One Soldier Unites (Israel Post #2)

Following our awe-inspiring visit to the Old City of Jerusalem, our trip took a solemn twist. Led by our fervent tour guide, Dafna, who possesses that incandescence of Israeli natural beauty, we found ourselves in front of the stately home of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. As a mishmash of American eclecticism clad in Tevas, sundresses, tattered shorts, graphic T-shirts, and carrying the omnipresent symbol of tourism with 64-ounce water bottles, we cluttered the sidewalk in front of Netanyahu’s residence. Venturing as close to the home as allowed under the auspices of security officials, Dafna stopped our group. The intensity of her smile faded and her expression transformed into an unforgettable gaze of sternness. In the background, a large white banner stretched across a military truck with a vivid sketch of a young man’s face. This face is a symbol for the Israeli people. It bore the face of Gilad Shalit. “This is very painful for our country,” Dafna stated as she clenched her fists into the air.

When I came back to the States I couldn’t get those images out of my mind—both of Dafna that day in front of the prime minister’s home and of Gilad Shalit. His story, harrowing and highly contentious, is one that had me asking my friends about back home. I asked a colleague, who spent much of his childhood in the Middle East, and he didn’t know the story. I sought out some of my worldliest friends—two of whom are in the U.S. military, are astute, and knowledgeable about politics and world affairs. They both weren’t familiar with Gilad’s story. These accounts, in my limited scope of perspective, were enough to give me the impetus to write about his story.
Gilad, who just turned 24 in August, has been stripped of all his personal freedoms since 2006 when he was abducted by Hamas, a terrorist organization that fuses Islamic fundamentalism with Palestinian nationalism. Gilad, a young Israel Defense Forces (IDF) soldier, was captured by militants during a cross-border raid. Since his abduction, the people of Israel have been fighting an arduous battle for his release, but it’s highly divisive. Gilad has become a figure of beleaguered political talks in Israel. During negotiations, Hamas has offered to release Gilad swapping his freedom for the release of thousands of Palestinian prisoners jailed in Israel. Back in July, it seemed that Netanyahu was willing to consider this exchange to free Gilad. “Israel is willing to pay a heavy price for the release of Gilad, but not at any price,” Netanyahu said in a statement. In the meantime, Gilad’s family feels frustrated, desperate, and heartsick, and sees Netanyahu’s response as an empty promise. Over the summer, his family organized a 12-day march from their home in Galilee to Jerusalem in front of Netanyahu’s residence. They have been parked outside there for 16 weeks now and they are remaining steadfast in their goal to bring their son home. They don’t plan to leave until he is free.

Just this week an old photo was given to Gilad’s family. His father, Noam Gilad, accepted the gift, but had this to say in a YNet news article, “We aren't in the business of collecting souvenirs, we want Gilad home. Anything that reminds us of him is important, but that's not the main thing.”

To some, the cost to bring Gilad home is indisputable, but to others the dilemma represents a self-sacrifice that may be necessary for the collective society. I remembered the conviction in Dafna’s voice as she told us Gilad’s story and I reached out to her recently to talk to her about this moral dilemma. “The thing that is still controversial is the price—are we willing to give 1,000 prisoners, including ones that were directly responsible for so many suicide bombings and other murders,” she stated. “And how dangerous is it for our safety in the future, and what if the Arabs see that this method is working, and will kidnap more soldiers.”

Perhaps what is most alarming for the people of Israel is that Gilad’s story could happen to anyone. In a nation where every 18-year-old gives mandatory service in the military, Gilad’s captivity is a conundrum that could shake any household in Israel. Given this fact, it’s hard for the country not to stand behind Gilad and his family. Dafna speaks to this too. “On the other hand, how can we not do that when we know that he is alive and suffering and how can we send our children to the army—knowing that it can happen again, and maybe Israel won’t be able to help,” she said.

