Tony Kushner, Israel and awarding honorary degrees

As someone who feels a connection to Israel and admires playwright Tony Kushner, I think it's shameful that the City University of New York's Board of Trustees vetoed a proposal by John Jay College to award him an honorary degree.

First, the way the board reached its decision was reprehensible. Members let one trustee, Jeffrey S. Wiesenfeld, make unsubstantiated claims that Kushner had disparaged Israel, using quotes taken out of context that distort his views.

There was no attempt by the other trustees to contact Kushner or verify the information independently, or even to discuss whether there should be a litmus test on Israel when awarding an honorary degree. They allowed Wiesenfeld to hijack the proceedings and voted. That's not how representatives of an institution dedicated to reasoned discourse should operate.

But there's something that troubles me even more. I find it embarrassing when my fellow American Jews try to "defend" Israel by silencing anything they perceive as criticism. It's misguided and, quite frankly, offensive to Israelis. I understand the need to speak up when Israel is unfairly maligned but knee-jerk reactions aren't helpful.

I lived in Israel for a year, from 1997 to 1998. One of the things I admire about the country is that despite the constant threat of terrorism, despite being at war for all 63 years of its existence, it is a robust democracy with the freedom to express every imaginable viewpoint.

I think that American Jews don't realize the raucousness of debate in Israel. I remember going to a peace rally in Tel Aviv and being incredulous that the crowd booed Natan Sharansky, a representative of the Likud government. Booing Sharansky, the man who languished in a Soviet prison camp for the "crime" of wanting to immigrate to Israel?

The idea of American Jews criticizing Israel is always delicate. We don't live there, we don't face the same dangers. If Kushner and I were to talk about Israel we wouldn't be in total agreement but we'd have a good debate. It would start from a place of mutual respect for each other and for Israel's right to exist.

I realize that not every American Jew views Israel the same way I do. Some have questions or reservations similar to the ones raised by Kushner. That doesn't make them extremists. That doesn't mean they should be ostracized. If, as Jews, we are a family then we should be able to talk openly and honestly with each other about the past, present and future.

Well, Tony Kushner can defend himself. Here's part of his letter to the CUNY board:

"I am very proud of being Jewish, and discussing this issue publicly has been hard; but I believe in the absolute good of public debate, and I feel that silence on the part of Jews who have questions is injurious to the life of the Jewish people. My opinion about the wisdom of the creation of a Jewish state has never been expressed in any form without a strong statement of support for Israel’s right to exist, and my ardent wish that it continue to do so, something Mr Wiesenfeld conveniently left out of his remarks."

(Update: according to The New York Times, the executive committee of the CUNY board met Monday evening and approved granting Kushner an honorary degree. The Times says it's not clear whether Kushner will accept but I hope he does.)

Remembering Jill Haworth

I have to say a few words about British actress Jill Haworth, who died Monday in Manhattan at age 65.

The New York Times obituary noted that she was the original Sally Bowles in Cabaret, which I didn't realize until I watched the PBS documentary Broadway: The American Musical. I knew her as Karen Hansen from the 1960 movie Exodus, based on the Leon Uris novel about the birth of Israel. (That's her with costars Eva Marie Saint and Paul Newman.)

In fact, I was surprised when Haworth's name came up in the documentary and wondered if it was even the same person but it was, her blond hair covered by a dark wig. To me, Sally Bowles was Liza Minnelli from the movie. It never occurred to me that someone else originated the role on Broadway.

It's interesting that Haworth's two biggest performances serve as historical bookends - a bohemian nightclub singer in Germany as the Nazis are rising to power and a young Jewish girl trying to build a new life after World War II.

I watched Exodus more than once before visiting Israel for the first time in 1995. That was a time in my life when I pretty much ate, slept and breathed anything to do with the place, which culminated in my moving to Tel Aviv for a year. Today, it's hard to believe I was so obsessed.

I realize the movie is long and overly sentimental but Haworth was so sweet and self-assured. My Israeli tour guide dismissed Exodus with some embarrassment, saying of Paul Newman's character, nobody could be that perfect.

I still find the film incredibly moving, especially when the refugees are being held on Cyprus and later, on board the Exdous, desperate to break the British blockade of Palestine. In his review for the Times, Bosley Crowther called Haworth's performance "fresh and deeply poignant."

The Times obituary says information about her family and survivors wasn't available. But she leaves a performance that has stayed with me.

Senate repeals "Don't ask, don't tell''

Congratulations to the U.S. Senate, you did remember how to pass a civil-rights bill! I was afraid you'd forgotten.

Fifty-five Democrats, 8 Republicans and 2 independents voted Saturday to repeal "Don't ask, don't tell" and allow gays and lesbians to serve openly in the military. Their stand in favor of equality benefits all Americans, gay and straight, because a more just society benefits all of us.

A week ago I did not think this vote would happen. But for once, Congress surprised me in a good way - the House earlier in the week and the Senate yesterday. (My fellow blogger The Tin Man writes about how we got to this point.)

So kudos to Majority Leader Harry Reid and Speaker Nancy Pelosi. And Joe Lieberman, who helped spearhead the effort in the Senate, nice to have you back on the side of the angels. To the Republicans who broke party ranks, thank-you for demonstrating that equality is a bipartisan issue. President Obama, thank-you for keeping a campaign promise to end DADT.

I have to admit that when Bill Clinton announced "Don't ask, don't tell" in 1993, I didn't give it much thought. I didn't have any close friends or coworkers who were openly gay. I didn't appreciate what meant to be in the closet, to be forced to live a lie in order to serve your country.

But times have changed. Laws like "Don't ask, don't tell" and the Defense of Marriage Act affect my friends, coworkers, neighbors, people I love and admire. I understand now that those measures are unfair and un-American. That wasn't something I could have said 17 years ago. And I think that's true for a lot of straight people.

The young men and women in the American military will adapt. They're already serving with gay and lesbian soldiers who are doing their jobs quite well. I lived for a year in Israel - where gay soldiers serve openly. And no one would say that Israel doesn't have a strong army, whose troops face enemies every bit as tough as the ones U.S. troops face in Iraq and Afghanistan.

When I was watching C-SPAN, one vote in favor of repeal stood out - 86-year-old Democrat Daniel Inouye of Hawaii.

Inouye, a Medal of Honor recipient, lost an arm fighting in Italy in World War II. His unit, the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, comprised of mostly Japanese-Americans, was among the most highly decorated in the history of the U.S. military.

Here is what he said afterward:

“Finally, all brave men and women who want to put on the uniform of our great nation and serve in the armed services may do so without having to hide who they are. My only regret is that nearly 13,000 men and women were expelled from the military during the 17 years that this discriminatory policy was in place.

"In every war we have had men and women of different sexual orientation who have risked their lives for their country. I fought alongside gay men during World War II and many of them were killed in combat. Those men were heroes. And once again, heroes will be allowed to defend their country, regardless of their sexual orientation.”

Of course they were heroes - and now all of America's heroes will be able to serve openly and proudly.

