Yair Lapid
Addicted to noise
When Israelis have no reason for panic, they go ahead and invent one
Many years ago, my father, who may have passed away but hasn't left my world, published an article about quiet that elicited quite loud reactions. The article was titled "Living in New Zealand" and a local band even turned it into a song.
As there's a slight chance that the person who produced me will sue me for copyright infringement, I will quote parts of this article here. It started as follows:
"Sometimes I think to myself, what would it be like to live in New Zealand? To be born on an island in the ocean, in a country that is difficult to spot on the map. To grow up in a sleepy town with red tile roofs…to grow up in the house that grandpa built, and to be the grandson of a grandfather who died a natural death…to live in New Zealand and confidently make plans for the next five years. To anxiously follow the local soccer team…to believe that human beings are brothers and that it's possible to resolve any problem with a little good will…"
My father ended the article as follows:
"God! You who chose us from all the nations, I do not have any complaints to you. I accept Your decision with compliance, love, and pride, and I wouldn't replace Jerusalem with Washington or the tough life in Israel with a much easier life anywhere else on earth. This is my country, my children's homeland, this is our destiny, and we'll face it. But don't be angry, Master of the Universe, if sometimes I think to myself: Is it indeed fair that people in New Zealand die of boredom?"
My father wrote a nice piece, yet he was wrong - because even if we lived in New Zealand, we wouldn't have quiet. The mountains and red tile roofs would be the same, but we would somehow create some kind of mess. We would either declare a war on sheep, or perhaps establish an alternate state, "Old New Zealand," which would be premised on the opposite views. It doesn't matter the opposite of what, as long as it would be the opposite.
Anyone can travel halfway across the world, yet he would still take himself along for the ride. After all those years on the wrong side of the globe, perhaps it's time to admit that our problem isn't our location, but rather, the way we are.
These days, for example, we could theoretically be rather relaxed. We're not New Zealand maybe, but the school year started without the regular strike, the lull in the south is calmer than expected, the unemployment rate has never been lower, the shekel is strong, and the prime minister already announced that he's resigning.
I know it won't continue like this. We are dealing with a highly fragile time-out, as always, but for a moment we could – had we really wanted to – take a short break from ourselves, close our eyes, and pretend that all is well.
Constant threats
However, we just can't do it. If we have no reason for panic, we invent one. For a whole week we've been searching for missing child Rose in the Yarkon River. Every two days we're informed that Ahmadinejad will soon be building a really large bomb in his basement and drop it on us. If we can't find an Arab to shoot at, we have Jews shooting at Jews in Naalin or in Yitzhar or in Tapuach.
We are constantly being threatened: The demographic threat, the Iranian threat, and the threat of the new missiles to be acquired by Hizbullah. Even Yigal Amir threatened his wife's neighbor. In what other country in the world can a man in solitary confinement get into a dispute with the neighbors?
Some of us are still trying to fight back. Every two days someone comes up to me and festively announces that he stopped reading papers and watching television and has signed up for a Buddhist plants' workshop. Those are of course the worst addicts. They know that the moment they inhale the first paper, they will start injecting news websites. We have become addicted to the noise.
If the noise doesn't happen on its own, we produce it. The headlines are always huge and bleeding, the tone is always dramatic, and the end is always near. God, You who chose us from amongst all the nations, I too am not complaining, but I'm asking: Why are we doing this to ourselves? What prompts us to be on the brink of an explosion all the time? Why are we so angry?
I do not envy the people of New Zealand for a moment. Israel gives meaning to my life. It fascinates me, its history enriches my world, and I feel a little pity for every Jew who moves to another country and becomes a foreigner there. Yet still, Master of the Universe, I want us to allow ourselves once in a while to say that it's been boring around here for the past week. Only one week. Am I asking for too much?
