Carol Goodman Kaufman

a.k.a. Carolinda Goodman

Musings

Tea and No Sympathy

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As Americans wait to hear if we will be plunging over the fiscal cliff just as we ring in the new year, I am sitting at my desk swaddled in layers of clothing. Sub-zero temperatures chill me despite central heating, so I am drinking lots of hot tea. But tea makes me think of the Tea Party. And the Tea Party starts to get my blood boiling so I may not be so cold in a few minutes.

This group of renegade representatives in Congress reminds of a child I saw in the supermarket a while back. The little boy wanted candy that his mother didn’t want him to have, so he began to cajole. Cajoling progressed to whining, whining to crying, and crying to screaming, kicking, and generally wreaking havoc on the supermarket floor. The mother didn’t give in, and eventually the boy picked himself up off the floor and behaved himself. Those of us within earshot had to endure the tantrum, but we all admired the mother’s fortitude in resisting what amounted to emotional blackmail. Next time, this child will think twice before pitching a fit.

And that is why I think of the Tea Party. These members of Congress are acting like stubborn, spoiled children. They are holding their collective breath and waiting for the rest of Congress to give up and do their bidding. I am hopeful that if they persist with their puerile stunt long enough, they will ultimately pass out. Barring that, if they continue to throw their hissy fits, perhaps their constituents might just decide to call them back to their home districts for a much-needed time-out.

The Tea Party people seem to lack both the maturity and sophistication to know that politics requires compromise. With compromise, nobody gets everything they want, but  all sides usually get something.

Now to my next question: Where are the centrist members of the Republican party? Why aren’t they mentoring their junior colleagues in the way things work? Or, are they secretly hoping that they self-destruct, allowing the party to return from the outer fringes of reality and back into the mainstream?

Alice was right. This is the stupidest tea party we have ever been to.

An Oasis of Calm in the Middle of the Middle East

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I just got back from a wonderful trip to Israel and Jordan, and I want to share with you an experience I had while in Jerusalem. Joel and I walked through the middle of town to the edge of the Meah Shearim neighborhood, home to the most Ultra-Orthodox of Jews. The streets were crowded and noisy, construction projects and everyday commerce taking place side by side. Men with black hats crammed into buses while women in scarves and long dresses corralled bunches of tiny children along the narrow sidewalks.

We walked down Rehov Hanevi’im, Street of the Prophets, searching for the building we wanted. When at last we found Number 37, we turned into a security gate set into a 125-year-old stone wall. I felt like Alice stepping through the looking glass as we entered and found a green square of lush gardens and heavy shade trees. In the far right corner of the courtyard, pomegranates hung like so many crimson ornaments from one tree. Next to it was a single lime tree, its fruit and leaves emitting a heavenly citrus fragrance.

Set right in downtown Jerusalem, home to the world’s three major religions, this oasis is Hadassah College.

In the emerald green quad, tiny by U.S. standards, secular and Ultra-Orthodox Jews, Christians and Muslims, Israeli Arabs, Palestinians, and Bedouin gathered. All were excited to be starting a new school year, the first-year students a bit nervous as well.  I had the opportunity to talk with some of these students, half of whom are the first in their families to go to college.

Once in the classroom, these students from such diverse backgrounds learn  together and get to know each other as human beings, apart from politics. At this little oasis in the heart of the city we had the unique opportunity to see the people who are our future: bridging divides through work, and from there to building friendships and, one can only hope, ultimately to building bridges to peace.

In that peaceful environment, I couldn’t help thinking of the passage from the Book of Micah (4:4): Each of them will sit under his vine and under his fig tree, and no one will make them afraid, for the mouth of the LORD of hosts has spoken.”

Instead of a fig tree and vine, the College has pomegranates and limes, but in an environment that quiet and lush, perhaps a seed of peace can take root.

On Microwave Ovens and the Titanic

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Many years ago, comic Joan Rivers did a routine on Elizabeth Taylor’s struggles with her weight. I remember one particular zinger. “Liz Taylor is the only person who stands in front of a microwave oven and yells, ‘Hurry, hurry.'” We all laughed. Back then, the microwave was a new and exciting development in our kitchens. And really fast. How could somebody be so impatient as to shout at an appliance that could nuke a potato in a flash?

Since then, our society as a whole has become pretty impatient. We now have electronic technology that allows us instantaneous access to information and people around the world, day and night. We don’t even have to order lunch in a restaurant any more; we text or email our orders so that we don’t have to waste a single minute of our precious time.

I have been musing about microwave ovens as I watch the goings-on this particularly nasty campaign season. (Will it ever end? Sorry, I’m impatient.) Some things just don’t make sense to me. Now, I admit to being a bit slow. I am neither an economist nor a politician, so if somebody could please explain this to me, I would be most grateful.

