Save the republic.

So. I’m not the only one hurting for income these days — the ACLU is up a creek, too.

Apparently the American Civil Liberties Union — you know, the folks who defend our First Amendment rights, and our rights to privacy, due process, and equal protection under the law? Those folks? — has just lost an annual check for $20 million. Twenty million dollars! Fully one quarter of their operating budget.

So. Remember when I said that donations to charities make really great gifts? Well, yep, it’s still true — and maybe we can dig a smidge deeper under the couch cushions, and ask our friends to do the same, and send a little cash toward the ACLU, as well.

Here’s the New York Times piece that broke the story, and here’s the statement by the no-longer anonymous donor, and here’s a link to the membership/donation page on the ACLU site. Commenter DMcK over at Balloon Juice (where I first learned of this sad turn of affairs) suggests, and I think reasonably, that the best bet — if you can afford it — is to become a “Guardian of Liberty” (despite the sadly right-wing sounding title. When did “guarding liberty” become identified as a right-wing pursuit? But I digress!) and give a monthly gift, starting as low as (say) $5. The regularity of the income is very valuable to advocacy organizations and nonprofits, and I know from our experience with NPR, where we donate on a similar monthly program, it’s fairly painless on the donor’s end. If, on the other hand, that is beyond your means, I also know that anything you can give will help.

Can a bunch of well-intended folks sending in checks for ten and twenty and fifty dollars make up for the loss of twenty million? No. Not really.

But we can make a dent, and moreover, we can take an active position of responsibility in protecting the very rights that make this country such a good idea in the first place.

So. If you’ve got a little spare dosh, please consider sending it to the ACLU, and please spread the word. Freedom, as the saying goes, can’t protect itself.

Reason #12,087 that I hate the occupation.

I love Israel.

I don’t “love Israel” in that way that Diaspora Jews are taught to “love Israel” — that sort of dreamy, Zionist, ingathering-of-the-Jews, aren’t-the-Israelis-a-heroic-and-beautiful-people, we-must-be-ever-vigilant kind of religio-cultural devotion — rather, I love the actual Israel in which I actually lived for 14 years of my life. I particularly love Tel Aviv.

I love Hebrew, I love the sea, I love living in a Jewish culture, I love the proximity of history to everyday life, I love the tiled floors of old Tel Aviv houses, I love the sunset in Jerusalem (though I mostly hate Jerusalem), I love the walk from my friend Hazel’s house to mine (though I haven’t lived there for 11 years), I love the flowers, I love the music, I love the literature, I love the radio, I love certain spots and streets and corners and coffee shops and foods — oh! Krembo, and cottage cheese, and challah pooshtit — and I love many people. It was my home in a way that no other place has ever been, and even after all these years, in many important ways, it still is.

And all I can think about is the fucking occupation.

My husband and I left in 1998 because I wanted to live a few years as an adult in America, and I wanted to get my Masters Degree at an American university. I was accepted and fully funded at the University of Chicago, so there I went, with every intention of returning.

I stress this last because so few people believed me at the time, and, I suspect, believe me now. I never wanted to live here in America, never wanted to raise children in the galut. I wanted to go home.

But we were always pretty far left on the political dial, and the Israeli response to the second intifada was just too much for us. Over the course of a year, my husband and I separately came to the same conclusion: We did not want to raise our children in that place, where it was more important to perpetuate the war than find a solution, more important to feel the victim than acknowledge that one was victimizing others, more important to hold on to the settlements with every last drop of our children’s blood, than to stop spilling blood. By 2003, it was clear: We were staying.

And from that moment on, all that Israel has been for me has been one, big, awful struggle. I see all of it, all of it, through the prism of the conflict, the occupation, and Israel’s continuing failure to admit its responsibility and go to the negotiating table in good faith. And indeed, a very special slice of my rage is reserved for the constant Israeli effort to just ignore the conflict, sip coffee and enjoy the Mediterranean sun, and not spare a thought for the mayhem being pursued and perpetuated a mere handful of miles away.

