shalzed drone and war etf

The Drone Fund: Should War Be an Investment?

by with No Comment shalzedstory

The Drone Fund: Should War Be an Investment?

Shalzed and Simon outside Cafe Maya, next to Amnesty International Headquarters in London

For investors, war can be profitable. A new fund seeks to capitalize on rising demand for drones and ammunition — but is the right way to boost your savings? Shalzed investigates.

The Drone Fund: Should War Be an Investment?

I was at home doing my taxes when Shalzed rang the doorbell. I buzzed him up. “Welcome,” I said as he came in the door.

“I wanted to. . .” he began. Then he noticed that I was working at my computer and asked if I was busy.

I smiled. “Just finishing up my taxes,” I told him.

He noticed a paper on my desk. “What’s that?” he asked, wrinkling his forehead.

“It’s the fact sheet for an investment a friend of mine recommended,” I replied. “I’m going to make a contribution to my retirement fund before I file, and I need to decide what to do with it.”

Shalzed picked up the paper. “A fund for drones and modern warfare?” he asked.

I shrugged. “With the current war in Iran, along with what’s been going on in Ukraine, defense spending is sure to go up,” I told him. “And now every military needs drones.”

Shalzed looked aghast. “You want to make money by investing in companies that build robots that kill people?” he asked.

I hadn’t really thought about that before, and suddenly I felt uncertain. “It’s just an investment,” I mumbled. Then I found myself inside the familiar black tunnel, and a moment later I was standing next to Shalzed in a large executive office. A middle aged man wearing a blue suit and blue tie was sitting behind a desk, staring at his computer. A name plaque on the desk said Matthew Bielski, CEO of Defiance ETFs. Behind him, a city skyline showed through a wall of glass.

“How can you encourage people to invest in companies that make weapons?” Shalzed asked.

Bielski shook his head in surprise. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I had been thinking of investing in your drone warfare fund,” I told him. “My friend is here to learn about human rights, and he has some questions.”

“Our funds have a solid track record of outperforming the market. I believe drone technology could be Wall Street’s next big winner.”

“But do you really want to profit from making machines that kill?” Shalzed asked.

Bielski frowned. “If it wasn’t for drones, Russia would have already taken over Ukraine.”

“What if drones are used for war crimes?” Shalzed asked.

“That’s the responsibility of whoever uses them, not us,” Bielski said.

A guy in his twenties carried a stack of papers into the office. “The DRNL documents are ready for you,” he told Bielski.

“Great,” Bielski said. “I’ll take care of it in a minute.”

“DRNL?” Shalzed asked.

“It’s a new, leveraged fund that gives twice the daily performance of companies making drones and their ammunition,” he said. Then he looked at me. “It’s for active, experienced traders,” he said.

I guess he could sense that I was a teacher with just a few thousand dollars in my IRA, not someone who played the stock market.

“So you’re hoping for more wars,” Shalzed said, pointing one of his long, blue fingers at Bielski. “Because every time there’s a war, you profit.”

The guy who brought the papers looked smug. “If they aren’t fighting a war, they’re arming for the next one,” he said.

Bielski clicked his tongue. “We don’t start wars,” he said. “The companies we buy stock in just give governments the tools they need to protect their citizens.”

“But buying the stock of companies that make weapons enables them to develop. Then you’re part of the whole war machine,” Shalzed said.

Bielski leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes. “So just one question,” he began.

“What?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable with the silence.

“If you don’t like weapons, what do you think would be a better investment?”

“How about companies that make food?” Shalzed said quickly. “That’s something all people need.”

Bielski scoffed. “Do you really want to support factory farming? Or companies that make cheap processed food that’s a health disaster?”

“What about companies that make clothing?” Shalzed asked.

Bielski smiled. “Most of them operate sweatshops and many are accused of modern slavery.”

Shalzed wrinkled his forehead. “What about transportation? Trains, planes, and automobiles?”

“Ever heard of climate change?” Bielski asked. “Car companies are lobbying against rules requiring cars to be more efficient. Airplanes are one of the biggest polluters.”

Shalzed looked down.

“Well right now I just own an index fund,” I said.

Bielski grinned. “So congratulations, you already have weapons companies in your portfolio,” he said. “There are at least a dozen in the S&P 500.”

Suddenly I was in the tunnel, and a moment later back in my apartment. This time Shalzed was still with me. I turned to my computer. I don’t know why, but I felt it would be embarrassing for Shalzed to see how much money I made. But the tax program had timed out.

Shalzed picked up the fund’s fact sheet again. “So are you really going to buy stock in companies working to perfect drone warfare?” he asked.

I wasn’t sure. “The amount I’d invest is almost nothing compared to what companies are worth. It’s not going to make any difference,” I told him.

“If you see on the news that children were killed in a drone strike, do you want to feel like you had even a small part in that?” he asked. “When you see countries launching waves of drones, will it make you happy to think that means more orders?”

I swallowed. “I’m just trying to make my retirement account go up,” I said.

Shalzed turned towards the door, then stopped to glance at the drone fund fact sheet, still on my desk. “And do you want Earth fighting wars with even more advanced weapons by the time you retire?” he asked.