As the president stated: "gay and lesbian service members - brave Americans who enable our freedoms - will no longer have to hide who they are. The fight for civil rights, a struggle that continues, will no longer include this one."

The road to equal rights for all Americans has been a long and tortuous one and progress doesn't happen nearly fast enough. But we're getting there. And yesterday was one of the good days.

Bigotry and the health care debate

The disgusting slurs hurled yesterday at Georgia Rep. John Lewis and other African-American members of Congress over the health care bill reminded me of something I once witnessed from the other side of the political spectrum.

In November 1997, when I was living in Israel, I went to a peace rally in Tel Aviv held in memory of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, who had been assassinated two years earlier.

About 200,000 people crowded into the square in front of City Hall, where Rabin had spoken moments before he was killed. At the time, as now, the right-wing Likud Party was in power.

It was a young, mostly secular, left-leaning crowd at what was supposed to be a nonpartisan event, although I did see a few posters opposing then-Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.

When the sole government representative in attendance began to speak, Industry and Trade Minister Natan Sharansky, some people started to boo him.

I couldn't believe it.

Booing Sharansky, the man who languished in a Soviet prison camp for the "crime" of wanting to immigrate to Israel? The man whose plight galvanized Jews around the world? Even if you dislike the policies of the government, how could you be so disrespectful?

Thankfully, Ehud Barak, the leader of the opposition Labor Party, walked over to Sharansky, held up his arm and called him an Israeli hero, silencing the crowd.

Well, John Lewis is an American hero, a man who was arrested and beaten as he marched and organized throughout the South in the 1960s to win African-Americans their civil rights, including the right to vote.

The invective hurled yesterday at black lawmakers, as well as at openly gay Rep. Barney Frank, is un-American and unacceptable.

House Republican leaders have denounced it but I'd like to see them leave the comfort of a CNN studio and directly confront their bigoted Tea Party supporters, some of whom seem to have a problem with the fact that we've elected a black man as president.

I have no patience with extremist behavior, whether it comes from the left or the right. Whatever your argument, it's impossible for me to take you seriously. Why anyone would think that I'd listen to the ravings of bigots is is beyond me.

An Israeli August: Osage County

Wow, August: Osage County really is spanning the globe. I've read about the productions in London and Australia and Portugal. But somehow I missed this one. In January, there was a production in Tel Aviv, at Habima, Israel's national theatre.

I think Tracy Letts' Tony and Pulitzer-winning play would translate well into Hebrew, or any other language. After all, it's about the interaction between parents and children, husband and wives, siblings. Those are pretty universal themes.

(Except there's no letter "w" in Hebrew, so the "Weston" family of the play would probably sound more like "Veston.")

Gila Almagor, one of Israel's leading actresses, played the acid-tongued, pill-popping, cancer-stricken matriarch Violet Weston. You might remember Almagor from the Steven Spielberg movie Munich, in which she played the mother of Mossad agent Eric Bana.

In this interview, Almagor talks about how her mother's struggle with mental illness informed her portrayal of Violet.

And this is a tv commercial for the play. My Hebrew's extremely rusty but it starts out by describing the plot.

In Tel Aviv, baseless hate and murder

Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated by a right-wing, religious Jew three months after I made my first visit to Israel in 1995. I was upset but also deeply shocked. I couldn't believe that one Jew would kill another Jew.

Well since then, I've spent a year living in Israel and I'm not as naive about these things. Most acts of violence in Israel are committed by Jews against other Jews. As horrified as I am by the murder last night of two people at a youth center for gay teens in Tel Aviv, I'm not shocked.

I lived in the city for a year and yes, it's a pretty open, progressive place, especially compared with Jerusalem. It doesn't have the holy sites or large Orthodox population - and the accompanying tension. I loved the people and I loved living there.

I realize we don't know yet who perpetrated this act of terror. A lone gunman dressed in black entered the center Saturday night - a popular time for going out in Israel, at the end of the Sabbath - and started shooting.

But Tel Aviv isn't immune from the deep divisions in Israeli society - between religious and secular Jews, between Ashkenazim and Sephardim. As much as I love Israel, I realize that the same intolerance and homophobia and extremism that exists everywhere exists there.

Coincidentally, last week was Tisha B'Av, the date on the Jewish calendar that commemorates the destruction of the first and second temples in Jerusalem. The Talmud teaches that sinat chinam, baseless hatred, led to the destruction of the second temple - and of a Jewish homeland.

My thoughts go out to the injured and the families of the victims. I'm sad that a country I love so much, a city I got to know so well, is once again experiencing the pain of violence fueled by hate.

Adam Lambert sings a song for peace

Okay, I'll admit I'm not a fan of American Idol. I think I watched it once, a few years ago, just to see what all the fuss was about. So I haven't been following the competition very closely - except that if you're at all interested in pop culture, you can't help but hear something about the show.

Still, it entirely escaped me that Idol runner-up Adam Lambert is Jewish! Why wasn't I informed?! I definitely would have paid more attention. (I'm joking, I'm joking. Kind of.)

And now, I've found a video of Lambert singing "Shir L'Shalom" ("Song for Peace") in Hebrew (and some English).

"Shir L'Shalom" is one of my favorite Israeli songs and one that has a great deal of meaning for me. Written in 1969, it's always been an anthem of the Israeli peace movement. But it took on an even more iconic status in 1995, after the assassination of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin.

Rabin was singing the song, along with a massive crowd, at a peace rally in Tel Aviv's main square on Nov. 4, 1995, moments before he was killed. His death came about three months after I visited Israel for the first time - and fell in love with the country. Since then, "Shir L'Shalom" has become a staple at memorial services honoring him.

Lambert's version is interesting - a lot slower than some others I've heard, but still very stirring. Here's an English translation if you want to follow along.

Yom HaShoah

On Broadway tonight, Tovah Feldshuh, the star of Irena's Vow, will lead a candlelight ceremony in front of the Walter Kerr Theatre to mark Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day. In the play, Feldshuh portrays a real-life Polish Catholic woman who rescued Jewish refugees during World War II.

Taking part in the Yom HaShoah remembrance when I lived in Israel in 1998 was one of the most unique and unforgettable events of the year I spent there.

I was standing on the corner of a busy street in Tel Aviv when the memorial siren went off at 10 a.m. At first, I didn't realize it, because there was so much noise from the traffic.

But suddenly, everything went silent. Buses pulled over to the side of the road. Drivers got out of their cars. People walking along the street stopped in their tracks. Customers at a cafe got up from their chairs. Everyone stood at attention and bowed their heads. No one moved.

For two minutes, the only sound was the siren. It was a simple, yet profound and deeply felt act of communal memory. We stood still together and silently remembered, each person caught up in his or her own thoughts.

Some Jews have argued that standing silently isn't a very Jewish way to commemorate something. And they do have a point. We shouldn't just do that.

I didn't write anything a few weeks ago when the National Organization for Marriage released its "Gathering Storm" commercial, about the supposed dangers American society faces from legalizing same-sex marriage.