And so every good thing — every Gidi Gov song, every word of Eli Moher, every picture of Rothschild Boulevard, every happy memory or wish for the future — just hurts. Mostly hurts. I weep over pop songs, dread getting off the plane, walk the streets of Tel Aviv (either in memory or in fact) with a weight in my chest that is at once sharp, and dull.

Rather than celebrate Tel Aviv’s centenary from the heart of the city I love, I am here in exile, passing judgment on people who say stupid things like “I think people here would prefer to live in another country. And living in Tel Aviv is the closet thing to living abroad.”

Rather than consider this whimsical carpet of flowers, “inspired by the tiles and murals found in the homes of Tel Aviv’s founding families,” I must consider today’s inauspicious meetings between Obama, Netanyahu, and Abbas — inspired (I fear) by a human inability to let go of lost causes.

I want, to borrow a phrase, my country back.

Or, at the very least, I want to be able to go home, in some real way.

I realize that the home I once had was predicated on a hope for the future that has since been torn to shreds, and thus, the home to which I want to return may have only ever really existed in my mind. I suppose that some of my rage about the conflict is really that of a thwarted child: “They said there would be cake!” They said I would be able to build a life that I loved in my home.

I further suppose — I know — that these are first world troubles of the highest order. I considered adding up all the Palestinians killed in the occupation and then calling this post “Reason # [whatever that total is + 1] that I hate the occupation” because its feels so insanely disrespectful to the victims of my country’s policies to be whining about crying over songs.

But there it is, and I can’t deny it. Part of my sorrow over the occupation is very personal, very small, and very inglorious.

I wish President Obama the very best of luck, and I will continue to do the various things I do to advocate for a just two-state solution to the conflict.

And until that is achieved, I will continue to long for a country that slips, every day, farther and farther from my grasp.

*****************

Earlier:

Israel/Palestine: the basics.

Israel/Palestine peace advocacy – places to start.

Israel/Palestine – a reading list.

This day.

I want to write something today about what day it is, or, I suppose, about what day it was, 8 years ago. I don’t know what to write. I don’t know what to say.

I still, eight years later, do not know what to make of the attacks on September 11, 2001 — my heart and my head and my common sense and my fears and then my heart, again, all freeze up in the face of the enormity of it, in the sense-less, makes-no-sense, nature of it. The horror of individuals falling, rag dolls thrown, from windows, the horror of men climbing stairs, loaded, heavy, with equipment and mission, to their deaths, the horror of those whose horror we will never know, the office workers, housekeeping staff, corner-office executives who had a second — did they even have a second? — to know of their deaths, or had a handful of moments to hope for their lives and then came the roar that must have come, a deafening, howling roar, as the buildings began to collapse. The people on the planes, the people on the ground looking up, the flight attendants, the thank-god-I-got-to-work-early eager beavers, the police officers, the I’ll-call-mom-when-I-get-to-the-office forgetful kids. We’re all someone’s kid, aren’t we.

In the intervening eight years, we’ve lost far more Americans to two wars predicated on that day than we lost that day — more than twice the number, in fact. Parents and brothers and wives, and probably some assholes, people who had a second to know of their deaths, or had a handful of moments to hope for their lives, were rag dolls, thrown, out windows, in the air, to the ground. People who, in a very real sense, are also casualties of 9/11. People who were, who are, someone’s kids.

There are days to question your country, days to demand and protest and rage. This is not one of them. I am proud to be American. I am grateful to be American. On this day, I’ll put my demands and my protests and my rage — the very tools of patriotism — in my pocket, to be pulled out and wielded tomorrow. Today, I’ll send my thoughts and my hopes and my prayers out for this country that I love so much, for those at memorial services on this day, for those humping across Central Asian mountains and through bomb-pocked streets, for those who won’t come home but don’t know it yet.

Here’s Bruce, and after that, Jon — two of the best Americans I know of.

יהי זכרם ברוך

Good stuff: one more thing.