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Shalzed with Mike Waltz outside the UN

Before It’s Too Late

by with No Comment shalzedstory

Before It’s Too Late

Shalzed asks UN Ambassador Mike Waltz if a country is likely to become a threat someday, can you bomb it now?

Shalzed wtih UN Ambassador Mike Waltz outside the United Nations

The United States and Israel claimed self-defense as the justification for their attack on Iran. But even though Iran is a hostile country that has threatened the U.S. and Israel many times, it didn’t seem to be a significant threat right now. Shalzed confronts U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations Mike Waltz with this question.

Before It’s Too Late

I was on the phone with my brother, who had moved to Israel four years ago. He was telling me about how his daughter was very upset about school being cancelled when the siren sounded. I hung up right away so he and his family could get to their shelter. Then Shalzed called.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “How could the U.S. and Israel launch such an attack?”

“Well, we can’t let Iran get nuclear weapons.”

“But that’s not a reason to start a war,” Shalzed said.

I figured Shalzed probably didn’t know much about Iran. Before I could say anything, though, I was in the black tunnel. By now I was used to it enough that I was no longer afraid, and I really wanted to find out how it worked. A moment later I was outside the United Nations in New York, with Shalzed next to me. A man wearing a blue suit with a U.S. flag pin on his jacket was standing nearby, trying to attach a lapel microphone to his jacket. “Ambassador Waltz,” Shalzed called.

The Ambassador turned and looked at Shalzed. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I don’t understand. Countries can only use force to defend themselves,” Shalzed began.

“I’m sorry, I’m just about to go live on Fox News,” Waltz replied, gesturing Shalzed and I to move along. A few steps away, a reporter was conferring with a cameraman.

“But didn’t the U.S. and Israel just violate the UN charter?” Shalzed persisted.

Waltz shook his head and sighed. “Absolutely not,” he said. “Iran has thousands of missiles and is attempting to develop nuclear weapons besides.”

“But how can you say it’s self-defense if they didn’t attack?” Shalzed asked.

“Almost ready,” the reporter called. “Do a sound check, please.”

Waltz nodded. “The Iranian government killed thousands of its own citizens in recent protests,” he said in a robot-like monotone. The reporter gave him a thumbs up. Then he continued in a normal voice, “Some say tens of thousands. We may never know the real number.”

“And that means you can bomb their nuclear facilities?” Shalzed asked.

“Iran’s leaders have been leading chants of death to America and death to Israel for decades,” I interjected. “They even put a clock in the center of Tehran counting down the days until Israel is destroyed.”

Shalzed looked shocked. “Well how can they do that? Didn’t the UN tell them to take it down?”

I laughed, and Waltz also chuckled. “No,” he said. “Evidently, there’s nothing against countdown clocks in the UN charter.”

The reporter walked over. “I’m sorry, we’re delayed just a couple of minutes,” she said. “They broke in with an update from Tel-Aviv.”

“What happened?” I asked, worried people may have been killed.

“Direct hit on a school. But it wasn’t occupied, no injuries.”

“You see, Iran doesn’t follow any international law,” Waltz said. “They shoot missiles at schools, they fire randomly at cities. Then we’re the ones that get criticized.”

“Can you say that when we’re live?” the reporter asked.

“Of course,” Waltz replied. “And I’ll also mention that right now they are carrying out aggression against Saudi Arabia and the Gulf States too. Then people make it out like the United States is the one that doesn’t follow the law.”

Shalzed crossed his hands against his chest. “I understand the government of Iran does bad things. But can that justify an invasion?”

The reporter looked at Waltz expectantly. I had a feeling she was interested to hear his reply, too.

“So should Israel wait until they have ten thousand missiles, many armed with nuclear warheads, and then it’s too late?” he asked.

“Israel can’t risk a nuclear armed Iran,” I added.

“Almost ready,” the cameraman called as he lifted a bulky tv camera onto his shoulder.

Waltz straightened his hair with his hand. “Bottom line,” he said. “Countries are entitled to defend themselves. Iran has been a threat in the past, and we have every reason to believe they will continue to be a threat in the future.”

“Say that on air,” the reporter said.

“But Iran wasn’t a threat right now,” Shalzed interjected. “And any country could potentially be a threat sometime in the future.”

A light on the camera turned on. “Five,” the cameraman said, then he started counting down.

The reporter stepped in front of us, right next to Waltz. As the light on the camera changed color she began. “I’m here at the United Nations with U.S. Ambassador Mike Waltz. Mr. Waltz, you just explained to the security council that the action against Iran is completely in keeping with international law. Give us a recap.”

As Waltz began speaking I was back in the black tunnel. I tried to feel around for any clues about what it was made of or how it operated, but before I found anything I was back in my apartment. My phone was ringing- it was my brother calling back.

“Everything alright?” I asked as I picked up.

“Yeah,” he said. “A missile got through the iron dome and hit a school. The building was destroyed, but no one was hurt.”

“Near you?” I asked.

“Just a few kilometers away. Thank God we’re fighting this war now, while Iran still doesn’t have nuclear weapons.”

I told him I was glad he was safe, then I shook my head. Once Iran got the bomb, it would be too late. But if every country struck before it was too late, war would also be endless.  

