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Politics : PRESIDENT GEORGE W. BUSH -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?


To: Kenneth E. Phillipps who wrote (546319)2/28/2004 10:42:22 AM
From: Hope Praytochange  Respond to of 769670
 
A Time to Dance, and Mourn
By DAVID BROOKS

s you read this on Saturday morning, my elder son, Joshua, will be having his bar mitzvah. We'll be doing what many parents do on these occasions: telling stories about him, worrying about the party this evening.

But it will be hard to miss the larger meaning of the ceremony because Joshua will be having his bar mitzvah in downtown Washington in a newly restored synagogue that hasn't seen a bar mitzvah in over half a century. On the day we rehearsed, there were three Torahs in the ark, none of them used since World War II. One was confiscated by the Nazis at the entrance to Auschwitz. Another was smuggled into Bergen-Belsen.

The third, from which Joshua will read, was written in Wegrow, Poland, and is the only one of the 13 Torahs in that town to survive the Holocaust.

Wegrow (pronounced VEN-gwoov) is about 55 miles northeast of Warsaw. Jews settled there early in the 16th century, and there were 6,000 to 8,000 of them when the Nazi occupation began on Sept. 7, 1939. A few weeks later, on Yom Kippur, SS officers went to the home of the town's rabbi, Mendel Morgenstern, dragged him to the central marketplace and ordered him to undress. They handed him a broom and told him to sweep up the manure in the square and carry it to the town dump in his velvet hat. As the rabbi tried to do that, a soldier drove a bayonet into his abdomen, killing him. His synagogue was immediately closed and ultimately destroyed.

The Nazis set up a Jewish governing body, a "Judenrat," to collect taxes and supply forced-labor teams. News about the concentration camp in nearby Treblinka swept the town, but the roundups in Wegrow didn't begin until the day after Yom Kippur in 1942.

A few families had constructed hiding places in attics and basements, and they could watch through peepholes as their relatives and friends were loaded onto trucks. By that time everyone knew exactly what was going to happen. Some cursed the Germans; some lunged at the soldiers and tried to scratch their eyes.

"I want to live a little longer," one girl told her mother as they stood in line. "No, you will not live because the world has no room for you," her mother answered bitterly.

The roundups lasted for several days. About half the Jews in the town fled to the nearby forest, where almost all were hunted down and shot by German troops. (Poles received two pounds of sugar for every Jew they killed or captured.)

The other Jews waited. One father, furious at the universe, announced that he was going to turn in his family immediately. He was told to hide and think of his children. "If my children remain alive, they will curse me for not having allowed them to die earlier," he answered.

At night, those in hiding could hear Germans celebrating the deportations. By day they watched their former neighbors taking over their stores and businesses.

Some Jews did survive. About a hundred were kept in the town to work, though they were herded into a building on May Day 1943 and burned to death. Others hid in farms and in the forest for the duration of the war. The last survivors included Feivel Bielawski. When the Nazis were driven back, he and his brother returned and sat for days on the front step of their old house. "Freedom did not bring happiness," he wrote in his memoir. "We were sad and depressed and longed to see another Jew." But, of course, there were none.

Feivel Bielawski, who became Phil Biel, died 15 days ago in Minnesota.

Joshua will be reading in a neighborhood brought back from decay, in a synagogue restored to its former self, from a Torah that not only recounts history, but is itself history. There will be an amazing sense of threads' being retied. And there will be reminders that we're mysteriously bound by things that happened before we were born and to people, now dead, whose lives are interwoven with our own. "What their species is for animals and plants, that is history for human beings," the 19th-century historian Johann Droysen observed.

In today's ceremony the Book of Exodus will mingle with the Holocaust, and a child will be recognized as an adult, which means not only following God's commandments, but also taking responsibility for the future, guided by the light thrown by the past.



To: Kenneth E. Phillipps who wrote (546319)2/28/2004 10:43:17 AM
From: tonto  Respond to of 769670
 
Kenneth, for an attorney, you sure paint yourself into a corner frequently...think about it. (s)



To: Kenneth E. Phillipps who wrote (546319)2/28/2004 10:50:17 AM
From: Hope Praytochange  Respond to of 769670
 
John Kerry’s Time Warp
For the Democratic candidate, it's always 1969.