I almost hate to distract from the Liam Finn clip below, but I was just thinking today that I miss those months when just saying the words “President Obama” gave me a thrill, the months when he was all possibility and no political disappointment, when I could wrap myself in the joy of watching us as a country moving forward, led by a man who I still believe will prove himself a great President.

But people are people, the POTUS among them, and people disappoint — especially people who are politicians serving 300 million citizens. And eventually, everything new becomes the same-old-same-old, and just hearing that this man in whom I so believe, this man who broke us free from the horror of the previous eight years, this man who proved that though we may never move beyond race, we can, as a nation, become more perfect — just hearing again that this man is my President no longer makes me grin like a schoolkid.

It’s been a long week. And today I learned (via Balloon Juice) that the Administration “will largely preserve Bush-era procedures allowing the government to search—without suspicion of wrongdoing—the contents of a traveler’s laptop computer, cellphone or other electronic device, although officials said new policies would expand oversight of such inspections” — and I just thought: Well, damn. I already miss the good old days.

And then I clicked over to my Balloon Juice buddy the Grand Panjandrum’s site , and found this clip of Brad Paisley at the White House. And yes gentle reader, I am now weepy, again. But in a good way.

Please note that President Obama and Mr. Paisley also get a little weepy as the clip moves along….

Have a great weekend! (And thank GP!)

Lincoln, Presley, and sheep.

Lincoln and two of his sons inside the fence of their home (youngest very difficult to see!).

So: Springfield, IL may be the only place on earth where you can enjoy a “Hound Dog” -performing Elvis impersonator at the State Fair one day, and on the next, take in a dramatic presentation of the essential magic of historical study, as delivered by a Union Soldier-playing live actor and some damn cool holographic special-effects — only to realize that the actor in question was yesterday’s Elvis.

Springfield was kinda awesome.

We went to all the major Lincoln sites, the State Fair, the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Museum and Library, and the Governor’s Mansion. We had some fairly meh pizza at the fairly neat-o Pizza Machine and some pretty darn great pizza at the pretty darn standard Gallina’s (where I also discovered Espresso Soda!). And the kids and their dad swam at the local YMCA, while I double-dipped at the Lincoln home, ’cause I’m a geek.

I was caught by surprise, as I always am, by just how powerful it is for me to be in the place, breathe the air, and touch the reality, of a historical figure I admire — I spent that first day, as we tramped all over Lincoln’s home town, in a wash of tears or near-tears, just overcome by things like the fact that the floorboards in his law office (these very floorboards! The ones I’m standing on right now! The ones I’m touching with the bare skin of my feet because I’ve slipped off my sandals to do so! These floorboards right here!) were the self-same floorboards trod by Mr. Lincoln himself.

I did in fact take William Lee Miller’s Lincoln’s Virtues with me, and the business of reading about the man and his moral development while discovering the place he lived for most of his adult life thrilled me in a way that I can hardly explain. The emotional attachment I feel to Lincoln may defy reason, but it is genuine, and the effect of being right there was to deepen the (again, quite genuine!) frustration I feel over the fact that he and I will never meet — and to sharpen my grief over his loss, and the fact that he will never not be assassinated. (I took real comfort recently, and I mean that quite literally, it eased my spirit, when I realized in the course of reading Team of Rivals that while I might know and dread the end of the story, Lincoln himself did not, and he died at what might well have been the happiest time in his life, with the war essentially over, the slaves freed, and the union saved).

Plus which! We saw sheep sheared and pigs judged, and shared a funnel cake and a deep-fried Milky Way. And more to the point, had a ton of fun together. So really — our experience was complete!

As I read more in Miller, I’m finding all sorts of fascinating parallels between America’s more recent politics and those of Lincoln’s years, stuff that will no doubt come up in future posts. But for now, I just wanted to check in and wax all geeky and weepy. And that, I have done.