Regardless of where people fall in the debate over Gilad’s freedom, his story has a presence in every day life in Israel. During each evening news segment, journalists count the days since Gilad was captured. Yellow strings can be seen tied to people’s cars or belongings as a symbol of hope for Gilad. In my own longing to understand this conflict, I came across a published letter Gilad wrote to his family back in 2008. “I miss you a lot. It has been two long and difficult years since we were separated and I was forced to live in captivity,” he wrote. “I am dreaming of the day of my release and am looking forward to seeing you again. I hope this day will come soon, but I know it’s not up to me or you.”

As I read this letter, I am reminded of the resilience that I found so amazing and salient in Israel. While no one person can answer all the questions swirling over this contentious debate, it is certainly worth devoting a bit of energy to think about—to consider the possibilities and dilemmas of life. While I am still trying to formulate my own position on the matter, there is one certainty for me. Gilad should be celebrated for his fortitude, courage, and as a symbol of the preciousness of life.

Israel Post #1

Thumbing through the tattered sheets of my four-page Israel itinerary, I feel a great sense of ambivalence. The document—strewn with Hebrew catchphrases, scribbled messages, and my Aunt Tzipporah’s phone number in Israel—dictated my life for ten days, and I didn’t want to let go of what that paper represented for me, so it remained in my purse until now. The sheets, now rumpled and ripped, were taken out and nestled in a drawer of memorabilia, but only for safekeeping. If the itinerary were more durable and compact, I’d keep it beside my driver’s license and social security card; those simple items that define us. It’s been nearly three months since I landed in Tel Aviv and traveled to Jerusalem, where I experienced that complex, yet effortless feeling of belonging. Within me lies vacillating forces. My longing for Israel competes and clashes intensely with the satisfaction, solace, and appreciation that fills me each time I reminisce about this special place. While I love words, and search endlessly for the right ones to describe this experience, there most certainly is a spirit of Israel that can only be felt. And I felt it immediately, along with a newfound connection to myself.

An exotic blend of humanity gravitates toward the weathered stone remnants of the Second Temple of Jerusalem on Shabbat. Young orthodox mothers donned in modest dark clothing push baby strollers through the swarms of people to make their way to the Kotel (Western Wall). An elderly woman with dark almond eyes adorns her shoulders with a talit walking into the bright and blue air of dusk. A group of Israeli soldiers join hands as they march toward the center of the stone piazza. The sunken head of a child catches my eye. I watch as her delicate chin makes its way closer to the nape of her neck. She trembled before the wall as tears rolled down her face. Worshippers of every type imaginable extend their arms forward—gingerly placing their palm to the Western Wall— touching something that is so immensely prevailing and powerful.

Moments before I reached out to lay my own hand on this ancient symbol of resiliency in one of the most sacred sites on earth, I looked around. I closed my eyes and savored the energy, the feeling, and admired what stood before me. And then I listened.

Hebrew song combined with the sound of children’s laughter, prayer, weeping, clapping, and dancing, along with still silence, to create this symphonious echo of life’s emotions. There was such a mix of clamor. I heard the sound of joy, sadness, despair, hope, tranquility, graciousness, anger, pride and so much more. That is where I felt something remarkable. For me, it was the confluence of human emotion. As I stood before the Kotel, I felt this outpouring of feeling. Israel is a place where the full spectrum of human emotion can be felt to the most intense degree. During my first days in Israel, I was able to feel engulfed in the vastness of the world, witness the passion that can come alive in all of us, and value the potential to feel connected.

Following my trip to Israel, I came across a quote that resonated with me. “Places have the power to transform—people, nations, even ideas,” Bruce Feiler writes of Israel in Walking the Bible: A Journey by Land through the Five Books of Moses. As I examined Israel and felt it through political, historical, spiritual, and emotional contexts over ten days, I know just what Feiler means.

Restless Runner

For three solid months I ran. I probably covered enough mileage on foot to actually go somewhere really cool. Maybe somewhere like New Orleans? Miami? Who knows. The point is that I set a goal to complete a half-marathon, and I accomplished it. The runner’s high really is euphoric. People that you've never even met believe in you.

