of Israel,” he said.

“So why doesn’t it apply to Israelis who kill Palestinians?” Shalzed asked.

I really hoped Ben Gvir wouldn’t respond with something about how the Torah regards killing Jews as more severe than killing people who aren’t Jewish. “Thou shalt not murder applies to everybody,” I added.

A woman came out of the house, holding something in her hand. As soon as she saw us she stepped back inside, behind the door, probably because her head was uncovered. “Itamar, you forgot something,” she yelled.

Ben Gvir seemed annoyed, but went back. Then he smiled when he saw what was in her hand.  It was a pin with an image of a noose that he promptly put on his jacket. It made me upset how he celebrated the death penalty like that. “What’s discriminatory is calling Palestinian terrorists freedom fighters and saying that Palestinians who have killed Jews are somehow political prisoners who should be set free,” Ben Gvir said as he reapproached the car.

“What does that have to do with the death penalty?” I asked.

He turned to face me, hands on hips. He seemed so adamant that I almost felt frightened and took a step back. “The human rights groups are so racist and biased that they want every Palestinian prisoner released, no matter their crimes. If we don’t use the death penalty, they’ll keep trying to force us to set them free.”

Shalzed frowned. “There are Palestinians Israel has held in prison for years,” he said.

Ben Gvir shook his head. “Look at how many we had to free to get the hostages from Gaza. Every minute we keep Palestinians alive in jail, it’s an incentive for them to take hostages to trade. And the world encourages it.”

He was certainly right about that. I thought back on when Israel released over a thousand prisoners in return for Gilad Shalit. “But will it really work?” I asked. “Even if Israel executes Palestinians guilty of murder, there will still be lots more in jail.”

“It’ll be a deterrent,” Ben Gvir said. His phone rang. He listened for a moment, then said b’seder. “Bibi wants to talk to me, and he’s coming on the line in a minute.”

“Haven’t most Earth countries stopped using the death penalty altogether?” Shalzed asked.

Ben Gvir gave him a funny look. “Not Iran. Not Saudi Arabia- they carry out executions at a rate of one person per day. Hamas executes anyone they believe is a traitor. And the world is all up in arms because we want to kill terrorists.” Ben Gvir raised his palms in the air.

“The Jewish tradition is very hesitant about the death penalty,” I said. Last year, in my 8th grade  class, I had the kids read the Mishnah which says that a beit din which carries out the death penalty more than once in seventy years is a killer court.

“That’s in normal times,” Ben Gvir said. “Today we have a whole Palestinian society trying to destroy us, while most of the world applauds.”

I heard a voice that sounded like Bibi come from Ben Gvir’s phone. He gave us a wave, then jumped into the back seat of the car as he put the phone to his ear. The driveway started to look curved, and then wavy, as the car sped off. A moment later I was back outside Stop’n Shop.

When I got to the entrance, a guy wearing a store apron was opening the door to let people out. “We’re closed,” he called at me.

I decided to try 7 Eleven. On the way, I passed a house with signs that said ‘End Israel Apartheid’ and ‘Equal Rights for Equal People’ in every window. I understood why Israel wanted the death penalty. But if the same crime leads to death for Palestinians but not Israelis, is there really equal justice?

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For more background on Israel’s new death penalty law from CNN, click here.

Simon getting ready for Passover with a conquistador helmet

Spain apologized for 1521. Shalzed is upset. What if Passover is next?

by with No Comment story

Spain apologized for 1521. Shalzed is upset. What if Passover is next?

Why should anyone today answer for what happened long ago?

Today Shalzed asks why Spain was made to apologize for events that took place in 1521. It seemed unrelated- until Simon wondered whether, by that logic, Jewish people might have to apologize for the ten plagues too.

Spain apologized for 1521. Shalzed is upset. What if Passover is next?

I was at my parents’ house, because my mom and dad needed my help to get the heavy boxes of Passover stuff from the basement up to the kitchen. My mom had just sent me down to get the haggadot when Shalzed called and asked me a question I didn’t know how to answer. “The King of Spain just apologized for something a Spanish explorer named Hernan Cortez did in 1521,” he asked. “I can’t understand why.”