************

It bears noting that the Lincoln Museum was, honest to goodness, the best museum I’ve ever been in. Just the right balance between bells and whistles and real education — the bells and whistles, dare I say it, actually served the educational side of things! (I know! I could hardly believe it myself). Here’s a link to the not nearly as impressive website, and a link to information about the presentation I mentioned above. If you ever have a chance to go — go! Go!

Land of Lincoln, by train.

The times are crazy, what with kids at home, work projects that were hairier than expected (two on the same day, no less!), and a ten year old’s birthday to arrange. This explains the paucity of posting this past week. And now we’re about to get on a train and go to Springfield, IL for four days!

I may post from the road, but I frankly doubt it. I may manage to fit something in before we go, but I kind of doubt that, too. So for now, I’ll leave you with some Good Stuff, and a reminder that you are may feel free — nay, encouraged! — to tell everyone and anyone you know, meet, or have heard rumor of about the glory that is In My Head! For the very reasons listed above, I haven’t had the chance to really get into all of the terrific advice about boosting readership that I got from a friend who blogs for actual money, but maybe next week. Or, the week after that….

Anyhoo, without further ado: Good Stuff!

1) Team of Rivals – Doris Kearns Goodwin.

When President Obama was putting together his cabinet, a lot of people referred to this book in a very off-handed manner, suggesting that just as President Lincoln had pulled people of different strengths into his government, so might Obama, disregarding factors such as party affiliation (see: Ray LaHood, Transportation Secretary) or earlier animus (see: Hillary Clinton, Secretary of State). The thing is, though, despite its title, Team of Rivals is about so much more than just the construction and functioning of Lincoln’s cabinet! It’s truly a biography of the man — a beautifully written, funny, moving, and astoundingly in-depth biography of the man — with a focus on his relationships with three other men in particular, all of whom were (in fact) his rivals for the Republican nomination and all of whom came to be in his cabinet. In a very real way, Team of Rivals is something a biography of these other men as well, and the resultant added cultural perspective of Lincoln’s time and contemporaries really helped me to get a much more rounded understanding of just who he may have been. (And, it should be noted, just makes the book that much more of an accomplishment!). Lincoln has always one of my very few heroes, I’d already read one of the best Lincoln biographies out there (With Malice Toward None, Stephen B. Oates) and recently studied an excellent, in-depth treatment of his Second Inaugural (Lincoln’s Greatest Speech, Ronald C. White, Jr.), AND I’ve lived in Illinois for an absolute majority of my days, but it was Team of Rivals that finally made me turn to the husband and say “Honey, let’s take the kids to Springfield!” (Also, and not incidentally, it’s so well written, that I’ve started another of Goodwin’s books, about a couple I’ve never given much thought to, just because I want to read more of her writing: No Ordinary Time: Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt – The Home Front in World War II. Though, this weekend, I think I’ll take a break from it and bring on the trip a book that has sat on my shelf unread for too long: Lincoln’s Virtues: An Ethical Biography, William Lee Miller. Obvs!).

2) And now for something completely different!

Laughing Baby! Oh my word, this just cracks me up, every time I see it.

This adorable baby is by now just about three years old. I hope someone someday tells him how much joy he brought to a bunch of strangers when he was just wee!

(It occurs to me that I now have, in fact, managed  “to fit something in before we go”…! Well, maybe I’ll post something ELSE. Or maybe not).

Things that bug the crap out of me about America.

Sooo, the Fourth is behind us. Time to consider the stuff I’m less than crazy about in this country that I love so much! To my mind, this, too, is an act of patriotism, because blind love is no kind of love at all. I suspect there are those who might disagree….