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Sources:

To read a transcript of Mike Waltz’s explanation given to the Security Council, click here and here. 

shalzed and simon looking at the megillah outside the library

Did It Work? Purim’s Hardest Question

by with No Comment shalzedstory

Did It Work? Purim’s Hardest Question

Survival brings power. Then what?

Shalzed and Simon look at the copies of megillah pages Simon is practicing from

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?”

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shalzed end of war conference

Do Courts Make Wars Last Longer?

by with No Comment story

Do Courts Make Wars Last Longer?

Shalzed attends a conference on ‘The End of War’

Shalzed examines White chocolate matcha energy bites outside a conference on 'The End of War'

Can international courts help end wars — or do they unintentionally prolong them? Shalzed goes looking for answers. . . and also tries some new cookies at a conference.

Do Courts Make Wars Last Longer?

Shalzed heard about an academic conference titled “The End of War.” Personally, I doubted whether a bunch of college professors really had secrets that could help save the galaxy, but Shalzed was adamant about going. Since it was over President’s day weekend when I had off of school, I agreed.

When we arrived Shalzed was immediately drawn to a platter of round, green cookies next to the coffee. “Are these regenerative nutrient capsules to heal all who have been wounded?” he asked.

I laughed. “No,” I told him. I pointed to a small sign that said, ‘White chocolate matcha energy bites.’ He ate five, and then I steered him towards the hall where the sessions were because  people around the coffee table were starting to give him dirty looks.

There were some introductory speeches, and then a session titled ‘Climate Change as a Conflict Multiplier’ in which panelists took turns explaining how much worse today’s problems were going to become.

“They aren’t giving ways to make peace at all,” Shalzed whispered. I shrugged.

The next session was two women from different universities speaking about the role of international courts in ending wars. One was named Laurie Blank, and the other Daphné Richemond-Barak. Shalzed seemed upset as they explained why courts were of limited use in making peace and could actually end up making wars longer. When it was over, we went to the front because Shalzed had some questions.

As soon as Laurie got free from talking with someone else, Shalzed asked, “I don’t understand. Isn’t anything that holds people accountable a step in the right direction?”

“You’d think so,” she replied. “But remember that peace agreements are made by leaders. One of our key findings is that, ironically, leaders are usually very safe while a war is going on. It’s once the fighting stops that leaders personally are likely to face extreme danger.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. To me that sounded confusing.

She smiled. “When a war ends, often investigators are finally able to get access and document atrocities. That can lead to leaders being indicted. And if there is also a change of government, leaders might lose their immunity or ability to shield themselves from prosecution.”

Shalzed looked aghast. “Do you mean someone might prolong a war, causing suffering for millions, just for their own self-interest?” he asked.

That sounded all too real to me. “According to our research, that happens all the time,” Laurie said.

“Not being able to offer amnesty is also another issue,” Daphne added as the man she had been talking to started walking away.

“Amnesty for what?” I asked.

“War crimes, rebellion. . .” she began.

“The issue is that the International Criminal Court in the Hague is not obligated to honor any amnesty agreements, even if they’re offered by a government,” Laurie interrupted. “Militia members may be extra hesitant to lay down their arms since there is no way to offer assurance that the ICC won’t decide to prosecute them in the future.”

Shalzed’s jaw dropped. “But don’t war crimes have to be punished?” he asked.

Laurie pursed her lips. “Sure,” she said. “But our point is that it’s easy to sit safely far away and demand justice, but insisting that a peace agreement allow for prosecuting war crimes may prolong the fighting and suffering that goes with it.”

I didn’t like the way that sounded. “But if everyone knows they’re likely to get amnesty, what’s the point of having courts to prosecute war crimes to begin with?” I asked.

A man who seemed like he was the next presenter approached and signaled to Daphne that he needed to hook up his computer. She and Laurie both got up to go.

“I like the point you made about jurisdiction,” the man said as he took out his laptop.

Laurie smiled. “Thank you for attending our session,” she replied.

“I didn’t understand that either,” Shalzed said. “If international courts don’t have jurisdiction over conflicts that lead to wars, then what is their point?” he asked.

“They do have jurisdiction,” Laurie answered. “But often over only one side. For example, the International Court of Justice only hears disputes between countries. That means if a country is at war with a non-state armed group, the court has jurisdiction over the country only, but not the people it is fighting.”

“That’s why only Israel is on trial at the International Court of Justice, but not Hamas,” I added.

“Exactly,” Daphne replied. “And the International Criminal Court is supposed to have jurisdiction to prosecute all war crimes and crimes against humanity. But it can’t possibly look at everything, so it focuses only on what the prosecutor believes is most serious.

“So they pick and choose?” Shalzed asked.

“They have to. And when the prosecutor decides not to investigate a crime because it doesn’t seem serious enough, victims of those crimes get angry and say it’s not fair,” Daphne said.

The next presenter cleared his throat and glanced at the room, which was rapidly filling. Daphne took another step to go, but then a woman came and asked if she would autograph her book, titled Underground Warfare. People were still filing in, so she took a pen from purse. As she did so, the woman remarked that after listening to the talk she was starting to wonder if maybe we’d be better off without any international courts at all.

“Absolutely not,” Daphne said as she signed inside the front cover. “International courts have vital functions. We’re just pointing out that ending a war is a political decision, shaped by military, diplomatic, and economic conditions, not courts. That’s all.”

