Greenberg's View
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There are reports that Yasser Arafat died from a blood disorder. His death, and in particular these reports, reminds me of a strange photograph that flew across the wires a couple days after Sept. 11. In it, Arafat was giving blood at the Shifa Hospital in Gaza City, arm outstretched and primed with a green tourniquet, needle in vein, blood flowing into a vial that would soon be en route to New York City. His donation would become part of what was quickly becoming a vast stockpile of blood for survivors who were thought and hoped to be clinging to life under the collapsed towers. I was in New York that day, and I remember studying the image and wondering about all the buckets of blood he himself had spilled. The more I looked at the photo, the more it seemed as if he was wondering about the same thing.
My father was a song-and-dance man of the first order. He loved to tell jokes and he had a million of them.
If the TSA isn't catching bombs, should we be screened?
Filmmaker Debbie Goodstein has taken to heart the adage, “Write what you know.” Her 1989 Holocaust documentary, “Voices From the Attic,” recounts her mother’s years of hiding in a garret where snow descended through slats in the roof, a baby died and food was scarce.
Days after the election that brings Hitler to power, a Jewish couple — an acclaimed physicist and his unfaithful wife — contemplate whether to seek an unknown future outside of Germany or stay put in Berlin. Written by playwright Iddo Netanyahu, brother of Israel’s prime