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Coming Together, Coming Apart , livre ebook

Turner Publishing Company - Daniel Gordis

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136 pages

English

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Praise for Coming Together, Coming Apart

"Interesting conversation is Israel's most ingratiating commodity, and this is an especially interesting one. To read Coming Together, Coming Apart is to be engaged in an ongoing dialogue with one of Israel's most thoughtful observers--an American who made Israel his home, despite its imperfections and dangers. Gordis's conversational narrative is irresistible."
--Alan dershowitz, author of The Case for Israel

"Whether describing a walk through Jerusalem in snow, a hike in the desert, or a farewell family drive to the Gaza settlements, Gordis manages to capture the essential details that tell us the larger meaning of our Israeli lives. There is much irony in this book, and also anger, especially against those who unfairly judge Israel in its most desperate and noble times. Most of all, though, this book is the chronicle of a love story--of an immigrant family in Jerusalem falling in love with Israel and, through that love, discovering the strength to cope with life on the front lines of a jihadist war. As a fellow Jerusalemite, I feel a profound debt to Gordis for explaining what it means to raise a family in the middle of a terror zone, and the courage that average Israelis instinctively display in maintaining the pretense of normal life. Those of us who share his passion are fortunate to be so well represented by this book."
--Yossi Klein Halevi, Foreign Correspondent, The New Republic
Prologue.

A HAVEN, A BATTLEGROUND.

What Did You Learn in School Today?

I Wonder If This Is What Peace Is Like?

On Reentries.

The Masks We Wear.

No Other Land.

It’s All about Questions.

AN ENDING, A BEGINNING.

Nine Things Worth Remembering.

When Magical Thinking Will Not Suffice.

A Place Where Life Goes through You.

The Bearable Lightness of Peace.

Shattered.

In That Split Second.

What’s a Disengagement?

LOST, AND FOUND.

Plus Ça Change, N’est-Ce Pas?

Difficult Choices, Irreparable Losses.

Coming Home.

A Plane, A Bus, and a Trial.

The Morning After.

Unacceptable. Unjust.

Tell Shlomo.

An Ode to Ambivalence.

Three Girls, Three Graves, One Torah.

WOUNDED, AND HEALING.

Born Again.

And the Land Was Tranquil.

What Divides Us.

To Hell in a Handbasket.

Even the Victors Ought to Mourn.

A Reprieve.

A Talmudic Warning.

This Is Why We’re Here.

A WAGER, AND A PRAYER.

Lucky, Don’t You Think?

Yeah, Right.

The Bird’s Nest in Shul.

A Rock and a Hard Place.

Exodus(es), Redux.

Child’s Play.

Good, As Good As Can Be.

Coming Attractions?

One Ribbon Has to Go.

Reengagement.

There Are No Words.

Acknowledgments.

Credits.

Sujets

Personal Memoirs

Milton Moses Ginsberg

Daniel Gordis

Israel

Biography

Jerusalem

Autobiography

Informations

Publié par	Turner Publishing Company
Date de parution	07 décembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781118040812
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0800€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Table of Contents

Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue

A HAVEN, A BATTLEGROUND - January 2003~April 2003

What Did You Learn in School Today?
I Wonder If This Is What Peace Is Like?
On Reentries
The Masks We Wear
No Other Land
It’s All about Questions

AN ENDING, A BEGINNING - May 2003~December 2003
Nine Things Worth Remembering
When Magical Thinking Will Not Suffice
A Place Where Life Goes through You
The Bearable Lightness of Peace
Shattered
In That Split Second
What’s a Disengagement?

LOST, AND FOUND - January 2004~May 2004
Plus Ça Change, N’est-Ce Pas?
Difficult Choices, Irreparable Losses
Coming Home
A Plane, a Bus, and a Trial
The Morning After
Unacceptable. Unjust.
Tell Shlomo
An Ode to Ambivalence
Three Girls, Three Graves, One Torah

WOUNDED, AND HEALING - June 2004~January 2005
Born Again
And the Land Was Tranquil
What Divides Us
To Hell in a Handbasket
Even the Victors Ought to Mourn
A Reprieve
A Talmudic Warning
This Is Why We’re Here

A WAGER, AND A PRAYER - February 2005~October 2005
Lucky, Don’t You Think?
Yeah, Right.
The Bird’s Nest in Shul
A Rock and a Hard Place
Exodus(es), Redux
Child’s Play
Good, As Good As Can Be
Coming Attractions?
One Ribbon Has to Go
Reengagement
There Are No Words

Acknowledgments
Credits
Also by Daniel Gordis

God Was Not in the Fire: The Search for a Spiritual Judaism

Does the World Need the Jews?: Rethinking Chosenness and American Jewish Identity

Becoming a Jewish Parent: How to Explore Spirituality and Tradition with Your Children

If a Place Can Make You Cry: Dispatches from an Anxious State

Home to Stay: One American Family’s Chronicle of Miracles and Struggles in Contemporary Israel

Copyright © 2006 by Daniel Gordis. All rights reserved

Published by John Wiley & Sons, Inc., Hoboken, New Jersey
Published simultaneously in Canada

Design and composition by Navta Associates, Inc.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without either the prior written permission of the Publisher, or authorization through payment of the appropriate per-copy fee to the Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, (978) 750-8400, fax (978) 646-8600, or on the web at www.copyright.com . Requests to the Publisher for permission should be addressed to the Permissions Department, John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 111 River Street, Hoboken, NJ 07030, (201) 748-6011, fax (201) 748-6008, or online at http://www.wiley.com/go/permissions .