“And courts can easily complicate the peacemaking process rather than help,” Laurie added. “When a court gets involved while a war is still going, the court itself becomes a weapon as well.”

The woman put her signed book in her purse and gestured to the nearly full room. “The next session is titled ‘Hope as policy, peace as process,’ she said. “Everyone will want to come.” She scurried to take the last empty seat in the first row.

“Judges can at least document facts,” Shalzed said.

Daphne put her pen back in her purse and nodded. “That’s true, but courts do that best after a war is finished. While a war is still going on, they have limited ability to get full information, and are prone to being misled by propaganda from one or both of the sides.”

“Especially if not all parties to the conflict agree to cooperate,” Laurie added. Laurie and Daphne headed towards the stairs, and I sort of hoped Shalzed would follow their lead and decide to skip the next session. But instead, he found us two empty seats.

“I’m excited about this next speaker,” Shalzed said as we took our places.

I wrinkled my forehead. “Why?” I asked.

“If peace is a process, it must be about to finish.”

The man in front of us laughed and turned around. “Peace is a never-ending process,” he said.

Shalzed frowned. “Then does war ever end?”

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Source: The ideas in this piece are taken from a recent series of articles on the website Just Security, asking if there is a role for international courts in ending wars. Link here.  

shalzed and simon at pen america office

Free Speech, With an Exception

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Free Speech, With an Exception

Shalzed Visits PEN America

Shalzed and Simon in the lobby of the Equitable Building in New York City

An Israeli comedian was blocked from performing in New York and Los Angeles by a throng of protesters. Sounds like something free speech advocates should be up in arms about, right? This week Shalzed visits the free speech advocacy organization PEN America to find out.

Free Speech, With an Exception

As I locked my bike outside the library, I remembered the time I first met Shalzed. He had been trying to leave with a book without checking out. Then I saw him right on the nearby corner of Main and 3rd Street, walking towards me.

“A comedian wasn’t allowed to perform because of protests,” he said.

I finished scrambling the dials on my lock and stood up to face him. “Let me take a random guess- the comedian was Israeli.”

“How did you know?” Shalzed asked in surprise.

I typed into my phone ‘Israel comedian cancel’ and quickly found the information. “His name is Guy Hochman. They cancelled on him once in New York and once in Los Angeles,” I said. “Because of anti-Israel protests.”

“But doesn’t that violate his freedom of expression?” Shalzed asked.

I noticed a link to a statement from Pen America opposing the cancellations. “Of course it does,” I told Shalzed. “And one of the largest free speech organizations in America says so too.”

Suddenly we were in the black tunnel, and a moment later in the lobby of the Equitable Building in the financial district of Manhattan. I saw right away on the list of tenants that PEN was on the 26th floor.

“Mr. Friedman,” Shalzed called to a bald, middle-aged man wearing a blue suit jacket and slacks, carrying a briefcase and coffee cup as he headed towards the elevator. “Can you explain why an Israeli comedian was not allowed to perform?”

Friedman stopped and sighed. “I understand what you’re referring to, and it’s a very sensitive situation.”

“Why?” Shalzed asked. “Isn’t everyone entitled to freedom of expression?”

Friedman shook his head. “Free speech protects against government censorship, not from the consequences of oppressive statements an individual has chosen to make or from private venues deciding not to host him.”

“Oppressive statements?” I asked.

“The Los Angeles venue asked him to sign a document condemning Israel for genocide, rape, starving, and torturing Palestinian civilians, and he refused,” Friedman said. “The cancellation was a direct consequence of that.”

“But that has nothing to do with the content of his performance,” Shalzed said. “And would you require any other performer to denounce their country before stepping on stage?”

“Are Palestinians required to denounce Hamas and the Oct. 7th massacre as a condition for free speech?” I added.

“I’m sorry, I have a meeting,” Friedman said. He turned and pushed the elevator call button.

“Are you saying that even though you oppose censorship, you’re still okay with venues cancelling someone based on their nationality?”

Friedman turned back around. “It’s not his nationality,” he said. “It’s accountability for him saying he’s proud to be Israeli and to have served in the IDF.”

“Accountability for his choices, or for where he happened to be born?” Shalzed asked.

I wrinkled my forehead. “I thought you oppose the cancellations,” I said.

A man walking by carrying a gym bag stopped by Friedman to say hello. Friedman looked like he wanted him to stick around, but the man said he was in a hurry to get to his new strength and conditioning boot camp. While they talked I pulled out my phone and clicked the PEN link again. The page I saw before had now been replaced. Now there was just a short note: “On further consideration, PEN America has decided to withdraw its previous statement.” My mouth dropped open. As the man with the exercise bag walked away, I turned my phone so Friedman could see it. “Now you think cancelling the shows was okay?”

Friedman glanced towards the indicator above the elevators, which showed one descending past the fourth floor. “Local Palestinian groups told us his performance would have made them feel unsafe.”

“Would you allow a Palestinian performer to be cancelled if a Jewish group said it made them feel unsafe?” I asked.

“Safety means different things when there’s a power imbalance,” Friedman said. “And platforming isn’t neutral. Our mission is to protect artists who are vulnerable or silenced, not public figures who justify oppression.”

The elevator chimed and the doors opened. Friedman moved to the side so several people could exit.