But today seems like a day when I ought to say something - indeed, when I'm obligated to say something. What angers me about that video is the way it presents gay and lesbian Americans as people we should fear, the way it presents their relationships as a threat to our society.

That video is disgusting and reprehensible and unAmerican. Extending equal protection hurts no one. And our gay and lesbian friends, family members, coworkers, neighbors and loved ones are not a threat to anyone.

You can read the Human Rights Campaign's statement debunking it. HRC has also set up a Web site, End the Lies, to confront the lies and distortions used to defeat LGBT equality measures.

Tomorrow, the House Judiciary Committee will take up the Local Law Enforcement Hate Crimes Prevention Act, also known as the Matthew Shepard Act. The bill would give the Justice Department the power to prosecute bias-related crimes where the victim is chosen because of their race, color, religion, national origin, gender, sexual orientation, gender identity or disability.

In The New York Times on Sunday, Frank Rich called "Gathering Storm" a turning point in the demise of America's antigay movement. "If it advances any message, it’s mainly that homophobic activism is ever more depopulated and isolated as well as brain-dead."

It may be the last gasp of the bigots but today of all days, I can't dismiss it so easily.

Whenever we present one group of people as objects of hatred and fear it becomes easier to think of them as less than human, as less deserving of equal rights. And that is the true threat to all of the values we hold dear as Americans.

Fiddler on the Roof

Gratuitous Violins rating: ***1/2 out of ****

I didn't come to Fiddler on the Roof in the traditional way: watching the movie or seeing a production in my native language. I first saw it performed in Hebrew in 1998 when I lived in Israel, then I saw the movie and now, 11 years later, I've finally seen the musical on stage in English.

What did I miss the first time around? The humor, mainly. Fiddler on the Roof is a lot funnier than I realized. Even with my limited Hebrew, the poignancy came through and I recognized the songs and the dances didn't need a translation. But if you're seeing a show for the first time in a foreign language, it's hard to get the jokes.

All three of my experiences have one thing in common: Chaim Topol as Tevye, the pious Jewish milkman eking out a living with his wife and five daughters in the village of Anatevka in czarist Russia in 1905. The current tour is billed as the Israeli actor's farewell after 40 years of playing this iconic role.

Topol, at age 73, is terrific and wonderfully expressive: singing, dancing, joking, conniving, arguing, beseeching the almighty. He embodies Tevye so completely - his faith, his love for his family, his wry sense of humor, his bewilderment at a changing world. Really, I can't imagine anyone doing it better.

While Topol is clearly the performer the audience has come to see, Tevye never overwhelms the musical. I think part of the strength of Fiddler on the Roof is that it's much more than a one-man band. It's truly an ensemble.

Joseph Stein's book, based on the stories of Sholom Aleichem, is rich in memorable characters. Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick spread around their songs with lyrics and melodies so beautiful they bring tears to your eyes. (Just think about the first few lines of "Sunrise, Sunset.") Jerome Robbins' choreography, reproduced by Sammy Dallas Bayes, is thrilling and it's so well-integrated into the story and music. Together, they evoke the vanished world of Eastern European Jews.

One of the things I love about Fiddler on the Roof is the way we're given the time to get to know these characters as Tevye tries to find husbands for his three oldest daughters. My only quibble is that we get a little more time to watch the first two relationships unfold. By the time we get to the third, and most monumental, it seems to happen rather quickly.

Rena Strober, Jamie Davis and Alison Walla are wonderful as daughters Tzeitel, Hodel and Chava. They're so spirited, so determined to marry for love. I really enjoyed watching the three of them in "Matchmaker, Matchmaker" as they dream of getting married while preparing for the Sabbath. And Davis has a voice that soars in "Far From the Home I Love."

Erik Liberman made a very sweet and timid Motel the tailor and Colby Foytik was great as Perchik, the idealistic student and would-be revolutionary who challenges the Jews of Anatevka to rethink their traditions. Susan Cella was a nice counterpoint to Tevye as his exasperated and long-suffering wife, Golde. Mary Stout as Yente the matchmaker and Bill Nolte as Lazar Wolf the butcher both had nice comic turns.

For years I was reluctant to see Fiddler on the Roof because I was afraid that it would romanticize the poverty-stricken and precarious lives of Russian Jews. But even the sentimental parts - like the lighting of Sabbath candles - were staged in a way that I found incredibly moving.

And the musical doesn't present an all-rosy picture. We get the moments of heartbreak as well as joy. There's no glossing over anti-Semitism. There's also no glossing over the rigid piety and resistance to change among some of the Jews of Anatevka.

Tevye is trying to hold onto the traditions that have sustained the Jewish people for centuries in the face of exile and persecution. He says, "because of our traditions, every one of us knows who he is and what God expects him to do."

Now, those traditions are being questioned and his daughters are pulling away from him in ways that are unfamiliar, heartbreaking even. His response doesn't always make him a very sympathetic character but in the inspired performance of Chaim Topol, it does make him very human.

Paul Newman: 1925-2008

I've seen lots of Paul Newman movies over the years, but the one that sticks with me the most is 1960's Exodus, which is hokey and overlong and overwrought. But I must have watched it at least a half-dozen times in the months leading up to my first trip to Israel, in August 1995.

I can just picture Newman's Ari Ben-Canaan - tanned, confident and forceful - telling Eva Marie Saint's Kitty Fremont why the boatload of desperate Jewish refugees simply could not give themselves up to the British authorities. Even if, as my Israeli tour guide later told us, the portrait was "a little embarrassing, no one can be that good," it was still a pretty thrilling performance.

I'd read that Newman was seriously ill but the announcement of his death at age 83 still came as a shock. Of course, in addition to his acting, was also famous and beloved for his philanthropic works, most notably, for the Hole in the Wall camps for children fighting cancer and other diseases.

Dalia Lithwick, an editor at Slate.com, worked as a counselor at one of the camps for several years and she's written a very moving tribute to this extraordinary man who loved to visit with the kids and take them fishing. Here's part of what she says:

"Each summer of the four I spent at Newman's flagship Connecticut camp was a living lesson in how one man can change everything. Terrified parents would deliver their wan, weary kid at the start of the session with warnings and cautions and lists of things not to be attempted."

"They'd return 10 days later to find the same kid, tanned and bruisey, halfway up a tree or canon-balling into the deep end of the pool. Their wigs or prosthetic arms—props of years spent trying to fit in—were forgotten in the duffel under the bed. Shame, stigma, fear, worry, all vaporized by a few days of being ordinary."

"In an era in which nearly everyone feels entitled to celebrity and fortune, Newman was always suspicious of both. He used his fame to give away his fortune, and he did that from some unspoken Zen-like conviction that neither had ever really belonged to him in the first place."

Happy Independence Day

Tomorrow, Israelis will celebrate Yom Ha'atzmaut, Independence Day. I think this fits the definition of irony: Ten years ago, for the 50th anniversary, I was in Tel Aviv. This year, for the 60th, I'll be in New York City - that other Jewish homeland. To mark the occasion, here's something I wrote after I came back from my first trip to Israel, in August 1995.