Limit of Liability/Disclaimer of Warranty: While the publisher and the author have used their best efforts in preparing this book, they make no representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaim any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose. No warranty may be created or extended by sales representatives or written sales materials. The advice and strategies contained herein may not be suitable for your situation. You should consult with a professional where appropriate. Neither the publisher nor the author shall be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damages, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:

Gordis, Daniel.
Coming together, coming apart : a memoir of heartbreak and promise in Israel / Daniel Gordis. p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-0-471-78961-1 (cloth) ISBN-10: 0-471-78961-5 (cloth)
1. Jews, American—Israel—Biography. 2. Jews—Israel—Social life and customs. 3. Israel—Social conditions—21st century. 4. Arab-Israeli conflict—1993-—Influence. I. Title.
DS 113.8.A4G665 2006
956.9405092—dc22
[B]
2005033576

For Elisheva’s parents

Bernard Waxman, Eleanore Waxman

With admiration and with gratitude

And in memory of Limor Ben Shoham,
I will put My breath into you And you shall live again And I will set you upon your own soil
Ezekiel 37:14
Prologue
Our house, toward the southern edge of Jerusalem, is about two miles from the very end of the city and the neighborhood of Gilo, right across the valley from Beit Jala, a Christian Arab town that was overtaken by Muslim gunmen in the fall of 2000, in the early days of the second Intifada. Each night, as my wife and I put our kids to sleep during those first months of the renewed conflict, we could hear the rat-a-tat-tat of Palestinian gunfire from Beit Jala onto Gilo. Occasionally, it was only a few shots. But more often, what we heard were streams of machine-gun fire, bullets that we knew could not hit us, but the sounds of which still ricocheted across our house as our kids were trying to fall asleep.
Then it would be quiet for a few moments, and, rubbing the kids’ backs as they lay in their beds, we could feel them beginning to relax, drifting off to sleep. Another shot or two, and the children would stir. I’d rub their backs a bit more, sometimes noticing the way they were clinging to their stuffed animals, with a desperate grip that I’d never seen before. And again they’d relax and begin to float off to sleep.
And then an Israeli tank or two would fire back. Our house would shake, and an enormous boom would bounce off the walls of their bedrooms as if the tank were just downstairs. Now they’d be awake all over again, unable to fall asleep.
This went on for days, for weeks, and then for months. They were exhausted, and we were beyond stressed. But we tried to make life as normal as possible. We went to work, and we sent the kids to school. And we promised them that on nights when there was shooting, my wife and I wouldn’t go out. They weren’t in any physical danger, but still, it’s not a terribly comfortable feeling to be sitting in your living room, or trying to fall asleep in your bed, when your house suddenly shakes from the firing of a tank. So for week after week, month after month, Elisheva and I scarcely left the house at night.
Until one night, when there was no shooting, and everything was quiet. Why not? We had no idea. But Elisheva and I were suffering from a serious case of cabin fever, and this was our big chance. So we quickly looked in the paper to see what was going on. The community center down the street was having a celebration of its fiftieth anniversary, with food, music, fireworks, and dancing. But we weren’t much in the mood. So we checked the movie section and found something decent at the closest theater. We told our kids we’d be available on our cell phones, and walked down the road to the movie.
When we got home a few hours later, there was still no shooting. Except for the sounds of the celebration at the community center, our neighborhood was quiet. As we walked down the street toward our building, though, we saw that our bedroom light was on. Not a big deal, but unusual. Who was awake? And why?
When I got to our room, I found our son, Avi, who was then about ten, craning his neck to see out our bedroom window.
“Hey, buddy, what are you doing up?” I asked him.
“What is that?” he asked nervously, still looking outside.
“What’s what?”
“That!”
I had no idea what he was talking about, so I looked. And saw nothing.
“That, Abba, that !” he said again. “Listen!”
I listened, and got it. Louder than I’d realized, crackling as if they were just over our heads, were the sounds of the fireworks from the community center’s celebration down the street. And I understood. There’s not much of a difference between the sounds of fireworks on your street and the sounds of gunfire a mile or two away. And Avi, barely ten years old, thought that despite our promise that we’d never go out when there was shooting, we’d left him alone during another gun battle.
“Sweetie,” I said, holding him now, “that’s nothing. It’s just the fireworks from the matnas .”
“Are you sure?” he asked, a pleading in his voice that was quickly breaking my heart.
“I’m positive.”
“Are you really sure?” he asked, burying his not-so-little head in my chest.
“I’m sure, Av. It’s just fireworks.”
Holding him, I could feel him shivering. It was a warm spring night in Jerusalem, not even a chill in the air. He was wearing boxers and a T-shirt, and there was no reason for him to be quivering like that. But he was shaking, shuddering in my embrace, so I held him tighter, hoping I could get the shaking to stop.
“It’s just fireworks, Av, just fireworks. I promise.”
He looked up at me, his big blue eyes staring right into mine. “Good,” he said, gripping my shirt tight, with fingers that suddenly seemed very small. “Because I can’t do this anymore.”

I doubt I’ll ever forget that night—the sounds of the fireworks, my son shaking in my arms. But most of all, I remember Avi’s looking up at me and telling me the unabashed truth in a way that kids can muster and that grown-ups often can’t: “Abba, I can’t do this anymore.” I want to be able to fall asleep without the sounds of shooting. I’m tired of being scared all the time. And, I assumed, the implicit question that he never actually asked, “Why did you bring me here? Why are you and Ema making us live this way?”
We’d come two years earlier from Los Angeles, where I