“Why did you at first condemn the cancellation, then change your mind?” I asked.

Friedman shook his head. “Many staff and donors have especially strong feelings about this case. As a small organization, we focus on issues where we can speak with a strong and united voice.”

He stepped into the elevator, quickly pressed a button, and waited for the door to close.

“With Jewish and Israeli writers and artists being cancelled right and left, I’d think this is actually where you ought to focus,” I said as the elevator doors closed.

I turned to Shalzed, who was shaking his head. Then we were back in the black tunnel, and I was once again outside the library. I looked around, but no sign of Shalzed. I wondered whether he was changing his opinion about Earth.

I went into the library and saw the new display in the lobby was a table of banned books. The sign above it read, “Stand With the Banned.” I wondered whether my own library would feature books by Israeli or Jewish authors, or whether it would give in to protests or try to make writers sign statements as a condition for being included, too?

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Sources:

Coverage of Pen’s reversal from the Algemeiner

On the L.A. cancellation from AOL

Pen’s revised statement is here

Shalzed and Simon outside embassy of Belgium

The Passport Belgium Won’t Replace

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The Passport Belgium Won’t Replace

Shalzed confronts an embassy that won’t help citizens living in the West Bank

Shalzed and Simon outside embassy of Belgium
Shalzed and Simon outside Cafe Maya, next to Amnesty International Headquarters in London

Belgium recently cut off consular services to Israelis living in what it calls “illegal settlements.”  This week Shalzed and Simon head to the Belgian embassy to ask whether this is principled diplomacy—or discrimination based on where you live.

The Passport Belgium Won’t Replace

After school I got a call from Yehudah, a friend from high school who now teaches at a yeshiva in Gush Etzion. He told me that one of his Belgian students had ruined his passport in the washing machine, and his embassy refused to replace it.

“Why?” I asked. “Doesn’t he have some other ID?”

“It’s because Belgium considers Gush Etzion to be occupied territory.”

I sensed someone behind me and turned. Of course it was Shalzed. I still had no idea how he kept finding me. “One second,” I said into the phone. “I’ll call you back.”

Yehudah seemed surprised but said okay. I think Shalzed sensed something was on my mind, so I told him what Yehudah and I had been talking about. “Can an embassy do that?” Shalzed said. “Refuse their own citizens?”

I was suddenly in the black tunnel, with Shalzed next to me. I watched carefully, but didn’t see him turning any knobs or controls. Someday I would either get him to tell me how it works or figure it out. Then we were standing outside a security booth beneath a black, yellow, and red flag. There was a sign that said ‘Embassy of Belgium’, and from Hebrew up and down the street I could tell that we were in Tel Aviv.

A middle aged man in a suit and tie stepped out of the embassy. Shalzed called after him. “Ambassador Thijs, can you explain why you won’t replace the passport of a Belgian citizen studying at a yeshiva?” he asked.

The ambassador stopped and stared at him. “Consular services are only in the mornings,” he said.

A woman ran up, dragging a child along behind her. “My son put finger paint all over my passport,” she said, pulling a passport with red all over the cover from her purse. “You have to help me.”

“We do passports between eight and eleven AM,” the ambassador said again.

“But I have a flight back to Belgium at ten tonight. I have to go, it’s for my sister’s wedding,” the woman pleaded.

The ambassador asked for the passport and looked it over. “Perhaps someday your son will be a  famous artist, but in the meantime this passport can’t be used,” he said. Just then, a man wearing suit pants and an elegant purple shirt came out of the embassy. The ambassador showed him the passport and asked a question in Dutch. The woman with the little boy gave him a pleading look.

“I can do it,” the man that had just come out from the embassy said. “As long as you have another valid form of ID, it shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes.” The woman started to say thank you. “But first,” the man continued, “I have to make sure where you live.”

The woman paused. “I live here, I made aliya 14 years ago,” she said. “But I still have a lot of family back in Antwerp.” She pursed her lips and looked back and forth between the man and the ambassador.

“He means what city?” the ambassador said. “Because we are no longer able to serve anyone residing in an illegal settlement.”

The woman frowned. “You mean Yehudah and Shomron?” The ambassador nodded. “I used to live in Ma’aleh Adumin, but we just recently moved to Netanya. I don’t understand why that should make any difference.”

The ambassador smiled, then directed her to the booth to go through security. She hurried to oblige.

“Even if you oppose Israel’s policies, what does that have to do with her?” Shalzed asked as the woman went inside. “Does she run the government? Does she command the army? Did she seize land?”

“And the kid in my friend’s yeshiva probably picked it based on the program, where his friends were going, and the price. He might not even know anything about the ’67 borders,” I added.

The ambassador held up a palm, signalling for me to stop. “Living in a settlement displaces Palestinians. Anyone who chooses to live there is complicit and has to face the consequences,” he said.

That made my stomach tighten. “I have a good friend named Yehudah who lives in Gush Etzion,” I told him. “He volunteers for an organization that works to facilitate dialogue between Israelis and Palestinians. . .”

The ambassador interrupted. “I very much support that type of activity, but it does not justify living on occupied land.”

“So are you also going to put Belgian citizens who live in settlements in jail if they return to your country?” Shalzed asked.

