The Informationist

Thoughts from the Front Lines

One thing about a trip to Israel: this country is not what people think it is. Sure, there’s something historical about it, especially when you wander around Jerusalem’s old city as I did last weekend. There’s also something futuristic about it, especially when you realize that the ubiquitous security guards and metal detectors are coming soon to a village near you in the US or the UK. But still, the country does a fine job at projecting its contemplative undercurrent and a lousy job of projecting what it actually is.

My plan for the evening is to go to a film festival on “Banana Beach” (drinks served by one of the many beach bars). Tonight’s film? Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (or as they say in Hebrew, Priscilla, Malkat Hamidbar). I must say that I enjoy the concept of the beach bar. My hotel, the David Intercontinental, sits at the southern end of a wonderful stretch of beach. I’ve walked along it many times (about half an hour from end to end). The Israelis have done a great job at manicuring the beach; the sand is clean and soft, the breakers attractive, and the water warm.

Perhaps my favorite touch, though, is “Chinky Beach,” the nearest bar. Chinky’s sofas, chairs, and tables are set in the sand, leading all the way down into the surf. I like going there at night for a drink, staring into the sea, and watching the young crowd around me enjoy the end of summer. As an added bonus, Chinky Beach seems to be in a straight line to one of Ben Gurion’s runways. Planes appear over the sea as dim stars, grow brighter, and then pass directly overhead with a brief roar, low enough to make out the airline and to see the landing gear.

Yet, Chinky sits in the shadow of the Dolphinarium, now a hollow shell but once a popular dance club for the pre-20’s crowd. One night, a bit more than four years ago, a barbaric murderer chose the Dolphinarium as the site of his suicide; he took more than twenty kids with him and wounded dozens of others. Needless to say, the murderer was immediately branded a martyr; Arafat, Saddam, the Saudi royals, or some other crime boss soon compensated his family for their son’s contribution to the betterment of the world.

And so, last night, I found myself sitting at Chinky Beach, watching the planes arrive, sipping a mediocre (well, okay, poor) Cab, enjoying the scene, and wondering about those who would destroy all this life, simply for the sake of destruction and a hatred of the Jews.

I also thought about the people to whom I’ve spoken on this trip. I’ve been fortunate in that between old friends, new friends, and friends of friends, I’ve been able to sit and to speak in depth to more than a few Israelis. All are intelligent, well educated, and well aware that the eyes of the world are upon their tiny country in its effort to survive—and that most of those eyes are rooting against its survival. It’s evident from talking to Israelis that though they would rather focus on beaches and bars, they know that their country is going through an existential debate, as it attempts to determine how to navigate a very dangerous future.

I also heard many sentiments about the political and existential debates that will shape Israel’s future:
• I’ve never voted for the right wing. Sharon has done a good job, but still. . .
• This isn’t the country we thought that it would be. Pettiness, hypocrisy, and above all ignorance are creating tribal divisions among Jews.
• Theology should have changed sixty years ago. If God didn’t intervene at Auschwitz he won’t intervene in Gaza.
• We’re not all that deep. Some of us just want to know how to make money.
• There has been a logical arc to Jewish history. This wasn’t supposed to happen in the third commonwealth.

In short, a tapestry of society. Granted, a somewhat unrepresentative selection, but enough to give me something of a feeling for this land and its people. For the most part, these are just people who want to be left alone to enjoy a reasonable life in a land they can call home. But they know that no one will ever leave them alone. They know that they live on the front lines of the global war between a liberal west and a fascistic Arab/Islamic terror movement—a movement that wreaks its worst damage upon the world’s Arabs and Muslims without raising much of a cry in any of the supposedly liberal capitals. They know that what happens on the front line isn’t always pretty, and they know that much of the west will never support its troops. But they do their best to muddle on through anyway.

I think of these discussions in relation to those that I had with my Greek friends last week in Athens—friends who expressed the same love of their land, the same connection with their history, and a parallel frustration with the various challenges plaguing their own society. Though I must say that one theme permeated the discussions I had not only with my Greek friends, but with friends I’ve visited around Europe this summer. Europeans seem to believe that we have a functioning international system capable of maintaining order. Needless to say, such thinking is absent in Israel—much as it is in the United States. On this issue, I can only say that I wish my European friends were correct. Sadly, they are not even close. I can only urge them to visit the front lines, to arrive with an open minds, and to talk to these brave soldiers of liberal western values.

I find myself wrapping up my trip to Tel Aviv with much to ponder. I don’t know what to make of it all, but I do know that all of it will rattle around in my head for a while. Who knows where it will lead?

. . . And now I’m off for a date with a queen, where one more memorable sentiment will come my way. “Just what this country needs: A cock in a frock on a rock.” Though uttered about Australia, I’m certain that it’s just as true for Israel—whatever it might mean outside its original context.

Posted by Bruce Abramson from on 08/31 at 06:57 PM in Foreign Affairs and the World beyond Our Borders