I pulled out my phone. “Mexico’s been pushing for that for years,” I said. “The Spanish destroyed Tenochtitlan to make it their capital. Everyone knows colonialism meant horrible crimes.”

The Passover boxes swayed in front of me.

“But what does that have to do with current day Spain?” Shalzed asked.

It felt like the basement was moving, and the floor seemed to tilt. Then it was gone. A moment later, Shalzed and I were in the midst of a large group of people walking along a scenic road through some mountains, with a heavy contingent of Mexican police along the side. I felt someone push into me from behind, and so I started to walk along.

“Señora Presidenta,” Shalzed called. A woman leading the group turned. She was wearing an elegant burgundy dress, with elaborate, elegantly embroidered flowers on the front. I had seen the news enough to recognize her as Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum. “Why do you want Spain to apologize for things that happened hundreds of years ago? The people who did it aren’t even alive.”

Shalzed quickened his pace to catch up with her, and I hurried to stay with him. Sheinbaum frowned. “Are you accompanying us as part of the honour guard?” she asked. Shalzed’s bright orange spacesuit looked nothing like the Mexican men accompanying her, wearing white shirts with colorful embroidery and large sombreros.

“No,” I said quickly. I was wearing jeans and a Camp Ramah staff T-shirt, so maybe not quite as much as Shalzed, but I also stood out.

“No one now living in Spain has anything to do with what happened five hundred years ago,” Shalzed said. “Do you believe that just by being born Spaniards they inherited guilt?”

Sheinbaum turned towards him without slowing down. “Not guilt, but responsibility,” she said. “Countries evolve, while laws, language, and identity all continue on.”

“So Spanish citizens are responsible for Hernan Cortez, because he is one of their ancestors?” Shalzed asked.

“For centuries the suffering of indigenous Mexicans was denied or minimized,” Sheinbaum said. “An apology says it was real, and it mattered.”

“How? It’s just words that won’t make any practical difference,” Shalzed said.

A man wearing an elegant, black Mexican shirt with red embroidery running down the right side who had been walking with Sheinbaum moved closer. “For the King of Spain to finally apologize acknowledges that their suffering was a real injustice, after so many years of being pushed aside,” he said.

We were walking quickly, and I saw up ahead a small plaza with a giant, black statue of a seated man with a stern expression above the crowd. People gathered at the edges of the square, with a large group of reporters waiting in front of a podium.

“What is this?” I asked.

President Sheinbaum, the man in the black shirt next to her, and a number of other people around us looked at me suspiciously, and I realized I had said something stupid. “The President is about to lay a wreath for Benito Juarez,” the man in the black shirt said. “If you’re not part of the honor guard, then you shouldn’t be here.”

“How can you hold people responsible for things they didn’t do?” Shalzed asked. “Let alone things done by their ancestors?”

She clicked her tongue. “It’s not about saying present day Spaniards are guilty,” she said. “It’s that this apology is a step towards rewriting history so it’s more balanced. So we finally include the perspectives of those who were colonized, too.”

“If indigenous people are suffering today,” Shalzed said, “wouldn’t it be better to focus on what you can change now, rather than worrying about who in the past was to blame?”

We were now at the edge of the square, and everyone slowed. Some military officials who had been waiting started to come over to greet Sheinbaum. “We need both,” she told Shalzed. “Without addressing the past, we will never be able to build a solid future.” She turned and started to shake the men’s hands.

“If you don’t have a part in the ceremony, you need to go behind that ribbon,” the man in the black shirt told us. A policeman stepped to his side.

“If people are held responsible for crimes of their ancestors, when does it ever end?” Shalzed asked. “Every nation and ethnic group throughout history is guilty of something.”

The man glanced at Sheinbaum. She turned to us, signaling the officers to wait. “Gestures matter,” she said. “Owning up to the past does not divide us, it makes us stronger.” Then she accompanied the officers to the center of the square.