Thijs sighed. “Of course not. But the current situation calls for strong action. If we make life in the settlements harder, then fewer of our citizens will move there. This is my government’s way of making a statement.”

“So you are punishing your own citizens simply to make a statement?” Shalzed asked.

The ambassador shrugged. “It’s our only leverage. Now please excuse me,” he said. A black sedan was pulling up by the curb and he quickly got inside, and then Shalzed and I were back in the dark tunnel. I didn’t bother this time looking for more information about how Shalzed made it work because I was upset about the ambassador. He probably imagined that everyone who lived in the settlements was a violent extremist, and I knew very well that wasn’t the case.

A moment later I was back in the park across from my house, with Shalzed nowhere in sight. My phone rang, and I saw it was Yehudah calling back.

I swiped to answer. “Sorry,” I said. “I was away a bit longer than I thought.”

“No problem,” he said. “I just heard one of the rabbis here has connections with a member of the Knesset. He’s going to try to get help with that passport. But don’t you think withholding passports violates people’s rights?

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure Belgium would, either.

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Sources:

Coverage of Belgium’s new policy from The Algemeiner

Protest press release from the Jewish Documentation and Information Center

shalzed with Doctors Without Borders in Gaza

Who Decides Who’s Neutral? Can Doctors Without Borders Stay in Gaza?

by with No Comment story

Who Decides Who’s Neutral?

Can Doctors Without Borders Stay in Gaza?

Shalzed speaks with Doctors Without Borders Emergency Coordinator for Palestine Claire San Felippo

What starts as a Bumble match turns into a sudden trip to a Doctors Without Borders field hospital in Gaza, as Shalzed asks who gets to decide what “neutral” means when humanitarian aid meets war.

Who Decides Who’s Neutral?

I got a match on Bumble for the first time in two weeks. Her name was Rose, and I really liked her profile. As an ‘opening move question’ she asked, ‘What’s your ideal first date,’ so I responded, ‘Holding hands while sky diving- although that’s definitely not happening on our first date!’ Then I sat in the living room watching NBA highlights, hoping she would reply.

I grabbed my phone as soon as it chimed, but instead of Rose it was Shalzed. “Doctors Without Borders is planning to stop working in Gaza,” he said.

“Okay,” I replied, checking if maybe by chance Rose had also messaged at the same time.

“I can’t understand it,” Shalzed continued. “Israel is just asking basic questions for its own security. How could an organization devoted to helping victims of conflict pick up and leave because of that?”

Suddenly, I was in the black tunnel with points of light. I wished I had my phone with me, but it was no longer in my hand. It might not even work wherever Shalzed was taking me. Then I was outside a large, white medical tent. It had rows of folding chairs, filled with people waiting. Children were running and crawling around on the floor. There was a row of smaller tents with examining tables outside. Doctors and nurses wearing white scrubs with the Doctors Without Borders logo hurried about.

Shalzed was next to me, looking around. “Gaza city,” he said. Then he caught site of a woman with short hair and large, round glasses walking towards the road. He strode towards her, and so I followed.

“Excuse me,” Shalzed called. “Can you explain why Doctors Without Borders is threatening to leave?”

The woman turned, and I saw she was wearing an ID that said ‘Claire San Felippo, Emergency Coordinator for Palestine.’

“Are you with Israel?” she asked, looking at Shalzed suspiciously. “If so, you can’t be here.” She put her hands on her hips.

Even though I wasn’t an Israeli citizen, I still felt uncomfortable being in Gaza. I moved closer to Shalzed.

Shalzed shook his head. “I just want to understand why you are threatening to leave rather than complete the simple registration process the Israeli government now requires.”

San Felippo glanced towards the road, where a man holding a clipboard was waiting. “Simple process?” she asked. “They want to know the identities of all our staff, Palestinian and international. What if Israel uses the information to target them? Do you know how many humanitarian workers have already been killed by the Israeli army?”

“A lot of so-called humanitarian workers are also Hamas,” I told her.

“We would never knowingly employ anyone engaged in military activity,” she shot back.

To my surprise, Shalzed interrupted. “Israel says you have.”

San Felippo shook her head. “It was just a few isolated incidents. We dealt with it right away.”

A woman in her early twenties wearing a badge identifying her as a nurse passed by. “I don’t want you giving my name to the genocide army,” she said.

One of my brothers moved to Haifa and is in IDF reserves, and I have several cousins also in the army. It makes me mad to hear people say that.

“We won’t do anything without your consent,” San Felippo told to the nurse. Then she turned to Shalzed. “That’s what this is really about, Israel is trying to scare away all our employees to force us out.”

“If you go around accusing Israel of genocide, why would you expect its government to cooperate?” I asked San Felippo.

She turned to me. “Bearing witness is one of our key principles, no matter where we work. We see genocide with our own eyes as we struggle to treat the wounded. Our mission requires us to speak up.”

“You can’t see genocide,” I told her. “That’s just your opinion. Israel believes everything it does is necessary in self-defense.”

“Isn’t neutrality one of your core principles also?” Shalzed asked her. “Accusing Israel of genocide, along with calling for boycotts and arms embargoes, hardly seems neutral.”

I heard a siren in the distance. All three of us turned, and I saw what looked like an ambulance approaching.