I'm back from my first trip to Israel. Over two weeks, I stood on the Golan Heights, planted a tree in Jerusalem and dipped my toes in the Red Sea. We may have seen some things for only a few minutes, but we saw everything. I have the photos to prove it.

I'm not a religious person. I was afraid my view would be warped by having seen Exodus a few too many times. I thought maybe I was setting myself up to be disappointed. I told myself to be realistic. I didn't expend to find Paul Newman.

I needn't have worried. Israel is an incredibly compelling place. We had a great guide who not only knew the history, but spoke with such candor and love for his country that it was inspiring.

During dinner at a waterfront restaurant in Jaffa, driving on the highway to Tiberias, or walking around Jerusalem on a Sabbath afternoon Israel seemed like the most peaceful place on earth. I walked around Jerusalem, including the Old City, by myself and I felt completely safe.

I don't mean to poke holes in any long-held cultural stereotypes about Israelis being brusque, but everyone was friendly. Ok, there was one guy in a Tel Aviv store who got a little sarcastic when I asked him if he spoke English. "Only when I have to," he said. But when I told him it was my first day in Israel and I was afraid I'd broken my camera, he became the essence of helpfulness, fixing the problem with a little tape. And I never asked that question again.

Sometimes it seemed as though the word "line" didn't exist in Hebrew. I soon realized that if I wanted service in a crowded place, I'd have to speak up and hold my ground. But that's the same the world over.

I didn't even mind the famously stringent El Al security check at Kennedy Airport in New York. I tried to think what they'd ask to figure out whether I was Jewish without really coming out and asking me: Name three Woody Allen movies. What type of condiment would you put on a corned beef sandwich?

I knew it was for my own safety and I'm glad it was so thorough. But some of the questions did touch psychological sore spots left over from my childhood.

"Did you ever try to learn Hebrew?" I was asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"Why?"
"Because my parents made me go to Hebrew school."

After being asked for the third time why I wanted to go to Israel, I finally blurted out, "Because I'm Jewish and I've never been." That seemed to satisfy the security person. ("Aha," I imagined her thinking. "We got you to admit it, you assimilated, self-denying, non-observant American.")

When I finally got through it, I was sweating. But I felt like I had passed some test of my Jewishness. The Israelis though I was acceptable to enter their country. "Ok," further imagined them thinking, "we'll let you enter the Promised Land even though you complained about being forced to learn Hebrew, waited 36 years to decide that you wanted to come visit and we know you ate bacon yesterday."

What will I remember most?

I'll remember walking back from dinner along the promenade in Tel Aviv. It was nearly midnight and there were still plenty of people strolling. I thought, "I can't believe it. All of these people are Jewish."

I'll remember my bus ride in Jerusalem, disregarding a State Department advisory. When I asked someone at the tourist information center whether it was safe, he said "Sure. Most of the drivers are nice." That wasn't exactly what I was wondering, but I didn't want to admit that I was scared.

I was pretty nervous during the ride and I kept looking around the bus. I realized that this is what Israelis live with every day. When I saw my fellow passengers - small children, the elderly, Orthodox, secular, everyday working people - it brought the fear of terrorism home to me in a very personal way.

I wondered what it would be like seeing soldiers everywhere, and when a group of them walked into a museum in Tel Aviv, it did seem a little strange. Our guide explained that they were visiting as part of their training. Actually, I saw more soldiers in musems than anywhere else. After awhile, they were a natural part of the landscape, and they seemed so young.

There were some surprises. I was prepared to see soldiers, lots of men in yarmulkes, and American fast food. I wasn't prepared for the Volkswagens. They're everywhere.

I was amazed at the quietness of Jerusalem on a Saturday afternoon. I kept looking before I crossed a street, even though there were hardly any cars. Saturday seemed like Sunday and Sunday seemed like Monday.

Before I went, many people told me that Israel would feel like home, that I'd be amazed at seeing Jewish police officers and bus drivers. It wasn't quite like home - the bagels aren't as good - but it did feel comfortable.

When we visited the Western Wall, Judaism's holiest spot, our guide told us to remember that the stones weren't important. What's important is that we're here, that after Auschwitz, we survived. He talked about how Israel is gaining more international acceptance, coming out of its isolation. "It was like we were on another planet. Now, we can breathe like a normal country."

When I was growing up, being Jewish meant missing school for a few days every fall and explaining that I celebrated Hanukah instead of Christmas. It was never this much fun. I loved exploring the Roman ruins at Bet She'an, trekking up to the waterfall at Ein Gedi and browsing through the stores on Jerusalem's Ben Yehuda Street pedestrian mall. I know what our guide meant when he told us that in Israel, he didn't have to do anything to be Jewish.

Of course, two weeks as a tourist isn't the same as living in a country. And Israel is a real country, not a Jewish Disneyland. I talked to a few people about how difficult life can be, about their fear that the younger generation is losing a sense of purpose. I saw panhandlers and a few people sleeping on the sidewalk in Tel Aviv. There were a couple of bomb scares. But none of that negates what's been accomplished over the past 47 years, despite war, terrorism, international boycotts.

I feel a little embarrassed that I was nervous about visiting. I hope Israelis realize that their country still has the power to move people. And I hope that the 80-odd percent of American Jews who have never been there will visit. It doesn't matter whether they shop, sit on the beach or have a spiritual awakening.

I was moved in a way I never expected. I never expected to feel so deeply, so emotionally about the country, to the point that I was sobbing when I left. Oh yeah, I even saw Paul Newman - in the salad dressing aisle at the supermarket.

Eyes Wide Open

One of my favorite Israeli bloggers, Harry of The View From Here, has written a witty, insightful personal history of his immigration from the United States to Israel. It's part of the 60 bloggers project to celebrate the country's 60th birthday.

I've also read about a new documentary, Eyes Wide Open, that follows American Jews on their journeys to Israel, many for the first time. When I watched the trailer, and listened to people's reactions to the country, it reminded me a lot of my own first trip, in August 1995. I was so taken with Israel that in 1997, I ended up going back to live in Tel Aviv for a year. It was, and will probably always be, the greatest adventure of my life.



I'm probably the only person who was inspired to visit Israel by an old Kirk Douglas movie. Late one night, I was watching Cast a Giant Shadow, a 1966 movie about Israel's War of Independence. It was based on the book by Ted Berkman about Col. David "Mickey" Marcus, an American army veteran and West Point graduate who aided the Israeli army during the War of Independence. It was pretty corny, but I was totally caught up in the story. I even exchanged a few e-mails with Mr. Berkman, who died in 2006 at age 92.

My visit came at a much different time. The 1993 Oslo agreement between Israel and the Palestinians had been signed with much fanfare on the White House lawn. There was the peace treaty with Jordan a year later. I felt that by going to Israel, I'd be showing my support for the peace process, for the risks that Israelis were taking. But within three months of my trip, Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated. From then on, it seemed like things went downhill. The march toward peace has pretty much halted. It's now more or less a permanent stalemate, and it could stay that way for decades.