Why does Sen. John Kerry (D., Mass.) talk incessantly about Vietnam?

Obviously, it has given him a great political advantage in past campaigns and he hopes it will do the same in his race for the White House. But there might be another reason. Perhaps more than any other presidential candidate in recent memory, Kerry seems to be living in another time, playing a movie of Vietnam over and over in his mind.

In fact, he is often playing an actual movie of Vietnam over and over on his television. Consider this scene from a remarkable profile of Kerry published in the Boston Globe in October 1996, when Kerry was in a tough reelection battle:

Kerry told reporter Charles Sennott the oft-repeated story of the February 1969 firefight in which Kerry attacked the Viet Cong who ambushed his Swift boat. Kerry won the Silver Star, as well as a Purple Heart, for his efforts. But the story wasn't just the firefight itself. It was also Kerry's reaction to it.

The future senator was so "focused on his future ambitions," Sennott reported, that not long after the fight, he bought a Super-8 movie camera, returned to the scene, and reenacted the skirmish on film. During their interview, Kerry played the tape for Sennott.

"I'll show you where they shot from. See? That's the hole covered up with reeds," Kerry said as he ran the tape in slow motion.

Kerry told Sennott that his decision to reenact the fight on film was no big deal — "just something I did, no great meaning to it." But it's clear that the old movie is a huge deal. "Through hours of watching the films in the den of his newly renovated Beacon Hill mansion, it becomes apparent that these are memories and footage he returns to often," Sennott wrote.

"Kerry jumps repeatedly from the couch to adjust the Sony large screen TV in his home entertainment center, making sure the picture is clear, the color correct. He fast forwards, rewinds and freeze frames the footage. His running commentary — vivid, sometimes touching, sometimes self-serving — never misses a beat."

In John Kerry's home-entertainment center, it's always 1969.

It's sometimes that way in his campaign, too. Is Kerry's the only campaign to play Jimi Hendrix — specifically, "Fire" from the 1967 album Are You Experienced? — at rallies? Other candidates — like John Edwards, with his theme song, John Mellencamp's "Small Town" — aren't exactly cutting edge, but they have chosen somewhat newer stuff.

And what about the music on Kerry's bus? Before the Iowa caucuses, Washington Post reporter Ceci Connelly described the candidate hanging out on the bus with Peter Yarrow, his old friend from Peter, Paul, and Mary. "Pedro, sing us a song," Kerry ordered one day. Yarrow picked up a guitar and began to play and sing — and later waxed nostalgic about the antiwar rallies he attended way back when with Kerry and Eugene McCarthy.

Earlier, Connelly wrote, when Yarrow sang "Puff the Magic Dragon" at an event in a private home in Ames, Iowa, "Kerry lifted his fingers to his mouth for a quick toke on an imaginary joint. You can almost see his thick mane of silver hair returning to the shaggy brown do of those days."

Even Kerry's latest soundbite, the speech in Ohio Tuesday in which he described President Bush as a "walking contradiction," was apparently a reference to the old days. In this case, it was Kris Kristofferson's "The Pilgrim, Chapter 33, " from 1970, with its line, "He's a walking contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction."

This man is living in a time warp. No wonder Kerry sees any conflict — Gulf War I, Afghanistan, Gulf War II — as a potential Vietnam. In Kerry's world, Vietnam is running on a continuous loop on that big screen TV — with Jimi, Kris, and Peter, Paul, and Mary singing in the background.

Some people become stuck in the time period in which they had their most intense experiences. Others, perhaps with more mental or emotional flexibility, move on. Kerry seems to be one of the former.

At 60 years old, he appears obsessed with the past in ways that the 57 year-old George W. Bush isn't. And Kerry seems far older than, say, the 71 year-old Donald Rumsfeld — a man who is always moving ahead, not inclined to lecture about the way things were 30 or 40 years ago.

Kerry's penchant for looking back would not be a good trait in a president who will have to deal with a distinctly 21st century, post-9/11 world. America faces threats that were unheard of in Kerry's formative years. While those threats build, Kerry is turning on Hendrix, toking on an imaginary joint, and telling you about Vietnam.

And just imagine the inauguration. The new president delivers his speech, waves to the crowd, and cries..."Pedro, sing us a song!"

— Byron York is also a columnist for The Hill, where a version of this first appeared.