Poogi

Poogi Galuak is an eleven year old boy who became a refugee in the first year of his life. His mother, Theresa, was also a refugee who left her native Unity, now part of South Sudan, when she was eight to live in Khartoum where she met her husband Galuak. Both Theresa and Galuak are from the Dinka tribe and are practicing Christians. Galuak is a minister in the church.

When Poogi was one year old, his parents took him and three older siblings to Cairo, Egypt to flee the Second Sudanese Civil War (1983-2005). The family lived and worked in Cairo from 2003 to 2007 but fled to Israel, by foot, after repeated attacks and other human rights violations. By this time, they had added one more son to the family.

In 2007, Galuak led his family into Israel. Upon arrival, they were taken to South Tel Aviv by the military and left to rebuild their lives. Poogi was five years old when he arrived in Israel, having already fled his home twice.

Tel Aviv, Poogi’s new hometown, had a progressive approach to refugee absorption and tried a variety of ways to educate the children. Many people are familiar with the Bialik-Rogozin School because the movie about it, Strangers No More, won an Oscar. At the Bialik-Rogozin School, children of foreign workers and refugees study together in Hebrew with a student body from all over the world. Poogi’s parents were not sure if this was the best idea for their children. They wanted the loving environment and good education, but they were concerned with their children’s acculturation into Israeli society. Instead of sending the children to Bialik-Rogozin, they chose the other option Tel Aviv provided for them. Inspired by the outcomes of the American Supreme Court decision in Brown vs. Board of Education, the city tried bussing kids to good schools in the north. Poogi and his two sisters ended up in the Aran School next to the Sde Dov Airport.

At Aran, Poogi contended with some racism, but ultimately thrived. He was admitted into the Israel Baseball League and made many friends. His family remained in Tel Aviv until 2012 when they were forced to return to the fledgling country of South Sudan. This was the third time in his short life that he was forced to leave his home. After a brief quiet and period of hope, civil strife became civil war and Poogi was moved again. This time he was placed in a boarding school, Trinity Primary School, in Kampala, Uganda. To his good fortune, a family of one of his Israeli classmates is paying his tuition. All of Poogi’s five siblings are now in the school, but the parents remain in Juba, South Sudan. Recently, Theresa lost her job cleaning in a hotel and the family apartment was broken into and looted. They lost everything including the roof over their heads.

I just spoke to Theresa. She and her husband want to leave South Sudan. In their best case, the united family would take up residence in the United States, but Theresa has told me that she will be happy to save as many of her children as possible. Poogi is my son’s friend from the Aran School in Tel Aviv, and I hope we can start saving the Galuak family by saving him first.

Being Rich

Sometimes the clearest truths are hidden in plain sight, in broad daylight, right in front of your face. It’s like not seeing the trees because of the forest or not seeing the forest because of the trees; however that saying goes.

I am sitting on the porch of my high school roommate Gilli’s house in Kibbutz Mishmarot, just a few feet from the spot where my cabin was when I lived here in the army. I have a cup of Turkish coffee next to me, my wonderful partner getting dressed in the other room and a full day before me. I am a very happy guy.

Coming back to Israel has been the best homecoming ever. I feel rich with love and joy and so many good things. I arrive in a city or kibbutz, knock on a door and am greeted with love. My friendships make me so rich, so content, so happy. I fill with pride every time I introduce Diane to another of my friends. This trip has been proof that you are reflected in the company you keep. My friends all share a great commitment to our country. Gilli has always been committed to the security of the country. Snait cares about the ethical behavior of the government. Yair wants Judaism to be defined broadly and positively. He gave up on his orthodoxy, doesn’t believe and still shares my commitment to our sacred texts and the values we derive from them. Today we will have dinner with Sharon, Itamar’s friend Neveh’s mom, and the family. She wants her contribution to come through cinema just as my high school buddy Doron does. He has won 3 Israeli Oscars, hangs them in his washroom and thinks of his film work as his tikkun olam. Tonight we will sleep at my teacher and friend Lori’s house. Her contribution to my education can be summarized in one word, “Scope.” She taught me to see the world with eyes wide open. This morning we will, hopefully, see Marissa, Diane’s daughter. She is in the process of giving this country a place in her heart as she travels with Birthright. She is a very special girl and I am lucky that she is part of the package. And everywhere I go, people ask about my children with great interest and love. “Is Itamar still playing baseball?” “Is Sahar still as brilliant as she was when I knew her here?” “Has Maya taken that beautiful face out of her books? She’s depriving the world of her smile.”

Life is wonderful. Israel is a rich and magnificent miracle, but really not a miracle, the product of the hard work of my people. I feel good.

Moving on

Normally, I force myself to take a deep breath and write my thoughts as a way of getting full value from my experiences, but this trip has been a frantic squeezing of every possibility into the mere 24 hours of a day on Earth. I haven't had time to just think.