Still, as the trailer from Eyes Wide Open shows, a trip to Israel remains a very compelling experience. It's unlikely I'll ever have a chance to go back, but I'll always be deeply interested in the country and its people, and concerned about what happens there. Once you've visited, it's impossible to be any other way.

Be happy

Ok, I'm a little late on this, since the sun has almost set, but today was the Jewish holiday of Purim, and since Queen Esther is a major player, I feel obligated to say something about it in my blog.

For the uninitiated, Purim is one of the most festive days on the Jewish calendar - sort of like a combination Mardi Gras and Halloween. Well, I've never actually been to Mardi Gras, but it's what I think Mardi Gras would be like - lots of parades, parties and drinking to excess.

When I lived in Israel in 1997-98, I looked forward for months to celebrating Purim. After all, how many holidays are there with a heroine named Esther?

The Book of Esther commemorates the salvation of the Jews of Persia thanks to the efforts of Mordechai and his cousin, Queen Esther. They manage to thwart the evil plan of Haman, an adviser to the Persian king, who wanted to do away with all the Jews in the Persian Empire. (By the way, it's also the only book in the Bible that doesn't mention God.)

The name of the holiday comes from the word pur, a game of chance used by Haman to determine the month and day when all of the Jews would be killed. On Purim, we're commanded to be happy because the holiday celebrates the downfall of a tyrant. (I know, it sounds like that joke summing up Jewish history in three sentences: They tried to kill us. We survived. Let's eat).

I have great memories of celebrating Purim in Tel Aviv. The night it began, I went to a temple to hear the Megillat Esther, or Scroll of Esther. The sanctuary was decorated with balloons and streamers and masks. The rabbi had his face painted. Kids in costume sat on the floor. (For anyone who knows anything about Israel, this was not, needless to say, an Orthodox synagogue).

The person who read, or rather chanted, the text, made a dramatic pause before reading the name of Haman. That was a signal for everyone to rattle their noisemakers, stamp their feet and drown out the name of the villain. It was kind of difficult to keep my place in the text, but luckily, my name is mentioned a lot, so I could always look for the next reference to Esther and wait for everyone else to catch up!

That year, Tel Aviv revived a citywide parade called Adloyada, a combination of three Hebrew words that translate as until you don't know. On Purim, we're supposed to drink enough wine so that we can't tell Haman from Mordechai. (Just for the record, Israelis don't drink that much. I only saw one person at the parade with a beer bottle, and I didn't see anyone drunk).

The procession was led by one of the biggest collections of vintage American gas-guzzlers I've seen in a long time. Where they came from, I have no idea. There were dancing hamantaschen, a traditional Purim treat (see photo at top), dancing pita filled with felafel, clowns, puppets and a giant rabbit wearing a gas mask.

As I walked around downtown afterward, I realized that this was one of the few holidays where I've seen the streets filled. Usually on religious holidays, like Rosh Hashana, the streets are empty because there's no public transportation and most businesses are closed. People are celebrating at home, with friends and family. But Purim is one of the holidays when the buses are running. The kids were off from school and most people had the day off from work. And the celebration is public. It was a crowded but joyous atmosphere.

The day before, in the elementary school where I taught, there was a Purim party, with all the kids in costumes - soldiers, queens, cowboys, devils and at least one Scud missile. (Now I know where all the Halloween costumes and gory makeup go after Oct. 31 - they're sent to Israel).

I felt really old when I correctly guessed that a girl with a shoulder-length platinum blonde wig was Marilyn Monroe. "How did you know?" she asked. "Everyone else thought I was Madonna."

Masoret, Masoret!

I read a story in The Forward last week about a production of Fiddler on the Roof in New Delhi, India, a place where there are very few Jews, and very little familiarity with Jewish culture or history.

But despite those barriers, and the difficulty of translating the songs into Hindi, the musical still resonated with the audience. “The character is so universal, he could be an Indian for all that it matters,” Rakesh Gupta, who played Tevye, told writer Ben Frumin. “It’s a very Indian thing,” Gupta said. “The problems being faced by Tevye, the problems being faced by the family about traditions, these challenges are faced by all people, all families. It sounded very familiar.”

The story about Fiddler on the Roof in India resonated with me because 10 years ago last month I saw the show for the first and so far only time, in Tel Aviv, in Hebrew, with Israeli actor Chaim Topol in the role of Tevye the milkman.

Topol has had quite a career with Tevye. He starred in the role in London's West End in 1967, then was nominated for an Oscar for the 1971 film version, and 20 years later, received a Tony nomination for the Broadway revival. (Topol is pictured at top, from a 2005 production in Sydney, Australia.

When I say I'd never seen Fiddler on the Roof before I saw it in Israel, I mean never. I'd never even seen the movie. (Yes, I know, you're shocked. I was probably the only Jewish person who'd never seen it). In fact, I was proud of my ignorance. I guess I was under the mistaken impression that the story of Tevye and his family romanticized the harsh lives of Jews in Czarist Russia in the early 20th century. I didn't want any part of it.

I've always joked that living in Israel was like being in an alternate universe. Saturday is the weekend and Sunday is a regular workday. Hebrew is written from right to left, instead of left to right. And in Israel, my natural resistance to Fiddler on the Roof evaporated. Even though I wasn't a regular theatergoer, as soon as I saw an ad for the show in the newspaper, I wanted to go see it.

Granted, I couldn't understand most it, although I picked out words and phrases and bits of dialogue. You have no idea how quickly people speak in their native language. Luckily, I went with two friends, both more fluent in Hebrew than I was. They sat on either side of me and would occasionally whisper key plot points. (If any children are reading this, I'm not condoning our behavior. I don't think we disturbed anyone, but I certainly wouldn't do it today.)

And I'm not ashamed to admit that I was wrong about Fiddler all those years. I loved it. It was a thrilling experience. I was in tears at the end, when Tevye's daughters go their separate ways and the Jews are forced by the Russian authorities to leave their homes in Anatevka. And masoret, masoret! (Hebrew for tradition) was ringing in my head for days afterward. There is one difference between the Hebrew and English versions. Instead of "If I Were A Rich Man," Tevye sings "If I Were A Rothschild."

I think the connection I felt was similar to Steve on Broadway's experiences watching Wicked in Germany and Japan. The essence came through, even if I couldn't understand every word. I just wish I'd had the same level of familiarity with Fiddler that Steve had with Wicked. It definitely would have helped.

I knew enough of the plot and I'd heard enough of the songs over the years that Fiddler on the Roof wasn't entirely unfamiliar. And certainly, I knew the history behind the story. But about six months later, when I finally saw the movie, I realized how much I'd missed. I missed some of the subtleties, some of the funnier parts.

I'm sure there are some musicals I wouldn't want to watch in a foreign language. Believe me, it can be pretty difficult to sit for two hours listening to words you don't understand. But if you have an inkling of the story, if you've seen the show in English, it's a pretty interesting experience.

Sure, seeing Fiddler on the Roof in Israel, with an overwhelmingly Jewish audience, helped cement the connection. When you're in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem is only an hour away, when you see some of the Israeli soldiers who keep you safe on a daily basis in the audience, you realize how different your world is from Anatevka. It made the experience very powerful.