“It’s part of what we’re doing here,” the man in the black shirt added. “Benito Juarez was Zapotec, and he overcame tremendous discrimination to become President of Mexico. Laying a wreath on his birthday acknowledges the unfair hurdles indigenous people face.”

The policeman raised his eyebrows and gestured towards the ribbon. I opened my mouth to respond- but he wasn’t looking at us anymore. The sounds of the square softened, like they were moving farther away.

The crowd and the statue dissolved into nothing, and then I was back in the basement of my parents’ house. Shalzed wasn’t with me, and my mom was calling my name. “I’ll be right up,” I yelled. I had no idea how long I had been gone, and I hoped she hadn’t worried. My stomach was churning. I took a deep breath, and for a moment I leaned against the wall.

When I started to feel better, I began putting all the Haggadot in the box. The ones that my dad liked had a picture of the splitting of the sea on the cover. If we are all supposed to be responsible for our ancestors, I wondered how far it goes. Should Egypt apologize for enslaving the Israelites? Should Israel apologize for the plagues?

“Is everything okay down there?” My mom called.

“Coming,” I said back.

History matters. But if responsibility never ends, conflict will never end either.

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Sources:

For more information on Spain’s apology from Reuters, click here.

For detail on Claudia Shenbaum’s reaction from the BBC, click here.

shalzed and Simon

I told Shalzed it was just tough talk about the war. Then he surprised me. . .

by with No Comment story

I told Shalzed it was just tough talk about the war. Then he surprised me. . .

I had just emptied my fridge onto the kitchen table for Passover cleaning when Shalzed came upstairs, blinking rapidly. He was upset about something outrageous Pete Hegseth said at a press conference. I try to explain that Hegseth probably didn’t mean his words literally. Then Shalzed asks why I don’t give our enemies the same benefit of the doubt.

I told Shalzed it was just tough talk about the war. Then he surprised me. . .

I decided to get started early with Passover cleaning this year and start on my fridge. I figured if I did the freezer and all the drawers now, I’d only have to wipe it down right before the holiday. But just as soon as I had put everything from the fridge out on my kitchen table, Shalzed buzzed from the street. As he came up the stairs, I put the Haagen Daz ice cream back in the freezer so it wouldn’t melt.

“I just saw a news report that I can’t understand,” he began. “Pete Hegseth, your Secretary of Defense, said at a news conference, ‘We will keep pushing, keep advancing, no quarter, no mercy for our enemies.’

“He’s probably just trying to sound tough,” I said.

Shalzed blinked his eyes rapidly, which is what he did when he felt shocked. “But how?” he demanded. “How could he? Aren’t those words which must never be uttered?”

The truth is that I had no idea what ‘no quarter’ really meant. But wasn’t it normal in war not to have mercy for the enemy? I looked ‘no quarter’ up on my phone and was surprised by what I found. To declare ‘no quarter’ was to say that enemies would be killed even if they were already wounded or trying to surrender. “I doubt he really meant it,” I told Shalzed. I couldn’t imagine that the U.S. army would actually kill surrendering Iranian troops.

“But by just having said those words enemies are less likely to be willing to surrender.” Shalzed blinked his eyes some more. “Even the mere suggestion that prisoners may be killed or mistreated could have the effect of increasing fighting and lengthening the war.”

I looked at all my refrigerator stuff on the table. “Is there any Earth food here you haven’t yet tried?” I asked. I realized the thing he would probably most like was the ice cream. When he discovered vanilla soft-serve he ate three cones, so if I gave him strawberry cheesecake Haagen Daz he might finish the whole container. I needed it for my cousin’s birthday party, so I was glad I had put it back.

Shalzed glanced over the table, then looked back at me and blinked again. “How could he say that and remain in charge of the army?” Shalzed asked again. “Hasn’t he violated your laws just with what he said?”

My phone rang, and I saw it was a call from my brother Yoni in Israel. I swiped to answer. With the war going on I wanted to make sure Yoni was okay, and Shalzed seemed so upset that it was starting to make me uncomfortable. “Everything alright?” I asked.

