NACHUM CHERNOFSKYBnei BrakCareful reading dueSir, – Bravo to Norman Cantor for his excellent piece (“My day of rage,” Comment & Features, March 20). The views presented should be acceptable to Israelis from both sides of the political spectrum, with the probable exception of extreme religious idealists.Bravo, too, to the Post for highlighting the whole article in blue.I commend careful reading of the article, with personal soul searching to maintain one’s feelings for true democracy and goodwill to all.MONTY M. ZIONTel MondKeep miracle goingSir, – I would like to thank Liat Collins for her wonderful and most moving “Perpetually Purim” (My Word, March 20).Although her column has little to do with the holiday, it brings back the stark reality that every day we are fighting for our lives not just here in Israel, but in the international arena as well. In particular, the description of the London-based War Museum exhibit with a 30-minute movie on ethnic minorities, which indicates that we, too, could be counted among these unimportant groups. What a chilling thought! Let’s hope that the Purim miracle continues to accompany us here in Israel.JOYCE KAHNPetah TikvaWhy not every day?Sir, – When you spend Purim in Tel Aviv’s Florentine quarter in a realistic, full-body gorilla suit, you make friends fast. A group of young Sephardim raised their hands at me to slap five: “Ach sheli (my brother)!” Beautiful women saw me and initiated a dance. A black American man hollered at me “Monkey mannnnnn! You have to come over here!” Throughout the night I posed for at least 10 pictures, in embrace, with people I had never met and never will again. We exchanged elaborate, gangstastyle handshakes, banged chests, grunted animal sounds – standard inter-species conciliation.Were I a “human,” we would not have acknowledged one another’s existence. I would be pegged with the role of the lame, conceited Ashkenazi man, and would probably succumb to pegging everyone else as whatever socially-determined stereotype their external facade represented.But disguised in my holiday costume – a holiday that, appropriately for the scenario, revels at the discrepancy between the world’s superficial arbitrariness and deep-rooted deliberateness – I hugged strangers, was invited to play with people’s children, and entered into the midst of groups typically outside my social circle.Being an animal, like a puppy, invoked automatic smiles and made me an automatic friend.Come early morning, I went home and unmasked, contemplating what everyday life would be without our everyday costumes.RON ARAZIHaifa
March 22: Why we (don't) fight
Those living in Sderot and the surrounding communities are just as important as those who live in Tel Aviv – those like like Barak.
NACHUM CHERNOFSKYBnei BrakCareful reading dueSir, – Bravo to Norman Cantor for his excellent piece (“My day of rage,” Comment & Features, March 20). The views presented should be acceptable to Israelis from both sides of the political spectrum, with the probable exception of extreme religious idealists.Bravo, too, to the Post for highlighting the whole article in blue.I commend careful reading of the article, with personal soul searching to maintain one’s feelings for true democracy and goodwill to all.MONTY M. ZIONTel MondKeep miracle goingSir, – I would like to thank Liat Collins for her wonderful and most moving “Perpetually Purim” (My Word, March 20).Although her column has little to do with the holiday, it brings back the stark reality that every day we are fighting for our lives not just here in Israel, but in the international arena as well. In particular, the description of the London-based War Museum exhibit with a 30-minute movie on ethnic minorities, which indicates that we, too, could be counted among these unimportant groups. What a chilling thought! Let’s hope that the Purim miracle continues to accompany us here in Israel.JOYCE KAHNPetah TikvaWhy not every day?Sir, – When you spend Purim in Tel Aviv’s Florentine quarter in a realistic, full-body gorilla suit, you make friends fast. A group of young Sephardim raised their hands at me to slap five: “Ach sheli (my brother)!” Beautiful women saw me and initiated a dance. A black American man hollered at me “Monkey mannnnnn! You have to come over here!” Throughout the night I posed for at least 10 pictures, in embrace, with people I had never met and never will again. We exchanged elaborate, gangstastyle handshakes, banged chests, grunted animal sounds – standard inter-species conciliation.Were I a “human,” we would not have acknowledged one another’s existence. I would be pegged with the role of the lame, conceited Ashkenazi man, and would probably succumb to pegging everyone else as whatever socially-determined stereotype their external facade represented.But disguised in my holiday costume – a holiday that, appropriately for the scenario, revels at the discrepancy between the world’s superficial arbitrariness and deep-rooted deliberateness – I hugged strangers, was invited to play with people’s children, and entered into the midst of groups typically outside my social circle.Being an animal, like a puppy, invoked automatic smiles and made me an automatic friend.Come early morning, I went home and unmasked, contemplating what everyday life would be without our everyday costumes.RON ARAZIHaifa