In any language, the music and lyrics by Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick, along with Joseph Stein's book, are truly memorable. The themes, of a close-knit, devout community fighting oppressive outside forces, of a family's struggle to maintain its traditions, of the sometimes rocky relationship between parents and children, are universal. When I saw The Color Purple on Broadway last summer, it reminded me a little of Fiddler on the Roof.

Fiddler on the Roof opened on Broadway in 1964 and played for 3,242 performances. When it closed in 1972, it was the longest-running musical in Broadway history. Alisa Solomon, a professor at Columbia University who's writing a book about Fiddler on the Roof, tells the Forward that there have been "thousands of productions in dozens of languages." Here' s a sample of Fiddlers from around the world.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Today marks the 15th anniversary of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell," which forces gay and lesbian Americans to hide their sexual orientation if they want to serve in the military. Time magazine has an article about it.

I have to admit that when President Bill Clinton announced the policy shortly after his inauguration in 1993, I didn't give it much thought. I didn't work with anyone who was openly gay. I didn't have any friends who were openly gay. I knew that Clinton, having grown up in the segregated South, saw it as a civil rights issue, but I wondered why he picked it to focus on so early in his first term. I didn't appreciate why it was so significant, and why "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" was such a degrading policy.

Well, things have changed since then. Today, almost everyone I know works with someone or has friends or relatives who are openly gay or lesbian. I have close friends, colleagues, people I love and admire, who are gay. While things are far from perfect, as a society we have moved toward a greater understanding that a person's sexual orientation is something they're born with, and in the end, it's not a big deal, just part of what makes that person a unique individual.

I can't even comprehend how horrible, how suffocating it would be for someone I know and love to be in the closet, to fear what would happen to them if they came out. It's inhumane to expect someone to live that way. And the policy that I didn't give much thought to 15 years ago, today seems unfair, discriminatory, ridiculous and absolutely un-American.

There is no reason why, if someone wants to serve their country, they should be forced to hide something so basic about themselves. That's not what this country is supposed to be about. It goes against our values as an open, democratic, free, egalitarian nation. And I think it's a shame that the debate isn't framed that way.

While I've never been in the military, I have lived in a country - Israel - where gays serve openly. And no one would say that Israel doesn't have a strong army, that its soldiers don't face implacable enemies every bit as tough as those U.S. soldiers face in Iraq. During the year I spent in Israel, I felt totally secure that I had a strong, skilled army helping to keep me safe.

Here's what a gay ex-officer in the Israel Defense Forces had to say on the subject, and what Americans could learn from Israel. And here's a study from the Michael D. Palm Center on the impact of gays and lesbians serving openly in the Israeli army. The conclusion: "Our findings are that Israel’s decision to lift its gay ban had no impact on performance and that despite differences between the two cases, lessons from the Israeli experience are relevant for determining what would happen if the U.S. Congress and Pentagon lifted the American gay ban."

And here's a commentary from the late Sen. Barry Goldwater, arguing forcefully that the ban should be lifted. He says, in part, "Nobody thought that blacks or women could ever be integrated into the military. Many thought that an all-volunteer force could never protect our national interest. Well, it has, and despite those who feared the worst - I among them - we are still the best and will continue to be."

One hundred posts

This is my 100th post since I started Gratuitous Violins on Sept. 30, 2007. The number 100 is considered a milestone in the school year, in Congress and in presidential administrations, so why not in blogging?

When I check my statcounter, I'm amazed to see the places readers have come from - all over the United States and all over the world. Unfortunately, I haven't always been able to answer the question that brought them to my blog. So, to mark my 100th post, I'll try to answer some of them.

Which Broadway plays have stage doors?
I think they all do. The actors have to leave the theater somehow. Although sometimes they have ways of slipping out unnoticed. I never did see Frank Langella or Michael Sheen after Frost/Nixon. Sometimes the stage door is right next to the theater entrance, other times, it's around the corner in the back. If you're unsure, ask an usher, or just look for the metal barricade and a crowd of people clutching Playbills and Sharpies.

Broadway meeting the cast stage doors
If you have the time, you can and should go to the stage door after the show. Most of the actors will stop and sign autographs, pose for pictures and chat with you for a minute as you express your admiration for their performance.

Easy to meet David Hyde Pierce at the stage door?
Yes, it's very easy. I met him in April after a Friday night performance. He was very nice, signing my autograph and posing for a picture. I told him that Curtains was my first Broadway musical, and the previous evening, I'd seen my first Broadway play. He seemed genuinely interested and talked to me for a few minutes about the experience. In fact, the entire cast of Curtains is friendly and gracious and I loved the show. So definitely stop by, and tell David Hyde Pierce I said hello. He'll be in the show through Aug. 31.

Are jacket and tie required for going to the theatre in New York?
No, a jacket and tie are not required to see a show on Broadway. Sure, some people will be dressed up, especially if it's a weeknight and they've come from work. But generally, it's pretty casual. A nice shirt and pants are fine. You can wear whatever you want - some people come in jeans, sneakers, t-shirt. It doesn't matter. Nowadays, people dress for the theater pretty much like they dress for a movie. Maybe that's good, maybe that's bad, I don't know. But that's the way it is.

Swordfighting in Cyrano
Yes, there was swordfighting in Cyrano. It was my first time seeing swordfighting on stage, and it was great. Unfortunately, the show, with Kevin Kline and Jennifer Garner, has closed. But don't despair: it was taped for airing on the PBS series Great Performances. There's no air date yet.

Lower East Side NYC dangerous
Hmmm, I don't know. I do know that crime is way, way down in New York City and I felt very safe and comfortable everywhere I went in Manhattan. As always, avoid unfamiliar, deserted places, especially at night, and especially if you're alone. But generally, the places where tourists venture in New York are safe, the subway is fine, and the people are incredibly friendly and helpful. As in any big city, or small town for that matter, just use common sense and keep your wits about you. So go, and have a great time.

Theme from Ice Castles
I guess this 1978 movie has lots of fans, because I've gotten a number of searches about it, including one for "hot sexy Lynn-Holly Johnson," who plays teenage figure skater Alexis Winston. Someone else wanted to know how the movie ends, but I don't want to give it away for anyone who hasn't seen it yet. The theme song is "Through the Eyes of Love." It was written by Carole Bayer Sager and Marvin Hamlisch, and garnered an Oscar nomination for Best Song. In the movie, it's sung by Melissa Manchester.

The 25h Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee and Vanessa Ray
Vanessa Ray plays Olive Ostrovsky in the touring production, which I saw in November. I loved the show, and I thought she was great as the shy and vulnerable Olive, waiting in vain for her father to come watch her at the spelling bee. Here's a short video of Ray talking about the role, and here's an interview.

Who invented the violin?
No one knows for sure. The violin owes its origins to many instruments, dating back to the ancient lyre. The violin emerged in its present form in northern Italy in the 16th century. According to this site, some theories hold that it could have been invented around 1520 A.D., since that was when the first painting including a violin was created, Madonna of the Orange Trees by Gaudenzio Ferrari.