Here’s my problem: The Romney campaign has been saying that it will fix the economy that President Obama has failed to repair in his 3½ years in office. But, if we look at the history, didn’t Mr. Obama inherit a huge deficit, two wars, and a tanking economy from his predecessor when he took office? And, didn’t that deficit, two wars, and a tanking economy result from the policies of the prior Republican administration? After all, the Clinton years saw a surplus.

The non-partisan Center on Budget and Policy Priorities states, “If not for the Bush tax cuts, the deficit-financed wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the effects of the worst recession since the Great Depression (including the cost of policymakers’ actions to combat it), we would not be facing these huge deficits in the near term. By themselves, in fact, the Bush tax cuts and the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan will account for almost half of the $20 trillion in debt that, under current policies, the nation will owe by 2019. The stimulus law and financial rescues will account for less than 10 percent of the debt at that time.”

Recently the movie “Titanic” was released in 3D, and in my musings, it appears I have conflated the movie with my thoughts on our obsession with speed. So, I have been thinking that if the captain of the Titanic (the cruise ship, not the movie) had been able to turn on a dime, then the ship probably would not have hit the iceberg that brought over 1,500 people to their deaths.

But, the U.S. economy is enormous and cannot be fixed at microwave speed. To steer it away from the iceberg it has already hit is a daunting task. Sure, President Obama has not completed the job. But, things are starting to right themselves and get to a more even keel. For example, U.S. News and World Report wrote in September that the stock market has jumped 76% since the day Obama took office. This morning’s newspapers report that consumer confidence is up and housing prices are rising. And, between October 2009 and September 2012, the unemployment rate dropped 3.02%. Sure, 7.8% is still not great, but we are at least heading in the right direction — toward the sun.

Mitt Romney has derided the stimulus program. And, he would have let the auto industry go bankrupt. Bankruptcy would have put 350,000 people directly involved in the industry and another 2.1 million in related ones, out of work (data from The Center for Automotive Research)

Do we really want to jump ship now and go back to the economic policies that got us into this mess in the first place? Am I reading the ship’s log all wrong?

Identity Crisis

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I have been thinking about running for public office. After all, wouldn’t that be a wonderful way to demonstrate not just in words, but through action, how much I value the democratic process in this country that welcomed my grandparents?

On the other hand, campaigning can be rough, and this has been a crazier than usual campaign season. Here in Massachusetts, Senator Scott Brown has been hammering Elizabeth Warren about her claims of Native American heritage.  I worry that if I declare my intention to run, somebody may decide to challenge my “claim” of being Jewish.

Warren relates that her parents had to elope because her father’s family hated the fact that her mother had Indian blood in her — and of two tribes, no less. Now, Native Americans have historically been vulnerable to not just regular old name-calling, you’re-not-marrying-into-my-family type of discrimination, but to actual herding into reservations like so many bison. So, while some of Warren’s relatives proudly regaled her with stories of her Cherokee and Delaware heritage, others worried about experiencing discrimination, so they would keep it quiet. Still others — perhaps from her father’s side — were ashamed of that branch of the family, so would deny it.  Brown’s campaign staff uses that self-protecive denial to “prove” that she has no Native American blood.

Jews, too, have experienced discrimination for thousands of years, having been subject to the Crusades, the Inquisition, pogroms, ghettoes — and concentration camps. My possessing both Levite and Israelite tribal blood would certainly have put me in line for the cattle cars. And while my parents and grandparents were proud of their Jewish heritage, I know people whose grandparents and parents changed their names and assimilated completely into the dominant culture. Among the more famous examples, former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright’s parents converted to Catholicism and hid their Jewish identity from their children, hoping to avoid the same fate their parents and extended family faced at the hands of the Nazis. To start life with a clean slate and no history must have felt very freeing to them.

For generations, minorities who wanted to get ahead in America felt that they had to hide their ethnicity. Then, as society began to open up, they were able to declare their ethnicity and religious affiliation without so much fear of discrimination. So, Warren identified herself as part Indian, saying that she did this in order to meet others with whom she would have something in common. When I went to college and grad school, I identified myself as Jewish, in order to get on certain mailing lists to meet other people with whom I might have something in common.

How can Elizabeth Warren prove that she is part Indian? After all, as Scott Brown loves to point out, she doesn’t “look it.” She has no documentation, although some of her recipes do appear in an Indian cookbook.

How can I prove that I am Jewish?  I don’t “look it.”  As Warren’s did, my parents and aunts and uncles and grandparents told me that I was Jewish. Like Warren, I don’t have documentation, although some of my recipes appear in Jewish cookbooks.

First we had to prove that we weren’t Native American or Jewish to get ahead. Now we have to prove the opposite. Irony, anyone?

If I should run for office, would Scott Brown’s war-whooping supporters mock me by singing tunes from “Fiddler on the Roof?”

I may have to re-think the whole campaign thing.

