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Are we alike? (Archive)
Photo: AP

What happened to Israel?

Instead of compassion and solidarity, we adopted American indifference

They always used to tell us that Tel Aviv isn’t Chicago. Not at all. Because in Chicago, or Boston, or New York, a person can die in his apartment and his neighbors won’t notice. The odd smell won’t bother them, and the fact his door has been locked for two weeks now won’t arouse any suspicions.

 

Yet in Israel, or so we were taught to believe, we are all brothers. It may be true that our national sport is tricking each other, and then joining forces to fool someone else, but at times of distress we always unite. We help out and prove to everyone why we were characterized as merciful souls and the chosen people.

 

The events of recent days showed us that there is no truth to this claim, to put it mildly. People were bleeding at the town square or on the beach, while others walked by indifferently. Oh well, someone was stabbed, or hurt, or robbed – someone else must have already called an ambulance; let someone else call the police. Why should we get involved? As long as we are alive and well in our own bubble.

 

I lived in America for 10 years, and today, more than ever, I miss it. Very much so. Because there, in a foreign city where I had no relatives or friends I’ve known forever, the lines were clearly drawn. The neighbors didn’t know me, and I didn’t know them. When we bumped into each other on the street, while clearing the snow or walking the dog, we exchanged a polite nod, no more, and if we happened to bump into each other while jogging by the lake, we might have muttered “have a nice day.”

 

I lived like this for 10 years, a life based on privacy, and every year I felt I was withering, because inside me I knew it was possible to live differently. That there’s at least one place in the world that feels like a neighborhood, where people can drop by without advanced notice, and where mutual support is the rule.

 

Hungry for compassion

Yet today, when here too solidarity made way for competition, I miss the American distance, premised on the notion of “don’t touch me, and I won’t touch you.” Because we imitated the Americans, and as we did in other areas, we did it in the most extreme way.

 

Immigrants who arrive in America are told to lower their expectations, because when there are no expectations there are also no disappointments. This is how it is. If you want to, you can have it. Otherwise, you can leave. Yet in our native land there are plenty of expectations.

 

We are hungry for compassion, a stare, a kind word, a gesture of support – after all, we are all part of one family and we are supposed to be one united body vis-à-vis our enemies worldwide. And when the expectations are shattered in the face of the ugly reality, it hurts not only our body. It tears the soul, and puts out the last glimmers of hope.

 


פרסום ראשון: 08.06.08, 10:42
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