Happy birthday on the violin?
I'm not sure about this one, since I don't actually play the violin, or any other musical instrument for that matter. But this might help. Click on the "play" button if you want to hear how it sounds.

Jerusalem food
Since so many Israelis trace their roots back to Middle Eastern countries, the food is much more kubbe, and not so much knishes. When I lived in Israel 10 years ago, it was hard to find a good bagel. If you want to learn more, Joan Nathan has written some great cookbooks on Jewish and Israeli food, including The Flavor of Jerusalem and The Foods of Israel Today. If you're planning a trip, here's a list of restaurants to check out. I'm not sure if it's there anymore, but one place I liked is The Yemenite Step.

Shalom Chaver
This is the phrase that former President Bill Clinton memorably uttered to eulogize Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, who was assassinated in 1995. It's Hebrew for "goodbye friend." The phrase, and variations, such as "friend, you are missed," and "friend, I remember," became popular ways for Israelis to remember Rabin. It's also the name of CD from a memorial concert held in Rabin's memory in Jerusalem and featuring many well-known Israeli musicians.

Some of the questions stumped me: sentimental ideas for a 40th birthday party, (I can't think of any off the top of my head) using the musical Wicked in wedding speeches, (I guess it's ok. My suggestion would be to check out the "For Good" lyrics) and the length of Debra Monk's contract in Curtains. (I have no idea).

However you found my blog, thanks for stopping by. Hopefully, the first 100 posts are only the beginning.

Forgotten Broadway

There's a great article on the Jewish culture Web site NextBook about a largely forgotten musical.

While composer Jerry Herman is well-known for his scores of Hello, Dolly! and La Cage Aux Folles, there probably aren't too many people who can recall his first musical, Milk and Honey. It opened on Broadway in October 1961 and ran for 543 performances, and was nominated for five Tony Awards.

Writer Alisa Solomon describes the plot of Milk and Honey as an upbeat comedy about a pair of middle-aged American tourists who meet in Israel and fall in love with each other and with the 13-year-old Jewish state.

Solomon writes that it was "a sweet show in the old romantic mold of The King and I or My Fair Lady, but it’s most worth remembering today for the innocent way in which it captured the naïve and celebratory foundation of many American Jews' love affair with their putative homeland."

From Solomon's description, Milk and Honey sounds a bit like the movie version of Exodus, an idealized, overly sentimental portrait of Israel. Of course, it was written during a more idealistic time, when the connection between American Jews and Israel was stronger. Still, it sounds pretty interesting on two fronts: as a piece of musical theater history and for what it says about how American Jews viewed Israel in the early 1960s - a land of strong, tanned, brave pioneers making the desert bloom.

I've listened to some short samples of some of the songs, and I have to say, they don't sound very much like Israeli music. Solomon says that "for the most part, the show favors the pop conventions of Broadway’s heyday — pleasant, melodious tunes and perky lyrics, evident in the show’s love ballads and marches and in every musical Herman would go on to write."

A CD of the Broadway score did come out, but unfortunately, it's out of print. A used copy at Amazon is selling for $144.99. That's a bit steep for nostalgia!

My Israel

On his trip to Israel last week, President Bush made the obligatory stop at Yad Vashem, the country's memorial to victims of the Holocaust. His visit reminded me of two things.

The first was something I heard from my tour guide during my first trip to Israel, in 1995. At the time, an official from some country, I've forgotten which one, had balked at visiting Yad Vashem, and it caused an uproar. Our guide told my tour group, "Why should we force anyone to see our tears?"

The second is something I read years ago in New York Times columnist Thomas Friedman's excellent book on the Middle East, From Beirut to Jerusalem. Friedman was lamenting that while all foreign dignitaries visit Yad Vashem, no one visits Degania, Israel's first kibbutz.

I realize that no one forced President Bush to go to Yad Vashem. I'm glad he went. I've been there twice, so I know it's a very moving experience. It's a vital reminder of the need to confront evil and bigotry everywhere, and of the need for a strong and secure Jewish state.

Standing on the grounds of Yad Vashem, you get a commanding view of Jerusalem. I remember looking down at the city and thinking about what Israel has accomplished. In spite of war and terrorism, it remains a vibrant, thriving, modern country. At times it's noisy, quarrelsome and far from perfect, but it's a democracy. It's the Israel I wish more Americans could see. For a great collection of blog postings about everyday life in Israel, check out Israelity.

These are some of my favorite places to see and things to do:

In Jerusalem, I like to stroll through Machane Yehuda, a bustling open-air marketplace, where you can rub shoulders with people of all backgrounds and get all kinds of food, the Ben Yehuda Street midrechov, the city's downtown pedestrian mall, with its mix of ethnic restaurants, outdoor cafes and American fast-food chains, and the maze-like streets of the Old City. While both Machane Yehuda and the midrechov have been the site of terrorist attacks, they are living proof of the resiliency of Israeli life.

In Tel Aviv, where I lived for a year, I liked walking on the Tayelet, a promenade along the Mediterranean, Dizengoff Street, the main shopping area, trendy Sheinkin Street, sometimes referred to as the city's Greenwich Village, and HaYarkon Park, the city's answer to Central Park. My first evening in Israel, our tour group ate at a seafood restaurant overlooking the port of Jaffa, and from that vantage point, Israel seemed like the most beautiful, peaceful place on earth. Plus, you get a breathtaking view of the Tel Aviv skyline, pictured above.

There is much, much more that I could mention.

I loved visiting the national park at Ein Gedi, near the Dead Sea, and climbing up to the waterfall at Nahal David. According to Jewish tradition, it's the place where David hid from the wrath of King Saul. In northern Israel, I've walked through Safed, a center for the study of Jewish mysticism that's also become an artists colony.

I've been as far north as Kibbutz Hanita, near the border with Lebanon, and as far south as Kibbutz Yad Mordechai, named for a leader of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising and which was the scene of bitter fighting during the 1948 War of Independence. I've stood on the Golan Heights and dipped my toes in the Red Sea during a visit to Eilat, on Israel's southernmost tip.

I admit that my list isn't what comes to mind when you think of visiting Israel - it's a little low on religion. I've been to all the Jewish, Christian and Muslim holy sites in Jerusalem, including the Western Wall, the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the Via Dolorosa. I've taken an evening cruise on the Sea of Galilee, known in Hebrew as Lake Kinneret.

But for me, the truly spiritual experiences were the everyday ones: shopping, sitting in restaurants, visiting museums, celebrating holidays, walking everywhere, going to work, studying Hebrew at an ulpan with students from all over the world. It was getting to know a country that had been born in the wake of unspeakable evil and against all odds, had flourished.

To me, there are at least three Israels - the Holy Land of Christian pilgrims; Eretz Yisrael, the biblical Land of Israel of religious Jews; and Medinat Yisrael, the modern, secular State of Israel in which most Israelis live. My Israel may not be everyone's, but it's mine.