1. “We’re #1!” - No we’re not. Let it go. I believe that we’re pretty terrific, as I think I may have mentioned the other day — but there is no #1, and we are also responsible for a lot of crap. Far too often, we do not live up to the American Idea, or we ignore it for reasons of expediency or contradictory passion. We cannot be both a Christian nation, and the United States of America. We cannot be a nation of, by, and for the people, when some of the people cannot serve in the military supported by their taxes — taxes that are higher for them than for their neighbors, because they cannot get married. We’re the only nation to ever use an atomic bomb, we maintained an extensive torture program for years (and are apparently still too lily-livered to prosecute anyone for it), and Iran? I can think of at least four moments in world history in which American action helped to lay the foundation of the repression we see there today (1953 – removal of Mossadegh; 1970s – unfettered support for the Shah; 1980s – craven involvement in the Iran-Iraq War; 2002 – the phrase “axis of evil” and the policies and attitude behind it, which effectively shut off existing back-channel cooperation). Nobody’s #1, and the sooner we (and everyone else, frankly) realize that, the sooner we might all stop killing each other.
2. Reality TV – WTF? I mean, really: WTF? I know that we do not bear sole responsibility for this blight on civilization, but surely we consistently raise the blight to ever greater heights of blightiness.  “Reality TV” is to reality what Tang is to orange juice, and humiliation-as-entertainment is bad for everybody. Bread and circuses, people — this is the sort of shit that brought down the Roman Empire.
3. Language prudity – Admit it, you flinched a little when you read “shit” just now, didn’t you? Don’t lie, this is the internet — I can see you! The importance Americans place on not saying certain words — particularly when compared to, say, our comfort level with sexual exploitation and/or mind-numbing violence — is just baffling to me. Here’s my favorite example: There is this lovely, gentle Irish movie about two sweet, gentle musicians who fall in love and play beautiful, towering, sometimes gentle music together, called Once. In this movie, without wanting to spoil anything, there is not a single explosion, drop of blood, or exposed body part. Yet it is rated R. Why? Because the Irish people are prone to saying “fuck.” To this I can only say: America, please. Get the fuck over it!
   Corallary: I knew that Janet Jackson had nipples before the Superbowl, and I suspect she has them to this day.
4. Rampant individualism – We are powerfully attached to our history and culture of individualism, in a way that I believe does real damage to both our local communities and our broader nation. It may in fact be true that we have a “right” to this, that, or the other, but it human communities need a certain amount of give and take in order to thrive. What this means is that I may have to give up my right to, say, not have a rehab program, or a prison, or (I don’t know) a terrorism suspect In My Backyard — because my community is served by that program, prison, or movement of said suspect from a legal netherworld and into the light of day. Each of us has the right to drive a Hummer, ride a motorcycle without a helmet, and/or refuse vaccinations for our children, but as a nation, we would do well to more frequently remember that, occasionally, there is a larger good that ethics demand we consider.
5. Capitalist medicine - Which leads me to the health care fight. I lived for 14 years in a country with socialized medicine (Israel), and let me tell you: It was a mess! But it was a smaller, much more human and humane mess than that which we continue to suffer under and defend in these United States of America. Access to basic health care is a human right, and every time that we choose to privilege not that right but the profits of a select few — or some fuzzy notion of “privacy” — we are not only consigning real, live human beings to a lesser existence, we are hurting our country. America is not served by sick children, untreated communicable diseases or addictions, or families bankrupted by their efforts to care for their loved ones. Anyone who says that we are, or (more likely) that such troubles are the individual problems of the people whose lives they destroy — has cut themselves off from some very basic piece of their humanity. Reasonable people may disagree about how to solve this problem, but the focus has to be first on the lives it involves, not the profits and/or individual rights of some.
6. Fruit out of season – For the love of God, people, if it has no flavor, don’t put it in a bowl and serve it to me! If I am never presented with another hard, pale green cube of honeydew in the middle of December, I’ll be a happier woman, all around.

Finally, a commenter brought to my attention that in Japan, they, too, scoop poop and do it cheerfully (see comments, “Things I love about America.” ) So, while I retain my right to celebrate this crucial facet of the American spirit, I believe that the information serves to support my contention (see #1, above) that no-one, in fact, is #1. Win-win!

Things I love about America.

Ok, Fourth of July weekend, etc. It’s an obvious topic, but you know what? I love this country deeply, and am so proud to be American. Just ask my nine year old about that time I had to read him the Declaration of Independence (it involves tears).