On Art Posters, Freedom, and Tolerance

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My friend Vera was a Russian studies major back in college. At one point in the middle of our senior year, she came back to our suite one evening, very excited to tell us that she had been chosen to be a member of a panel that would debate a group of visiting students from the Soviet Union. (No, not the former Soviet Union. The actual USSR. I know this dates me, but please read on.)

In due time students arrived and the program went on. I honestly don’t remember much about the panel discussion, but something that happened during their visit has stuck with me ’til today.

The men came to our suite as part of their tour of the campus. They were accompanied by minders/handlers/KGB — I really don’t know, but some scary looking men. One of the students, Mikail, came to my room. He stopped dead in his tracks as he passed through the doorway and his eyes opened wide like proverbial saucers as he took in the various posters on my walls. You all probably had similar stuff: a Ben Shahn, a Gauguin, a Calder.

“What is all this?” he asked.

Puzzled by the question, I answered, “It’s art.” What did he think it was?

“Where did you get it?” he asked.

“Um, museum gift shops, poster stores, book stores.” As I listed my sources, I suddenly realized that he had probably never seen anything other than government controlled “art” before this, so I couldn’t resist adding, “We can buy any kind of art we want here in America.” (His minder/handler/KGB guy was not in the room at this moment.)

Mikail nodded his head and became very quiet.

I have often thought of Mikail over the years, especially when the Soviet Union ultimately collapsed in 1991. Had I somehow planted a seed in our visitor’s mind? Was Mikail pondering the freedom we have here? Did he participate in the revolution that saw the end of Communist rule? Did he go out and buy lots of art posters?

Why do I bring up that long-ago visit now? Because I wonder if there may be a connection with the mass protests and horrendous violence currently taking place across the Muslim world, allegedly in response to that stupid video produced in California.

The protesters live in countries in which their governments control everything, from how they dress to how they can worship to what they can say – to what they can consider art as opposed to what would be branded as heretical. But, with all the technology available today that enables instant communication, including discussion and argument, how is it that people in these countries don’t know how we operate here? That we have the freedom to dress as we like and worship as we wish and to say what we believe, stupid and hateful stuff included. And that we, for the most part, respect each other’s right to do so? Do they not understand this, or do they need to hate us in order to displace their own frustration at being under the thumb of repressive regimes?

Perhaps it is because some of these countries restrict access to information from the outside world. According to the Committee to Protect Journalists, Iran, Syria, Saudi Arabia, Tunisia, and Egypt are among the worst online oppressors.

Or, is it simply the uneducated, illiterate masses that are goaded into the violence?  After all, according to the United Nations, only 66% of Egyptians are literate, 62% of Yemenites, 62% of Pakistanis, 38% of Afghanis, while masses of Libyans (with a 98% literacy rate) are now protesting the deadly and destructive rioters.

During the so-called Arab Spring, I prayed that a seed or two of our way of life had become implanted in the students who had come to our universities from these countries, that the idea of freedom had burrowed deep into their psyches, gathering nutrients, so that after a long dormancy was actually about to flower into something beautiful. I hope I will see that in my lifetime.

I wonder where Mikail is now, and what he has hanging on his walls.

Celebrating Creation and Creativity

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At this time of year, during the Rosh Hashanah celebration of the world’s creation, we are encouraged to engage in serious reflection. In reality, we tend to spend a lot more time in the kitchen preparing big feasts, making beds for the onslaught of returning children, and setting the table. But, this past Sunday was such an absolutely glorious day that, in the middle of making the brisket and setting the table, we decided to take a break.

Joel, Avi, and I walked down to this year’s “stART on the street” fair in Worcester. The City had closed off blocks and blocks along Park Avenue to allow over 200 artists and artisans to display their wares. Live music added a joyous atmosphere, as did the aromas of street foods being prepared in trucks lining the route.

I marveled at the range and type of artistic talent. There were, of course, the traditional paintings and photographs. But, we also saw jewelry made from recycled glass and pocketbooks fashioned from hardcover copies of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights. Quilts and tote bags made from recycled food wrappers hung from one booth, while garden lighting crafted from vintage teacups and saucers was in another. I fell in love with knitted children’s hats that looked like turkeys and hedgehogs. Joel bought a bowl crafted of a beautiful walnut.

Now that the holiday preparations are (mostly) behind me, I have had some time to reflect on the meaning of it all. The variety of artistic expression I witnessed at the fair demonstrated for me at a micro level the inspired work of the Big Creator. To wit: The gorgeous weather on weekend and holiday that morphed into a wild wind and rain storm and that returned to calm today. The hummingbirds that return every spring after wintering in South America to feed at my morning glories. The magnificent palette of colors that is beginning to appear on the trees. And most of all, my toddler grandson Max, a one-of-a-kind combination of genes, sweet cheeks, giggles, and mischief.

To a Happy and Healthy and Creative New Year!