On the other hand, I have definitely accomplished my goal of moving on with life and making sure that Israel is part of that equation. This has meant introducing Diane to my two Israeli families, showing her my beloved city – Tel Aviv, eating in all my favorite places, meeting many of my friends (there is no chance for her to meet them all in 2 weeks) and, for me, feeling at home in Israel without an Israeli partner. One week into the trip and I can already proclaim, “Mission accomplished!”

Since we arrived, we have been to Caesaria with my buddy Snait, visited my high school roommate Gilli, spend time in Akko and Rosh Hanikra, walked King George and Shuk Hacarmel on Friday, saw many close friends and ate enough to feed a whole brigade of IDF soldiers.

Tonight we have dinner in Ramallah with my friend Hania Bitar, whom I have been told by many, could be the first Palestinian woman Prime Minister. We will have breakfast tomorrow with my Talmud teacher from the Hartman Institute, Yair Eldan, and we will finish the day in Tel Aviv with my dear friends Effie and Sasha. Sasha was there when I became a father and has been a close buddy ever since. Tuesday we will get a tour of the eastern Galil and Golan Heights from my buddy Gilli, and Wednesday night we will sleep at my high school teacher and friend, Lori’s, house. To top off a great trip, Thursday night, my classmates from the Kfar Hayarok are having a reunion. And how is this for good planning, on Saturday when we depart, instead of being sad, we will fly to Amman and spend 22 hours with my old friend Khaldoun Dajani and his family.

Life is good and my waistline is growing.

Blogging as a way of staying awake

Often one writes in a blog for an audience, but sometimes writing just helps you in the fight against jet lag. Right now it's the latter. It's seven PM and my eyelids are begging to close the store for the night. I need to make it to double digits.

Today was a great start to our trip. Snait's husband, Yaron, runs a farm on Kibbutz Givat Brenner and grows what might be the tastiest avocados ever. These together with jachnun, tachina and salad were a scrumptious and healthy (it's all relative) start to the day.

Ancient Caesarea was our first stop, and, true to form, I bumped into someone I know - my friend Mike Hollander, a tour guide who was leading a group of tourists. The next stop was the Electric Company's Hedera power station where my roommate from high school, Gilli, is in charge of security. Gilli has been my Moroccan brother since 1980 when we first milked cows together. Next week he will take us for a tour of northern Israel. The last time he did this for me, I was traveling with my friend Patrick, an Irish Catholic (secular), and Gilli took us to his friend's restaurant at Caperum, the place where JC was supposed to have walked on the water. With typical Israeli tact, to entertain us during lunch, they told jokes - Jesus jokes. If it wasn't so surreal, it would have been embarrassing, but Patrick took it well.

We also had coffee at Kibbutz Sdot Yam. Oh, to be a socialist living on the sea shore. And later we went to Shula's Fish and Seafood Restaurant. Wow! it was so good. Diane joined the clean plate club by finishing all her shrimp. I couldn't bring myself to eat trayf, but I will eat chicken or beef in non-kosher restaurants here. In America, I don't eat non-kosher meat as a kind of self discipline to remind myself of my identity.
 

This may not sound like a very dynamic day, but it was really great introducing some of my closest friends in Israel to Diane, and I'm sure this is helping her understand her boyfriend better. All good in the promised land.

Waking up in the promised land

Jet lag is a terrible thing. I thought that if I stayed up to reminisce with my old friend Snait (Yes, her parents named her squirrel) until 1:30 in the AM, I would sleep late and get on the right sleep schedule. Apparently, the right schedule for me in Israel is contrary to Benjamin Franklin's pronouncement that "early to rise and early to bed makes a man healthy and wealthy and dead." In Israel, I just don't sleep, and I'm no healthier or wealthier for it. And, of course, my writing is testimony to my being alive. You might conclude, ala Descarte, "I write therefore I am." In truth, I wouldn't mind some more sleep.
During my first stint in Israel, starting in 1980 at the Kfar Hayarok, I was a dairy farmer and I woke up every morning at 3 AM to milk the cows. Rising early continued with the army.
The second major stint in Israel was 1991 through '96 when I lived here with Irit and rose early to run on the beach every morning in Tel Aviv. I thought it would make me tired and help me sleep longer, but as the "best laid plans of mice and men," it didn't work out as predicted. I slept less and still continued to live with full vitality and vigor. I can't put my finger on it, but there is something about this place that makes me want to be awake and experience all that is here for me to experience. As Warren Zevon sang while dying of prostrate cancer, "I'll sleep when I'm dead."