But I lived abroad for nearly 14 years, and after more than a decade back, certain things still retain a bright-shininess that makes me smile. And so, today, I produce a list of love:

1. All the obvious stuff – Let’s get this out of the way first: I love the Declaration, I love the Constitution (especially that Bill of Rights! Whoot!), I love that we produced Lincoln, I love that we produced Obama. I love that we have a functioning two-party democracy (earlier posts not-withstanding), I love that ours is a history of more rights for more people, I love that we constantly strive for a more perfect union. The grand Idea that informs and undergirds this nation — “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness”; that these truths in turn require “government of the people, by the people, for the people”; that, in short, this is a nation predicated on the effort to achieve “liberty and justice for all” — that Idea moves me in a way that is beyond words.
2. Sitcoms - The situational comedy! Not up there on the genius scale with, say, the Declaration of Independence, it’s true, but come on — it’s still genius! If someone could find a way to put The Mary Tyler Moore Show, M*A*S*H*, Friends (the good first years, not the years in which the characters appeared to be in a Who Can Be More Annoying contest), Scrubs, 30 Rock and Better Off Ted on an endless loop in my head, I would be a much happier woman, I’m sure. (Very late edit [7/11/09]: How could I have forgotten the Dick Van Dyke Show? Thank God the internet allows me to travel back in time and alter reality. Phew!)
   
3. Enthusiasm - We Americans are an enthusiastic bunch. We don’t hold back emotionally, we give our all to our hopes and visions, we believe sincerely that we can make the world a better place, and our more sophisticated friends across the globe laugh at us for it, all the time. But you know what? Suck it, friends! For every case of misplaced fervor (Classic Coke, anyone?), we can point to a moment of real import in which the world did, in fact, become a better place. At this point in world history, there is nothing more punk than sincerity, and Americans have that in spades.
4. Women’s Rights – I know we’re not alone in this fight, and that there are many ways in which to achieve equality. But Americans are certainly on the frontlines (see #3, above), and every time I read of a girl maimed for going to school, or raped as a cure for AIDS, I hold my daughter a little closer and re-affirm my own dedication to work for a better world for all girls and women.
   Corollary: Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, Secretary of Labor Hilda Solis, Secretary of Health and Human Services Kathleen Sebelius, Secretary of Homeland Security Janet Napolitano, Ambassador to the UN Susan Rice, EPA Administrator Lisa Jackson, and Supreme Court nominee Sonia Sotomayor.
5. Poop scooping – I challenge you to find another country on earth in which bending down to pick up dog feces is such a regular, unquestioned feature of everyday civility. One! Name one! (And a hearty thank-you to David Sedaris for leading me to the light of this Great Truth).
6. Rock n’ roll – Though, ironically, my two Favorite Rock Bands Ever in the History of Ever are, in composition,  British and Irish, I think it’s safe to say that John, Paul, George, Ringo, Bono, Edge, Larry and Adam would all agree that they attached themselves to a genuinely American artform and never let go.  Ben Harper, Audioslave, The Architects, Melissa Etheridge, Bruce Springsteen, Los Lobos, The Police, Santana, Arctic Monkeys, Robert Plant, Joan Osborne, Beastie Boys, Bonnie Raitt, Billy Bragg, Elvis, Prince, Radiohead, Allison Krause, White Stripes, Kanye West, CCR, Joe Strummer, Crowded House, Blur, Matthew Sweet, John Hiatt, Lyle Lovett, Jesus Jones and roughly a gajillion more all make me proud to be American, even if they themselves are not, or their music is not, strictly speaking, rock n’ roll. ‘Cause you know what? It’s all rock n’ roll.
7. Our founding documents – I know, I said I was getting the Declaration of Independence and Constitution out of the way up top, but honestly, aren’t they worth at least two shout-outs? Our union might not yet be perfect, but for more than 200 years we’ve been giving it our best shot, and for that, I am grateful, and very, very proud (and, let’s be honest, a little choked up).

Happy Fourth!