“Yeah, we just got out of our shelter,” Yoni said. “A missile fell a kilometer from us, I wanted to call in case you were worried.”

I felt guilty that I hadn’t heard. “Good,” I told him. “Was anyone hurt?”

“They’re not sure yet. It fell on a street, but hopefully everyone in the houses nearby was in a safe room.”

I glanced at Shalzed. He had his hands on his hips and wasn’t even looking at the table. I put the phone on speaker. “Yoni, I have a friend over,” I said. I had mentioned Shalzed to Yoni in passing, but never said anything about where Shalzed was from. I hadn’t mentioned that to anyone, actually, since I figured there was no way they’d believe it. “Do you know what it means to give no quarter?”

“Don’t give loose change to someone asking for money,” he replied.

I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be funny. “No,” I told him. “Like in war.”

“Yeah, they taught us stuff like that at the end of basic training.” Yoni did a full three years of army duty after he made aliya. “It’s the kind of thing that even if your commander tells you to do it, you’re supposed to disobey.”

Shalzed leaned forward. “What if the order comes from the Secretary of Defense?”

I told Yoni about Hegseth’s statement. “He was probably just saying how unfair it is that we are expected to follow all the Geneva Convention even when fighting terrorists who don’t,” he said.

“So he was serious!” Shalzed exclaimed.

“But it doesn’t matter, because troops are trained to disobey that type of thing, right?” I asked Yoni.

“Yeah, that’s true. Also, soldiers listen to their commander, not what’s on the news,” he said. “The main thing is that the U.S. is helping us get rid of the Iranian threat.”

“Was Iran a threat?” Shalzed asked. He had already taken me to confront the United States UN ambassador Mike Waltz about whether the war was legal, so I hoped he wasn’t going to bring that up again.

“Of course it was,” Yoni replied. “Khomeini led chants of death to Israel and death to America. He even put up a clock counting down to Israel’s destruction.”

“But maybe he wasn’t serious. Maybe he was just trying to boast about the strength of Iran’s armed forces,” Shalzed said.

I laughed. “I think we have to assume he was serious. Otherwise, why was he stockpiling missiles and trying to build nuclear weapons?” I asked.

“Listen, if it was just a one time statement I’d agree with you,” Yoni chimed in. “But we have to understand it in context. Khomeini was Iran’s supreme leader. And he was close to having the means of carrying it out.”

“Then what about Hegseth?” Shalzed asked.

“What do you mean?” I replied, not sure what he meant.

Shalzed frowned. “Hegseth announced that the United States intends to kill Iranian troops even if they are wounded or attempting to surrender, which is completely against the law. He is in charge of the military, the U.S. is currently at war, and U.S. soldiers have the means to carry out his threat. Nevertheless, you’re still sure he was joking.”

That didn’t make any sense to me, but I didn’t know how to answer. “It’s completely different,” Yoni said.

“Why?” Shalzed asked.

“Because the United States would never actually do it,” Yoni replied.

“Maybe Iran wouldn’t actually launch nuclear missiles,” Shalzed said.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” I said quickly.

“Of course they would,” Yoni added. “Look at what they’ve done already.”

Shalzed paused. “So you decide what people mean not by what they say, but by what you already believe about them and their country?”

I shrugged. “Have you tasted kefir?” I asked, pointing to a container of mango Lighthouse kefir on the table. “If we don’t finish it now, it might spoil.”

“I have to go,” Yoni said. “Remember, by us it’s already night.”

I wished Yoni that he and his family should be safe, then turned to Shalzed. “You can’t expect Israel to take risks when Iran is threatening it with destruction,” I told him.

He took the cap off the kefir container and sniffed. “Maybe you’re right about Iran,” he said. “Maybe they would use nuclear weapons if they had them. But would you blame Iranian soldiers if they don’t risk surrendering now that Hegseth has threatened to kill them even if they do, and decide instead to keep fighting?”

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For the legal context of Hegseth’s statement from Just Security, click here.