Two Jews and a Muslim in Bethlehem

In October 1998, when I was living in Israel, I went to Jerusalem for a few days to visit Ellen, a woman I knew who lived there. She asked me what I wanted to do, and I said I'd like to see Bethlehem, which is only about 20 minutes away.

First, we stopped at an Arab village to meet a Palestinian friend of Ellen's who would go with us. Her friend and his father and brothers had done renovation work on her home. She and her children had stayed overnight in the village. I don't think this is something an Israeli would typically do, but Ellen was an American who'd been married to an Israeli.

So, I met Yusuf and his family. We stopped at the little grocery store that his parents ran. I saw the house they were building for all their children, their spouses and grandchildren. Then the three of us, two Jews and Muslim, piled in Ellen's car and headed to Bethlehem.

Bethlehem is like a lot of places I've seen in the Middle East. It just looks ancient, with stone buildings and dusty streets. I don't think there are too many Christians left in this mostly Muslim town. A huge mosque sits across Manger Square from the Church of the Nativity.

The church doesn't look like much from the outside. The main entrance and windows were blocked off during the Middle Ages. But inside, it's very ornate and kind of dark, with lots of candles and columns and icons and mosaics on the floors. The spot where Jesus was born is marked by a star in the floor of a little grotto, and tourists crowd around it taking pictures.

I'm not really a very religious or spiritual person, but sometimes I do envy people who have that kind of faith. I think it can be very comforting in difficult times. And there was just something so poignant about watching all of these people, many of whom I think were American tourists, who'd come such a long way to huddle around this little spot on the floor. I'm sure it just meant the world to them.

For me, the best part of the trip came afterward. Ellen, Yusuf and I went to a little cafe and sat outside and ate all kinds of delicious pastries. There wasn't a great deal of interaction between Jews and Arabs then, and there's probably even less today. But just seeing the level of trust they had for each other, their friendship, is something I've never forgotten.

I have no idea whether Ellen and Yusuf are still friends or even in touch. But it's a memory worth recalling. That's my Bethlehem story. I wish everyone a very happy and peaceful Christmas.

Happy Hanukkah or Chanukah

No matter how you spell it, Hanukkah, or Chanukah, the Jewish holiday that falls somewhere in the month of December has always been overwhelmed by the omnipresence of Christmas. When I spent a year in Israel, the elementary school where I worked held a holiday assembly. The students lit a Chanukah menorah, recited blessings and sang songs. I didn't recognize any of them. If they'd been Christmas songs, I probably would have known them all.

One of the things I loved about being in Israel was being able to tell which holiday was coming up by walking into the supermarket. For Rosh Hashana, the Jewish new year, it was apples and honey. For Chanukah, it was boxes of candles, jelly doughnuts and milk chocolate coins. I was looking forward to having Chanukah take center stage.

One Saturday night, after the Sabbath ended and the mall near my home in Tel Aviv reopened for the evening, I headed out, shopping list in hand, with great anticipation. I wanted to buy a card, a gift and some wrapping paper. For once, I thought, I won't be out of synch with the rest of society.

First, I went straight to the greeting card store. I figured there would be rows of cards, not stuck in a back corner but up near the front. Visions of wrapping paper decorated with dreidels danced in my head.

I made my way down the narrow aisles, past the birthday cards, the bar mitzvah cards, even a display of Christmas cards, tiny Santas and ornaments. (I wasn't surprised to see the Christmas decorations. There are many Arab Christians, Asian workers and recent Russian immigrants who celebrate the holiday). But there was nary a Chanukah card in sight. Surely I had somehow overlooked them.

I asked a sales clerk for help. At first, she had no idea what I was talking about. I realized I was pronouncing the name of the holiday with an "h" instead of the correct Hebrew, with a guttural "ch" that sounds like you're bringing up phlegm. Eventually she just shook her head, bewildered, and said, "A greeting card? For Chanukah?" She suggested I try another store. Several stores later, I finally found a Chanukah card. It was in English, of course, since only American Jews send Chanukah cards.

I went to the next item on my list, a dreidel, the four-sided top that children play with during Chanukah. They come in wood, plastic, metal or a variety of other materials and have four Hebrew letters imprinted on the sides that stand for the phrase "A great miracle happened there." But in Israel, the miracle didn't occur "there." So the phrase is changed to "A great miracle happened here." The last letter is changed from a "shin," for the Hebrew word "sham," meaning there, to a "peh," for the word "po," or here. I knew the one I wanted: a wooden model with colorful scenes of Jerusalem painted on each side. Unfortunately, it had the wrong letter. I was so disappointed. I really wanted an Israeli dreidel.

I didn't even ask about the wrapping paper. I couldn't take any more disappointment. I was beginning to learn that in Israel, the food, the customs, even the message of Chanukah is different.

Chanukah commemorates the recapture of Jerusalem from the Syrian Greeks in 165 B.C.E. by Judah Maccabee and his followers. They cleansed the Temple and relighted the great Menorah, or candelabrum. A tiny bottle of oil was found with only enough to light the Menorah for one day. Miraculously, the oil burned for eight days. Chanukah, which means "dedication," is celebrated for eight days. Each night, another candle is lit on the chanukiah, or Chanukah menorah, and a prayer is recited.

Chanukah menorahs are supposed to be placed in the window or outside the home, so that the miracle is known far and wide. But throughout Jewish history, it was considered too dangerous for Jews to call attention to themselves by hanging menorahs in public view. In Israel today, it's common to walk through the Jewish Quarter of the Old City in Jerusalem and see chanukah menorahs displayed in glass cases next to the front door of homes.

It's traditional during the holiday to eat foods made with oil. Latkes, the fried potato pancakes that are a staple of American Jewish Chanukah celebrations, are replaced by sufganiot, jelly doughnuts, in Israel. Trays of them start appearing in every supermarket, bakery and corner store about a month beforehand, and they'll disappear by the end of the week.

Chanukah is one of those holidays that unites all Jews in Israel, secular and religious. I remember walking downtown one evening, right around sunset. Many stores and restaurants displayed lit Chanukah menorahs in their windows. I walked into a record store and the clerk, with dyed blond hair, a nose ring and a paper yarmulke on his head, was lighting a menorah. Down the street, in the city's main square, a group of ultra-Orthodox were lighting a giant menorah.

In Israel, Chanukah seems to be mainly a holiday for children, who get some money from their parents or grandparents. When the Maccabees returned to Jerusaelm, they struck coins to show that they were a free people. So for Chanukah, children receive chocolate coins wrapped in gold-colored paper. Adults might hold parties, but it's not a big time to exchange gifts.

I remember a lecture given by a professor from Tel Aviv University who talked about the different way holidays are approached by Jews in the United States and in Israel.

In the United States, he said, the emphasis is on the miracle, how a tiny amount of oil lasted for eight days. When I was in Israel, the yearlong celebration marking the country's 50th anniversary of independence began on the first night of Chanukah. It probably wasn't a coincidence. In Israel, children learn that Chanukah is most importantly about heroism, about how a small band of people struggled against tyranny and kept their faith alive.