“Neutrality means we give medical treatment to anyone in need without conditions,” San Felippo said. “But neutrality doesn’t stop us from speaking out about what we are witnessing here on the ground.”

A nurse went to the waiting tent and called a name. A boy who seemed like eight or nine got up. His left foot was in a bandage, and he hopped along by leaning on what looked like a broomstick under his armpit. The siren was getting louder. A man came by, pushing an empty wheelchair towards the road. “Just in case,” he said to San Felippo.

“Do you know what it is?” she asked.

The man shook his head. “Electricity is out, so there’s no internet. I know nothing.”

San Felippo turned to Shalzed as soon as the man passed by. “The security concerns are just lies Israel is using to try to push us out and deny Gaza residents medical care. And if we leave, they know exactly what will happen,” she said.

“Rather than address Israel’s concerns, you’re trying to stir up global outrage about hundreds of thousands of people left without medical care so you can keep doing everything exactly the way you want,” I told her.

“Look at the Red Cross,” Shalzed added. “They don’t go on social media campaigning for embargoes or boycotts, and Israel has never threatened to kick them out.”

“That’s their choice,” San Felippo said. “The Red Cross stays silent in order to preserve access. Our values are different than theirs.”

A Red Crescent ambulance pulled up and several people got out. The driver immediately started arguing with the man who had brought the wheelchair, who was helping an elderly man who was clutching both hands to his chest out the back. They spoke in Arabic, so I couldn’t understand them.

“I’ve got to go,” San Felippo said, starting towards the road. “But just to let you know, in the end we are planning to comply with Israel’s requirements. They’ll probably still try to kick us out anyway.”

The man with the wheelchair smiled when he saw her, and she said something to the driver that seemed to calm him down. Then I was back in the black tunnel, and a moment later in my apartment. It took me a moment to orient myself to being back home. I suddenly felt thankful that I lived in the United States, where we have electricity and health care, rather than Gaza.

My phone chimed. I looked around and Shalzed wasn’t with me, so I thought maybe he was calling. But instead it was a message from Rose. It said, ‘Ha ha. I’d rather donate the money we’d spend on sky diving to an organization that helps people in need, like Doctors Without Borderes. What about you?”

I chuckled. I’m all for helping people in need, but I’d prefer an organization that isn’t so anti-Israel. I wondered whether I should try to explain that to Rose, or if that would end our relationship before it even had a chance to get started.

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Sources:

Israel Tells Doctors Without Borders to End Its Work in Gaza- New York Times article click here.

Text of Israel’s new requirements law, click here.

Israel’s report on Doctors Without Borders non-compliance, click here.

Doctors Without Borders press release protesting Israel’s requirements, click here.

Doctors Without Borders Jan. 24th statement agreeing to comply with Israeli requests, click here.

shalzed and simon leaving the eiffel tower

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

by with No Comment shalzedstory

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

Shalzed and Simon outside Cafe Maya, next to Amnesty International Headquarters in London

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.”

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Sources:

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

shalzed and simon at the state dept

From Green Onions to the United Nations

by with No Comment story

From Green Onions to the United Nations

Shalzed wants to know why the U.S. is pulling out of international organizations

Shalzed and Simon outside the State Dept. in Washington D.V.

Shalzed came to Earth believing international law — and the web of institutions built around it — offered a model for peace, not just here but across the galaxy.

But last week the U.S. withdrew from 66 international organizations. In this episode, Shalzed confronts U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio to find out whether this vision is falling apart.

From Green Onions to the United Nations

I hurried into shul with a bag full of groceries. Rabbi Shayerman trusted me, but the policy was very strict that he had to check everything in. I wanted to be able to start working on the kiddush before he got caught up with his ‘pizza and parsha’ class for youth.

It only took the rabbi a minute to find all the hechshers. He grabbed a stack of napkins and paper plates and headed to the social hall, and I started chopping green onions for the tuna salad. Then Shalzed called.

“Why is President Trump withdrawing the United States from international organizations?” he asked. “They are all places for countries to resolve disputes and work together.”

I hadn’t heard anything about this, but it did sound like something Trump would do. “What organizations?” I asked.

“About half are connected to the United Nations,” he said. “And the United Nations is the primary body you use to keep peace and security on your planet.”

Before I could say anything else, I was in the dark tunnel with points of light that by now had become familiar. This time I tried to listen as best I could for any sounds that would give information about how it worked. I didn’t hear anything like motion or machinery, though, and a moment later I was standing next to Shalzed in the office of Marco Rubio at Foggy Bottom.

Rubio was sitting behind an enormous, wood desk, looking at his computer. “Mr. Secretary,” Shalzed began. “Why are you trying to undermine the United Nations?”

Rubio looked up and wrinkled his forehead. “Where have I seen you two before?” he asked.

Just a week ago Shalzed had taken me to Mar-a-Lago to confront Rubio about the U.S. nabbing Maduro out of Venezuela. “We travel a lot,” I told him.

“I don’t know how you got in here, and I have a meeting in just a moment,” Rubio said. “But no, the United States is absolutely not trying to undermine the United Nations.”

Shalzed put his hands on his hips. “You just announced that you’re withdrawing from 31 UN organizations, and a bunch of other non-UN organizations too.” he said.