There’s a unique sense of community that arises when you dart through the streets with herds of other strangers. Maybe it’s because you feel closer to all these individuals knowing they are just as crazy as you are for signing up for such an arduous feat. Or maybe it’s the sense of camaraderie knowing that your sweat, along with the sweat of thousands of others, mixes together to create this pungent odor in the air that your nostrils can’t escape for 13.1 miles. Together you made this funk that is quite indescribable. Some get so comfortable they use the bathroom right before your eyes as they are running. It’s really fascinating stuff.

There’s also the outpouring of support from strangers that is pretty phenomenal. When
neighbors offer their own hoses and water supply to provide a refreshing spritz of bliss, their hospitality is more than appreciated. Then there are the enthusiastic high school cheerleaders chanting and high-fiving you all along the way to provide yet another a surge of motivation.

Outstretched arms line the course offering cups of water and sports drinks. Another fun fact about race day is that it is permissible for runners to litter. The roadways next to the water stations are blanketed with hundreds of flattened dixie cups. And running over them makes a pleasant popping sound that I began to appreciate during the race once struck by boredom and exhaustion.

The adrenaline rush takes over and you don’t even feel like you are in your own body. My heart fluttered, tears welled, sweat dribbled, and knees shook. It’s quite the sensory experience.

Crossing the finish line was truly an incredibly emotionally-charged moment. As I sprinted down the boardwalk during my last 100 meters, I felt accomplished and proud. And then for the next 24 hours I continued to feel awesome. While the sense of accomplishment did not dissipate the following day, I felt myself growing restless again realizing that I was in need of a new goal. I shared this sentiment with a friend. “I am already over my high from the marathon and ready for a new challenge,” I said. He responded by saying, “you’re cursed with a Type A personality, so get used to the constant feeling of dissatisfaction.” He continued, “But who ever got anywhere being satisfied with where they are?”

While those that know me are fully aware that I don’t quite fit the mold as Type A, it’s an interesting thought to consider that we often are never satisfied, but that’s the very thing that propels us forward. So for me I wonder, what can I do next? Another half-marathon will be another great challenge to work towards, but there’s a certain novelty that accompanies the accomplishment of something for the first time. What will it be????

Cuz we got that dough...

The commotion sounded like an intense radio contest with free giveaways. “Gin and Juice, In Da Club, Lil Wayne, Make ‘Em Say Ahh, that song with Gucci Mane…ahh what’s that one called, Drake, Jamie Foxx,” the teens shouted with enthusiasm. One adolescent bobbed his head and tapped his pencil with rhythmic acuity trying to re-create the beat to a popular hip-hop song. A simple task was asked of them: to write down every song, lyric or artist they could think of that’s central message is about using drugs or alcohol. They had 90 seconds. Easy assignment. They scribbled with diligence, and their papers became reminiscent of a Top 40s list.

Turn on the radio and the messages are ubiquitous. Drink up.

“We pop champagne cuz we got that dough.”

“Fill up my cup (drink)”

“Can’t stop now more shots lets go”

“Time and time again while I’m sipping on this gin”

“Let’s just stay in the moment, smoke some weed, drink some wine”

“Blame it on the vodka.”

The messages are clear. Drinking and using drugs is the formula to have fun.

The forces are pervasive, and the kids will tell you firsthand pop-culture is a difficult influence to go up against. These kinds of discussions are part of an approach I’ve found myself using in my work with teens. They are often adolescents who may have veered off track, were caught red-handed, and could be at risk for falling victim to the afflictions of substance abuse. Allow them a chance to talk about drugs and alcohol in a real context, where they can confront the reality head on, and a lively discussion ensues. I love these conversations because they are genuine. They talked about a world wihout drugs. "Half the jails would be empty." "There'd be less violence." "Less killing." "People would be able to reach their potential." "There would be less people who are homeless."

Clearly, they get it. Drugs and alcohol are bad. And to be honest, many of them have most likely been exposed to the stuff, especially by their senior year of high school. But we still need to exert our energy towards these teens. They are a vital ally in the fight against substance abuse.