To Zion, again

Tomorrow I return to my adopted home, Israel, and my favorite city, Tel Aviv, for the first time since the restructuring of my family. I'll travel with my new partner, Diane, and make all the requisite introductions. She will meet my friends, see my country, eat in my favorite restaurants and walk my favorite streets. I am full of excitement and trepidation.
The first time I traveled to Israel was 1967, right after the Six Day War. I might as well have been my parents' baggage because I was two at the time and have no recollection of the trip. I returned when I was ten, the summer after my parents divorce. I didn't like Israel because it meant being away from my father, but I do remember having a lot of fun. That summer, we lived with my mom's first boyfriend, Danny, and his wife and two kids, in a 2 bedroom apartment in Givataim. We spent our days at the beach and the nights eating falafel and hanging out with friends. Israel was still a product of its socialist roots, and it seemed like everyone had just about the same amount of stuff. There was only one TV channel and everyone listened to The Voice of Peace. This was the Israel that I fell in love with, despite the absence of my dad.
Five years later, after being influenced by my Labor Zionist youth movement, Habonim, I decided to try a year of high school in the Kfar Hayarok, an Israeli agricultural boarding school on the northern border of Tel Aviv. My fate was sealed.

After what became three years of high school, delivering hundreds of baby calves, falling in love for the first time, traveling all over the country and being adopted by all my classmates families, I decided to become Israeli. This wasn't an ideological move. I couldn't imagine myself living anywhere else. I didn't think about the ugly war the country was fighting in Lebanon or the occupation of our Palestinian neighbors in the West Bank and Gaza. I thought about milking cows and being close to friends.
OK maybe it was ideological. I carried a copy of the Israeli Declaration of Independence in my wallet, dreamed of being a hero like Trumpeldor, and building a new kibbutz that would double as an artist colony.

After the army, I went to school at UCLA. The Intifada helped me feel good about the fact that I wasn't in Israel. I studied art and film and gave up my dreams of living on a kibbutz with my girlfriend Estee. However, A few girlfriends later, I was back on my way to Tel Aviv for another stint in the land I call home. This time with Irit, I was a television editor and multimedia producer. I made new friends and strengthened old friendships. We started our family and I felt at home, at least until my dying grandfather asked me to come back to America and help him with his business.

Thirteen years later, I returned again, the father of three and a doctor of education. I studied to become a rabbi, but my school closed unexpectedly and I left after two years, this time with a family and lots of responsibilities. I didn't want to leave, but my kids were not thrilled with my chosen homeland and making ends meet was a challenge. Israel had changed. By 2011, we had exceeded 40 years of occupation, both blurred the green line and built a wall on or close to it, and the country had become ultra capitalist. As much as I hated to go, it was the right thing to do. Little did I know that within a year of my return to America, my marriage would start to crumble and the earth below me would start to shake. Everything came apart and I hit bottom. Then I met my traveling companion and life partner, and now here I go again, back across lakes and seas and oceans to my tiny little country with my wonderful group of friends and my huge bundle of memories. Excited and nervous, I can't wait to get back home.

Yom Kippur and fat men in red suits

In my search for profundity this eve of Yom Kippur, I came across the perfect lyric for my sentiment about this day. “He sees you when you're sleeping, He knows when you're awake, He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake.”

Yes, there is an implication that Santa will only shmutz up his red suit in your chimney if you behave yourself, but the words are quite explicit, “be good for goodness sake.” The worldview of this song is not B.F.Skinner’s world of behaviorism. Good is not rewarded and evil is not punished. Be good for the sake of goodness; not God, not a judge, not to get good seats in heaven.

This idea is explored in Judaism. It seems rational to favor good for goodness sake than brownie points with the big guy, and the Jewish tradition knows that it needs to address this, but Jewish tradition is not monolithic. It is a trajectory with many branches. Metaphorically, it is a tree of life, just like Torah. The problem and beauty of this is that we can point to any branch we choose and call it Judaism. I would like to point to two of these branches. One is from our sages, the other from a modern sage.

“He [Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah] used to say: One whose wisdom exceeds his deeds is like a tree whose branches are many but whose roots are few [and weak]. The wind comes and uproots it and overturns it upon its top. But one whose deeds are greater than his wisdom is like a tree whose roots are many [and deep] but whose branches are few. Even if all the winds of the world come and blow upon it, they cannot even move it from its place. ” (Avot, chapter 3, mishnah 22).

This is Mishnaic Judaism supporting goodness for goodness sake. It doesn’t address the problem of determining the source of goodness or “deeds” which is a reference to the mitzvot (the 613 positive and negative commandments identified in Torah), but it also doesn’t say to do them in order to get rewarded.

Yizhar Smilansky, an early Zionist writer and professor of education, added to the Jewish canon a different approach to motivation for doing good, or just being, when he wrote, in The Courage to be Secular,

One may be non religious out of ignorance, laziness or for no reason at all, but to be secular, one must make a conscious choice…To be secular it is not enough to be non-religious. The distinction lies between finding something and losing something…What makes someone secular? First and foremost, a sense of responsibility; a sense of responsibility with no external source…The secular have chosen to face the world on their own terms. To be secular means to claim sovereignty over one's own life.

This Yom Kippur, as I deprive myself of food and blame myself for the collective sins of my people, I will be hoping and praying that more of us opt for this branch of Jewish thought that takes responsibility seriously and chooses good for its own sake. Gmar Chatima Tova, whatever that means to you.