Rubio shook his head. “The United States strongly believes in the United Nations. But only as a forum for diplomacy. Why does the UN have dozens of little agencies, most of which are redundant, wasteful, and counter to our interests?”

“Does that mean you’re upset other countries don’t always go along and give the United States everything it wants?” I asked.

Rubio closed his laptop and crossed his arms against this chest. “Absolutely not. Take for example the UN Democracy Fund. It just gave money for a program that it claims helps youth in Argentina strengthen their critical thinking. And they sponsored a program to increase women’s political participation in Baluchistan.”

“Baluchistan?” I interjected.

“It’s a region in Pakistan,” Rubio said quickly. “The point is that these are things that if wanted, countries should do them on their own. The UN was never meant to have billions of dollars to spend on do-gooder projects wherever they please.”

“But maybe these projects are valuable?” Shalzed suggested.

Rubio shrugged. “Maybe. But the UN should be only the General Assembly and Security Council. It shouldn’t try to do the job of its member states, and when it does it’s an affront to states’ sovereignty besides.”

A man I didn’t recognize wearing a beige suit and striped tie entered the office. He had a senate pin on his suit jacket and was wearing a VIP badge around his neck. “Thanks for taking the time,” he said, striding over to Rubio’s desk. “Great work on cutting us out of 66 agencies, but I wish you had pulled out of a few more.”

Rubio stood up to shake his hand. The man turned to us. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “Rand Paul from Kentucky.”

“I am Shalzed,” Shalzed said. Paul stared at him expectantly. After an awkward silence Paul said, “You must both be awfully important if they let you in without ID badges.”

“We arrived a different way, not through downstairs,” I said, trying to laugh.

“I doubt you were able to parachute in through the window,” Paul said with a chuckle. He turned to Rubio. “Maybe some of the money we saved by withdrawing from those organizations ought to go towards State Department security.”

“It’s a form of tzedakah,” I said, as I had no idea how Shalzed could explain our arrival without getting us into all sorts of trouble. Rubio, Rand Paul, and Shalzed all gave me blank looks, and I realized I had used a Hebrew term. “Charity,” I told them. “A lot of the countries that benefit from these programs probably don’t have enough money to do these things themselves.”

Rand Paul waved a dismissive hand. “The U.S. is still a part of UNICEF and the World Food Programme,” he replied. “I never advocated against that. It’s just small bureaucracies that are ideologically driven and wasteful that we want to get out.”

“It’s only a miniscule part of the U.S. government’s budget,” Shalzed said.

“Let me tell you something,” Rand Paul said, turning towards us. “Imagine standing outside a gas station somewhere in Kentucky and asking folks as they walk by if they want their tax dollars going to the International Cotton Advisory Committee. Or the Venice Commission of the Council of Europe. Or the UN Permanent Forum on People of African Descent. Not one of them will say yes. Finally we have an administration that actually listens to the people.”

“It’s a lot more cost effective to resolve disputes in these forums than to risk them deteriorating into violence,” shalzed said.

“Exactly,” Rubio responded. “That’s what the United Nations General Assembly and Security Council are for. But no more unelected, unaccountable international bureaucracies pursuing their own agendas while the United States foots the bill.”

“I’m just curious,” Paul interrupted. “If you parachuted in, are you going to leave by parachute too? Because I think the fine gentlemen downstairs at the exit will be awfully concerned about your badges.”

“I have no worry,” Shalzed said simply.

Paul laughed. “If you have badges in your pocket you should take them out,” he said.

“And I think you should be going,” Rubio added.

I tugged Shalzed’s arm. “Time to leave,” I told him.

“Fine,” he said, not sounding happy. He turned to Rubio and Paul. “But most problems cannot be resolved by any one country. Aren’t international organizations the only way?”

“For that there are bilateral agreements,” Rubio said. “And I think I’ll call security, they’d like to see your badge.”

Just as he picked up his desk phone I was back in the black tunnel. I tried to concentrate on Marco Rubio’s face, to see if he had any reaction, but the transition was too fast. I wondered what he saw? A moment later I was in the synagogue kitchen, right in front of the cutting board with green onions waiting to be chopped.

I took a moment to get my bearings, then picked up the knife. Rabbi Shayerman came in and looked around. “I thought you were in a hurry,” he said to me.

“Right,” I said. He glanced at the onions waiting on the table, only half of the first one chopped. “I got a call on the phone,” I told him. That was at least partially true- Shalzed had called before he took me to Washington. But there was no way I could explain that.

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Questions:

  1. The United Nations has grown far beyond a forum for diplomacy, taking on work in areas like development, democracy, environmental protection, and human rights.
    Do you see this expansion as necessary for solving global problems—or as an example of unaccountable bureaucracies encroaching on state sovereignty?

  2. Withdrawing from 66 international organizations saved the U.S. only a negligible amount of money. Even if some of these organizations are inefficient, was withdrawal worth the cost in lost influence—or does influence matter less than principle here?
Shalzed and Simon at Mar-a-Lago

When the UN Charter Meets Black Ops

by with No Comment shalzedstory

When the UN Charter Meets Black Ops

Shalzed Confronts Marco Rubio Over the Maduro Abduction

Shalzed and Simon waiting for Marco Rubio at Mar-a-Lago

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.”

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Questions:

  1. 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?
  2. 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?