It’s one thing to be able to educate kids about the effects of drug abuse and addiction, but it’s a whole other beast to tackle when you are talking about competing with the multi-billion dollar industry of media. While it may seem difficult to broach these topics and offer viable alternatives, it’s important to put the realities on the table. We can talk about stuff all day long, but if we can’t be honest with kids about the availability, accessibility, and prevalence of drugs and alcohol use, then who are we kidding?

Inundated by course media messages and pop-culture, how do we get through to them? In a world ridden with anything but subtle innuendos, sometimes it’s more than worthwhile to sit back and encourage kids to pick apart those messages, or even to just acknowledge what the message is and its far-reaching implications.

While still impressionable teens, many of the teens worry about the ramifications music has on younger generations. These same songs filling our airways are also reaching the youngest of listeners. We are talking about kindergarten-age children singing along to, “Blame it on the Goose, gotcha feeling Loose.” That’s where the teens come in. In a way, it’s out of our hands as adults, because those youngsters look up to teenagers. Big brothers. Older sisters. Cool cousins. When I asked the room full of teens if they would allow their younger brother or sister to listen to the music the enjoy, I got blank stares. It was a difficult question to answer, but of course they wouldn’t let them listen to it. But how do you do that?

Ultimately, we have to propel our youth to become role models for the next generation of kids. A competing message has to come from somewhere cool.

Puzzle

In an effort to assuage some anxiety, a friend and I had a lengthy e-mail exchange weeks ago where we vented about all that stirs us, especially pertaining to our current circumstances. During this conversation, she introduced me to a new paradigm, one that is particularly palpable for me, and for just about anyone. The idea is simple: “I am in love with hope.” It’s from Mitch Albom’s latest book, and perhaps you can glean your own meaning from that quote. My friend made a poignant remark, “without hope we have….nothing….negativity.” I think she is absolutely right. As I wonder about the endless possibilities that life can offer, I am reminded that there lies tremendous opportunity and optimism in the unknown. Uncertainty can often breed discomfort, but when faced with such ambiguity we often find ourselves reaching out to find answers. From now I want to fully embrace the curiosity that accompanies such unknown. For those who know me well, you know I am an inquisitive person. I constantly ask questions. In a way, I thrive off this. When we ask questions we can learn of new possibilities. Never do I want to feel like my life is a predictable sequence of events. To me, this would feel generic and outside the realm of my own individuality. I want to create a life path that will make sense once you look back, even though it may not right now. I kind of see life as a puzzle in a way as we wiggle, shift, twist, and intermingle all these different pieces into the bigger picture. This enables us to start from anywhere and go on.

Eager

With a workforce that comprises a heterogeneous blend of baby boomers and members of Generation Y, there lies a challenging dichotomy in how we operate to get things accomplished, and it’s got me thinking. As a member of the Peter Pan Generation, defined by our postponement of a socially acceptable version of adulthood, our way of viewing the world, and ability, or inability, to make things happen is vastly different than that of our parent’s generation. Thriving off the energy of instantaneous happenings, be it in the form of social media, entertainment, or perhaps even through other lifestyle options like fast food, we’ve been conditioned to believe that things just happen. And they happen with haste. The old virtue of patience has essentially been discarded along with yesterday’s Big Mac wrapper. We are constantly striving to stay au courant -- whether it’s with the new layout of Facebook, the fluctuating rate of unemployment, or even just rent –- it’s tough to keep up. It’s like we are in this perpetual chase-mode mentality, racing after the dollar bill that’s attached to the nearly invisible string. We are always trying to discern the next new thing, and just when we begin to do so — POOF — another new thing emerges into the mix. It’s no wonder we call ourselves a “quick study” and “fast learner.” How can we wait and expect to be patient when we already feel behind? Engrossed in a fast-pace world, how do we find a way to work with those who seem to have taken hold of the notion of patience? How can anything grandiose come to fruition if we continuously have to catch our breath? Sometimes I envy those baby boomers who seem to realize and accept that things take time. My mother would always tell me, “everything will happen in due time.” As I immerse myself in my career as a young professional, I need to remember that it’s not always about making things happen. Sometimes you just have to take things in. While I will be the first to admit that I am impatient, I think for now I will characterize myself as eager.